The Search Is FINALLY Over!

(Originally written on July 27, 2009)

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I GOT THE B&B JOB!!!!!

I received this glorious news via a phone call at around 10 this morning.

I can’t believe it:  I actually got a job.  I was really starting to lose hope in the possibility that I would find one, especially in this economy.  For the past two-and-a-half months, I have spent HOURS EVERY DAY scouring the internet for job postings and applying to approximately seven of them on average each day.  Maybe 10 companies contacted me back throughout that entire time – and I was always rejected every time either because my Master’s degree made me overqualified or because I didn’t have enough job experience.  I was truly beginning to think that my only option was that I was going to have to ask Beast for a job at his distributorship.

Be that as it may, I immediately burst into tears of joyous relief following that phone call.  After composing myself, the first person I called was Beast; I couldn’t wait for him to know that I wasn’t just this overrated failure after all.  However, he was unreachable because he was in-flight on his way home from wherever it is that he was this time, which, I believe, was out-of-the-country (he travels a lot for work, both nationally and internationally).  So, unsurprisingly, the next person I called was Martyr.  And she didn’t answer either!  Ahh – all I wanted to do was share my wonderful news with someone else!  Mario was working, so I texted him, and then I called Scarlet.  Someone FINALLY picked up! That conversation went as can be expected and then Martyr called me back.

Martyr was, of course, incredibly enthusiastic (she went on and on about how god “blessed” me with this job and how she’d been praying and praying that I would get this particular job) and we decided to go to Polly’s for celebratory wine and lunch.  Punky was the day bartender/server.  Punky currently lives with Leto in the apartment below mine since Belle moved out.  She’s really cool; I like her a lot.  Anyways, after Martyr and I had finished eating, Punky insisted on buying me a congratulatory dessert.  That was really nice of her to do and something I wasn’t expecting – so I gratefully accepted it and made her indulge in a bite or two with me!

Also while we were at Polly’s, Beast got around to calling me back and I was able to share my good news with him.  After finishing our drinks (I had a few more than Martyr, who was driving), Martyr dropped me back off at my apartment and we set up plans to send Chip and Dale to pick me up later this evening and bring me to the house for dinner.

Then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, B&B called me back at around 3 this afternoon to discuss with me the exact details of my offer.  In our previous discussions, they had left me with the expectation of a salary somewhere in the ballpark of $75,000.  That was shocking enough.  But this, I was in no way prepared for:  the HR woman on the phone told me that I will be receiving an annual salary of $85,000 PLUS 10% bonuses PLUS benefits:  health, vision, and dental insurance AND a relocation package.

Yea.

This news literally left me in shock – my whole body shaking in utter, well, shock.  Throughout the entire delivery of this information, I pretty much just sat there in silence with my jaw gaping wide open.  At the end of the (one-way) conversation after informing me of all this, the HR woman then said, “I know that’s a little more than we had discussed…”

Yea, no kidding!

Communication Breakdown

(Originally written on July 25, 2009)

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Bluto is here…that’s odd.  I can’t believe that he made the five-hour drive down here just to help Gaston move.

They were all here yesterday/last night:  Bluto, Gaston, Rowdy, Napoleon, Leto.  I was trapped inside of my apartment all day and night in order to avoid running into them, but that didn’t stop me from periodically peering out at them through my blinds (childish, I know).  Then, they had a little “party” at Leto’s apartment last night; her living room is right below mine.  It went on for hours and they were being SOOO loud, I couldn’t help but hear them yukking it up down there.  Especially because I had the volume on my TV turned down low and I made a conscious effort to make as minimal noise as possible – I just prefer that they not know I was there and I wanted to be invisible to them, not even an afterthought in the backs of their minds.  Oh well, I’m glad to see to see them leave.

•     •     •     •     •

Gaston sent me a text that simply read, “Hey”, at 12:30 this afternoon as he was in the process of moving out.  That’s the first time there has been any communication between us at all since June 3^rd.  I hope he’s not expecting for me to respond.  And even if he is, he could have at least tried a little harder than just, “Hey”…

A Coincidental Run-In

(Originally written on July 19, 2009)

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I ran into Leto this afternoon on my way to the grocery store while she was moving shit out of her apartment, so I cordially paused for a moment to chat with her.  After swapping hellos, she initiated the conversation by asking me,

So I guess the boys are moving out?

I have no idea.  I haven’t spoken to Gaston in two months or so.

Oh I know that.  But have you spoken to Napoleon?

So she and Gaston have obviously been talking about me…  For Gaston to have brought that up to her, it really must be a big deal to him.  And that makes me feel even more fantastic about that whole situation.  He would only say that defensively, like if she asked about me and that’s how he responded because he really does still care about me, yet feels he has to put up his usual “strong”, manly, and uncaring façade.  God, losing him has really been hard on me…

Then Leto proceeded to brag to me about her new job and all of its perks, assuring me that my luck would come around.  Yea, right.

•     •     •     •     •

This evening, Los Compadres held a disastrous employee meeting.  It started 30 minutes late and ran on for an hour-and-a-half.  And absolutely nothing was accomplished by it.  Well, I did get to look at the schedule for this week and find out that they forgot to put me on it for the second week in a row.  And this week I’m not going to ask them to fix me in for a couple shifts.  I’m pretty set on quitting at this point.  I mean, I’ve been working there for one month now and still haven’t received a paycheck – and I’ve been discussing it with the manager twice every time I come in:  once at the beginning of my shift and once toward the end of it.  I can’t afford to not work, but I really can’t afford to work and not get paid for it.

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?

The Beginning of the Blog Disaster

(Originally written on April 30, 2009)

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Every semester, the Friday that would normally be the last day of classes is set aside as “Reading Day”, a day during which all classes are cancelled with the intention that students hole themselves up in the library or SLC (which stands for Student Learning Center for those of you who are not familiar with this abbreviation) to study for the final exams that lie ahead of them.  Naturally, this makes Thursday the last day of classes – however, the class schedule on this Thursday is as it would be if it were a Monday.  I believe this is done because classes are most often cancelled on Mondays in lieu of holidays (e.g., Labor Day, MLK, Jr. Day, Memorial Day, etc…).

Anyways, yesterday’s (Wednesday) class schedule was as usual, so, basically, we had our MW (abbreviation for Monday/Wednesday) classes three out of the four days this week.  Today I turned in two final projects:  one for each of the classes I have on MW (which are both taught by the same prof).  He’s a pretty smart guy in figuring that we were all going to procrastinate on both of our projects, even though we had the entire semester to do them.  So, instead of having regular class yesterday, he made it optional to come to the classroom during normal class hours to ask any questions about our projects that we may have still had remaining.

Scarlet and I decided to go to our first class promptly at 9:30am so that we could go ahead and get our questions asked early and then resume our analysis and report writing (the questions we had were important to get answered before proceeding so not to waste time and effort doing work that was incorrect).  By 10am or so, we had gotten all of those questions addressed.  Scarlet went home, but I instead decided to go to Polly’s and resume working on my projects so that I could still conveniently go back to campus for the second class period later – just in case I had any other vital questions arise.

By around noon, I ended up having gotten everything done except the proofreading of the write-ups, which I decided I was just going to get up early and do this morning.  Just about five minutes after making this decision, Sly ended up coming in early for his bartending shift and he joined me in drinking the afternoon away.  Working behind the bar at this point were Kip, Shooter, and Cranberry (Shooter’s smiley-er older brother).

I’ve met Cranberry a handful of times, but I was drunk every time, so I couldn’t remember his name.  Thus, I decided to “re-introduce” myself and everything was all “oh, it’s nice to officially re-meet you” and whatnot.  HOWEVER, about a half-hour later Cranberry approached me with the following question:

Oooh – are you the girl with the blog?

I mean, a lot of people have blogs these days…that’s a kinda odd question to ask someone you just “met”.  With a skeptic look on my face I replied,

Yea…I have a blog…

You’re the one who uses Disney names for people, right?

Once more, I was taken aback.  How could this guy – that I don’t really even know – know that about me?  Again, I skeptically replied,

Yea…

Oh, that’s some juicy stuff!

I was MORTIFIED.  I was completely comfortable posting such intimate details of my life on the internet for all to see because everything was anonymous.  But now that comfort of being protected under a blanket of secrecy was all gone.  My mind was swarming with questions.  How does he know about my blog?  If he knows, who all else knows?  OH MY GOD…DOES GASTON KNOW?

I sat there in shock for a couple of minutes with all of this flowing through my mind.  I mean, this could potentially change the nature of a majority of my friendships.  Not just that, but people I don’t even know (but I know who they are and visa-versa) may have unfavorable impressions of me and think they know me and who I am (I mean, this is obviously me, but not the “me” that I openly project to the general public).  Who knows how far the reverberations from this can extend?

Meanwhile, Sly kept pleading, “Juicy stuff?!  I want to read this blog!  I mean, Cranberry’s read it – and you had to ask me what his name was earlier!”

There was only one person (other than Scarlet, who doesn’t hang out with the Polly’s crowd anyway) who knew about my blog’s exact web address:  Yuengling.  I mean, everyone knows that I have a blog, but they also know that I want to keep it anonymous.  Here’s how he found out:  one afternoon at Polly’s, probably between my classes on a Monday or Wednesday, Yuengling stumbled upon me posting an entry and asked me what I was doing.  He caught me off-guard (I had probably consumed a few beers and was off my A-game) and I told him it was my blog – BUT I made him swear to secrecy, never to tell anyone.  He was the only possible leak.

At the moment, the only way to find out if Yuengling was, in fact, the culprit was to ask Cranberry.

How do you know about my blog?

Slim was showing it to me just the other night.

How the hell does Slim know (Slim works in the kitchen at Polly’s, by the way)?  And how long ago was the web address of my blog released to the public?  …Cranberry said “the other night”…  And if Slim casually showed my blog to Cranberry, who all else did he inform?

I asked the other bartenders if they knew.

• Kip:  yes.
• Shooter:  yes.
• Voodoo:  yes.

I immediately called and texted Yuengling.  A couple of times, actually.  No response.

Once I got back from Polly’s, I dropped my stuff off in my apartment, deleted my blog from the internet, and went downstairs to see what the neighbors were up to.  Gaston, Napoleon, and Leto were all chilling in Gaston’s and Napoleon’s apartment watching TV.  After sitting down next to Gaston, I announced, “Oh my god, everyone at Polly’s knows about my blog and has read it.  Yuengling must have told them – he’s the only one who knew.  But oh well, I’ve taken it down anyways.”  Not a word in response from either of the three of them.  I just figured this was because they were deeply absorbed into whatever it was that they were watching on TV.

When the show ended, Gaston and Leto headed for downtown and I headed up to bed.  Yuengling still hadn’t called or texted me back. To me, this silence was an immediate admission of guilt.  All afternoon and night I awaited his explanation and got nothing.

…until this afternoon.  I received an e-mail from Yuengling (not sure how he found my e-mail address…).  An e-mail.  In it, he basically put all the blame on me and said that other people also knew about my blog without him telling them.  Okay…and how is that possible, exactly – given that it contained nothing identifiable as either myself or any of the others that I wrote about? Anyways, he claimed that Slim was the only person he told and that it happened accidentally:  Yuengling had been looking at my blog on his phone’s internet browser; Slim asked to borrow said phone;  Yuengling handed it over; Slim asked what was up on the browser; Yuengling told him.  This, of course, happened at Polly’s (Yuengling basically lives there, he’s there every day and night, literally) and Yuengling claimed it was a drunk slip-up and that he didn’t even remember it happened until I asked about it.  Okay, we all make stupid drunken mistakes.  Whatever.  I just wish he could have told me right after it happened.

Later on this afternoon, I ran into Leto on my way to our apartment “pool” (pool in quotes because it’s so small it can easily be confused with a puddle).  We talked for a few minutes and I expressed my concern about my blog’s discovery.  Then she tells me that she has known about my blog for about a week.  Why didn’t she say something last night when I mentioned it? The next question out of my mouth:  “Does Gaston know about it?”  She says he doesn’t.  phew! Then, oddly enough, she tells me,

Don’t take this the wrong way, but you actually write really well.  I was surprised.

I mean, I’ll take a compliment, but said this in a really authoritative way, with an air of “I’m smarter than you”.  Let’s see here, I do have a Bachelor’s degree and am about to have my Master’s – she doesn’t even have a Bachelor’s degree!  What would make her think…ahh whatever. Well at least someone said something that wasn’t directed toward the “juicy” nature of the content.

I have a feeling that, even though I’ve taken care of removing my blog from the internet, I haven’t seen the end of the reverberations from this.  All I can do now is wait and see…

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.

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.”