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.

My Afflictions

(Originally written on June 21, 2009)

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Why can’t I just get over Gaston? I mean, as brilliantly intelligent as he is, he’s going to spend the rest of his life in his small hometown in south Georgia (population 4,500) with his (entire) family because that’s how he is.  He’s not even comfortable with the idea of leaving the state of Georgia to get a job – even if it’s only temporary in lieu of the current economic circumstances.  If he’s not even willing to do that for himself, then what could he possibly be willing to do for anyone else that he loves?  Nothing, obviously.  And, I mean, I am willing to move – I’d like to experience life outside the state of Georgia before I say, “No, I want to spend the rest of my life here.”  I mean, you just don’t know until you try.  And you know what?  If you try it and you don’t like it, then you can always have the comfort of knowing that it’s only temporary until you find something better.  And why can’t I just be done with him?

And why can’t I find a job? Not only do I have two illustrious degrees, but I finished in the top of my class in both undergraduate and graduate school.  It’s just discouraging.

And it’s my family too – why can’t I stand out more to Beast than either of the three of my siblings? Not that that’s what I truly want, just a little recognition really, but Beast constantly gives me the hardest time about how I don’t have a job right now, I’m just hostessing at Los Compadres (I need to do something to be getting money and today was my first day).  Yet Ursula is waiting tables (not at Los Compadres, somewhere else) and this is her first job since she started college, the first time she’s even worked in three years (she just finished her sophomore year, but she didn’t work during her senior year of high school either).  Dale just got a job at a fast-food restaurant and he starts tomorrow, but Chip still doesn’t have a job.  And the only jobs that Chip and Dale have ever had were last summer, just for the summer.  Why doesn’t Beast understand that these circumstances are not my fault and are out of my control?  He’s a businessman; he knows that the economy blows right now. I’ve worked my butt off to do well in school and, not only have I always been employed since the age of 16 (with the exception of the past month-and-a-half), but Beast has not paid a single penny for my tuition – neither undergraduate nor graduate.  That’s not the case for Ursula; he’s paying her tuition in full and her living expenses and giving her “leisure money” every month.  I mean, it was never an option for me, it was just understood that I had to have a job.

And, out of the four of us (Ursula, Chip, Dale, and me), I’m probably the only one who will get a graduate degree.  And he didn’t even have to pay for any of it!  Yet Beast makes it out like it’s nothing, that it was simply expected of me.  How can you have different expectations and different standards for your different children? I guess I understand it to some degree – but to the point where he told me that he was going to completely cut me off if I didn’t accept an offer for a particular job that I interviewed for (for which I didn’t end up receiving an offer anyways)…that’s just not right.  He wouldn’t do that to any of the rest of us.  He wouldn’t do that to Ursula or Chip or Dale.

Oh Dear

(Originally written on June 16, 2009)

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I don’t even know where to begin with everything that has happened today, but I’m gonna give it my best shot.

I have been watching over Ursula, Chip, and Dale and holding the fort down at Beast’s and Martyr’s house since Sunday because Beast and Martyr are in Arkansas for Beast’s cancer treatment (Beast has a very rare cancer:  multiple myeloma, and that’s where the specialist is) and Martyr’s dad (my grampa) couldn’t make it (he normally steps in to do this kind of stuff in situations such as this).  So, for starters, I’m a little out of my element since I’ve been living out of a suitcase and not getting to sleep in my own bed.  Also, Peabody and Lilly are going nuts being around Martyr’s three cats – they are not happy about it.  Anyways, before they left, Martyr told me that no friends were allowed to spend the night while she and Beast were away.  Not too much to ask, right?  Wrong!  You see, I’m the “cool sister”, if you will, that normally hooks Chip and Dale up with booze when they need it (they’re only 18) – the way I see it, if they don’t get it from me, they’re just going to go and get it from someone else (and Ursula refuses to help them out, even though I did it for her until she turned 21, too…).  So Chip and Dale have been bugging me about that.  And, oh yea, Ursula loves to be a tattletale and get the three of us in trouble; she has a history of being untrustworthy and guilesome.  So I’m torn between maintaining my “cool sis” rep and truly earning Beast’s and Martyr’s trust (while also avoiding having to worry about Ursula’s big mouth).

So now that I’ve gotten that important bit of background laid out, let’s take a step back to what happened last night.  Mario’s parents recently (like, within the past couple of days or so) abruptly decided to get a divorce…while they were on the third day of a two-week long (originally intended, that is) romantic beach getaway together.  In the heat of the argument, Mario’s dad took the car, leaving his mom in Florida by herself with no way of getting back (apparently, she commanded him to do so, making sure to be completely moved out of their house before her return), and came back to town alone.  So…Mario and his family (minus his mom, of course) have been drinking quite heavily over the past couple of days since his dad’s return.  Well, last night was no exception.  I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to speak with Mario in person about his parents’ situation and wanted to be there for him, and he invited Chip, Dale, their bandmates, and me to join him and his family in drowning their sorrows.  I figured, hey, Martyr never said anything about spending or not spending the night out…so we took Mario up on his offer.

Some more relevant background information real quick:  you see, over the course of the past month or so, I’ve been getting these signs from Mario that indicate that he likes me as more than just a friend (but I don’t see him that way).  For example, whenever we’re sitting next to each other, like, on a sofa watching TV or whatever, he will rest his hand on my knee or airdrum on my knee (he’s the drummer in his band), and he once texted me, “I had the biggest crush on you in high school.”  I mean, what am I supposed to say to that?

Well, yesterday afternoon, Mario sent me a series of texts consistent with what I just explained, two of them being, “I’ll feel much better once you’re here,” and, “Everything will be better when I see you.”  So before heading over to Mario’s place, Dale, the bandmates, and I went to Los Compadres for dinner, where I made sure to down a couple of margaritas.  Chip was hanging out with his girlfriend and was planning on catching back up with us at Mario’s afterward.

Okay, I’m starting to see where this is going:  if I continue to describe all the details, this one post is bound to quickly turn into a novel.  So, long story short, I let Dale borrow my car (as opposed to driving his own) – but not before lecturing him (in front of his bandmates) on driving carefully because I’m responsible for everything while Beast and Martyr are away.  Dale met up with us at Mario’s later, but didn’t drink, so I rode back home with him (to Beast’s and Martyr’s house) after a bit.  Not only did I want to avoid any uncomfortable occurrence between Mario and me, but I also felt that staying the night at the house is part of what Martyr asked me to do.

This morning at 6:30am, Dale walked into my bedroom (I had been sleeping).  He quietly approached my bed, handed me my car keys, and said,

Elliott, you aren’t going to believe this…but I wrecked your car.

What?  You’ve got to be kidding me.  Come on, it’s 6:30 in the morning.

No, I know you told me to be careful, but…

Are you serious?

Yea.

Upon realizing that Dale was, in fact, telling the truth, I first made sure that he and the bandmates were alright.  Then, he explained to me what happened:  they were sitting at the red light at the entrance to our neighborhood and when it turned green, Dale decided to floor it.  Then, a deer hopped out in front of the car and he swerved to avoid it, colliding with the guardrail.  They didn’t call the police to report it because they were afraid that there might still have been traces of alcohol on their breath. Oh dear… Well, what was done was done, so I told Dale to just go to bed and that we’d take care of it later when we were awake.

I got up and took a look at the damage:  shattered left headlight and severely dented front bumper, hood, and left front panel, which was pressing on the tire.  I don’t know how he was able to drive it the rest of the way home.  Anyways, Dale wouldn’t get out of bed, so I took it upon myself to inform Beast and Martyr about the incident.  I was expecting the worst – something along the lines of them telling me that they couldn’t believe that I had let this happen.  But, surprisingly, they took it really well.  Really well…and then they informed me that they’re having to extend their stay in Arkansas from tomorrow’s original return date to Friday because of Beast’s condition…  Great.

Oh!  And I also awoke this morning to a couple of additional little “surprises”.  I received a text from Mario last night sometime while I was asleep that said, “So I really like you,” and, around the same time, he twittered or tweeted or whatever, “@[my twitter name] but I am SO into you.”  I mean, the text was one thing, but all of our mutual friends/contacts/followers (I don’t let anyone follow me who I don’t know) can see and read his tweet – I don’t know if they would necessarily get it; they could think it’s an inside joke or something, but still!  What am I going to do?  Do I confront him about it?  Do I just continue to pretend that it didn’t happen?

Happy Birthday to Me

(Originally written on June 12, 2009)

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I am 23 years old today.

To be perfectly honest, this birthday is kinda depressing to me – I don’t have any friends here (except for Mario – okay, one) and I’m still jobless.  I really don’t feel like doing anything special to celebrate; to me, today is just like any other day lately – and that’s the way I want it to be.  However, Martyr has been bugging me all week about making plans and she’s been really adamant about it.  I’ve explained myself to her several times:  that I don’t feel that I really have anything to celebrate and to celebrate with the family is just going to remind me that I don’t have friends here and make me feel even more lonely.  But that apparently didn’t matter to her.  She suggested earlier this week that we get pedicures together, but I told her that I’d rather have the money.  She said that was okay at first, but today she insisted that I go with her to get one anyways.

I mean, that’s cool.  It felt really good and my toenails look nice now.  Don’t get me wrong, I very much enjoyed it; but shouldn’t I be the one to decide what I want to do on my birthday?

Anyways, after the pedicures, I went out to Los Compadres for dinner and margaritas with the fam (Beast, Martyr, Ursula, Chip, and Dale) plus two of Chip’s and Dale’s friends.  Beast and Martyr surprised me with $400 and a matching ring and pair of earrings that I absolutely LOVE.  After dinner, Beast, Martyr, and I all went downtown for some celebratory drinks.  We later met up with Mario and the four of us then hit up all of my favorite bars that I haven’t visited in a while.

This birthday turned out much better than I was expecting for it to be.  All in all, I’d call it a success!

•     •     •     •     •

Mind you, I haven’t forgotten what Gaston said about coming back in town for my birthday.  I’ve been nervous all day about running into him, yet I still kinda hoped that I would.  We haven’t communicated in any way whatsoever since that Wednesday when everything between us officially ended (June 3^rd).  Well, he didn’t come back after all.  I didn’t even receive so much as a happy birthday text from him…

Good to Know I’m Not the Only One

(Originally written on May 16, 2009)

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Remember the post detailing the time I ran into X at one of my friend’s band’s shows?  Well that friend is Mario and I know him from high school.  He has told me that I was the first girl at our high school that was ever nice to him (he transferred in the 10^th grade from a Christian school; we ate lunch together, Spring semester of that year, I believe).  Anyways, he started dating Hippo around the same time X and I started dating.  And I’m not calling her Hippo because she’s fat!  I mean, she is a little on the bigger side, but that’s beside the point – she used to be obsessed with drawing hippopotamuses in high school.  I don’t know, she may still be; I never knew her beyond an acquaintance (and still don’t).

Well, Mario and Hippo just broke up this past September and tonight Mario and I discussed it over dinner at Los Compadres.  He explained to me that what’s helped him the most has been living for himself and not for pleasing someone else (both Flower-Child and Scarlet have tried sharing that same concept with me before…I guess it’s different when you hear it coming from someone currently going through it).  What hit me the hardest was when he told me,

I realized I was happy by making her happy.  Then I stepped back and saw how shitty she was treating me.  I was living as she wanted me to, I wasn’t myself.

And they were together for five years…  How can I let Gaston do the exact same thing to me and yet we weren’t/aren’t even “dating”?

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.

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.”

Normal Everyday Life

(Originally written on April 4, 2009)

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The past few days have been pretty uneventful.  Yesterday I went to Polly’s for lunch with Martyr and, as usual, Yuengling was there.  After we ate, I decided to just hang out and I spent the rest of my day there looking for jobs (online).  I had Yuengling bring me home around 8:30pm or so.

“Why so early?”  You may ask.  The night before, Ursula, Flower-Child, and I went to Los Compadres and Teddy was spoiling me with Patron margaritas.  I pre-gamed before dinner with three beers over the course of probably two hours.  We were probably only at Los Compadres for three hours or so – during which I had three potent margaritas and a shot of tequila.  Needless to say, I got wasted.

So, I really didn’t feel like going out hardcore last night.

Once I got back, I remembered that Belle, another one of my neighbors, was going to just be chilling at the apartment.  Once I got back, I dropped off my stuff (purse, laptop, etc.), grabbed a glass of wine, and went downstairs to join her.  We sat on her front stoop for a bit while her ex-boyfriend smoked a cigar – which smelled fantastic, by the way.

They have a really weird relationship – which isn’t really even a relationship.  It’s odd.  They aren’t together, but they still do a lot of dating-like activities.  Belle tried to explain it to me a little bit last night when he stepped out for a phone call:  basically, she’s just not opposed to dating other people.  Yet, I don’t think she has dated anyone or even tried.  Oh well, whatever!

Anyways, I ended up chilling with them until midnight or so after we watched The Departed.

•     •     •     •     •

Ooh!  I completely forgot to mention it, but after the seminar last Monday, Scarlet and I were walking back to his car when there was this girl in front of us wearing a ridiculously short dress.  We both commented on it, of course – we can’t help ourselves sometimes.  Then I realized that it was Slutty McSlutterson!  I turned to him and blurted out, “Wait, is that Slutty McSlutterson?”  Yes – I actually referred to her by her code name, out loud, in public, right behind her…

Then, as we began to cross the street (she continued straight and we turned the corner), I called out “Slutty McSlutterson?”  (I actually used her real name that time).  She turned, still walking, and just said, “Oh, hi.  It’s nice to see you out!”  I’m not sure if she heard my earlier comment(s) (the s because she may have also heard us talking about how short her dress was), Scarlet insists that she didn’t, or if she was just in a rush, but it seemed as though she couldn’t get away fast enough.

•     •     •     •     •

I haven’t spoken a word to Gaston since Wednesday night.  It’s kinda different because he’s in Miami right now visiting Tomboy, his best friend.  He’s accompanying her to her law school prom or whatever.  So I still have absolutely no idea where that whole situation stands.

Tequila Revelations

(Originally written on March 29,2009)

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Friday, Gaston was supposed to have left to go home to south Georgia by 3pm; however, his Jeep was still sitting in our parking lot at 4:30m, tempting me.  I hadn’t heard from him all day and I was still upset about the whole jealousy comment, waiting to see if he would try to contact me for a change.  I know that those “tests” or “games” or whatever are stupid, but I sometimes wonder if we would ever even talk if I didn’t go out of my way to initiate contact all of the time…

I was battling with myself as to whether or not I should just go down there and get the whole “I accept that this isn’t going to work out” conversation over with.  I really value Samantha’s advice, but I don’t have enough self-control to just let it go.  I mean, he is my neighbor whose apartment I have to walk by every day and we hang out with the same crowd.  To just cut myself off from him would require me to completely change who I hang out with for the remaining two months I have here.

I called Scarlet for additional advice (he was aware of what happened the night before).

Gaston’s car is still here – he was supposed to have left already and I wish he would just go already!

His response was priceless:

Okay…

My nonsensical, emotional neurosis was definitely at hold of the reigns.  I then explained what I was trying to do and asked if he thought I should just go down there and get it out.  Scarlet’s reply was pleasantly surprising,

I think you should talk to him, but not until he gets back in town.  You should wait until you aren’t so upset and have thought clearly about what exactly you want.

The reason this was so surprising is because Scarlet likes Gaston and readily admits that he’s a nice guy and that he recognizes that I really enjoy the time I spend with him; but, for quite some time now, he has consistently reminded me that it’s not worth the stress that I put myself through.  I was expecting him to reaffirm what Samantha had told me to do.

I am a very impatient person, by the way.  I decided to just go and do it.  I opened up with the whole spiel about how it was just going to take me some time before I could trust him.  Then he said, “That’s what I meant.”  He doesn’t want to “just be the next guy” because I’m not over X.  Here we go again!  I, of course, went on the defensive and insisted that I definitely don’t love X anymore.  I was taken aback by how he explained himself:

You aren’t over X.  Maybe you aren’t in love with him, but you aren’t over what happened.  I don’t want to just be the next guy – like, I don’t want to be in a serious relationship with someone who isn’t over their previous one.  And I understand that it’s going to take time, it took me three-and-a-half years to get over [one of his exes].  I just don’t want to be punished for someone else’s sins.  I’m okay with what we have going on now and I really enjoy spending time with you.  I just can’t be in a serious relationship with you right now.

I was set at both peace and turbulence by this:  peace with what I have with Gaston, turbulence with the realization that I’m not over what happened with X.  Why can’t I just move on?  How do I go about making it happen?  How much longer will it be before I’m over it?

•     •     •     •     •

Later on Friday evening, Yuengling and I went to Polly’s to hang out.  It was rainy and gross outside, and we were both in that “I just want to have a chill, relaxing night” kind of mood.  I love Polly’s and want them to have successful business and everything, but I was really hoping that there wouldn’t be a lot of people there.  Thankfully, there wasn’t when we initially got there.  It picked up later, but it wasn’t packed out like it would normally be on a Friday night.

Anyways, I shared with him the conversation that I had with Gaston earlier in the afternoon.  Yuengling was a little shocked and asked, “Does Gaston actually want a relationship?”  Yuengling then asked me the same question that Samantha and Scarlet always come at me with:  “Is it really worth all the stress and frustration?”  Only, he added, “I mean, you guys are both going to be moving in a couple months,” to the end – which is true, but we’re actually looking for jobs in the same place (not to be with each other, just out of the convenience of being close to family).

For some reason, I really wanted a margarita Friday evening.  I love Mexican food and I am a regular at this restaurant in town that is owned by Teddy, a guy that is Ursula’s age and that we grew up going to school with.  Yuengling had never been there, so we decided that a night at Los Compadres was on the agenda for Saturday.

After drinking for several hours at Polly’s, I decided to call it a night.  I was tipsy, which was okay because Yuengling had driven anyways.  Once we got back to my apartment, we decided to stop in and invite Napoleon to our Mexican dinner.  Upon greeting us, Napoleon asked me if I was in a better mood than the previous evening, which I was, so I replied with a “yes”. He then says, “Yea, you were acting so stupid last night.  It was really immature, especially just because you were jealous.”

Sometimes Napoleon can be such an ass!  This comment was completely unnecessary.  I didn’t feel like getting into it with him, but I was fuming inside.  There have also been other times before when I’ve tried to ask for his advice or just talk to him about Gaston and he’s responded in a similar manner.  When I got into bed, I couldn’t sleep and after 20 minutes of tossing and turning, I decided to just get it out on paper.  Here is the note that my tipsy self wrote:

Napoleon,

You know that I love you as a friend, I truly do.  But I’ve just come to accept that you are not someone that I can talk to about Gaston.  It’s not like I think you will tell him or anything – if I was worried about that, I wouldn’t say anything in the first place – it’s just that it hurts me too much when you go off on how you “don’t care” or “don’t want to hear it.”  So, unless you want to hear me explain myself (which you’ve made very clear that you don’t), I would appreciate it if we just left that topic of conversation out of our friendship – because it’ll never do anything but frustrate either of us.

<3, Elliott

I’ve decided not to give it to him, at least not right now…

•     •     •     •     •

Last night it ended up being Yuengling, Napoleon, Scarlet, and me at Los Compadres.  It was pretty tame for the most part, but then Scarlet had one of his most crafty ideas ever:  tell Gaston that I’m pregnant as an April Fool’s joke.  All four of us roared in laughter and Napoleon was especially insistent upon seeing it through.

There is a girl in Scarlet’s and my degree program that is pregnant (I think she’s due in July).  So, as disgusting as this is, I’m going to buy a pregnancy test for her to pee on so that I can have “proof” for Gaston.

This is definitely going to come back and bite me in the ass, but for right now we’re running with it!