Best. Decision. Ever.

"And that's why 'Owner of a Lonely Heart' by Yes would make the best ringtone ever," decides N.

"Speaking of, I ended things with KB."

"Speaking of Owner of a Lonely Heart?" she laughs. "I never told you this, but last weekend Z and I sat him down and talked to him about his kissing."

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

"Yeah, why?"

"If a mutual friend sat me down and told me that a guy was turned off by my kissing, I would be mortified. I would be embarrassed; I would want to crawl under a rock and die. And I most certainly would never call him again!" KB called me twice since N and his talk. Unflushable.

"It didn't seem to bother him. Hopefully he'll reflect on it."

"What happened? What did you say?"

"Just that he was being way too aggressive and to lighten up. That when a girl akins a kiss to a head rape, he's being too rough."

God, I love N. We didn't speak for the first several months we worked together, but that girl has my back moreso than anyone I know. "And what did he say to that?"

"He said that's just the way he is: aggressive in bed."

Oh holy crap. I can't imagine what he would have done with my more sensitive parts. Actually I can. And I wouldn't have liked it. I have a tendency to blurt things out in bed. Who taught you that!? What makes you think that's okay?!

And not being one to turn up an opportunity to prove I was right, let's go back to a previous post.


Maybe he doesn't even want to. By KB telling N that "That's just the way he is," KB obviously has no interest in pleasing others. It was the worst case scenario come true.

Yup. Best. Decision. Ever.

A post I wish I wrote

Sometimes I read people's blogs and I think Genius! Why didn't I think of that first?

This is one such post.

So, I tried again.

"Hey, I was a real jerk to you last week."

"Yeah." There was an awkward pause. If he couldn't say "I'm sorry," then I'm not obligated to "That's okay" or "Don't worry about it."

"Well you have your thing on Saturday. Do you want to do something Sunday?"

"Yeah." Wait. Shit, that wasn't the right response. I had even rehearsed this. Quick, I need to cover this up. "As friends."

This was the place where I was planning to tell him that there just wasn't any chemistry, which was technically true-- he was just such a terrible kisser. Instead I sat there silent on the phone, giving him no explanation.

"That's fine."

I couldn't speak.

"No, really, that's fine," he chirped again. "So I will give you, uh, a call."

"Okay. Later."

It's not that I'm so full of myself that I'm worried about breaking his heart. Ending things with someone is really more painful for me than it is for the other party, I'm sure, which is what makes me so completely terrible at it.

That's what I get for being so damn sensitive.

But I'm proud of myself for being an adult about it*.

*If everyone can just forget the part where I told him to fuck off last week, that would be great. Thanks in advance.

On Bulls and Blueprints

As I mentioned earlier, I spent my morning and most of my night last night reading this guy's blog. He's 28 and less than a week ago, his wife of 10 years died. Something happened and she was admitted into the hospital for flu symptoms. He never spoke to her again and she was dead within two weeks. They still don't know what made her sick.

It was hard reading his pleadings to a God he didn't believe in to keep his wife alive. Now that I'm through, I feel sad and hollow. What I read was not a movie. It was not fictional; it actually happened. There is a 28-year-old widower out there.

I decided after treating #7 and KB badly (and a few others that never made it on here) that I worked out my anger of Adam's and my relationship. How he treated me badly since the moment I first got naked with him. How he chose someone else over me. How he was one of three people I actually liked this year. How quickly I let someone walk all over me after vowing to stand up for myself. By treating them badly, I was striking back at what I felt were injustices.

For the past couple of months, I've been going through life like a bull in a china shop. A nick here. A dent there. Doing damage to myself and to other people. But AT's blog reminded me that, if nothing else, we should do our best to take care of each other, not to tear one another down.

I was going to start fresh with two new prospects from Esquire.com. However, both of them seem to have cut correspondence with me. It may just be an adjustment from the holidays. It may be that I finally warmed up and showed a peek of my true self to them and they simultaneously fled in terror. I'm disappointed I've ruined my chances to practice my new outlook by simply being myself.

Sometimes I wish there was a blueprint for my life. Just tell me what you want me to be and I'll be it.

My blog wouldn't nearly be as interesting though.

I'm a joker, he's a smoker, she's a midnight what?!

Thanksgiving has passed. Thank god. I hate Thanksgiving: it's important enough that you're expected to spend it with the family, but it's not religious so none of said family is on good behavior.

It's always Thanksgiving when I'm traumatized by my family. This year was no exception:

My step-mother and father and I were eating dinner the night before I left town. My step-mother's sister was visiting and we had just finished laughing over my speed dating story.

My step-mother's sister looks up from her plate of spaghetti, "Did you ever smoke pot?"

I look up wild-eyed and was immediately relieved when I see that she's not looking at me; she's looking at my step-mom. I look down at my plate and pretend I didn't hear the question.

My step-mother takes a long pause. I stare down a piece of garlic bread in front of me. "I did, but I waited," she began. "Like I really waited."

"Like I really, really waited," she continued. Only then I look up from my plate. Exactly how old was my step-mom when she smoked pot?

She looks to my father, "Honey, how old was I?"

I gag on the noodles I just forked into my mouth. She smoked pot with my father?! It's no secret that my dad was a hippie and smoked in college, but he did it after I was born?!

They smoked pot together which places me at least five years old. My dad was in his early forties smoking pot with my step-mom. I only tried it a handful of times when I was 21. Alcohol is my drug of choice. But my parents might still be toking.

Wow. That has to be good for a few years of therapy.

Digression

I was just going to run through and catch up on my blogs this morning real quick because I do have a lot to do before my boss returns tomorrow. But it's 11 AM and I haven't done crap because I ran across this blog.

I started the link at November 1st because that's where she becomes sick. His wife dies on November 17th.

I haven't made it all the way through yet. It becomes difficult for me to read all the emotion he drags himself through and subsequently posts on the internet.

Makes my blog posts planned for today look cheap. And petty. And not what life should be about.

Take Two

Apparently screaming "You know what? Fuck you!" and hanging up on someone doesn't get the point across.

KB called while I was out of town and left a message probing when I would be back so we could go out again.

Which means, I have to end things. Again.

As if I didn't feel scuzzy enough the first time.