Sixth Grade
I've never been in a relationship. You know, a mutual, let's-hold-hands, I have a boyfriend relationship. I've only gone on two dates - both of which made me feel really awkward. Instead of relationships, I have liaisons, often overcomplicated by yours truly. I've done this with two different men with varying levels of interaction and insanity. I've decided (or convinced myself) that this is how I like it for a whole host of reasons that could be an entire series of posts. (Potential title: Nic's Justification for Life as a Spinster)
But in sixth grade for approximately two weeks, I did have a boyfriend.
I'm absolutely certain that sixth grade "relationships" don't count, but I caught myself thinking about this particular situation in the shower somewhere between the raspberry sorbet body wash and underarm shaving. The details are more than a little sketchy in my memory, but I've done my best.
We had social studies together, and our teacher was not a good one, meaning that it was more than easy to chatter to your neighbors for the entire hour. Unfortunately, he also made his seating charts alphabetically and with a weird arrangement of desks. This put me and the boy in a two-desk row between the wall and a row that had an empty desk and the requisite class "weird kid." We became chatting buddies because everyone else was too far away to talk to without getting in trouble, and somehow he ended up asking me to be his girlfriend. I think I would have said yes to anyone who asked me that (unless it was that weird kid).
I remember lying on the bed in my grandma's room (now my room) and chatting on the phone with him one day after school, though I have zero recollection of any conversation we ever had. And at some point in the next week, he ceased to be my boyfriend, though I don't recall having a conversation or officially "breaking up." It just ended. I knew at the time that it was the result of teasing by his friends.
See, I wasn't particularly cute at twelve. I still had prepubescent chubbiness, my hair was nearly long enough to sit on, and I was pre-braces. I've always believed that this meant that his interest in me was actually based on my personality, which I suppose is flattering. That, of course, is the adult view of the situation. The adolescent view was to be quietly mortified and hurt. I'm not sure if he and I continued to talk during class after that; I seem to think that we didn't. I was still a pretty soft heart back then.
I never told anyone about it, never discussed it after that. That's the sort of quiet embarrassment that I'm not sure you completely outgrow. Yes, it still makes me the teensiest bit twisty in the stomach. When something really hurts my feelings, I tend not to talk about it at all - apparently even after a decade and the recognition that the situation was laughable. I do wonder how much I internalized that and even now behave based on that foundation, the idea that someone wouldn't want to be with me because of what his friends thought.
I don't remember having another class with him in the next six years of school, strange given how small our school was. I'm fairly certain the last time I saw him was my freshman year of college when my roommate met another guy I went to high school with and we all ended up at the same party, and then I think all that was said was hello.
This is the sort of thing that makes me wonder if everyone remembers the sorts of things that I do. Does he even remember? Part of me hopes he doesn't because of that lingering embarrassment, and part of me would be sad if he didn't because it would make me feel insignificant.
No one wants to be forgotten.
Labels: boys, personal growth
It's Like Squishing a Spider Under a Book
I didn't have particularly high hopes for meeting Project this weekend. I'm young enough that not seeing someone for a "long time" is rarely measured in years with double digits, and even so, I try not to let people slip out of my life unless I want them to go away.
Late Friday evening, after giant Qdoba burritos, I invited Project to come watch episodes of
The Office with Bradshaw and me. I proceeded to get more antsy and more awkward. I think, if forced to put a name to the feeling in my stomach, it was dread. The moment I invited him, it felt like a bad idea. After Bradshaw gave him directions, I realized that another part of what I felt was embarrassment. I was embarrassed of him, a bit, and of myself for having been "with" him - or whatever it was that we were. I suddenly didn't want Bradshaw, who knows me better than most anyone and from whom I keep very few secrets, to even meet him.
It was very uncomfortable and he hadn't even arrived.
When he arrived, I felt more relaxed. It was immediately clear that I'm no longer attracted to him (in fact, I had that moment of 'what did I ever see in you?'). I caught myself comparing him to my Quasi-Fiancee, who had been there before - and Project was not coming out ahead in any of my vague internal categories.
I caught myself putting physical barriers between myself and him, first taking a seat on the couch next to Bradshaw and later pulling my feet up to the side between us. I was sleepy, and every time an episode ended, I wished fervently that it was the last on the disc. Eventually, that was the case and I basically told him to go home. Given the former nature of our relationship, I made it very clear a few weeks ago that if we did meet up when I was in the city, nothing physical would happen between us. I think he thought I was kidding, because he seemed a little miffed when I said I wanted to sleep; he asked if he did something wrong. I explained that I'd been up for a while and I was worried about disturbing Bradshaw who I knew had gotten up earlier than I had. There was an incredibly awkward side-hug, he left, and I paced through the apartment for thirty minutes trying to unravel the weird in my brain.
At one point, he looked over and asked if I thought he had changed. I answered, honestly, "not really that I can tell." He considered me for a moment, then said, "yeah, I don't think you have either."
And all I could think was
I have I have I have!
I've grown and changed and matured. I'm more intelligent, more positive, more jaded. I approach situations and people with different attitudes and standards. Project seems exactly the same as he did five years ago, and the person I am now finds that more than a little off-putting, to be frank. The person I am now can't seem to help judging him for being exactly the same. I kind of wish I'd left well enough alone.
Labels: boys, personal growth, updates
Loneliness. Solitude.
Recently, and through a rather strange series of events, Project reentered my life. That, and all of the stuff that goes with it, is another post in itself, and I've not quite sorted out the way I feel about all of it. It's for another day.
Since we hadn't spoken in over four years, we had a bit of catching up to do. Given our quasi-romantic history, the subject of relationships came up, and my lack of relationships seemed to surprise him. When I explained that I had accepted and was embracing a solitary life as the way that I'm meant to live, he seemed almost upset. Since, like so many other people, he's apparently been in a serious, committed relationship (mind-bending as that is), his reaction didn't surprise me. In our society it seems unthinkable that someone would choose and actually enjoy being alone and not having a "significant other." He asked me if I didn't think that choosing that sort of life would be lonely.
I've always been a little judgmental of people who seem unable to spend any time alone, particularly those girls when I was in college who would complain about how they wanted someone to share their bed because they wanted company. While I realize that people enjoy companionship, I can't understand how someone can't entertain herself and learn to enjoy solitude. I don't understand people who are bored when they're alone, who seek the company of another simply because they can't enjoy the company they provide for themselves. I know those people exist, and if that's how you want to live I'm not going to judge, but I don't
get it.
No, I'm not lonely. No one steals the covers or crowds my space in bed, there isn't anyone expecting me to make polite conversation before coffee, no one to compromise with when choosing what to watch on television, no one expecting me to make dinner or complaining about what I choose. When I choose to spend my whole day at home - which is more days than not - I get to spend time sans-makeup, something I couldn't do if there was a man in my house (my pride wouldn't allow it). There isn't anyone talking when I'm engrossed in a book, no one judging when I get sappy movies from Netflix or choose to spend my weekend in a
Gossip Girl marathon, and food I put in the fridge never disappears.
I'm the opposite of lonely; I revel in my solitude. When I do want company I know where to find it. And sure, I have moments when it would be nice to have someone around, but those moments of want rarely come from inside myself. I watch a silly romantic comedy and catch myself wanting someone to look at me like that, to kiss me like that. Then I remember that romantic comedies omit the hard parts of sharing yourself with someone. I crawl in bed and catch a bit of a chill and think of how nice it would be to have someone to snuggle up against. Then I remember that I've never been able to sleep peacefully with another person in bed with me. I pour my first cup of coffee and think how nice it would be if someone else made it just the way I like it before I woke up.
Then I remember that the coffee pot has a timer.
Labels: boys, personal growth
Seen and Heard: Text Tease
This conversation took place on Saturday night after three or so drinks, a friend's concert, and a few rounds of Mario Kart on Wii.
I'm on my way home if you're interested in joining me.
Boy: (ten minutes later) There are a bunch of people at my house. Come here.
Girl: Not happening. I'm already home, undressed, and drinking beer.
Boy: I can't just leave.
Girl: That's fine. I'm going to watch a movie. You have two hours to consider what you want before I lock the door and go to sleep.
(phone rings) Boy: Your door better be unlocked. I'll be there in five.
I won.
photo via I Heart ItLabels: boys, eavesdropping, flirting
Upper-Level Etiquette
Some specialized dos and don'ts that I think we'd all do well to remember in the case of hook-ups. I've collected these both on my own and from friends' stories.
1. Always say hello at some point during the night. There is some merit in kissing before greeting, but the word should be uttered eventually.
2. Used condoms go in the trash can, no matter what is or is not in them. They do not go on the sheets, the floor, next to the wall, or on the nightstand.
3. Ruining clothing is almost never as hot as you think it is. It is more likely distracting and annoying.
4. Cell phone etiquette is the same as that for a date or a business meeting: turn it off or on silent, and no matter what state it is in, do not acknowledge it. Pay attention to the naked person in front of you. Some exceptions may include middle-of-the-night phone calls from work, the best friend, or Mom.
5. Don't scare the pets.
6. Be considerate of roommates and, in the case of apartments and dorms, neighbors.
7. A parting kiss, unless the night is ending on bad terms, is expected.
Feel free to add rules and share anecdotes in the comments. I'm curious to hear what sorts of things others have dealt with.
Labels: boys, everyday musings
The Yellow Birthday
As promised, the update for my birthday. As you saw from Friday's post, I wasn't so much looking forward to my birthday. All of my plans had fallen through and I was feeling rather nasty about things. My original thought had been to do something on Saturday night, but between Bradshaw staying at home, Spark having to work,
and my own general bad attitude, those plans went, quite frankly, to shit. Still, I didn't want the evening to be a complete bust, so I went to the restaurant where Roomie trends bar and ordered the amazing tiramisu
The weather was really bizarre here this weekend: Saturday night when I got to the bar, wintry mix was falling from the sky. Add into that the fact that last week was spring break here in College Town, and you get a bar that is inhabited by the bartender (Roomie), her roommate (that's me!), and the guy she's dating (The Boy). Roomie started inventing new mixed drinks and shots and trying them out on The Boy and me, and before I was entirely aware of what was going on I was tipsy and plans had been made to drag me to a different bar to ring in my real birthday. I was already tipsy when we walked to the new bar in the snow.
Roomie, being a bartender, is friends with other bartenders in downtown College Town, and was therefore able to walk up to the bar, say, "it's my roommate's birthday!" and get us drinks that I'm pretty sure we didn't pay for. At midnight, I was given a shot of something that had been on fire to bring in my twenty-third year. At this point I'd been given five shots and at least three mixed drinks, so I was taking it pretty easy, texting and receiving lovely drunk dials from Bradshaw and company. Roomie and The Boy drove my car home while I drunk dialed a
birthday makeout from the backseat, gave me leftovers and water when we got to the house, and lit and entire book of matches for me to blow out like candles. I finished the evening by kicking the makeout boy out of my bed and falling asleep to
Breakfast at Tiffany's.
Birthday morning I had plans with Spark for breakfast downtown. Scrambled eggs with cilantro and Asiago cheese, hash browns, bacon, wheat toast, and coffee. It was phenomenal. I was also given my first yellow gift, Louella the naturally antibacterial monkey made from bamboo. Spark and I spent some time together, then I went back home for a birthday nap.
When I woke from my nap, Roomie and The Boy presented me with failed yellow gift number two, a lemon cake. They thought it wouldn't finish baking in the improperly sized dish, so they tried to split the batter thirty minutes into the cooking time. Not such a great idea. I blew out candles anyhow, and the edges of the cake were lovely. They disappeared to dinner and returned with a beautiful pot of yellow tulips, gift number three.
I finished my birthday by making dinner plans with my parents for Wednesday night and having coffee with Spark downtown. For a day that I wasn't exactly looking forward to, it turned out to be pretty fantastic. And the credit for that goes to the amazing people around me. Roomie and The Boy, Roomie's sweet and inclusive coworkers (who assisted in getting me fabulously sloshed), the makeout boy, Bradshaw, and Spark. I'm surrounded by some pretty wonderful people.
Labels: alcohol, boys, celebration, photoblog, updates
Torn
There are times when, despite what I know intellectually, I feel the urge to do something that is incredibly bad for me. Not like eating that piece of cheesecake or taking the third tequila shot - something that is bad for me emotionally or spiritually. And what is the worst about these moments is that I'm not sure which part of my psyche is trying to trick me. Is it the emotion, lonely and craving a change? Is it the libido, demanding attention and affection? Or, on a less sinister level, is it my intuition, trying to make me realize that this person is someone who actually should be in my life? Whichever piece of me it is, it's fucking with me in a way that is potentially self-destructive, and I am not a fan.
So when I left Spark's house tonight after baking cupcakes and playing Wii, I ignored the voice that told me to contact him, to be the bigger person and mention that I was going to a party on Saturday night and he was welcome to come if he didn't already have plans. I ignored that voice because, whatever attraction beyond the physical - for I will never deny the physical attraction - that I had begun to carry for Hershey, the fact is that he slept a girl who has herpes, and there is no way that I could trust him physically again. It's a bad idea on so many levels that it's easier to avoid him.
And so I ignore the voice that tells me to invite him to the party or to put myself in a situation where I will be in his way or to ask him if he ever had a chance to read
Man in the Dark - I ignore that voice as a means of self-preservation and instead sit here wondering, torn between being proud of myself for having the self-control and berating myself for not finding out for sure and allowing another what if.
*Photo from Finally Seeing - see the sidebar, kittens.Labels: boys, my insanity
Scratching the Itch*
A week from last Tuesday, I felt
unstoppable. I went out, had a couple of drinks, and flirted with Hershey via text message. I know, what else is new. I had imagined that I would end up in bed with him, but by the time I got home at 1:30, he hadn't responded in what I considered an appropriate manner. I changed, set my alarm for work, and went to bed.
At 2:30, I finally received a reply. There was a brief exchange in which we established that we had both wanted to see each other and that neither of us was willing to leave our homes to make it happen that night. I was seeking to prove a point; he cannot be the one in control of the situation. I will not come just because he says so.** It was the principle of the thing, and I was proud of myself for sticking to what I had decided.
The next afternoon, I called Bradshaw and told her the story. She was, quite frankly, pissed off at me, and I think a little disappointed. She said something to the effect of, "You had a chance to have sex and you didn't go?" And then came the disparaging comments.
It was then that I realized something interesting, something that changed the entire situation in my mind. On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, while lying on my parents' couch dozing off with a cat, Hershey called me. He claimed that he was going through his phone and realized that we hadn't talked in a while. Let me remind you, my lovely readers, of the thing that he seems to have forgotten: I am not stupid. However, until talking to Bradshaw on Wednesday morning, I hadn't put all of the pieces together to realize how it could all turn out.
I now had all of the power.
He had contacted me twice for the same reason. I had come out of my self-imposed segregation from my social life, seen him out in public, and had an interesting conversation with him. The next move was mine, so to speak, and I was very excited by this prospect. I decided to move forward with it in order to get what I wanted. I worked Friday night, then went home, changed my clothes, had a snack, and fired off a "What are you up to?" text message.
I walked into his house at 2:25, greeted his dog, and let him unwind the scarf from my neck. When we finished, I patted his cheek, stretched like a cat, got dressed, and walked out. We chatted our way to the door, and I left feeling like we were in the middle of a rather trite conversation. It makes me feel like I still hold all of the power in the situation, and I like it.
I'll let you all know how things shake down from here, but just know that, for the moment, Nic is a satisfied, power-wielding woman.
*Whee, clichés! **Haha, that would actually be really fantastic.Labels: boys, flirting, updates
The Room was Mad with Morning
I wielded the power. And it was good. And it feels fabulous.
I think I should like to repeat this trend on a regular basis.
Labels: boys
An Unintentionally Cryptic Post
Sometimes, a girl wants to keep something to herself, away from everyone else for the moment. I'm not usually that girl; I tend to prefer to demand the attention and give everyone all of the details of a situation at once. Now, however, I think I will be better served to keep it to myself.
Last night, I received a lovely affirmation from a man who barely knows me. He told me that upon first meeting, I was "cute and interesting." Upon first meeting, I usually come across as snooty (because I tend to be quiet and observant when I first meet someone) or overbearing (in those moments when I let what I really think fly). Hearing from someone that neither was true - at least in that particular situation - was nice.
I like the idea of holding out and seeing what there is to see. More and more I'm liking the ideas of anticipation and jumping right into something that might make me uncomfortable. I've been living in a box for far too long, and it's getting to be too much for me. Maybe if I take the chance and jump off the precipice, something great will come from it. And, honestly, can anything too terrible come from it?
Labels: boys, personal growth
Giving Up
I hate giving up and giving in. I hate to admit that something - or someone - is stronger or has gotten the better of me.
At this moment, after spending my night in a bar in a super-cute dress with carefully chosen accessories and new shoes and fabulous eyeliner, I feel defeated.
I find myself wondering if this is all worth it. I find myself wondering if I'm capable of letting go and letting in someone who isn't my "type." I find myself wondering who this "myself" bitch even is.
I give up on avoiding the funk. I'm going to dive right in and wallow. I'm not sure if I want to go out next Tuesday night (which I've done for weeks and weeks); I'm not sure if I want to stay in College Town this weekend. I'm not sure if I want to talk to anyone for the next six to eight months, although I have to be at work in ten hours, so I guess I don't have much of a choice.
I give up.
Labels: boys, drama, my insanity
Text Analysis
Irrational, passive-aggressive, or valid?
Nic to Hershey (2:26pm): I baked too many cupcakes. If you'd like some, I'd love to share.
Nic to Hershey (9:54pm): Instead of ignoring me this afternoon, a simple 'no thank you' would've been better. Just for future reference.
Fuck me.
Hear this: There will be no more calls or texts after today unless they are initiated by him (which they won't be). I will be polite; I will flirt if the situation calls for it; I will continue to behave as I always have in his presence. I will not have sex with him again unless I am so drunk as to blame it on alcohol. I'm so done.
Labels: boys, drama
Cry for Help
I am forever talking myself out of things. Getting out of bed in the morning (just one more snooze, really), not going out on the weekends (I'll regret it if I sit at home again), or pursuing something that I may or may not want.
Three years ago, I was telling myself that it was okay to bide my time. I could wait until he was ready; really, I didn't want to pursue anything until he was ready. I still that's true. However, I will always wonder if he wouldn't have been ready sooner if he'd known that I was waiting for him. Fear of rejections, however, is stronger than logic, than desire even, at least for me. My desire for him was so much more than physical that it hurts to think about it. And after he died, after I had that searingly painful moment of clarity, I swore to myself that I would never, ever put myself in that sort of position again. I would pursue any desire, any want, no matter the consequences. Being rebuked or rejected or ridiculed could never hurt as much as this regret, this all-consuming regret that was crushing me.
So now, every day, I have to wonder if my actions are going to lead to regret. If I go back to ignoring the flicker that I started to let myself feel with Hershey - and yes, at this point, it is little more than a flicker - will I at some point begin to wonder what if? And is that possibility of the what if strong enough to undermine my self-preservational instincts? Not allowing myself to think about him or to be upset by his actions is certainly the response to the instinct to avoid pain.
Is it possible to pursue something without fully investing yourself in it? Rather, is it possible for
me to pursue
this something without fully investing myself? I know that I can't be completely invested in it without losing my mind, so to a certain extent, it becomes an all-or-nothing situation, doesn't it? I feel like I need some sort of plan beyond waiting to see if he shows up at Piano Bar every Tuesday and then waiting to see if he approaches me to say hello. I'm driving myself quietly insane thinking about it, and I really need someone's input. How exactly do I make this work?
Labels: boys, my insanity
New Information
I always have such good intentions. I tend to fuck things up when I set too much by those intentions. This is, sort of, my way of apologizing for the lack of substantial posts. I've been distracted and stressed and working and sleeping and I can't always make myself sit here to type something.
With that said, let me tell you about the interesting piece of news I received about Hershey this week: He has, apparently, found himself a new girl to sleep with. This doesn't upset me in the way that it might upset the average girl. I never expected monogamy from him, and I was well aware of his sexual history (present, really) when I put myself in the situation. What I am a bit upset about is the fact that I was really hoping that I had found my new "special friend."* The knowledge that I no longer have that option is frustrating. The fact of the matter is, I'm not going to live at someone else's whim; I want a situation like this to be mutual, or at the very least on my own terms.
Regarding the book that I borrowed from him - and attempted to return a week ago - Bradshaw convinced me to hold on to it. I had considered writing a simple thank you note and returning it to his porch, but instead I'm going to keep it until he asks for it back. I already made the effort, so now it's his turn, and if he doesn't make that effort, I get a shiny new book. That's a win in my book.
I did find myself wondering if I jumped into the Hershey situation too quickly, if I invested too much (even that little bit) that I should have. I still miss Iris too much to even think about someone else in that capacity. I'm not sure of anything any more, really. So now, I shall return to the semi-celibate life that I was living, content in the knowledge that if the opportunity arises again, I'll probably take it.
*Read: Fuck buddy. I want one.Labels: boys, updates
An Update in Tidbits
First, I'm back in College Town for "good," after spending the last week going back and forth between Small Town and Kansas City and Small Town and College Town and Small Town. Hooray for my coffee maker and being close to tasty coffee and having places to go where I won't be stir crazy.
Second, I didn't call Hershey when I got back to College Town on Wednesday night. I did, however, text him under the guise of wanting to return the
book I borrowed from him (which, incidentally, I loved). The text was my compromise, and I would like to say that I was right, as he did not respond. This bothers me, not because Hershey specifically ignored me, but because I hate being ignored in general. It is a pet peeve of mine, probably rooted in the fact that my small stature makes it easy to overlook me - sort of. I tend to demand attention when I really want it. On the negative side, sometimes my way of demanding that attention is childish or bitchy, two things that I do not want to show Hershey.* This is my spoken resolution to rise above my instinct to throw a hissy fit about this.
Third, I watched the vice presidential debate last night while chatting online with the Wifey.** About ten minutes in, we decided that the debate could have been a great drinking game. The rules are as follows: Any time Sarah Palin says "Alaska" or "maverick," you drink. Anyone playing would have been wasted by the time things were over.
Fourth, I have zero desire to go find work appropriate clothes and spend my entire afternoon shelving books.
Fifth, I have even less desire to come home from work and spend my entire Friday night cleaning my apartment, but that is what I'm going to be doing. I mentioned that to my mom, who suggested that I do not sit down when I get home, but immediately jump into cleaning. Apparently sitting down makes getting up and being productive impossible.
Sixth, I started a new book last night,
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. A hundred pages in, and I'm already in love. Thanks to Bizz for the recommendation!
A real post is coming soon, I promise.
*At least not yet. Come on.
** Yes, I have a Wifey.Labels: boys, everyday amusements, updates
Update: This Weekend
Just a brief update from the weekend, as most of the details aren't really worth writing down: Ms. O got to meet Hershey and give me her opinion of him. The verdict: "
Very cute, very flirtatious, and definitely has a thing for you." I've decided that this is a positive assessment.
The next morning we were sitting at Gallagher's parents' together, drinking coffee and chatting. Somehow the subject of grandparents and cemeteries came up, and this somehow led to my brief mention of Iris. He said he didn't know who that was, to which I replied, "That's a good thing. Talking about him just brings all of my neuroses to the surface." He found this amusing. I wonder if he would be amused if he knew the whole story.
When I was leaving, he gave me a back-cracking hug and told me to be careful, then asked when I was going to be back in College Town. I answered and was asked to, "give him a call so we can hang out." I'm never sure if Hershey means the things that he says or if he's saying them because he feels obligated. Somehow I don't think I'm going to be calling him.
Labels: boys, my insanity, updates
A Declaration
Today at work, I got my yearly review, a rather glowing review. I got a raise and I was told that the new role that I've been filling really gave me the opportunity to show my strengths. This put me in a fantastic mood, an untouchable mood really.
And so, tonight, as I line my eyes and spritz perfume and let the black dress slide over my hips, I am going to remind myself that having expectations tends to lead to disappointment, and in this mood, I am not in a place to be disappointed. I am going to sip my drinks like a lady, I am going to chat with people whose company I enjoy, and I am going to remember that I don't
need anyone.
I am also not going to let myself think about the fact that if I let myself, I just might like him.
Labels: boys, piano bar, work
Such a Great Big Liar
An observation: I need to start being more consistent with this posting stuff. I would be annoyed if I was reading my blog, what with the sporadic posts and insane nature of them. With that said, I'm going to be even more insane.
A couple of weeks ago, I decided that I wasn't going to write about
Hershey any more. The problem is just how difficult it is to stop thinking about him, and since I tend to write what I'm thinking, there's a bit of a disconnect. Maybe that's why I got so random with the posting. In any case, I feel like we've crashed and burned - as much as something ten feet off the ground can crash and burn - and it is entirely my own fault. And not only is it my fault, I just
keep going.
First was the night that I told him that he needed to
get off his ass and be there for his supposed best friend, Gallagher, on a day that he knew was hard for her. I interfered in their friendship, something that I learned not to do back in high school but did anyhow. I know it was the right thing on some level, but on another, I feel really bad about it.
Then, there are the text messages. I seem to have a problem with texting when I drink, and since I'm not going to stop drinking, I think it's time to make a no-drunk-texts rule. Hershey played drums for a little bit at Piano Bar on Tuesday night.* The transcript of wasted-Nic texts went as follows:
Nic: Nice rhythm, drummer.
Hershey: Why thank you
Nic: You're welcome, doll.
Let's pause to point out that yes, I should have stopped right here. But I totally didn't. Nic: I'm definitely drunk, but do you think you and I have a chance to start over drama-free?
Hershey: Drama?
Nic: You seem...thrilled with me since last Sunday.
And this is where the texting stopped, which leads me to believe one of two things. One, he was smart enough to realize that I was wasted and to end communication, regardless of his feeling about the conversation. Two, he really is still pissed about it and refuses to talk about it. I'm pretty sure I'm not happy with things either way.
Now, unless there are developments that don't make me want to pull my own hair out, I will refrain from posting about him again, lest I drive you all crazy. Also, I propose that I institute a no drunk texts rule! We shall consider this carefully over the next few days.
In unrelated news, I'm thinking of coloring my hair a bit for the first time and going slightly more red than my natural color. Thoughts?
*We are not even going to go to the place where I talk about drummers right now. You know how some girls feel about the guitarist? Or the lead singer? I'm all about the guy in the back.Labels: alcohol, boys, my insanity
Is This What Britney Feels Like in the Morning?
In my experience, electronic communication when one is drunk is almost always a bad idea. Texting, calling, IMing - unless the person is sitting in the same room, you should probably just leave them alone. There are, of course, exceptions. Shooting a tipsy text to a best friend early in the night when you're missing her. I can even get behind sending a slightly inappropriate text message to someone that you'd like to get frisky with. Under no circumstances, however, should you repeatedly text your one-night stand. You will wake up in a tequila haze, re-read these messages, and deliberately roll over and go back to sleep. When you wake up the second time, you'll realize that you owe the kid an apology.
It's also a bad idea to go out with preconceived notions of how your night will end. This leads to disappointment, which leads to moping, which leads to staying away from people at all costs.
Labels: alcohol, boys
Realization
What do you do when you realize that some part of you is broken? A natural, important, inherent part of what you consider to be essential to being a girl just isn't there?
I haven't had a real, honest-to-goodness crush on a boy since Iris died. That was two and a half years ago. I haven't allowed myself to get close enough to someone to know them well enough to be that truly attracted to them. I've been physically attracted to guys. I've preened for boys. I've even been known to say that I had a crush on one of them - think GFW - but the fact is, none of the people I've met or spent time around in the last couple of years has given me butterflies in my stomach.
Just like I miss kissing boys and sleeping with boys and playing with boys, I miss getting butterflies in my stomach when I see
that boy. I almost miss that tortured feeling with that boy doesn't seem to care that I exist (because really, do they ever care that I exist).
Maybe I need to look into ways to create artificial butterflies.
Labels: boys, everyday musings, flirting
