When is Love gonna stop shitting on me?

(Originally written on August 2, 2009)

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Out of the blue, Sparrow sent me a text this afternoon saying that he was in the area and asking if he could stop by and see me.  He had just finished up his gig working at the summer camp and was driving to the beach for a relaxing vacay, one without children.  I was hesitant because I hadn’t showered and my apartment was (and still is, might I add) a disastrous mess.  But after talking, we came to the realization that it was going to be the last time we’d be able to see each other before I make my move to Philly (and, therefore, probably the last time we may ever see each other).  So I invited him up to my messy apartment and we watched some more Monty Python’s Flying Circus.

Then it turned into makeout-fest.

Sparrow never was a very good kisser – he used to be absolutely awful!  He’s better now, though:  less of the just forceful shoving of his tongue down my throat, but way to passive and timid – when kissing, that is; when it comes to anything beyond that, he moves really fast.

Practically without me noticing it, he had quickly wrapped my legs around his waist.  Then, he spun me around on top of him, into his lap and he began powerfully gyrating up against me (all of this is mid-makeout-fest, by the way).  It was impossible for me not to notice how “excited” he was, if you know what I mean.  Anyways…  Then my shirt started to come off.

Well, like I said, I hadn’t showered and I didn’t want to be lame and be like, “Can we take a timeout real quick so that I can prep the downstairs?”  So, for the first time ever in my entire life, I pulled the classic girl move – which is incredibly awful, I know – and told Sparrow that it was “the bad time of the month”.  I know.

But here’s what gets me:  once we were settled back down and Sparrow was getting ready to leave, I mentioned possibly picking back up where we left off when he moves to Princeton (it’s only about an hour away from Philly; I’ve Google-mapped it) and he replied,

We’ll see, but I don’t think it’s very probable.

I am such a stupid, stupid girl.

Well, I know I won’t be wasting any more of my time with him!

Cupid’s Flying Circus

(Originally written on June 28, 2009)

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Last night while we were watching Monty Python’s Flying Circus (I own the 16-Ton Megaset), Sparrow made his move and kissed me.  I stopped him to tell him that I knew about his and Leto’s makeout-fest that occurred the last time he was in town (which was the first time they had even met…and they spent the night at her place – but not before Gaston walked in on them making out on his sofa.  So hey, it’s highly likely that they did more than just makeout…) and that I didn’t want to just be another one of those girls – not that I’m looking for a relationship with him (not right now, at least), I just didn’t want to fall prey to his makeout-whoredness (which may actually just be man-whoredness).  He said that we shouldn’t take it any further because of

1. Gaston,
2. Sparrow being at camp all summer, and then
3. his moving to Princeton,

all of this regardless of our history. How many more times am I going to be rejected? But oh, wait!  Then, he continued to kiss me.  Once we stopped, I asked him why he continued kissing me after we decided not to take it any further.  His response:  “You got me all riled up.”

Takeoff

(Originally written on May 17, 2009)

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I have officially decided (again) that I am getting rid of Gaston and that crowd of friends for good.  I still haven’t heard anything from Gaston; this is the third day without any contact whatsoever between us.  I know this is the right thing to do – I mean, he (supposedly) doesn’t even have time to think about “us” and told me, “I’m not sure you’re worth it.”

I am currently leaving to go to California for a series of interviews with Bacchus.  There is a couple sitting next to me on the plane cuddling really sweetly and they’re making me lovesick.  I know (somewhere inside me) I don’t want to be with Gaston, but I do still yearn for a relationship.  I think that’s why I’ve waited on him for so long.  BUT I know that I just can’t do that anymore and I just need to “purge” myself of him (as Scarlet put it).  I’ve actually stopped hanging out with all of them these past three days – Napoleon, Leto, Yuengling, everyone.  Both Scarlet and Mario agree that it’s what’s best.

I know I’m gonna look back at the time I’ve spent with them and regret it, but it really does hurt to knowingly purge them when I have practically no one else to be around and hang out with.  Perhaps that’s more the reason to move somewhere far, far away – if for nothing else (besides a job, obviously) than to get away from the constant reminder of this catastrophe.

There is a surprising number of Europeans on this flight…

GOD! I wish they would stop kissing!

WTF is wrong with me?

(Originally written on May 14, 2009)

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At one point this past Sunday (which was Mother’s Day, by the way), Martyr brought up the touchy topic of Gaston and me. Here’s how the conversation went:

I can tell he really likes you, Elliott.

Really?  What makes you say that?

I saw the way he was looking at you the other night [the Friday before graduation, at Polly’s after the MMR dinner].  I could just tell.

She further proceeded to reinforce this notion.  It really made me happy at first – I mean, Martyr often can be full of shit and extra emotional when it comes to amorous love/dating/relationship stuff, especially after the whole ordeal between her and Beast.  It’s just hard to decipher whether it’s true that Gaston actually can’t help but subconsciously emote his feelings toward me without realizing it, or if she just romanticized it within the walls of her own mind.

•     •     •     •     •

I think that Yuengling personally has it out for me – I’m not sure why he would, but it’s becoming harder and harder to overlook and dismiss my suspicions.  First off, when he kissed me and I told him it wasn’t okay, he went and told Gaston about it a week later (apparently because he felt he needed to “come clean” to his friend), portrayed it as a mutual-attraction occurrence, and didn’t tell me about his having done that (Gaston told me about it during the blog confrontation).  I never mentioned it to Gaston because I felt it was an irrelevant mistake on Yuengling’s part and I saw it as water under the bridge.  So Yuengling’s portrayal to Gaston that the kiss was mutual made me look as though I was trying to hide it from Gaston or something.  Anyways, moving on…  Then, whenever anything goes wrong between Gaston and me, he is the first to tell me that it’s over (he actually makes it a point to immediately say it) – even going so far as to say that Gaston asserted that “fact” himself.  Then, he told “only Slim” at Polly’s about my blog (Leto told me that she found out about it from Yuengling too), but once he realized that I knew, he sent me the e-mail blaming me for it!  Not just that, but he and Leto propagated the charades by lying to me, telling me that Gaston didn’t know about it, when in actuality they were both present for several occasions at Polly’s when everyone had been giving him a hard time about it (for who knows how long).

I can’t figure out what I could have possibly done to cause his repeated betrayal to me like this.

Anyways, this leads right in to what happened last night:

Yuengling, Leto, Gaston, and I went to a bluegrass show.  Afterwards, we decided to go to Polly’s (what a surprise), which is on the completely opposite side of downtown.  Once we were about four blocks away from the venue, I realized that I may have left my camera there, so I stopped dead in my tracks and began to dig through my massive cluttered purse to look for it, just to be sure.  The three of them all continued walking for a block before even noticing that I wasn’t still with them.  Upon this realization, they briefly paused and yelled back at me to see why I had stopped.  As soon as I told them that I thought I left my camera, they all then continued walking in the opposite direction toward Polly’s, leaving me alone to fend for myself in a sketchy part of town.

I had walked nearly a block when an SUV abruptly pulled up next to where I was on the sidewalk and a guy hopped out and came after me, hitting me in the face in the process.  Somehow – and I have absolutely no idea how – I managed to get away, running the rest of the way to the bluegrass venue.  Incredibly, the other guy stayed in the car the whole time and they didn’t try to come back for me.

When I got there, sure enough, my camera was still on top of the table where we had been sitting.  Up to this point, I had been able to fend off tears, even though I was overwhelmingly distraught – I was quivering with adrenaline and shock.  However, once I got my camera, I uncontrollably burst into teary waterworks.  I called Gaston in attempt to tell him what had happened and seek his comfort, but he didn’t answer his phone.  I called him again and when he didn’t answer, I left a voicemail.  About five minutes later, he called me back, not having listened to my message.  Of course, he asked me why I was crying.  I didn’t feel like repeating the story; I didn’t want to think about it (even though I couldn’t help but do so).  He became angry and hung up on me once I asked him to listen to his voicemail.  What a bastard!  He had no idea what I had just gone through!  And made it obvious that he wasn’t interested in finding out by refusing to simply listen to my message.

I continued to walk to Polly’s by myself, balling my eyes out the entire way.  Once I got there, I saw that my wonderful trio of friends was yukking it up at the back of the bar.  On my way to the bathroom to try to clean myself up a bit and grab some tissues, I passed them without saying a word – or even looking at them.  I then walked back past them in the same manner, sat down at a table at the front of the bar with my back to them, and ordered a double bourbon.

Less than 10 minutes later, Gaston comes up to me to inform me that they have decided on “a change of scenery” and to invite me to go along with them.  Still crying, I shake my head no.  Then,

What’s wrong?

Have you listened to the message I left you?

Yea.

That’s what’s wrong.

Well we’re leaving, so are you still gonna sit here and be angry?  Or are you gonna come with us?

What do you fucking think?  After what had just happened – someone tried to fucking abduct me!  What does he think?  That I was asking for that, I was looking for that?

I think I replied with something along the lines of, “Go ahead, leave me,” and then he got angry at me and stormed out of the bar to where Yuengling and Leto were waiting for him.

Who is he to place the blame on me – like I have no right to be angry with him for just leaving me to walk along by myself through a sketchy part of town to get my camera when he’s gotten mad at me for every time I’ve walked home?  That cannot be placed on me.  That is him.  I have to remember that it’s HIM.  He didn’t care enough to walk with me this one time (which goes to show all those times he got upset with me were just bullshit and he didn’t REALLY care) and after realizing what resulted from that, he didn’t care enough to apologize or even TRY to be there for me.  I HAVE to remember that.

On top of all of this, Yuengling had driven the four of us downtown and he – probably even more so than Gaston – is (usually) overprotective and gets upset with me whenever I walk home by myself.  So after I finished my double bourbon, I texted him saying that I was ready to go home and asked him when he was planning on leaving downtown.  Even after I explained to him what had happened (via text), he still just nonchalantly told me to find another way home.

Other than Gaston and company, I have very few friends left in town.  After graduation, everyone either moved back home to be with family or got jobs and relocated for that purpose.  I called Ursula to see if she could pick me up and she actually answered her phone for once.  However, she was downtown drinking, herself.  So that was a no-go.  Thankfully, I was able to get in touch with Flower-Child and she picked me up and drove me home, all the while consoling me about the whole evening’s turn of events.  She was my saving grace.

•     •     •     •     •

Even though I knew that I should just let it be, I approached Gaston in his apartment this afternoon to confront him about last night’s events.  Basically, he claimed that he couldn’t be held at fault because he “can’t read my mind to know what I want”.  To me, it’s not about that, but about honestly caring for a friend and wanting to be there for them when they need you (which I obviously did last night)…

At any rate, we then got onto the topic of our “relationship” or whatever it is that you want to call it.

I don’t understand how, if you really feel so strongly about me, you aren’t willing to work through this.

How can we work through this?  What is there to work on?  You put my life up on the internet and everyone’s read it.

Why can’t we be whatever we were and then if you decide you don’t want it, just end it then?

Because everything’s changed!

Then why are you having such a hard time making your decision?  That’s a sign.

I’M JUST NOT SURE YOU’RE WORTH MY TIME!

Wow…  Just not sure if I’m worth his time…  Who does he think he is? That statement made me furious and put me on the defensive.  This time, my tears were a mix of desolation combined with anger,

Then why have you been misleading me, giving me false hope?  What was going through your mind when you slept with me last week?!  What about the other night when we were watching Spinal Tap?!  The cuddling and the holding hands and the kissing – that was all you!

I can’t help that I’m human and I have weak moments.  I realized at the time that it was a mistake and that I probably shouldn’t have been doing it, but I did.

All I can say right now is:  wow, how can I have been so foolish and let this bastard get so deep under my skin and put me through such anguish?

Cinco De Mayo

(Originally written on May 5, 2009)

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I am currently sitting in my apartment playing Power Hour by myself with Kings of Leon songs.  Earlier this evening, I went out with Scarlet to Los Compadres for multiple margaritas.  Regrettably, Gaston was supposed to go with me.  Obviously, that didn’t happen.

Gaston just revealed to me on Sunday that he, too, knew the web address of my blog and had read it.  There has been nothing but disaster since then.  I just don’t understand, even now, why he waited over a week to tell me about it – especially since he was embarrassed by it and knew that our other friends had been reading it (even though I had no clue).  Apparently, whenever I’m not at Polly’s, they all call him “Gaston” now – including the employees.

I mean, I fully understand his being upset, but WHY WAIT TO TELL ME?!  Not just that, but he had been exceptionally caring and sweet to me during that period leading up to the disastrous revelation.  I mean, he was kissing me in public, holding my hand, dancing with me, cuddling, and sleeping with me – all things that he doesn’t normally do, let alone, instigate.  How can you do those things with someone when you’re fuming inside with anger at them?

Earlier today, he said that he would definitely consider giving me a second chance.  Then, later on (about three or four hours later), he blew up:  he had previously promised that he would go to Los Compadres with me since Teddy had been asking to meet him; he was waiting on Whitie to call him to take him to get a prescription filled (Whitie is legally blind, as many albinos are, and therefore can’t drive); there was an MMR Cinco de Mayo party going on starting at 3pm that I missed because I was waiting on the call from Gaston telling me that he was ready to go.  I knew another party that he was going to started at 8pm, so at 7pm I decided to come down and ask him about going to Los Compadres since he hadn’t answered any of my calls or texts; I was locked out and he told me he’d come let me in in a minute.  I waited for 15 minutes before going up to my apt to get my “break-in” card.  Even after that, he made me wait a few minutes outside of his locked bedroom door before opening it.

Turns out that he was just locked in his room playing a computer game the whole time.  That’s why I was kept waiting outside, being eaten alive by mosquitoes.

I then asked him if he still wanted to go to Los Compadres with me since it was already 7:30pm and I, with the information he had previously provided me with, knew that he had the birthday party to go to at 8pm.

As I said earlier, he was receptive to my request for a second chance.   At this point, however, he was pissed-off that at 7:30pm he hadn’t realized that he had let the day pass him by.  Thus, I assumed that his anger was due to these inconvenient circumstances (besides his obvious preexisting frustration with me, of course).  Then he realized that he didn’t have a new razor head and “had to” shave with a dull one.  I offered to go grab a new one from my apartment (which would have taken all of 30 seconds…), but he insisted on using his dull one.  Why do that?

So I sat there and we had regular conversation while he was shaving.  Then he checked his phone and finally got my texts about being eaten alive by mosquitoes.  He proceeds to scold me, “You shouldn’t have let them bite you.”  Okay…there was a swarm of probably 20 of them, and you can’t feel it while they’re biting you, only afterwards when you itch.  I had three large welts on my back (I was wearing a floor-length, strapless dress), two on my right arm, and one on my left shoulder.  He then EXPLODED and ensued yelling at me for scratching the bites, “You’re not supposed to scratch them!  They’re going to get infected!”

I know that you aren’t supposed to scratch them, but in all my life, I have been bitten by thousands of mosquitoes (they love me for some reason) and I have always scratched my bites and never once has one of them gotten infected.

In a fit of rage, he left the apartment and I followed him out.  I mentioned that the whole going-to-his-friend’s-birthday-party-tonight thing was probably “more important” than accompanying me to Los Compadres. Then he ERUPTED and started speed-walking to his car, not allowing me to even explain myself:  a couple of weeks ago, he was supposed to go to her dance recital, but he didn’t go because he was hung-over and we were just chilling on the sofa, watching TV.  Finally, I was able to get a word in and explain this, upon which he spat back, “Well I wonder what I was doing instead,” and then furiously drove off, causing my major crisis of the day.

•     •     •     •     •

Yuengling wants to be there for me, but he is the cause of this whole thing in the first place.  I mean, he told Gaston about the time he (Yuengling) kissed me when I was sloshed (after which, I told him that it wasn’t okay) without ever even telling me he felt that was necessary or that he was going to do it.  Then, Napoleon told Gaston that he had seen Yuengling leaving my apartment at 8am one morning.  Okay – there was one time that we accidentally had passed out on my sofa while watching An American Tail:  Fivel Goes West after an evening at Polly’s.  Yuengling and I both agree (conflicting Napoleon’s account) that we woke up by around 4:30am and he definitely left by 5am.

•     •     •     •     •

I am now just deciding to avoid Gaston at all costs.  I have essentially lost almost – no, all – of my friends due to this and have no one other than Angel and Scarlet to turn to for advice.

•     •     •     •     •

I honestly love him.  I know a million people can tell me that I don’t deserve the way he treats me; BUT I also know that a million people would never do to him the disservice that I did by posting our personal interactions publically over the internet.

I have royally fucked myself over.

Rampant Miscellany

(Originally written on April 23, 2009)

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Graduation from my Master’s program is less than a month away and Beast and Martyr keep asking me what I want.  First, allow me to share with you what happened with last year’s graduation present:

The deal has always been that I would get a new car upon graduating from college.  I drive a 2001 Nissan Altima that I got when I turned 16.  Yes, I turned 16 in 2001, but Beast, being his frugal self, got a great deal on it.  It had been some dude’s business car for a year – so, considering it was only one year old (since the 2001 models were released in 2000), it had a lot of miles on it…hence, the “deal”.  Okay, so anyways, when I graduated last May I didn’t need a new car since I was staying here for another year and my little Altima runs great. *  In lieu of this, I instead got $1,000 (which – hey – I’m not complaining, something’s better than nothing!) and Beast got a brand new motorcycle for himself.  I just felt a little jipped, that’s all.

*  Random memory/thought triggered:  I’ve never been one to name my car.  However, in high school my best friend (at the time) and I decided that we thought that my emergency break looked like a penis and that we needed to name it something appropriate.  We decided that Newt was a very fitting, penis-sounding name.  I still refer to it as Newt to this day!

Back to what I want for graduation…  It’s hard to ask for anything until I know what I’m going to be doing with my life.  Whenever I eventually find a job and depending on where it is, I might not need a car.  Martyr is insistent upon doing a mother-daughter massage.  Whatever, that’s cool.  Other than that, though, I think I want an iPod touch.  Chip and Dale are graduating this May too (from high school).  I asked Dale what he thought.  He liked the idea and thinks he’s going to ask for the same thing.  Good deal.

Speaking of job uncertainty, I was supposed to have heard from the HR chick at Bacchus on Monday.  Still no call.

In order to become better acquainted with the wine business processes and Bacchus’s products in general, Beast helped me set up a “shadowing”, if you will, for this Friday. I will be going around with one of the wine salesmen from his distributorship for the day.  I’m definitely looking forward to expanding my knowledge about my beloved wine and its industry, BUT this is going to require a full day’s work starting at 7 in the morning!  I mean, not wake up at 7am, but be there and ready-to-go at 7am.  That is going to be rough…

•     •     •     •     •

I FULLY COMPLETED the campus newspaper crossword yesterday ALL ON MY OWN!  Woo-hoo!  I knocked it out in record speed:  all of it during my one-hour-and-fifteen-minute class while also paying some attention and taking notes.  It was a mini-achievement for me.

•     •     •     •     •

I had a test a couple of weeks ago in a class that is utterly pointless.  Just yesterday, I picked it up from my campus box, only to realize that I scored a 75 on it.  Wow.  My “I just don’t give a shit about school anymore” attitude has drastic effects.  My GPA is a 4.0.  Guess I won’t be holding onto that for the remainder of my education…  And I still don’t care.

I’m over it.  The entire school deal in all.  I am just ready to be done with it and enter the real world.

•     •     •     •     •

Upon getting back to the apartment after class Tuesday, I paid a visit to Gaston.  He was in his boxers, just being lazy and lying in bed.  It turned me on a little, not gonna lie.  So I laid with him for a bit and tried to coax him into hooking up. Yes, I actually had to persuade him to have sex.  This went on for quite some time.  At one point he said it wouldn’t be as fun because he was already practically naked, besides the fact that he had errands that he needed to run.  Then, at some slightly later point, he ended up just putting on a pair of shorts.  Then he took a call from Bluto.  This was my window of opportunity.

I started kissing down his chest and stomach…he made no effort to stop me (he had laid back down with me on his bed).  I proceeded to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his shorts – he hadn’t even zipped them up!  I then slid off both his shorts and his boxers.  He still had made absolutely no effort to stop any of this, by the way.  And then I started going down on him (yes, while he was on the phone with Bluto).  It was quite entertaining, actually.  He couldn’t hardly get out a complete thought and Bluto asked him what was wrong (I have a huge grin on my face right now).

Needless to say, he gave in – yet he warned me it wouldn’t last very long since I had been “playing with [him]” – yes, those were his actual words – for 10 minutes already.  Then once I got the condom, he just went straight to it!  I was like, “What?  No warm up for me?”  And he brought up the errands he needed to run again.  Anyways, he lasted longer than I expected, given his warning.

Then, as soon as I got on top of him, my nose started bleeding.  He happened to have a roll of toilet paper right there because of his allergies.  So…he ended up cumming while I had a wad of toilet paper sticking up/out of my nose…  One of the weirdest, most awkward experiences of my life – and you know how I feel about awkward!

Looking back, he took up just about as much time bitching about his errands leading up to sex as it took for us from start to finish.  The deal was:  if he had sex with me, I would go with him to run his errands.  We ended up going to a drive-up ATM to get his account balance and then to the grocery store, where he just got Fudge Rounds, Andoille sausage (apparently he’s making Jumbalaya for me sometime soon), and Gatorade.  Seriously, that was it for his errands.

Stepping back a bit to when we were debating having sex:  Gaston revealed to me that he doesn’t like kissing – he doesn’t dislike/hate it, but he doesn’t like it.  WHAT?!  I don’t even know how to verbalize my feelings about that right now.

•     •     •     •     •

I had an appointment with Angel Tuesday for the first time in a while (my shrink suggested I see him since I was under so much stress and experiencing so much anxiety).  I told him about my worries about school/finding a job/not having health insurance once I graduate and he went on about those for a while.  I mean, yes, I’m worried (at least, somewhat) about all of those things, but I realize at this point that all I can do is take them as they come.

Then, we got onto the topic of my love/dating life.  Here we go…

I told him about the whole Gaston situation and why he won’t make our relationship official.  Angel then asked me a few questions that I never saw coming.

From what you’ve told me about Gaston, your relationship with him reminds me a lot of your relationship with X.  I keep hearing more and more negatives.  Why are you still dealing with Gaston? What do you actually like about him?

Wow.  This threw me for a loop.  My immediate response:  “He’s nice; he’s…” and I went on.

Okay.  “Nice”.  When I was in a sorority and going through rush, we thought of “nice” as an adjective we only used to describe a girl that was either just okay or had northing great/memorable/outstanding about her.

Even now I see myself trying to block this out of my mind.

Then Angel asked me,

Why are you doing this?  How does it make you feel that he won’t make the relationship ‘official’?

Honestly, I know what I want:  a relationship (obviously), and I would (I think, at least) really enjoy one with Gaston.  BUT – I realize that I may be moving somewhere new and far away once I find a job:  so I’m hesitant to start a relationship just in time to move far, far away.

Am I just making excuses?  Just to cope with Gaston’s unwillingness to commit?

Angel suggested that I sit down with Gaston and talk about it – which I would love to do, but Gaston does continually remind me of how he only thinks about the “here and now” and doesn’t look into the future.  I just feel like that’s all I would get out of that conversation.

I also talked with Angel about X.  I’ve been thinking lately about getting together to talk to him (X) about working on becoming friends.  My intentions here are mainly so that I can work on moving on – not just for Gaston, but for me and the rest of my potential love life.

One night a couple of weeks ago or so, I was upset (and probably slightly drunk…yea, chances are pretty high) and going to bed.  All the things I wanted to say to X were flooding my mind.  In order to get them out of my mind and to ensure that I would remember them, I got out of bed and wrote X a letter addressing my feelings and concerns:

X –

To be perfectly honest, I feel insulted that the first thing you always ask me about it my cats.  I mean, even if you didn’t know me (which you kinda don’t anymore), you would at least ask me about the whole job thing.

You and what’s-her-face can get over the whole “me dating again” thing.  Because, just like I told you a while ago, it may be YEARS before I even date again – IF I ever even do.  You can have full confidence in the fact that I am over you; HOWEVER, I am not over what you did to me, and I may never be.

Please, at least give me the opportunity to be your friend – both of your friends.  That is the only way I can foresee myself getting on with my life.

BUT – if you prefer to remain strangers, please let me know.

I mean, I am jobless and have no idea how I can possibly get out of this town and out of your hair.  We can’t ignore this forever.

Elliott

Now, I know it comes across really bitchily, but I think I phrased it well.  I told Angel that I was thinking about meeting with X in person and handing him the letter so that I wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting to say anything and I would be there to let him know that I honestly didn’t mean it in a rude way, that I just didn’t know how to better phrase it.

Angel convinced me that it would make X defensive and that I shouldn’t hand him the letter, even if I’m right there.  Instead, he suggested that when I meet with X I bring the letter with me for reminder purposes, but that I should just talk through it with him in a less offensive manner.  This made sense – I think I was under the impression that it would be easier to do it the way I had originally planned.

•     •     •     •     •

Talk about timing, I ended up setting up a meeting with X later that afternoon for that very evening (still Tuesday) – dinner and drinks.

Surprisingly, “How are your cats?” wasn’t his first question for me, it was probably his sixth or so.  I jested,

I’m actually surprised that my cats weren’t the first thing you asked me about.

He smiled and did one of those mini-laughs.

Really?  I guess since I’ve gotten my dog it’s just something that I talk about more.

Okay, I’ll take that.

I then brought up the whole friend thing and, surprisingly, he told me that his girlfriend had told him that she would like to meet me as well.  Wow.  I had thought that she hated my guts.

All in all, the meeting was a success and we’ll just have to wait and see how things move along.

•     •     •     •     •

Once I got back from meeting with X, I joined Napoleon and Gaston for the end of American Idol.  The plan was to go out.  They both needed to shower and then Gaston asked me if I would iron his khakis and a button-down shirt for him.  Napoleon then barked out, “Yea, woman, aren’t you supposed to be domesticated?”  Whatever, it’s not like I was doing anything else wile they were showering.  BUT THEN – Gaston didn’t even end up wearing the shirt – and that’s what was such a pain in the ass to iron!  Oh well, I quickly got over it.

Then Rowdy came over and we all played Name-That-Song-and-Artist-Power-Hour.  We continued doing this while waiting on Snoopy.  Gaston had told him to come over and we would leave for downtown at 11pm.  Turns out, Snoopy thought he meant “come over” at 11pm.  Then, he was late even for that time because he decided to run through Taco Bell on his way over.  Then, we had to wait for him to eat once he got there!  Dear god, it ended up turning into Power-Two-and-a-Half-Hours!

Needless to say, I had gotten pretty drunk, so once we got to Polly’s I just drank water.

It’s Always Something

(Originally written on April 19, 2009)

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I realize that my posts have been becoming fewer and farther-between lately.  This is because graduation is approaching and my professors and project team members just continue to regurgitate more and more of a workload into my lap.  Especially my client project.  But I won’t get into that, it’s incredibly uninteresting and, to be perfectly honest, I’m tired from having worked on it like a madwoman over the past few days.  Anyways, I’ve finished my schoolwork for the day, so we’re moving on.

As far as the job front is going, the interview process with Bacchus isn’t moving as quickly as I had hoped it would.  I continue expecting phone interviews, and the same chick keeps calling me, asking the same questions, and telling me that she’ll call me back for another interview…As frustrating as this cycle is, there is nothing to be done.  I mean, it’s the best lead I have right now in terms of employment.  Oh well.

Thursday afternoon/evening/night, I went to Polly’s with Yuengling and Sly, a friend who looks just like Jack Black and bartends at Polly’s a bit; I probably arrived downtown at around 6pm or 7pm.  It was a pretty chill night and I wasn’t drinking that heavily because I had gotten severe sunburn out at the apartment “pool” (the quotes are because it’s not much bigger than the size of a puddle) with Napoleon earlier that afternoon.

Gaston and Napoleon had an engagement party to attend and then were going to come downtown.  At around 11pm, I was just tired and ready to go home.  However, Yuengling said he wasn’t comfortable driving yet and he needed to walk home one of our sloshed buddies (whose birthday was that night).  When he got back from this endeavor, he still wasn’t ready to drive – which was fine.  I normally would have had no problem waiting, but my sleepiness was more severe than I have ever experienced and I was trying to convince him that I would be fine walking home.

Right around 11:30pm or so, Gaston, Napoleon, and Leto all walked into Polly’s.  Leto and Napoleon greeted me; however, Gaston proceeded straight past me and toward the bar.  At this point I had already decided I was going home, so that didn’t even bother me like it usually would have.  Yuengling then went back to chat, I presume, and I saw this as my window to escape, so I left and texted him once I made it home safely.

I spent an unnecessarily drawn-out amount of time on Friday attending doctor appointments and getting prescriptions filled and finally made it back to the apartment around 3pm.  Napoleon was hanging out on their deck and I asked him what he and Gaston were up to for the evening.  “Well, Gaston is headed home, but I don’t know what I’m doing.”

No freakin’ way.  This was the weekend of that frat party that Gaston asked me to be his date to a month ago.  I couldn’t believe he was about to stand me up again!

Last semester, Gaston invited me to their semiformal.  Turns out, he was drunk and didn’t remember asking me.  I gave him an out, saying it was no big deal if he didn’t want to go, but he insisted that we were going.  Two days before the semiformal, he disappeared and absolutely no one knew where he was (his phone was off).  The afternoon of the event, he sent me a text that he wasn’t going to be able to make it.  I mean, I know he hates confrontation, but good god!

Anyways, I had no reason to suspect otherwise this time because Napoleon’s information was the first I had heard of it.  Thus, I went back into Gaston’s room to receive confirmation.  He was playing all chill and everything, whatever, and then I asked if I could kiss him before I went up to my apartment to grab a bite to eat.

No.

Why not?  Are you going back on the deal we made the other day?

No, you just made a really stupid, irresponsible decision last night.

This conversation played out for quite some time, only to arrive at him telling me that I can do whatever I want to do and he wasn’t mad at me.

Well you always seem to have some excuse not to kiss me lately.  Do you not like kissing me?

You know the answer to that.  I like kissing you.

I just don’t understand, if you aren’t mad at me, why you’re punishing me.

I’m not punishing you.

Then why won’t you kiss me?

I’ve just had a bad day.

And, of course, he wouldn’t tell me what made his day bad.  He just insisted that he would be back Saturday by 6pm and that he would then take me to the party or whatever.

Then, as he was leaving he pulled me in for a hug and held me tighter for longer than usual, kissing my cheek.  When he eventually pulled away, he gave me a little peck on the lips (which is all I wanted in the first place) and reassured me that he would call when he headed back up.

Vino + Sex = Success!

(Originally written on April 15, 2009)

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Yesterday I had a brief “interview” with the VP of sales of the winery in Cali (we will from here-on-out call it Bacchus, in honor of the Greek god of wine).  After speaking with him last week, I was left with the impression that he wanted to just see where I may best fit in with the company.  By the way, this dude was Beast’s boss for five years.

Monday was Beast’s and Martyr’s 24^th wedding anniversary.  I had called each of them at some point during the day to give my best wishes as well as ask a few questions about taxes (this year was my first time filing) and my interview/meeting.  Neither of them answered my calls throughout the course of the entire day and didn’t call me back.  Until…they were at a wine bar down the street from my apartment and asked me to join them for a drink, so I went.

So…Beast gave Martyr a fox-fur coat for their anniversary.  I’m not sure exactly how much it will be put to use in the southeast, but that’s cool.

Anyways, at this conjuncture the Bacchus interview came into conversation.  I told Beast that I was under the impression that the meeting was going to be less like a standard interview and more the VP informing me about the company and finding out where I may best fit in (as mentioned earlier).  He fired back with, “You can’t assume anything!  You better go in there prepared, he’s going to ask you [A, B, C, …],” blah, blah, blah.

After this lecture-conversation, I went back home and better prepared myself with Mintel reports for Bacchus as well as the wine industry as a whole.  I also crammed in some additional research on the Bacchus brands and products – just to be sure that I cover all of my bases.

As it turns out, I drove an hour (one way) just for what turned out to be a 30-minute get-to-know-you session.  Thus, only one-fifth of my two-and-a-half hour venture was actually spent “interviewing”.  However futile this may have been, it was a success nonetheless.  And I had also gotten a lot of my work done earlier in the day (which, little did I know, ended up being useless after my client project meeting that took place earlier today).

This called for celebration!

During my drive home, I noticed that Gaston had twittered that he was bored and looking for something to do.  So I called him, informed him that I was on my way home from a successful “interview”, and asked if he would accompany me to Polly’s for a celebratory drink or two (to which he agreed to join me).

Once I finally got back to the apartment (looking all spiffy in my three piece suit), I walked into Gaston’s apartment about to ask if he was ready to go…and there’s Slutty McSlutterson on the sofa.  Great.  It took seemingly forever for her to leave, but eventually we made it to Polly’s while Napoleon walked there to meet us in order to get in his exercise for the day.  Gaston pretty much ignored me once we got there, what a surprise, everything was as usual.

Okay, I hope that the person who invented pantyhose is serving eternal damnation in Hell.  Before leaving to my interview yesterday morning, a miniscule snag on one of my fingernails caused a run in my pantyhose at my ankle.  Thankfully, I had another pair – but not for long!  The second pair met their demise by means of my barstool.  This is always annoying, let alone with the additions of the struggle of getting them on and their constant discomfort.

Back to what I was saying, we ended up leaving Polly’s by 8pm so that Napoleon could get back to catch American Idol.  I made pasta for dinner and Gaston bitched that I never cooked for him, yet he chose not to eat any of it…  Later, Whitey came over and he, Gaston, and I played drinking games:  two rounds of Fuck the Dealer and one game of Circle of Death.

After all of this, I was pretty tired and ready for bed, wary of the long day that lay ahead of me.  Gaston and Whitey, on the other hand, wanted to go out and were trying to convince me to join them.  Gaston pleaded with me:

Just one hour.  Please?  I’ll do anything.

If I go out for just one hour, you have to stop this whole not-kissing thing.

Okay.

And we had ourselves a deal!

So after one hour we headed back home and Gaston and I had amazing, carnal sex.  I honestly don’t know how else to possibly better describe it, but it was incredible.  It had come out during Circle of Death:  being the only girl playing, I pulled out “Never have I ever gone down on a girl.”  Gaston lowered his finger.  This wouldn’t be such a surprise if he had ever done so to me, but he never has.  I questioned him and he assured me that, yes indeed, he has (although, not to me, of course).  I just assumed he was one of those guys that never did that because it grossed him out, and it never really bothered me that much because it has never really done it for me, if you will.  So last night, that was a first.  He insisted on doing it to disprove my assumption, and he did a (surprisingly) damn good job.

AND THEN we cuddled all night – at least, every time that I woke up we were cuddling.  He never does that.  When it was time for me to get up and get ready for class, he held me tighter, telling me, “Nope, you’re all mine.”

Maybe things between us are starting to get back to the way they were…

Hopeless Uncertainty

(Originally written on April 13, 2009)

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With all of the stress from school, Gaston, and being a jobless Master’s student with no experience that will graduate in less than a month, I occasionally break down and have mini-freak-outs.  The last time was probably two weeks ago or so.  I called Martyr, crying, and she asked if I would like to receive a trip to visit Samantha, since I don’t exactly have the money to pay for it myself.  This was quite a comforting idea that brought the mini-freak-out to an end and got me excited about seeing Samantha for the first time in about a year.

I received a call from my darling Samantha this weekend only to find out that her nursing school in Maine starts May 11^th as opposed to starting in August (she had just found this out herself).  I graduate on May 9^th.  Definitely not enough time to see her once I graduate.  This was a disappointing bummer, especially when taking into account the following topic.

My most promising job lead right now is with a winery in northern California.  I love wine and I think I would really enjoy the job and the atmosphere.  However, I know ABSOLUTELY NO ONE out there.  My immediate family and Martyr’s family are all in the southeast and Beast’s family all live in Ohio.  I am really excited about the opportunity, but I am scared out of my mind of going so far away – that’s a difference of three time zones!

I would also probably move out there (this is all assuming I get a job offer, of course) and start working at the beginning of June.  My 23^rd birthday is on June 12^th, so I would immediately be spending my birthday somewhere I will only have lived one-and-a-half weeks and know no one.  Okay, I would have acquaintances from work by that point – but still!

In case you haven’t noticed, I overanalyze a lot and always think about how present decisions will affect my future.  This also causes me to (probably unnecessarily) worry a lot.

•     •     •     •     •

Yesterday (Easter), Gaston was supposed to have gone to the Master’s tournament after church with his grandmother (church with his grandmother, not the Master’s), but that ended up not being the case for whatever reason.  He got back in town around 5pm and called me when he pulled into the apartment parking lot, telling me that he “brought back a present for [me] from [south Georgia].”

Holy shit.  He openly avows (and always has) that he doesn’t do stuff like Valentine’s Day specialties/gifts/whatever or anniversary crap either.  No cards, candy, flowers, etc. – none of that romantic stuff.  For example, I bought him a rare hat for Christmas this year, receiving nothing in return.  I mean, he told me upfront about how he is, I guess I wasn’t sure if that applied to Christmas too.  Whatever.

So anyways, I came out of my apartment and down to his car (which was parked right outside of his apartment and where he was unloading his stuff).  He pulled out a small stem of three Azaleas and tucked it behind my ear, telling me,

All the women in my family wear Azaleas behind their ears on Easter – even my grandmother.  I love Azaleas; they’re my favorite flower.  My mom and sister brought these back from Augusta.

I practically melted.  That was so sweet and out of character for him.

Still won’t kiss me, though.

•     •     •     •     •

This morning, upon entering the classroom, I started feeling slightly sick.  I told Scarlet that if I suddenly ran out of class it would be because I was feeling funny.  Literally 30-45 seconds later, my nose starts bleeding.  FML.

True story.

Ha ha!  In case you aren’t familiar with that format, you need to check out the website www.fmylife.com.  I love indulging in its gloriousness!

To the Point

(Originally written on April 10, 2009)

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Yuengling thinks that everything between Gaston and me is done after the whole April Fool’s thing.  He’s torn between thinking it’s awful and funny.  I wish he had spoken up on the former of those two feelings when the idea was originally brought up at Los Compadres because it is one of my biggest regrets.  Actually, my only regret.  I don’t believe in wasting time worrying about what has been done because there’s nothing that you can do to change it.

Downtown at Polly’s Tuesday after the movie, Gaston called me Slutty McSlutterson and asked me if I had ever met Dirty Steve for like the 100^th time (realistically somewhere around the 7^th).  Two insults rolled up into one – how efficient of him!  I don’t feel the need to explain why I was pissed about him calling me Slutty McSlutterson (he wasn’t even drinking –  ANYTHING).  However, Gaston took me home with him to south Georgia back in January.  During this visit, I freakin’ met Dirty Steve and we hung out with him all night.  He asks me this question on a regular basis (often sober) and by now I just feel that he should remember.

I went to see my friends’ band play on Wednesday with Yuengling (the same band I saw when I ran into X).  They played really well and I really enjoy their music and lyrics.  The one that I found most relevant to my life:  “I can’t help but worry about it.”  I just can’t.  About anything, really.

Yesterday afternoon/last night Gaston, Rowdy, Leto (Belle’s roommate) and I sat outside on Gaston’s porch drinking Mint Julips and watching the Master’s tournament.  We ended up grilling out and later on the beer pong table came out.  By this point, Napoleon had returned from work.   Gaston and Rowdy were taking on Whitie (Gaston’s albino friend) and me.  Game 1:  Whitie and I win.  Game 2:  it was time to break out the distractions – Gaston can never help but be fully affected by them.  My distractions, although not modest I suppose, consist of me shaking my butt or putting my thumb on the top of my jeans and pulling them down so you can see that hipbone line.

Out of nowhere, Napoleon announces (he’s still off the sauce for Lent), “I’ve been meaning to tell you – you look like a prostitute.”  Call me sensitive, but this really pissed me off – enough so that it was to the point where I sank Whitie’s and my remaining two cups on my next two throws with ease.  Immediately afterward, I retired to my apartment for the rest of the evening (where, not too much later, my nose started bleeding because my anger caused a sever spike in my blood pressure).  You can try to say that he was just kidding, but as many asshole lines as he has given me, I know better than to believe that.  The mere fact that he shouted it in front of everyone was embarrassing, degrading, and flat-out inappropriate.

Scarlet raised the questions, “How can you call him a friend?  Why do you still hang out with him?”  Those are two damn good questions.  I think it’s because he was the one that helped me after I had been raped.  He called the police for me since I could hardly be understood through my tears, and he was with me while the cops interviewed me and searched my apartment in the wee hours of the night.  That is a debt that I feel I can never repay and that I will always be eternally grateful for.  I mean, we had just been hanging out for about a month by that time and we barely even knew each other.  BUT that is also why this particular comment struck so deep – it made me feel as though he probably thinks I was just asking to be raped.  I’m sure that’s not the case, but that’s how I feel.

I FINALLY had sex today!  Woo-hoo!  And the duration was fantastic and…ahh.  It was just phenomenal.  However, I’m not quite sure what to think because Gaston still won’t let me kiss him – not even during sex.  I just don’t know what to think about that.  I understand that I ruined his trust in me, but it just seems so emotionless (which he can be a lot of the time, but this is different).  I don’t think I could do that again because the only other time (other than the rape) that I’ve had sex without kissing was post-breakup sex with X – which isn’t a very positive association.

We then spent, like, three more hours together watching the Master’s while he wanted to (and I let it happen) cuddle with me – holding my hands, kissing my shoulders, and such.  I asked him if he would ever let me kiss him again and he replied, “Probably.”  With Gaston it is more than just sex, but I just don’t think that our “not-relationship” can continue if the kissing aspect remains out.

“I can’t help but worry about it.”