~Tuesday, February 28, 2006

This is so humiliating...

I made a couple of steps this weekend to improve the intimacy between Christopher and me. Others will laugh because it probably seems like nothing, but it was a conscious effort for me! Big steps requiring trust of the other person! (I realize I am slightly psychotic and the need to point this out after the post is unnecessary.)

Big Step #1

I had the house to myself this weekend. My father went out of town and took his dogs, leaving me only responsible for mine. When Christopher called Saturday night, he was so drunk he slurred his words. I took advantage of his altered state and asked if I could bring my dog with me when I came over that night. He agreed without any protest. He hasn't met her yet and he immediately invited her onto the bed with him. Then he teetered into the kitchen and fed her peanut butter and old cheese for about 10 minutes. He was really great with her and I soon found myself in charge of 2 children. "Don't do that! It's late and you'll get her all excited!" I repeated over and over again.

Big Step #2

I called him "Baby." I'm pretty standard and unoriginal with my pet names- guys are either a "Baby," a "Honey," or a "Pooh." It was the first time I used it when I wasn't unclothed which in a way made me more vulnerable because I didn't have anything to blame it on. When I used it his back was to me and he responded to the name without giving me any grief over it. I lost my nerve and only used it the once.

Big Step #3

I have a scar on my forehead. To me it's unsightly and half the reason I have bangs; others don't notice it. He asked how I got it. There are 2 versions of the story: the truth and the story I made up for everyone else. I decided to tell Christopher the truth, which put him in a hysterical laughing fit for 5 minutes. So I finally told him something about myself, moreover something that's rather secretive. Not even my parents know the truth, only the nurse who stitched me up.

Big Step #4

When I got up to leave Sunday morning, I leaned in and told him to kiss me goodbye. I've never initiated a kiss with him before. It was still awkward. Maybe he just can't kiss, it's his kryptonite to an otherwise flawless existence. That's how I'm going to justify it anyways, I know I don't have any problem in that department.

So I feel like I'm 14 after writing that. I'm an adult who is sleeping with someone and here I am, documenting the small things.

12:04 PM. Jimmy brushed my hand at lunch today. He made it look like an accident, but I think it was a sign that means he really likes me. I had Cheetos stuck in my braces, but I don't think he noticed. Jimmy is so haut. He's my soul mate, I don't know what I'll do if he never realizes this. Jimmy & Sarah 4 eva!
Jenny sent a postcard in to Post Secret about Mark and how she wanted to kill herself when he took Melissa to prom. She's so artistic. Maybe I'll do the same and Jimmy will finally ask me out...
Okay, I feel better now that I got that out of my system!

It felt good to make those steps. Christopher was so great with my dog which is really important to me. The only thing that didn't feel natural was that kiss. It really does feel wrong to be completely and unabashedly comfortable with his body except for his lips. Not sure how to fix this, or if there even is a solution for it. But if that's the most of our problems, things are going pretty well.

~Monday, February 27, 2006

Why I'll never mention Becker again

Ever since Becker's and my Valentine's date, I've been interested in him. We talk on the phone roughly 3 days a week. I thought he was sweet, innocent, and sort of nerdy: always the underdog you see and root for on TV. I always thought that this is the sort of character I should end up with. Becker is my first opportunity to test this theory.

Becker usually watches cartoons instead of prime time TV. I thought this was refreshing and endearing. He has a mild interest in role playing, which didn't sit well with me at all, but I forgave since he stopped bringing it up in our conversations. He's cute and has much potential with a haircut and an updated wardrobe. A fixer-upper if you will. Corny 80's movies floated in and out of my mind. I have a lot I could teach him.

Besides role playing, the other road block with Becker is his exes. Everybody has exes and I understand that. I am best friends with half of mine and I know that it's hard and intimidating for a new guy to fit in a social circle where a girl is on good terms with her exes. Makes them think that there are unresolved feelings between the girl and the exes. I get that and go out of my way to reassure the new guy. Becker, however, does not understand the sensitivity of the ex factor.

He'll call me up and tell me his ex-fiance from 6 years ago invited him to go on spring break with her. (I thought we are finally too old for spring breaks, but apparently not.) I spend 20 minutes talking him through it when it is completely not my place to do so. BIG RED WARNING FLAG #1. I'm not emotionally invested in him at all, so I don't really care, but I still withdraw a little. Then Friday he tells about his recent conflict with his most recent ex who dumped him about 6 weeks ago. Once again, I play psychologist and reassure him he's better off (she really did sound childish and looney tunes.) Jokingly, I tell him that he used the word "martyr" incorrectly when describing his feelings. He then proceeds to get really upset with me:

"'Crucify,' what about that word!" he screams into the phone. "I feel crucified!" he hollered.

It was still used incorrectly for the context, but I decided to leave it alone.

I sat there in silence, stunned that I was getting yelled at. BIG RED WARNING FLAG #2 if he's yelling at me over an ex. There was dead silence between us. I was sitting in traffic and I thought of the role playing, the cartoons, the fiance at 19, and now this. I thought of Christopher who has never even mentioned a single girl to me and suddenly I loved him for it. I can afford to be choosy right now. 'Fuck this shit,' I thought, making up my mind about how to proceed.

No need for a strike 3- "I have to go now," I said and hung up the phone.

I have since deleted all his information. I don't even feel a need to put him in the "friend zone," I'm just going to cut that one loose.

So it turns out I am not for the sweet, innocent, nerdy guy. I'm a fool for the bad boy.

~Thursday, February 23, 2006

The Oscillating Fan, Part Two

I've been thinking back all week to that party where Christopher told the 16-year-old she was beautiful. It still annoys me. I even brought it up when I was out to lunch with a girlfriend today.

"Maybe he's the kind of guy that likes to push your buttons," she offered.

He is. He 100% is. Usually I can fight back when he's an ass, or I can at least tolerate it: I was over at his house on a Sunday night under the condition that he puts on "Grey's Anatomy" for me. He keeps his word and he puts the show on....on one side of the screen. On the other half of the split-screen TV, he turns on porn. I had to sift through the "oohs" and "ahhs" to hear my show. This I can appreciate. This is funny.

I, however, have no tolerance for him hitting on someone I know when I take him to my friends' house. He threw up in my truck on the way home, not hers; he can at least admit that I'm beautiful.

The night before, while we were drifting off to sleep, he said something about how I never tell him anything. This statement, coupled with my girlfriend's suggestion, has me thinking about the flip side of the coin: maybe he wants the same from me. I'm just stubbornly expecting him to say something when I haven't given him anything either.

I don't flirt with him; I've never told him how unbelievably handsome I think he is. Other than sex, I never initiate any sort of affection: I've never hugged him, we only kiss when he does it- even then it's awkward as hell because we've kissed a handful of times. It's the only part of his body that I'm not comfortable with. He doesn't know anything about my life except I live with my father, hate my brother who went to GA Tech, and what I do for a living. When we talk, we either comment about what's on TV at the moment or take digs at each other. To be honest, I don't really trust him. I know he doesn't mean any harm, but I can't open up to someone who's constantly taking shots at me. And, in my defense, he's never asked. However, in the recent weeks, he has been asking me if I think he's cute, funny, etc. I assumed it was just to inflate his ego, but maybe he wants acceptance from me as well.

The day after the party, he complimented me and told me I was beautiful, twice. I'm really hard on him and he really hasn't given me any reason to be. The only time he's seen an emotion from me (other than the infamous "whore" calling incident) was when he said that to the girl. It's the only time he could even guess how I feel regarding him. And now he knows that I don't like him flirting with other people in front of me.

That same night I forgot my toothbrush and he gave me one of his to use. The next night, I remembered mine. "You brought your own toothbrush," he said, holding the one he gave me to use. Did he mean that I could keep the one he gave me? I'm so busy keeping my game face on, that I may have missed that step.

I'm not sure what we are. I don't know if we're dating or just "hanging out." I don't really care to ask either. I've been happy, right now it doesn't matter to me what we are. I'm so afraid of rejection and the "let's just be friends" speech- which I know is inevitable from him- that I haven't been giving him a reason to make it by acting otherwise.

I don't know what to do. Should I open up? We're on the basis of calling each other "hot" which is a step up from where we were. What if all this is just so I can feed his ego? Besides calling me beautiful after I got pissed, he hasn't given me any reason to behave differently either.

Oh God, what if this is just a vicious circle of neither of us doing anything because the other hasn't?

~Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Just like a fan, I come with 3 settings

My feelings toward Christopher completely oscillate from liking him to loathing him, and in turn, loathe myself for liking him.

Sometimes, he'll do things that makes me think I don't know him at all, but in a good way:

We're laying in bed one night watching "Goodfellas." Ray Liotta reminds me a lot of Christopher sans the pock marks, plus a 5 o'clock shadow. The camera opens a scene with a tight shot on Ray Liotta's green eyes and I smile to myself, thinking of Christopher. Then it hits me- I have no idea what color his eyes are. I make it a habit not to look at boys in the eyes because I fear they will be able to see right through to me, and I can't handle that. Even worse, with Christopher I rarely look at him in the face: he's the dreamiest person I've ever been with and I don't want him to see me.

"What color are your eyes?" I ask, hoping that admitting I don't know doesn't offend him.


"Oh. (Pause) What color are my eyes?"

"Brown, but you wish they were blue."

I inhale sharply. I can't believe he remembers that. Even though he says I talk too much, he still listens. My heart melted a little bit.

And then he'll do things that makes me want to punch him in the face:

I took him to Bryan's birthday party Saturday night. Christopher tells me not to leave his side because he doesn't know anybody there. I agreed.

There's this 16-year-old there who is shamelessly flirting with everyone, including me. She's a younger sister of someone there and she always does this. She hit on Mark when she knew he was my boyfriend at the time. I hate her. She doesn't know that flirting with 30-year-old men brings different consequences than 17-year-olds and one day it's going to get her into trouble.

She unhooks from Bryan long enough to hit on Christopher, even though she knows that he came with me. I hate her.

Christopher takes a shot with her (he's so going to jail for that) and says to her, "I think you're beautiful."

I grabbed his arm and practically drug him out of the house. Outside I tell him that he pissed me off.


"Because you'll tell a girl half your age that she's beautiful *even when she's not* and you won't tell me, AND I'M SLEEPING WITH YOU!"

"It's different with you."

"Why?" (I don't know what this means, and I still don't. If anyone has a clue, please let me know)

"Because you know you are. Every guy here tonight has said that about you." (Not sure if he's telling the truth here or doing some serious back tracking, but I was looking pretty hot)

"It doesn't count if it comes from ugly people!" (I'd been drinking)

Seriously. Wanted to punch him in the face.

~Saturday, February 18, 2006

Dirty laundry and other secrets

Something is definitely wrong with me.

I'm sick. I'm mentally ill. They need to lock me up in a padded room.

It's Saturday afternoon and I'm sitting at my house with about 20 pounds of Christopher's clothing.

I was getting dressed this morning at Christopher's. I was putting on my bra and staring at the blood stain on his sheets from a bloody nose he got earlier this week. Christopher was still lying in bed, watching me.

"You know I'm going to see you tonight. Why don't I take your sheets home with me and wash them for you. I'll bring them back when I pick you up tonight for the party."


"Yeah, that way I can make up for the time I got the bloody nose on your sheets that first night I met you. Besides, I can just do it at home, or have the house keeper do it, and that way you won't have to go to the laundromat."

"Yeah, ok."

He hauls out his laundry basket and we strip the bed and put the sheets in. He then proceeds to take this huge pile of clothing in the corner of his room and put it in the basket. I honestly thought it was a couple of shirts on top of a box, but no, it was solid clothing. He then goes into his bathroom and grabs all his towels and stuffs them in the basket too. I look in his closet. The only thing in there is a selection of sport coats. His entire wardrobe is in this basket. He confirms this when he bends over to pick up the basket and groans.

"I'm so not taking that down four flights of stairs. You carry it down and put it in my truck for me," I say.

So now I'm sitting here with his entire wardrobe next to me. I'm waiting until my father leaves for me to do it; I don't feel like explaining why I'm washing man clothes. Ooh, these boxers are cute.

What kind of person offers to do someone's laundry? Granted, I was originally talking about his sheets, but he's a man. He can do his own laundry. It did it before he met me and I'm sure he'll do it after me. Am I so eager to please that I'll go out of my way like this?

Yes I am.

I just pray I don't find any skid marks.

~Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Valentine's Day

I wasn't expecting anything for Valentine's Day. I think I liked it better that way. Except for the guys at school, no one knows about Christopher, making it a little secret between us. It doesn't seem right to acknowledge anything. I didn't even call him; I was proud of myself.

I was at the cafe in my building grabbing lunch and the Chinese man who always works the register handed me a Ghirardelli chocolate. I smiled. "That's enough," I thought to myself. I am happy and content with this gesture for the day.

I get home and my stepmother had left a note saying she was eating dinner with one of my brothers and that I was on my own. I was on the phone with Becker when I read the note. He had just finished complaining that he hadn't seen anyone in 20 hours and hated Valentine's Day. When he heard I had no dinner plans either, he invited me out for Japanese.

Maybe it was because I hate cooking, maybe it was because I wanted to tell people that I did celebrate the day with someone, maybe it was because Japanese is my favorite food, but I accepted. I actually had a really good time. He made it through the whole dinner without mentioning his ex or role playing games- two things that were preventing me from wanting to go out with him again. He told me that he had a really good Valentine's by going out with me and left me a sweet message on my MySpace account. I was surprised by the evening too.

I know it's completely unfair of me to do this, but I can't help comparing the two. There really is no comparison, Christopher has me on a different level. I'm sleeping with Christopher, and no other guy can really compare to that. I don't know Becker well enough to tell him anything about myself, and Christopher already has a few of those barriers down.

I don't feel guilty for going out with Becker, Christopher was the one who told me he didn't want anything exclusive on our first date. Only I know I'm seeing other people and I'm confident in saying that he's not. For once I feel like I have the upper hand: I am the player, I am not the one who will be played. I don't know if Christopher still checks my MySpace page. If he does, he will know what I've been up to. I don't know how he will react, but he's the one who set the rules. I'm just glad I'm juggling more than one guy again.

~Tuesday, February 14, 2006

An exercise in mortification

As usual, I didn't hear from Christopher all week. I went ahead and made plans and thought I could somehow squeeze him in. Friday I went to a show and had a fabulous time. Saturday I was invited to a house-warming party back at school. I didn't mind too much that he didn't call because I had those plans. I can only imagine how I would have felt if I didn't. Saturday night I was with my college buddies and partook in my college behaviors, which included a keg and vodka- lots of vodka. I never touch the stuff unless I'm with them.

"You know, other people don't drink as much as we do," I slurred to Conor, who was pouring me another shot.

"No shit, Sarah. You learned your drinking from me and I'm Irish."

It's true. The first couple of months after I met Conor, I spent the majority of most nights with my head in a toilet. My tolerance is higher than most boys since then and I rarely get drunkity drunk drunk. Ok so maybe 3 times this year, but before that I would go months and months without it.

Conor and I finished our bottle of vodka and we had begun working on the keg when I pulled out my phone. Never a good idea. I need to learn to leave it in the car or out of my range. Called Christopher. He didn't answer. Called him twice more within 10 minutes. Then I decided to leave him a message. (Oh God, this is so embarrassing.)

Completely serious and slightly tipping over: "Hey Christopher, this is Sarah. This is an official booty call. This is not an alert of the emergency broadcasting system. This is the real thing. I'm going to need you. Stat."

Conor just stared at me open mouthed with the keg nozzle drooping from his hands.

The next morning I looked at my phone log on my cell phone. Oh my God. At least he was the only person I called. And now I won't have to worry about him calling ever again.

Sure enough, Sunday night Christopher phones. He was in Birmingham all weekend visiting friends. He sounded happy to hear from me and kept asking who I was with at all times, whether or not I had dated him, if I would ever consider dating him, etc. The questioning made me really uncomfortable until I realized that he was checking up on me. If he was asking, he obviously cares if I'm with other people or not.

Christopher: So you didn't get naked this weekend?
Sarah: Nope.(Pauses) Um...
Christopher: What?
Sarah: Did you get my message last night?
Christopher: Nope. Did you leave one?
Sarah: (sighs with relief) Um, yeah but it wasn't important.
Christopher: What did it say?
Sarah: Nothing really, I was just, um, calling to see where you were.
Christopher: Oh, ok. (Pauses) So do you want to come over?
Sarah: Sure, let me just grab some work clothes for tomorrow and I'll be on my way.
Christopher: Hey, wear something sexy. I'm going to need you. Stat.
Oh God.

~Monday, February 13, 2006

Why I have been absent: mentally, physically, and emotionally

I've sort of strayed from here because the only thing I had to post about last week I didn't really want to address. But in my effort to be completely honest, here it goes.

I have been putting myself under a lot of stress lately. Although I haven't moved yet, I've been working in the big city and am trying to adjust to it. For me, it's new everything: new job, new friends, new life. I originally came here for Mark and the thought of facing this city alone scares the living hell out of me. He led me on and had me move here to be with him, and he dumped me 2 weeks into it. Since then, I retreated to my mother's house, and when that became too close, I moved even further away to my father's house.

But my job and Christopher have me spending 90% of my time here. It's tough. It's a different crowd than what I'm used to. Here it's all about where you live, what you do, and who you wear. Everything is a rat race and I drive myself insane (literally at times, I'm afraid) trying to fit in. 90% of my time, energy, and money is invested into myself so I'll fit in. I'm on this insane diet that makes me nauseated every time I try and put food in my mouth. I'm in traffic 3 hours a day on my commute, watching people cut me off and cheat their way to the front and I almost cry because I see this as one big metaphor for my life. I cry myself to sleep about 3 nights a week because I don't feel thin enough/ beautiful enough/ good enough.

Where I'm from, the standards are a lot lower. You've got it made if you have a full-time job. Everyone gets really drunk and does really stupid things every weekend. People from all walks of life accept each other and the goths will party with the professionals on a Friday night. That's not how it is here. I got drunk one night and Rebecca will never speak to me again (bitch never called me back even after I left her a message apologizing.)

I tried mentioning my struggle to my father at dinner one night last week. He noticed that I began retreating again and kept going back to my college town instead of the big city on the weekends. I told him about the superficiality of the city and it's tough to create an identity for yourself there. He said I needed to exercise more. I told him he missed my point and he asked me to explain. I tried again and he just said that that is the way the real world is and I better get used to it. He's not very supportive, but he isn't judgmental like my mother, so I can stand living there.

Everything sort of came to a head last week. I joined a gym and a yoga class with some girls from work. Then I find out that having a gym isn't enough, you also need a personal trainer. And after that: a nutritionist. I'll never catch up. I opened a bottle of wine for dinner and never stopped drinking. I got completely tanked off of one bottle of wine and began calling people. I called for Conor but he was asleep and his roommate tried talking to me but he couldn't understand me through my sobs, so he passed the phone on to Bryan. Yeah, so didn't need to be talking to him.

He was really nice about the whole thing and told me about when he moved from Virginia to Georgia. He said it takes a year before you completely fit in and find yourself and your friends. I cried harder. He asked how long I been in the city and laughed when I told him a month. "I have 11 more months of this?" I wailed. He said I'm smart and beautiful and shouldn't worry about such things, that I'm too hard on myself.

He's partly right. To be honest, I don't really know that much about the city. I still haven't been to the popular places and still haven't met a wide variety of people yet. What I know about the city is Christopher, who's so incredibly built and good looking, I still can't believe it when the phone rings. I know my cousin and his wife-- poster children for the Aryan race with A+ personalities to match. They are the type of people who can make everyone in a room feel special. I got an e-mail from the prettiest and most popular girl from my high school saying she's also in the city. This is my competition. I can't keep up.

I woke up the next day with an honest-to-God red wine stain on my face. I have now reached desperation of Bridget Jones' proportions.

~Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Real Live Seinfeld

I am not a morning person. I am an actual wreck in the morning. I'll sleep to the last possible minute, then I'll sleep 5 more. When I do get up, I run around like a chicken with her head cut off until I'm out the door.

This is why I've been accidentally leaving things at Christopher's when I have work that morning. The first time it was my running shoes, the second time it was my glasses. I'm running around in the morning and it's not my place and it's not my bathroom and I'm trying to put everything in my bag and put on my coat while remembering to grab my Slim Fast out of his fridge.

I've been expecting this conversation:

Sarah: Do you have my glasses? I can't find them. If they aren't there, then they're in your parking lot I'm afraid.
Christopher: Yeah, I think I have them.
Sarah: Oh good.
Christopher: Whatever. You know you're leaving things behind on purpose so you have an excuse to come over.
Sarah: I AM NOT!!!
Christopher: Yes you are! This is classic!
Sarah: No, if I were to purposely leave things there, I would leave things that I can't live without in case I never get them back. I need my glasses.
Christopher: Okay, well your running shoes then. You remembered exactly where they were in my apartment.
Sarah: No my running shoes were too expensive to just leave behind, it would have to be something smaller. I remembered where they were because I kept telling myself that morning to not forget that they were under your coffee table.
He let it go after that. I think he knows I really am not doing it on purpose, but he can't give up the opportunity to tease me when he sees one. I thought I had won that battle and forgot about it.

I get a phone call from him last night, "You left your Netflix DVD here. You can live without that, right?"


I hate it when he wins.

~Monday, February 06, 2006

Yes, we're really like this. All. The. Time.

I have a picture of Christopher in my head. This mental image is most likely a combination of how I want him to be and how he can be. This is the Christopher I see when I write his name on paper and write about here.

Invariably, I'm always disappointed with the reality of Christopher. He spent a lot of time on Friday telling me how stupid and retarded I am. It wears on me and has me wondering if he actually thinks this about me.

Every time there is an age gap involving an older man with a 20-something blonde, the guy will always receive praises and high fives. The 20-something blonde always puts out and typically has a less than conversational IQ. She doesn't need one because she's always gotten by on her looks.

This is the stereotype I find myself mentally battling. I'm considerably younger than him. I'm just now getting acquainted with the professional world; he's been immersed in it for nearly a decade. I get excited over my first business cards and my first publication. The boss tells me I'm resourceful and it's the highlight of my week. Christopher's well into the same shit, different day mode. The reason we work is because we have the same maturity level, which is beneath both of our age groups.

I'm sitting on the couch with Christopher Friday night (he did call and, yes, I do feel like a moron) and during the commercial breaks on "Hannity and Colmes" I tell him, unasked, about my work week. "You're retarded," he responds.

He's into his 15th beer for the night and I have a feeling that I am indeed not retarded. Either he's not listening or this is his standard 15th beer response to anything I might say.

I try again. "Hey someone from your school is obsessed with my website. He or she checks it like 9 times a day." Christopher knows only about my MySpace account. I don't even know how he found it, but I get a phone call one night from him, telling me he found it and what a loser I am for having one. I tried explaining that it is my sole resource for keeping up with my college buddies. He didn't buy it until he met my college buddies and we had a 20 minute conversation about MySpace.

"Well it's not me," he says.

"I know it's not you. It's a Michigan IP address. You would have to be physically there for that address to log. Besides, it's from the law school. You were pre-med."

"Well why are you even telling me this?"

"Because it's your school! I though it was cool."

"Millions of people go there."

"No, millions of people do not go there."

"Okay, we millions of people have gone there since the school was founded."

"That may be true."

Pause. "You're retarded."

"I thought it was relevant!"

"Well it's not and you're retarded."

I sigh. Classic Christopher is back. This conversation is typical for Christopher's and my relationship. I am completely over whatever danger I thought I was in last week over falling for him.

I get up from the couch and get him beer number 16. Instead of sitting back down in the middle cushion next to him, I climb onto the far cushion and lay in the fetal position on my stomach so my head is on the armrest, and my knees are on the couch and my ass is in the air, pointing at him. I was getting drunk and it was a comfortable position. I also thought it was fitting to have only my ass facing him seeing as how it clearly demonstrated how I felt about him at the moment.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Hiding from you," I mumble with my face pressed in the armrest, slightly wiggling my butt.


"Because every time I say something, you act like I'm annoying you."

"Don't be stupid," he says as he pulls the back of my sweatshirt until I'm laying on him. Even when he's being sweet, he still manages to call me stupid. Only Christopher gets away with this.

Besides, any time he tried to speak in the next 5 minutes, I'd immediately cut him off by abruptly shouting, "You're retarded!"

"You've been waiting to do that, haven't you?"

"Yes, and it was fun. Thank you."

~Friday, February 03, 2006

A Review

I've been daydreaming about Sunday off and on all week. I keep trying to remember small details about the day in an effort to not forget. I'll replay certain moments in my head, proving to myself that he does like me.

...Like when we were driving home and he scoots over to the middle to put his arm around me. Then he ran his hand up the nape of my neck and played with my hair... Or the look on his face when he confessed things to me. He looked truly bashful and embarrassed, begging me not to tell anyone. Honesty like that is pure sexiness... When he kissed me in his kitchen and thanked me for the day. He never does that... When he found me in the middle of the night and wrapped himself around me. I freaking love that...

So I think I like him. I think I might truly like him.

I am definitely not ready for that possibility. I am not ready to like someone and get treated like crap again. I will not be a glutton for pain. Things were so much easier when I could think, 'Oh Bryan doesn't want me? No biggie, I've got 3 other possibilities.' Instead, Christopher is winning out. He's become my first choice. I've barely spoken to Becker this week. I know I would like him if Christopher isn't in the picture.

Christopher has made me feel more confident about myself. He has made me think that maybe I could get what I want out of a mate, and not settle. I liked it better when I could confidently and arrogantly claim that I don't believe in love. I don't want to be love's bitch and just get run over again. Some people's hearts grow back bigger. I'm Grinch's antithesis, I honestly believe that my heart is three times smaller since the first time I said, "I love you."

I'm talking to Christopher about us sleeping together:

Sarah: I know we're not exclusive, I only ask that if you're sleeping with someone else, tell me. I deserve the right to know.
Christopher: I'm not! There is no one else, you're the only one!
Sarah: Agreed. So when I start sleeping with someone else, I'll let you know.

His mouth kind of hung open and I realized what I just said.


Who talks like that? It was a total player thing to say and I didn't even say it on purpose. Usually when I play games, I do so consciously. I said "when," making myself look like a giant whore.

Or someone who isn't going to be hurt again.

Since that conversation, I've lost the desire to look elsewhere. This is bad. I'm telling you now this will only end badly for me. He's 8 years older than me and infinitely better looking, perhaps even smarter. (He says he's Mensa, but I think I match him pretty well intelligence-wise.)

Proof: I haven't spoken to him since Monday morning. It's Friday. Granted, he never calls ahead to plan things, so I don't know why I'm freaking out. We're completely spur of the moment together.

I'm anxious.

So you like it when I get laid...

I thought this was too funny:

I published the story admitting I slept with Christopher Thursday morning. Look how big that bar is! Imagine if I was detailed!

I feel like saying something like, "Glad to know you're rooting for me," or "Thanks," or "What? You were expecting pictures? Naughty, naughty!"

~Thursday, February 02, 2006

The Happy Ending (and it didn't cost extra)

We're lying on the pull out couch Sunday morning and Christopher keeps talking about the mountains and how much fun he has when he goes there. He wants to know how far it is from where we are. Amazingly enough, there was a road map right beside us. I pulled it out and saw that it was a straight shot. I couldn't believe I never drove up to the mountains when I was in college.

We decide to just go and leave before anyone wakes up. It was a nice drive on a Sunday morning and we laugh at the flea markets and weird road names we pass while driving through Nowhere, GA. I think this set the precedent for the rest of the day.

At noon we arrive in Helen- a small tourist German town inhabited by 300 people when it's not Octoberfest. It was the perfect destination. We park and walk down Main Street until we find this place that serves these giant mugs of beer. We order a couple and sit outside and people watch. People watching quickly turned into "let's make fun of everyone walking by."

We were clearly the smartest and best looking people in this crappy mountain town. Into our second mug of beer, Christopher looks down and mumbles, "I just make fun of everyone so I feel better about myself."

I just start giggling, clearly intoxicated, "Me too!"

We came up with these elaborate stories about everyone for the first couple mugs of beer. "I hope we don't die on the way home," I giggle.

"Oh it's too late for that- we're already going to hell," he responds.

By the time we passed the 100 oz mark on our beer, the conversation turned towards ourselves. I confided something to him (I think I turn confessional after hours of beer drinking) and he didn't judge at all and confided some things in me. I realize we have never really talked before. This was the first time we have even seen each other during daylight hours.

Once Christopher takes down his barrier, he really is a great person. He's human, he's flawed, he's supportive and very likeable. I wouldn't have guessed it when I first met him and he called me a whore. Of course I bring it up. I giggle and lean to the side, almost tipping over, "You made me cry when I first met you!" He tells me exactly how horrible he felt when that happened. When I think back to these conversations, it doesn't even feel like the same person.

Apparently the city of Helen closes at 6 Sunday night. Everything just closed. Christopher and I grab some bratwursts before the sun quickly disappeared. He wants to get a hotel room and spend the night here. I don't want to because we both have to work 3 hours away in the morning. We would have to get up at some ridiculous time and I don't have any clothes to wear, I can't just pop home like he can. We grab another bratwurst to soak up the alcohol and drive home.

I don't know if it was the beer, the day together, or what, but he became very affectionate. When we finally got back to his apartment it was late at night. He was a completely different person than I have ever known. We made love and it was freaking fantastic.

~Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Guy friends meet the new... friend?

I passed out for a 45 minute nap before finally showering and heading back to Christopher's. I picked him up and began our long drive. I was nervous. Very nervous. I placed a call to my friends where we were heading and warned them that I was bringing a friend and made sure it was cool if we still spent the night. Brad said it was fine. Christopher double-checked with me that I did let them know he was coming. "What did you say? A friend?"

Christopher began asking questions. He wanted to know who the guys were, how I knew them, etc. He then asked if any of them were my boyfriend. I lied and said no. Conor was working that night, so Christopher wouldn't meet him.

When we got to the house, the boys were finishing up a game of Trivial Pursuit. Everybody met and instantly I saw that Christopher and Bryan were not getting along. Christopher began to make fun of Bryan and Bryan wasn't having any of it. Neither of them knew about the other, but it was still noticeable. Bryan said he would be DD and would drive my truck back to the house afterwards. Christopher approached me and said, "This guy says he's driving your truck home, is this true?" It was awkward, but funny.

Christopher really liked my college town. He liked the environment, the bars, and the prices. He said it's really different than Atlanta, but in a good way. I'm glad I could show him a part of myself and have him like it. I don't know why, but I was expecting him to say that Atlanta is better, his college is better, and be a bit of an ass about the whole thing. He didn't have one bad thing to say. He actually wants to go back.

We get back to the house and Bryan tells us about the sleeping arrangements. He had a pull-out couch, but recommended one of us sleeping on it in the normal position and the other person sleeping on the second couch. Christopher ignores him and pulls out the couch into bed mode, takes off his shirt, climbs in, and motions for me to do the same. I followed. Bryan just sits there for a minute and gets up and says he's going to bed.

Christopher wanted to fool around, but I felt really awkward about getting naked in my friends' living room, with 4 guys' rooms surrounding us. I just couldn't do it.

Conor comes home at 8 am. He hears me greet him, but he can't tell who I am in the darkness across the room. Conor comes and sits on the other couch in the living room with a bottle of whisky and begins to drink and asks about our night. Conor and I haven't dated in at least 2 or 3 years, but I still felt a little weird to be laying in his living room with another guy, our pants both crumpled on his floor. Totally got busted about lying to Christopher too. He said something about it later, but I said that Conor wasn't out with us, so I was technically telling the truth. Either he bought it, or just decided to drop it. Christopher really liked Conor and was disappointed he wasn't out with us.

It's Sunday morning and I thought I was just going to drive Christopher home and then I was going to go back to my house and sleep all day. Christopher had other plans.


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