Day 28: A Song that Makes You Feel Guilty

Usually, when I am preparing to pick a song for this challenge, I put my iPod on shuffle and I wait for something perfect (which might explain why it sometimes takes me weeks to come up with a song that fits…oops) and then I write about it. For the last week, however, I have been trying to think of songs with my BRAIN and without the assistance of my trusty iPod because, you see, some fucktard decided to steal it from Tony’s house a little over a week ago and now I am without my very best friend. (RIP Shabuta Jenkins 2.0. Yes. My iPod’s name was Shabuta Jenkins 2.0. What?) No offense to my human best friends, of course, but I don’t see you guys following me around and singing to me all day. Assholes. Anyway, I digress…

So, fortunately for me, thinking of a song that makes me feel guilty was super easy (read: ridiculously effing hard) and I didn’t need my iPod (read: sort of wanted to pull my hair out and/or bang my head against something hard and possibly pointy). But I found it, guys. I found it.

I picked “I Can’t Make You Love Me” by Bonnie Raitt. I think we have all been, to some degree, on both ends of this situation, ya’ll. I have definitely been Bonnie Raitt in this scenario, being all smitten and retarded over some dude who obviously didn’t love me, but liked me enough to make out with me (while, in turn, keeping me hooked and more smitten), but that isn’t the part that makes me feel guilty (foolish, yes, but I was a teenager, and that means it was my job and my right to be an idiot). I have also played the part of whomever Bonnie happens to be singing to. And that, I am not proud of. Sometimes, it is easier for people to just have someone to…have…than it is to deal with being alone. Even if that person, isn’t the one for you. Or, like, listens to Godsmack or something. It is always nice to be wanted. But it kind of sucks when you know you’re kind of…well…being a douche.

So there it is. My feeling guilty song (which only took me a billion years to think of).   

On Being In Love (Alternately Titled: On Being So Effing Happy and Smiling So Much That Your Face Shatters into Tiny Pieces and Then You Hate Your Faceless Self for Being Such a Girl)

(Disclaimer: This could get mushy.)

I am not the kind of girl, internet, who falls in love fast and hard for every guy she dates. But I have been around the block a few times and I have experienced some earth shattering love (and some that was more like saying, “I will pretend to love this guy until something much better comes along, at which time, I will crush his little heart and move on.” I know, it is cruel, but I don’t do it consciously. It isn’t until after it is over that I realize what I have been doing. You know you are guilty of it too, internet, stop frontin’.) My previous relationships have all been significant in some way but they haven’t all been exactly…right. And there are a couple that I won’t even mention because I am still, to this day, trying to figure out what I was thinking…And that’s okay, I think we all know which one is at the top of that list, so…no surprises here!

I’ve always maintained that I am independent and kind of a hard-ass skeptic when it comes to relationships. I want my space and I want to run the show. (Duh.) And usually, that is exactly how it goes. (Coincidence? I think not.) The guys I date normally fall into the same kind of category. Soft-spoken, shy, kind, usually artistic, witty, smart and, most importantly, let me have my way (and it helps if they are tall…just sayin’.) Thing Two fits in here perfectly (not to mention that he is effing hilarious) and I never once noticed. I just never looked at him that way (nor him at me). Which, lets face it, could have been because I was busy making sure that Spliff didn’t do irreparable damage to his ego or it could have been because I was busy having a crush on Thing One. After Spliff ripped him to pieces, I couldn’t see him as anything as “another one of my friends that Spliff treated like shit”. So, I stayed friends with him for awhile and then we just stopped talking. But back then, I saw him like an annoying little brother and I didn’t really care if we were friends or not.

Then we got back into touch. And there was a pool party and a gay bar and then he tried to kiss me and I laughed at him. And now here we are. And I’ve never been happier. And he isn’t the same person he was back then. And neither am I. And there is no Spliff. And we have a really awesome apartment and we share everything. And yes, internet, I love him. Madly. Profoundly. Intensely. And I can’t imagine anything possibly being any better. (Except, you know, if I lost the ten pounds I have gained while being in the “I’m so effing happy” stage of this whole thing…yikes. Rant: Why can’t you LOSE weight when you are super happy? Why do you have to get super fat? Why does everything awesome make you fat? Like mozzarella sticks? Why? End rant.) And honestly, I am excited every day to get to go home to him and every day I am a little less surprised that he is so amazing. And now I just wonder why it took us so long, why I couldn’t have pushed Thing One and Spliffany out of our way and just gotten straight to the good stuff. I guess it had to happen this way for it to work. Because back then he was coming into my room wearing a bra in the morning saying, “Why don’t you take your shirt off and make some coffee?” and now…well, I might actually be doing just that. It pays to be patient. And to think, if he hadn’t had that one last beer after I laughed at him for trying to kiss me, he may not have tried again. And THEN where would we be?

The Sound of Settling

So, for the past week, Thing Two and I have been trying to adjust to our new digs while simultaneously trying to chase people out of our new digs and into…you know…anyone else’s. We’ve just moved in and have already had a lengthy visit from L and several drunkards passed out in random spots throughout the apartment. I know, I know, this is what I wanted when I got a place with rooms. A place where my friends would feel comfortable staying (and not having to sleep in the closet or with half of their body in the “kitchen” while the other half is blocking the way to the bathroom).  So, I would like to say, “Yes. Mission accomplished. Now get out.” 

L’s visit was not completely just a social call (however, the actual amount of ANYTHING other than texting she does in a day is miniscule at best). I had lined her up an interview at my office since we recently got rid of someone (who I trained for three months and complained about every day until FINALLY, the powers that be recognized that she was illiterate and maybe mildly retarded). Even though L has successfully avoided working at all in the last two years, I knew she would be a better fit for my office than the last one. (L can read. And she is a lesbian. Which is almost a prerequisite to work in my office. I am not sure why they hired me. I am going with boobs, though. My boobs are good.) Either way, she got the job and will start next Monday but in the meantime, she has to find somewhere to live. There was talk of her moving temporarily upstairs into my old studio while she gets settled into the position at work, but being that she hasn’t worked in a billion years and has no money and her dad will be paying for the place (at least initially), he gets the final say. And of course, it is a studio. So…he is protesting and being pretty annoying and practically insisting that Thing Two and I just let her and her two yappy little dogs move into our place. You know. “For now.”

No.

It isn’t that I don’t want to help my friend out. But I think I did my part. I got her a job. I shouldn’t have to give her a place to live too. And feed her. And try to grow accustomed to my new life with Thing Two while she is all up in our way. I am just not a fan of this idea. It took me forever to get out of roomie-hood and into this rather adult way of life and the last thing I want is a squatter. Dammit. Of course, if it comes down to it, I will give her a place to stay (hopefully, VERY temporarily) but, I just kind of want to settle in now. And I don’t think that is too much to ask. It isn’t, right?

A Home

It took exactly seven days, but Thing Two and I are officially living in the new apartment. We spent all last week picking out paint colors and then…you know…painting walls and whatnot. I was so excited when this process started because, aside from my previous apartment, I really had never lived in a place that I was permitted to paint. (Landlords and their crazy rules!) The thing is, my landlord doesn’t care about any of it. He is prepared to do the bare minimum at the property because he knows, because of the location, he will never have trouble renting it out. Either way, we spent days and days and days going to work for 8-10 hours, coming home, changing clothes and getting covered in paint By the end of the week, we were exhausted and delirious on paint fumes and spiced rum and we were just ready to get everything moving from point A to point B.

Friday afternoon, I picked up some big ticket furniture items and then delivered them home for Thing Two to assemble. After that, it was all just a matter of getting the 80 million items from my studio apartment and spreading them about in our lovely two-bedroom. (Freshly painted, mind you…) And by Saturday night, all of the stuff had been stashed conveniently in the new “office” where it can remain out of sight (and out of mind) until I feel like I can sort through it without going completely insane. (Read: Not today.)

But we are in. Meals have been cooked, dishes have been washed, cigars have even been smoked and I have to tell you, internet, we both feel great about it. I can’t, however, say the same for Ernge, who seems more confused about the added space than anything else. He runs around the house over and over  like he is seeing it for the first time. (Which, lets face it, he might be. He is, after all , almost ten years old.)

The only pressing thing left to do is to buy a couch. Which, I haven’t owned since my days of living with Jer. More stuff to move = annoying. But, I think it will be pretty nice to own all of my stuff again. And it will be nice to have a couch to nap on.

How Things Change...Originally written 7/17/08

I found this post today while trying to clear out the crap from my email Inbox. (Let me tell you, internet, I have been laughing for the last hour and I am not even a fourth of the way finished with this little gem of a project.) I found this post that I wrote when I was dating TK. You remember TK, right, internet? The 4 ½ year old I dated a few years back? Yeah. That guy.

Anyway, I guess I have been a little jaded for a long time, but it is funny how much has changed…Enjoy!

Drumroll, please….

"I hate how jaded you can be sometimes."

When TK said this it made me think. Not because it had never occurred to me that I might be a bit jaded, because I am well aware of that fact, but because I have a hard time remembering what it was like not being jaded. And I can't help it, really. This is sort of just the way that I am. I am under the assumption that most chicks have that thing in the back of their brains that (even if they refuse to admit it to themselves) makes them dream up that mushy fairy tale relationship where the guy is all charming and perfectly handsome and she is all having 30 orgasms every day and wearing nothing but fancy and raising little perfectly behaved children. That irritates me. Because it will never happen to you, ladies. You will marry a man with mediocre looks and an even more mediocre bank account and you will have mediocre children and a (probably less than) mediocre sex life. You will probably argue about why you can't buy a stupid Prada bag and his inability to fathom the use for a coaster. It's true. Because that's real life, ya'll, and I am not so sure that there is much difference between being jaded and being completely realistic. 

I mean, if refusing to have unrealistic expectations of a person or a relationship means that I am jaded, then sue me.  But my fairy tale is very different than those "other chicks".  For one, the whole marriage and kids thing? Not really at the top of my list. I mean, yeah, I want to meet someone that I love enough to want to do those things with, but I don't really consider them necessary (don't even get me started on weddings, I think we all know where I stand on those from previous posts).  I get the whole idea behind getting married. I do. I just don't know why it is important. Unless, like, one of you needs insurance. Or, like, you are in Vegas and you are at a drive thru wedding chappel and Elvis wants his forty bucks. Because then, at least, there is a good degree of novelty involved.

Secondly, I don't hold on to the ridiculous idea that I am going to find, like, the identical, rich, brilliant, twin brother of Taye Diggs.  (I wouldn't argue if I did, but let's face it, internet, if there was one of those out there, he would be gay and he would be my best friend and I would stick my head in the oven.) Honestly, wouldn't that get boring?

The Burning Question

This morning, I got the common, every-couple-of-weeks check in email from LBG where she asks a bunch of questions about things like a quickfire challenge and I shoot answers right back and fire off my own questions. If you were to read these emails, you would think that we had some sort of disorder where you cannot form complete thoughts or sentences. Sometimes, words. But we understand it. Because we have known each other for 18 years and this is how we roll.




Among the questions in this morning's email shoot-out was "How's Thing Two?" Of course, I said, "He's good, we are doing really well." Simple. True. No need for elaboration. Her response, "What makes it so great? I'd love to hear about it!" Hmmm...



What makes my relationship with TT so great? I mean, there is no answer to that question. I could have referred her to my previous post on dating requirements, but that would be too obvious.



The truth is, there are a lot of things that make my relationship with TT "so great" but I guess the biggest thing for me is the fact that he just fits. We laugh often. We sleep late. We do all of the things that I would do alone but, for once, I don't mind doing them with someone else. And there is no power-struggle with him. He knows that I am a control freak and that I have a case of OCD about certain bizarre little things and he hands me the wheel, lets me drive and tries hard not to anger the OCD beast. And really, I couldn't be happier. I know I am tough to deal with, and he handles all of my quirkiness with ease. And I appreciate him. And he adores me. And we compliment each other.



To sum it up, internet? I am happy. And I dig it.

The State I'm In...

Well, internet, lots of things have changed since we last spoke!


I know, I know. You are all wondering if I have gone and killed Spliffany. And the answer, my friends, is no. I have not murdered my former best friend. Actually, things are going...smoothly. I wouldn't say that we are really "friends" at the moment, but we are cordial. And we are pretty nice to each other (despite the occasional urge I have to rip her throat out with my bare hands. An urge which is diminishing; slowly but surely).  She tells me about things and I listen. I do the "smile and nod" when I don't care what she is saying but I try not to be rude. Sometimes we still have our giggling fits at work when something ridiculous occurs and we forget that we don't really like each other. And we chat. Which is much more than I can say for a few short months ago (after the temper tantrum she threw about an upcoming vacation I wanted to take) when she wouldn't speak to me at all. (You must remember that, internet. It was that time when I thought someone had replaced her with a whiney 12-year-old.) The one thing that is interesting about this "relationship" we have right now is that, while she insists on telling me details about her love life and funny things that happen over the weekend, she never inquires about anything that might be going on with me.  This is totally not a bad thing for these reasons:


1. I don't ask her anything about her life either. Because I really couldn't care less at this point. And that is not meant to sound harsh or bitter, just truthful.


2. I actually really don't want her to ask.


    a) I haven't really ever had a personal life that she wasn't super-involved in. She has known all of my friends, my boyfriends, my family members, since we were only kids. And when you live with someone for as long as we did, nothing is sacred. Up to this point, she knew everything about me. It feels pretty good to have a little effing privacy for once.


    b) I've recently started dating someone. This "someone" has been in my life a long time. He has never been someone I could see myself dating...but at one time, he dated Spliff.  


Okay, now I know what you're thinking, internet. You're thinking I am a scandalous, horrible meanie with no soul. Well, you are wrong. It isn't like I set out to find "someone" who would keep me busy while simultaneously sort of throwing stuff in Spliff's face.  Really. I honestly never even thought of it.  But I can see how it might be percieved that way. I'm no dummy.


The thing is, he's really amazing. And this isn't news to me. When he and Spliff were "dating" (this is in quotes because he won't admit that this is what actually happened), she treated him much like a lap dog. She took advantage of his kindness and his generosity and she was shameless and awful. I spoke with her about it before, during, and after the "relationship" and nothing seemed to matter besides how convenient he was for her. I am not going to go into detail here about the way she treats people, because I think you get the idea, but I will say that...well...it ain't good.


So, fast-forward about four years and here we are. And I am really happy. I can't remember the last time that I laughed so often or so hard and I'm not afraid of it. I'm honestly not. We haven't had the ideal start to a relationship (for reasons I won't get into), but we have made it work. And now that it is working, I can't imagine anything better.


So, it might be evident from this post that things are going pretty well over here. I am happy, healthy and free of Bedouin Soundclash. (Still a very, very big part of my happiness, mind you.)


In your FACE, universe.

Patterns

Patterns are funny things. They sort of trick you into thinking that you are where you want to be because you are comfortable. Not because you really WANT to be there. I almost thought that spending the weekend with him would be sort of…regular. But I realized two hours in that yes, I was comfortable, and yes, holding his hand felt good. And normal. And so much better than NOT holding his hand. But that is as far as I could let myself venture into this pattern.

Years and years have gone by since we met. He comes around for just long enough to make me forget that he was ever gone. And then he leaves again. And I don’t miss him when he is gone, but I am glad when he is here. Comfort. I spent hours trying to figure out what my problem was with our situation. I came up with nothing. Well, nothing, really. The only thing wrong is that I can fall back into it any time. He does it too. He is easier than trying to find someone I actually love. And I assume he feels the same way. I have always been able to rest my head on his shoulder and feel at home. And I have enjoyed being the one that he comes to when he wants to escape.

But the question, I guess, is why do we do it? So, we didn’t. I left early and I came home alone and pretended he wasn’t here. In the end, I know what I want. I always have. And it isn’t him.

On Spoons

These have been a lovely couple of days, internet. For one, my car isn't working so I have been basically stranded for the last few days. Stuck in the apartment, spending too much time playing online poker, thinking too much...blah, blah, blah. Then, The Kid and I break up. And that is a whole different issue.

The Kid and I were together for a little over a year. We started out pretty shakily because he was, after all, a kid and I was just starting a new chapter in my life and was sort of lost and aimless. He spent a lot of time lying to me about things he'd done, things he hadn't done, all sorts of ridiculous crap that I wouldn't have given a shit about either way. I was so angry at him when he came clean about all of this stuff, that I could barely see straight. I was so embarrassed that I had fallen for any of it, that I didn't tell anyone that he had made so much up. Why did he do this? I don't know. It was like some sort of high school bullshit. Or like a really bad storyline for a sitcom. Only it wasn't funny. I am not very trusting to begin with so starting out dating someone who can't even tell you that he hadn't been on the high school football team was...interesting. (sidenote: Like I would give a flying fuck if he had played high school football! Seriously???) We almost broke up before I knew his middle name.

But he started to get to me though. I liked his little accent and the dimple in his chin (which I normally hate on people) and I liked his smile and how genuine he seemed (although, in the back of my mind, there were still those times when I couldn't believe him). Things started to fall into place for us. We found a balance between my being an older, more experienced, independent control freak and his being a mature, naive, little boy and we fit pretty well. He eventually learned that there were things that I will not tolerate and I eventually learned that sometimes, I just needed to be patient. We had really beautiful times together and then we had some really fucking terrible ones. Ones that I don't think I would have tolerated from anyone else. But his age was his "get out of jail free" card, so to speak. I could overlook some of the jealousy and the need to control things, because I knew he just didn't know better, he hadn't been here before.

Over the past few months, I have started to feel lost again. Like I don't really know what I am supposed to be doing. I haven't been writing and I haven't really been enjoying anything. I have been stuck. As far as my relationship with TK, things have been pretty rocky. Our relationship has been a roller coaster for sure. And somewhere along the line, we have been derailed. No matter how strongly I felt about him or how hard I tried to make things better, nothing was working. At my age (I am not saying I am old...), I don't feel that there is as much room for error anymore. I feel that, if you aren't happy, then you have to do something to fix it. To BE happy. And yes, I knew somewhere inside me that I wasn't going to be happy with TK and I knew that he would never be completely happy with me. I knew that we were too different. I knew that we wouldn't last. But I still tried. I pushed those doubts away and I busted my ass to work through everything with him so that we had a fighting chance. But I think both of us knew that it wouldn't work.

Now TK is angry with me because my reaction to our breakup wasn't up to his expectations. I didn't cry or get upset because I felt like...this was what had to be done. I knew that he would be okay and I knew that I would be okay. I knew that, obviously, I would miss him but I also knew that we had to do what was best. And I stand by that. I can't say that I am not relieved. I am. I am relieved that we can both look back and say that we did everything we could. We worked on things and we couldn't fix it. Breakups are always sad. They are always painful and they always hard. But I honestly believe that we did what is right. He will find someone who he can love and who will love him and who will accept him for who he is. Someone he doesn't have to try so hard to impress. He has grown up so much in the time that we have been together and I am proud to have been able to witness it and possibly play a part in it. And yes, I am sad. I am not going to crawl into a hole and die or anything...but I am definitely going to mourn this relationship. I just hope that someday he will understand why I feel that sense of relief. I hope that he can just accept it and find it in himself. He has the whole world in his hands and he will continue to grow and he will be the most amazing person.

Anyway, it is bittersweet. I am exhausted from trying. I am hurt that he may never forgive me.

Because I Can

I don't usually write about relationships here because when this blog was started, a lot of people read it that I wouldn't necessarily talk to about my personal life. It isn't really like that anymore. The people who read this blog know me very well and the ones who don't probably have never met me anyway so I have reevaluated the whole thing and I have decided that, fuck it, this is my blog. Dammit. I will write about what I want. And right now, I am going to write about The Kid.

Sometimes the age difference between The Kid and I is barely noticable. I can talk to him just like I would talk to any of my friends and he is capable of adult reaction and uses words that have more than 2 syllables and I enjoy that. Other times, though, I find myself wondering what I've gotten myself into. Don't get me wrong. It isn't like I have to hire someone to watch him if I want to go out or help him with his homework or anything, but there are definitely times when his age (read: maturity level and understanding of the world) gets in the way of things.

I am, by his admission, intimidating to him. I am used to being pretty dominant and I like a certain level of control over most situations. I can't help it. I don't sugar-coat and I don't fuck around when it comes to what I want. I can see how this would be hard for a stubborn young military guy and I don't blame him for being a little taken aback by me. It isn't the first time. He gets visibly annoyed when I won't let him touch my iPod and he doesn't understand that I don't let ANYONE touch my iPod. It has nothing to do with the fact that he is "The Kid", it is just...me. I am twenty-eight, stubborn and set in my ways and because of that, we bicker. It is sort of a battle over control. I don't really want to be in control all the time. I want to be in control when I want to be in control. The only problem is, that cocky sailor in him wants to be in control when I want to be in control too.

He is quick to become hurt and he is quick to become a little jealous and emotions show in his face so clearly that it reminds me how old he is. I tend to be thick-skinned and come off as a little cold (okay, maybe a lot cold) which, I think, tends to offend him. We have had countless conversations about the nature of our personalities and how different they are and how difficult it is to relate to each other sometimes.

This weekend was one of those times. TK and I were partying with Spliff and The Boys (Clifftopher and Anthony) one minute, and the next he was storming out the front door like I had stolen his crayons. The fact that he stormed off like that really didn't affect me all that much because we were very, very incapacitated at the time and I would have rathered him be away from me if he was going to act like a child, but I was angry as hell that, in a minute of unwarranted anger, he was willing to get in his car and drive away like an idiot. I was pissed that he would be so ridiculously irresponsible when I don't even think he was sure why he was picking a fight with me in the first place. But there he was, acting on a drunken impulse to flee an unfavorable situation where, if he had just stayed, he wouldn't have had to call me repeatedly and then throw rocks at the window two hours later so that someone would let him in. Aside from the fact that, as a result of his temper tantrum, he had to spend time on his return apologizing, in various forms, to everyone individually.

This whole incident was something I don't really feel I can hold against him, given the nature of the situation. I mean, he was really not in any shape to form any sort of cohesive thought. This, paired with his military stubbornness and his lack of...age, sort of explain the whole thing. I just don't know if, assuming this happens again, I can be so forgiving. I am not terribly certain that I have the patience for all of that. I mean, I like TK. I think that that is pretty obvious considering he has managed to stick around this long. For that, he deserves props. Being that I typically date guys who live a minimum of two hours away...sometimes a six hour flight...and TK lives just minutes from my apartment. So, you know I must like him a LITTLE.

I am not throwing in the towel just yet. I am going to be an adult because one of us has to be and I am going to hang in there and see if it goes anywhere. And if it doesn't, it won't be the end of the world and if it does, then I will have either regressed back to my youth so much that I am unrecognizable to my loved ones, or he has grown up enough that it doesn't bother him that I have a personality. I am hanging in there because, dammit, he is so cute.

*Don't get the wrong idea about TK, he is a great guy. A little bit wet behind the ears and a little bit insecure, but overall, he makes me laugh. And did I mention how cute he is?