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.

Futile Perplexities

(Originally written on June 23, 2009)

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When I got home from work tonight, Napoleon was sitting on his porch drinking by himself (trust me, I’m not judging, I drink alone all the time).  He invited me to join him for a beer, an offer which I accepted, and we got to talking.  Eventually, of course, the whole Gaston situation came into conversation.  A few of Napoleon’s comments keep echoing in my mind:

You need to just get over it.

This is my best friend you’re talking about here.

Provided I would need to remember what you’re saying to me right now, you know I’m going to tell Gaston.

And here I was just seeking a friend to confide with in Napoleon.  I should have known better, he never has been one for understanding in situations such as this.  I mean, Napoleon and Gaston obviously don’t understand what I went through after the whole rape thing and how much it took within me to trust someone again.  I guess I sought a friend in Napoleon because I have no one else to turn to right now; the loneliness makes it difficult.

•     •     •     •     •

Why am I putting myself through so much personal torment and anguish?  Why?  And why can’t I just get over it and move on? It hurts so bad.  There’s no way that this pain could be worth it.  So why?  Why can’t I dig myself out of this hole?

What have I done?

(Originally written on June 2, 2009)

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Long story short, I “quit” the Chickadee job today.  Remember that drug screen that they made me take on my first day?  Yea…well it came back positive for amphetamines because I take Vyvanse (a time-release Adderall, essentially).  All I had to do was call the doc with my prescription number to substantiate its presence in my system, but I decided simply not to do so.  So technically I got fired, but I really basically quit.  God, I hated that job so much.  Good riddance!

•     •     •     •     •

All throughout this ordeal with Gaston, I have confided in Scarlet and Martyr and sought their advice.  Scarlet has consistently told me from the very beginning – before the shit hit the fan, even – that I need to pull myself out of my “relationship” with Gaston and just move on.  He has also constantly reminded me of how Gaston treats me like shit and that I can do better.  On the other hand, Martyr, being the hopeless romantic idealist that she is, started off telling me that everything would be okay and Gaston and I would end up back together.  However, as Gaston has prolonged the situation, even Martyr has turned to telling me that I should just end it myself.

I called Gaston on my way home from work Thursday evening to see if he would tell me his decision over the phone.  He wouldn’t, of course, and really emphasized that he wanted to talk in person.  He told me that his decision was made, but that my reaction may change his mind.  That’s why it is so imperative that we have the discussion face-to-face.  This convinced me that he was going to end whatever it was between us, yet left me with a little bit of hope that I could salvage our relationship.  How do I need to react in order to change his mind? That question has been flooding my mind ever since then.  However, I’ve still been preparing myself for the “breakup” because I am almost positive that’s what he’s decided to do.

Well, Gaston did come back into town on Sunday, as he said he would, but it wasn’t until late in the evening.  I had been anxiously awaiting his call all day to tell me to come over and we would have our chat.  But I was tired and knew that I had to get up early in the morning and go to work.  I guess I figured that I had already waited so long that one more day couldn’t hurt.  I also didn’t want to bug him any more about it; he got really agitated on Thursday when I asked him to go ahead and tell me over the phone.  It was his responsibility to tell me whenever he was ready.  However, he didn’t even call me on Sunday night, not even to tell me to wait until Monday…

Monday passes (yesterday).  Still haven’t received a single word from Gaston.

I got home from work this afternoon and Gaston’s car was sitting in the parking lot.  That was it; I’d had it.  He said he was finally going to inform me of his decision on Sunday after a month of making me wait and here it’s Tuesday and he hasn’t even texted or called me!  I decided that I was just going to have to end it myself.  I went up to my apartment, fuming, and gathered all the stuff I had that was his:  a jacket, a t-shirt (both of which I made sure to spritz with my perfume), and two computer programs.  All the while, I was thinking about what Scarlet has been telling me to do for so long now.  I walked down to his apartment and knocked on his locked bedroom door.  Thankfully, Napoleon wasn’t there.  When Gaston opened the door and saw me standing there, he asked me,

What is this?

This is all your stuff that I had in my apartment.

Okay…

And regardless of whatever your decision is, this is mine:  I just can’t do this anymore.  I just can’t.  No one has ever made me feel so bad about myself and I have never been so belittled and disrespected by anyone in my entire life – let alone someone who I loved and who supposedly loved me.  I just can’t spend any more tears on you.

So…the part about me wanting to end our relationship:  it’s true, but it isn’t.  Obviously, I was high on anger and Scarlet’s and Martyr’s advice.  I’ve tried so hard to convince myself that it’s true.  I know it should be true and by no means do I enjoy the pain he’s caused me, but, for some reason, I’m still willing to suffer if he’ll just have me.

Well, this (as can be expected, I suppose) upset Gaston and he started pacing frantically.  Then I asked him,

So what was your decision?

Well it wasn’t that.

Then what was it?

You’re never going to know.

WHAT?!  After all this time, I believe I have the right to know.

Well get over it because you never will.  You’ve made the decision, so what I wanted doesn’t matter anymore.

When I asked him why he hadn’t contacted me since he’s been in town, he simply said, “Because it’s hard and it’s not exactly something that I was looking forward to doing.” For nearly three hours we proceeded to debate the decision.  And every time I tried to convince him that what I said wasn’t what I really wanted, he shot back with, “Well it came from somewhere,” or, “You said ‘regardless’ of what my decision was, so it really must be what you want,” or, “Well then why’d you say it?” even though I had explained myself 10 times.  During most of the discussion, we were cuddling on the sofa, holding hands, with me crying (go figure).  At one point, I desperately pleaded,

Remember in February after we decided to just be friends and then got drunk a few days later and I ended up staying the night with you?  We just can’t help but be together.  The next morning you cried and begged me to stay because you told me that you were afraid it was going to be the last time you ever got to lay with me. That happened for a reason; you felt that way for a reason and I refuse to believe that you just don’t feel that way anymore.

The discussion ended with Gaston telling me that no (new) decision would be reached tonight, that we would pick it back up tomorrow and that he would take my explanation(s) into consideration.  Again, the outlook is grim, yet I’m still holding on to that little glimmer of hope.  What have I done?

Reminiscing and Anticipation

(Originally written on May 28, 2009)

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Last night, Sparrow came back into town after spending a year-and-a-half teaching English in Argentina and then hiking his way back up to the U.S. through South and Middle America.  He’s going to be here for the summer working at the YMCA camp until he goes to Princeton in the fall for seminary school.  Sparrow and I have a very unique and interesting history, which is made even more so by our respective relationships with Napoleon and Gaston.  Allow me to explain this by first detailing my relationship with Sparrow and then explaining Sparrow’s relationships with Napoleon and Gaston.  After that, it should be pretty clear how they tie together and put a bizarre spin on it all.

I first met Sparrow when I was a freshman in college (2004) at the opening SGA (Student Government Association) meeting of the fall.  It was pouring outside and I didn’t have an umbrella, so I trudged through the rain in my oversized University hoodie from my dorm to the dinning hall, then from the dining hall to the building where the meeting was being held.  I ended up getting to the meeting really early (probably about 20 minutes) and was the only one there…except for Sparrow.  He was a senator and was there serving his office hours.  I took off my sweatshirt, which was heavy with rainwater, and we got to talking.  And right off the bat, I was attracted to him.

The meeting opened with a welcoming and then split into committees.  Naturally, I chose the Student Life committee, which was head up by Sparrow.  Once the committee relocated and settled into its room, Sparrow addressed the first order of business:  appointing a secretary…which ended up being me.  Anyways, the primary role of the Student Life committee was the planning and execution of Tailgate with the Team, an event held on campus where the football team, coaches, and cheerleaders eat and mingle with the students (and give speeches and exhibitions and whatnot).  Additional meetings were held solely to prepare for Tailgate and, as the secretary, I attended those as well.  The guy that Sparrow put in charge of those meetings was incredibly unorganized and just wasn’t getting anything done.  After a particularly irritating Tailgate meeting, I called Sparrow to express my concern with being able to pull it off…and I think I bitched a little about what an idiot the Tailgate dude was.  So that’s how Sparrow got my number (at the beginning of every SGA meeting, Sparrow always posted his contact info on the whiteboard).

About a week later, I received a call from Sparrow:

Do you know what Celeste Cola is?

No, what is it?

Well, Celeste Cola is a gas station brand of Coke and me and my fraternity brothers are kinda obsessed with it.  It’s great.  Every football Saturday, I sit on the front porch of my fraternity house and enjoy a nice, cold Celeste Cola.  I was wondering, Elliott, would you like to drink a Celeste Cola with me this Saturday?

I would love to!

And Sparrow and I had a date (this marked X’s and my first “break”)!  I tailgated and went to the football game with him and had a really great time.  We started hanging out a lot more:  we went to more football games together; I would come over to his fraternity house (he lived there) and we would watch movies and he introduced me to Monty Python’s Flying Circus; and I attended fraternity parties and date nights with Sparrow as his date.

Now here’s where things start to get sticky – and, mind you, I’m fully aware that it’s all my fault.  Anyways, the very last date night of the semester was Sparrow’s semiformal.  We had a ball!  I’m not sure if there was ever a single moment when we weren’t dancing.  When we got to our car after the conclusion of the bash, we noticed that there was a note folded up and enclosed in a ziplock bag that was tucked under one of the windshield wipers.  Written on it was a scavenger hunt-like clue that instructed us to go to a building on North Campus (which is renown for its beauty and holds several famous historical landmarks).  Sparrow played it off like, “Oh cool, have you heard about this?  It’s this thing where you’re randomly chosen to go on this hunt through campus and there’s a surprise at the end.  Do you want to do it?”  I had never heard of this “secret society” and figured it was just because I was a naïve freshman; but it sounded really interesting and exciting, so I definitely wanted to do it.  Each clue took us to a different romantic spot on North Campus and the final clue lead us to the Founder’s Garden, where Sparrow gave me a pair of earrings for Christmas (the “surprise at the end”) and asked me to be his girlfriend.  Let me go ahead and just say that I am an idiot:  I told him that I couldn’t because I wasn’t over X yet.  Needless to say, that was pretty much the end of that.

Later on throughout my sophomore and junior years, Sparrow and I reunited a few times when X and I were taking other breaks, but, obviously, nothing serious ever came out of it.

Now – onto Sparrow’s relationships with Napoleon and Gaston:  the three of them are all fraternity brothers in the same fraternity (XYZ)…so they’re all pretty good friends.  Not only that, but before Gaston was Napoleon’s roommate, Sparrow was.  And it turns out that Napoleon and I have been neighbors for the past three years, but didn’t meet or become aware of that fact until this past September.

So it’s just odd because I’m sure the three of them have been sharing their individual stories about me with each other since Sparrow’s return.  I wonder how that’s going to affect my relationships with them – specifically, Sparrow and Gaston…

•     •     •     •     •

Gaston told me last night that he’s made his decision regarding “us” and he’s going to tell me what that decision is on Sunday.  He wants to wait until Sunday since he left to go home to south Georgia today and expects that’s when he’ll be back.  I can’t help but have this urge to tell him that I don’t care about doing it “properly” (face-to-face) and that I just want for him to tell me over the phone.  I’m so tired of waiting.

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!

A New Chapter

(Originally written on May 11, 2009)

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It has gotten to the point where I’ve lost hope in finding an ideal job and I have just started applying to anything and everything for which I think I stand any realistic chance whatsoever at being hired for.  Just this past Wednesday, I was extended an offer as a summer intern at a poultry company and I accepted it.  By no means is this what I think of as an exciting company to work for, but some source of income is way better than no source of income.  This company, we’ll call it Chickadee, currently has absolutely no marketing research department at the moment, so I’m basically going to be their guinea pig.  I’m kinda excited about it, though, because they want to make use of my graphic design skills in addition to the research and statistics.  I know that I will be working at their corporate office, but I can’t help but picture in my mind that I will be driving up to the building through a field of chicken houses.  It’s also discouraging knowing that it’s a one-hour commute (one-way, two hours roundtrip) away.

This was also the same day of my final client project presentation for the company that sent me out to Cincinnati for a second interview over spring break and then didn’t even offer me a job – they instead gave it to the biggest idiot in our class who just happens to have mastered the art of schmoozing.  Nevertheless, out of the six of us on the student project team, five interviewed with them, four received second interviews, two were extended job offers, and one accepted.  So, really, none of us wanted to be there, except, perhaps, the one who accepted their job offer.  Needless to say, the lunch preceding the presentation was the longest hour-and-a-half of my life. For example, they asked us if anyone was taking a vacation to celebrate graduating.  There was a seven-second hesitation/pause/dead silence before we each went around the table and all just plainly and bluntly said, “No”.  After that torturous lunch, the presentation just couldn’t end soon enough.  And then we got stuck in rush-hour traffic and our hour-and-twenty-minute drive home became two hours long.  It was excruciating.

Meanwhile, in the midst of all of that, Bacchus finally got back to me and told me that they want to fly me out to California in a week.  I’m excited about going there and checking everything out for myself, but I’m still basically internally knocking it out of contention because I don’t want to move so far away where I know absolutely no one.

•     •     •     •     •

By the way, I forgot to mention last time that when Gaston found out the web address of my blog and read it, he immediately showed it to Napoleon (and probably called Tomboy and told her about it too).  If he was so extremely embarrassed by my publishing of his “life” on the internet, WHY THEN SHOW IT TO MORE OF HIS FRIENDS?

Anyway, as far as avoiding Gaston and everyone associated with him…that’s not going so well (My weakness is pretty predictable, isn’t it?).  Gaston still hasn’t made any decision as to whether or not he wants to continue whatever it was that we had going on between us before the blog eruption.  I also forgot to make mention of this last time:  during the blog confrontation, Gaston told me that he was “really starting to love [me]” and that he hasn’t fallen for a girl this hard since Heartbreaker, the “benchmark” girlfriend, if you will, who tore out his heart right after high school and continued to stomp on it for a couple years afterward (he compares – or I should say, compared – everything in our “relationship” to that one).  Given that he feels so strongly that way, why is this decision so hard for him?  If you really love someone, why drag them along like this?

Yuengling thinks Gaston and I are done.  Again.  Before we all went downtown on Thursday night and it was just the two of us in the apartment, I asked Gaston if I could spend the night with him and he replied, “Sure, if you want to.  I don’t care.”  Then I asked him if he would ever spend the night at my apartment again and he told me, “We’ll have to see,” in a skeptic tone, not optimistically.  But he’s always that way, so I didn’t think much of it.  Well, once we were at Polly’s and I was talking with Yuengling about the whole blog situation, he informed me that Gaston had told him about my asking to stay the night and (apparently) played it up to Yuengling in a “I can’t believe she can’t tell that I’m done with her” sort of way, as though he’s made his decision obvious to me.  Why would Gaston even tell him about that?  I know that he did because he was the only person in the apartment with me when I asked!  That is just completely unnecessary to me.  Anyways, in conjunction with Yuengling’s belief that Gaston and I are over, Yuengling also said that Gaston would never actually tell me his decision and would just wait for it to fade or “prompt” me to do it.  I asked Yuengling if Gaston actually said those words and he responded, “No, it’s just his type.”  How comforting.

•     •     •     •     •

Completely opposite of what I just described above, last night Gaston invited me over (yes, you read that correctly, he instigated it) to just hang out and watch TV.  He ended up convincing me to watch This Is Spinal Tap with him.  I had never seen it before and thought it was going to be, like, a documentary about a death metal band (and I’m not a big fan of that particular genre of music).  I don’t know why I was under that impression…  The band name “Spinal Tap” just makes me think of it that way I guess…  Nevertheless, it was actually really good!

Throughout the whole movie, Gaston was being so affectionate.  He was playing with my hands, sweetly kissing me, pulling me closer to cuddle with him…  And after the movie, there was no attempt from either of us toward hooking up and I simply went back to my apartment to go to bed.  I can’t quite describe how amazing it felt.  Genuine and – dare I say – loving.

It really pulled at my heartstrings and makes me feel more confident that Gaston really does want to be with me.

•     •     •     •     •

On another note, I am done with school for FOREVER!  What a relief – even though I would feel a little better having the cushioning of a real job…  I have been awaiting this moment for quite some time now:  no more studying, no more tests, no more class, no more seminars!  Woo-hoo!

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.

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…

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.