The Lawyer, Again

As last year drew to a close I finally finished my divorce and moved out of my house to a new apartment. There are not enough beautiful words to describe how wonderful it is to be out of that place, living in my own space that is neat and clean and smells nice and I know is going to stay that way. Moving was hectic and then I went out of town to visit my family, but these past couple of nights that I’ve been back have been full of the most restful sleep I’ve had in a long time.

Last night was particularly restful since the Lawyer came to my place. First time I’ve had him over where I live instead of going to him.

The evening started off super clumsily, literally, since I spilled a glass of water SECONDS before he knocked on the door so I had to shout at him to just come in, and then I was on the floor awkwardly wiping off water while he was getting undressed. Actually kind of hilarious thinking back on it.

My new apartment is on two stories, with the living area downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. I mean obviously they’re both about the size of a shoebox, but it stills feels a bit more spacious that way, at least to me. Anyway, so Lawyer was ready to jump my bones, probably on the kitchen counter if he could, but I dragged him upstairs (being undressed by him the whole way) to my bed.

It was like we couldn’t get enough of each other. It’s been three weeks since we last saw each other, so I guess that makes sense. And then when we finally collapsed together, and he asked me how my holidays were… It was so smooth, talking to him. And we talked for hours before he finally had to go, about everything you could imagine.

And I’m still not sure. I’m still not sure if he’s just humoring me with his attention or if he actually wants to see what it would be like to date.

But I do know that when he kissed me when he left, it was different than before. It was a little more gentle, a little more sweet. There were a couple of long kisses and then a bunch of tiny ones, like he didn’t want to let go quite yet but that was his only excuse to keep holding on.

I don’t want to think about him. I don’t want to replay those moments over and over in my head. I don’t want to hope. But all of this is happening anyway. It’s that horrible feeling building up, that feeling I crave and hate.

Happy New Year!

My new year was great. Lots of champagne!

The less great part was being presented with further proof that no relationship lasts. (Or mid-life crises are really terrible, whichever way you choose to look at it.)

My aunt and uncle have been married for almost 24 years now. In fact, my grandma LOVES telling the story of how they skipped out on my 1st birthday party to go get married (and I’m turning 25 in February).

Last night my aunt told me that she had filed for a divorce and was just waiting on my uncle to sign the paperwork. Something about how “it’s rough being the only person trying to keep up the relationship.”

Crazy stuff. Looking at them I almost believed it was possible to be with someone for a lifetime, but I suppose being further disillusioned can’t be a bad thing.

On the other hand, my aunt who has been a vegetarian (well, you know, one of those ones that eats fish) for 20 years also had a bite of chicken last night. So I’m thinking the mid-life crisis theory is not completely off-base. We’ll see, I suppose. My uncle doesn’t exactly seem to be putting up much of a fight.

This is my 100th post on here. Kinda fitting!

Colors

It took me a long time to realize what a shithead my first “real” boyfriend was. I think it only really hit me when we had finally broken up for the last time.

Throughout our four year relationship, as people tend to do, I asked him questions about himself. What’s your favorite food? What kind of music do you like? How in the world have you never read Harry Potter?? (That should have been the obvious dealbreaker, but I was young.)

A couple times I asked him what his favorite color was. He usually said “I don’t care” or “I don’t have one.” It was one of those things where I thought if I asked once a year or so, he might decide he had a favorite color. Sometimes if I’d specifically ask him what color to get something for him, like a shirt or whatever, it would always be black or red. So I assumed that his favorite colors were black and red.

We broke up a bunch of times but it wasn’t really over until I decided I wanted to date a different guy. Well that time I guess he realized it was different and I wasn’t going to beg for him back again. He came over to my apartment one day to try and get me back, or at least for a final fuck. It was whatever, I wasn’t officially dating the other guy yet and the ex-boyfriend had an excellent dick (probably the only reason I stuck around as long as I did).

So we had breakup sex, not exactly anything special, and as I was getting ready to kick him out of my apartment he randomly burst out with, “Do you even know my favorite color?”

“Yeah,” I said, “you don’t have one, or when you do it’s usually black or red.” Lemme just say, at this particular second, things were pretty lighthearted actually.

And then he said, “No. It’s blue. And sometimes silver.”

And for a moment I just stared at him. I’m pretty sure if someone had taken a picture of my face, it would’ve been perfectly filed away under the definition of “WHAT THE FUCK.”

And then I burst into tears.

Throughout our relationship I’d asked him the same question several times, not trying to badger him but just trying to learn more about him. To feel more connected to him in some way, because I had these basic fucking facts about him. But in that moment it became infinitely clear to me how little of a shit he had given about being connected, about sharing these details with the girl he supposedly “loved” for four years. There he was, at the end of it all, with a question and an answer that emanated this sort of “you didn’t try hard enough” attitude, when he had not once bothered sharing that information with me despite my repeated desire to know it.

We did talk about it later on. I think he may have actually grasped what an asshole he was, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

Point is that I learned a real lesson in the span of about 3 seconds. You can think for years and years that you love someone, that they’re right for you, that they feel the same way. And you can be so, so wrong. Thinking back though it’s like… You know that meme? “When you look at an ex and you wonder if you were drunk the entire time you were dating”? I think back and that’s the exact thought in my mind – what kind of drugs was I breathing in around him that I couldn’t see that when this asshole said “I don’t care” about his favorite color, he really meant “I don’t care” about sharing his life with me? It seems so obvious now.

With my now ex-husband I managed to turn off the blinders and see the same thing in about half the time, so I suppose it’s all a matter of practice. I just hope that for the next one, whether that’s the Lawyer or someone else, I’ll see it even more quickly. Oh sure, there’s the hope that it won’t be there at all, but that’s probably just more wishful thinking.

It’s Been A While

School’s been good. I apparently get this law stuff better than other people without as much studying. That’s pretty awesome. Finals are over as of last week, so this break should be pretty relaxing, though I can’t wait to see my grades. Been going to the courthouse in the mornings… for fun. Yes, I know, biggest nerd on the planet. But hey, who knows, maybe someone will notice me constantly there and offer me a summer job or something.

Anyway, despite the fact that school has taken over my life and I’m obsessed with the law now (and if you’ve ever been through this, you probably understand, and if you haven’t, well, there’s no way to quite explain it), all of that is pretty boring.

What’s exciting is the Lawyer. I sort of told him I wanted to date him. Didn’t quite get the response I wanted, since his answer was, “I would’ve tried to make this more a long time ago if you weren’t so adamant about not getting married again and not having children.”

The goal is to go to dinner one evening and talk about it in more depth. I mean that’s been the goal for the past month since I told him, so it doesn’t look too hot that things are going to go the way I want them to, but at the same time I was so busy with finals and he’s so busy with work all the time that it’s not particularly surprising.

Or who knows, maybe I’m just deluding myself and he’s not actually interested. But you’d think he’d say that right off the bat, wouldn’t you? I mean unless he doesn’t want to lose the sex every couple of weeks, but he’s perfectly capable of getting laid by practically any woman he’d like. And maybe I’m jaded, but from what I know men don’t usually try to keep someone they only consider a fuck buddy around if they’ve been freaked out by the proposition of dating…

Complete honesty though? It’s hard to tell whether I really want to be with him or I just want to date someone, ANYONE. I like him a lot, don’t get me wrong, but I also have been really wanting a cuddle buddy at night…

I guess that’s what dating is for though: figuring out if you like someone enough to commit. I just hate this uncertainty about whether he really likes me or is just humoring me. Or worse, if he really likes me but is trying not to, since he’s more than six years older than me and wants different things out of life than I do.

Guess we’ll just have to see how dinner goes, if that even happens some time this century. Well, if it does, y’all will be the first to know.

That Song That Reminds Me Of You

I fall in love too quickly. Oh sure, it’s really just infatuation, but let’s be real – in the moment it sure feels like love. I suppose on the bright side it’s nice that I fall out of love just as quickly.

I’m feeling it again. Some days it’s mild, just an irritating ache. Some days every song reminds me of him, every note breaks my heart. But there’s always that one song, isn’t there? That one particular song that brings his smile into sharp focus from the very first chord. It’s like the other song goes, “Cause there’s this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat…”

It hurts and feels amazing at the same time. And I’ve always been good at keeping those feelings a secret, but maybe I’m getting old. Maybe I feel like I don’t have time to waste anymore, because this time around I want to tell. Not sure why, since I’m not sure I even want anything to come of it if I do. We have such different life goals. It could never work in the long run. And okay, I don’t care so much about the long run – I want to have fun now. But he does, so he’d never go for it. So what’s the point of telling? It would just make things messy.

But that logic isn’t being all that convincing. I might just blurt it out anyway. Maybe because I want to hear the rejection out of the horse’s mouth, as it were. Make absolutely 100% sure that I need to move on. Maybe that’s really my role in life, not so much to be a serial monogamist but a serial unrequited love-ist.

And let me clarify that I’m not depressed. Not anymore anyway. This love of being hurt emotionally doesn’t come from a place of sadness or turmoil. Or well, I suppose it does, but only from the mere vestiges of sadness and turmoil. It’s not an expression of those things anymore. It’s just a reflexive way of having masochistic fun.

Having to clarify that at all says something, though. I should have never made this blog so popular. I can’t hear myself think when I write anymore. It feels like it’s all for an audience, like I can’t quite admit to some things because people would judge.

Anyway. Really this post was about songs. From a certain age I started associating music with love. For every crush I’ve ever had I have a song that makes me think of them. I bet everyone has a couple like that. Right now it’s that “Take Me To Church” song, because it played once on his music channel while we were fucking and he made some comment about it. Such a minor thing I know, but now every time it comes on my heart skips a beat or two.

What’s your song right now? That song that reminds you of that one person?

Hurricanes

Last night I had a dream that I got caught up in a hurricane, like one of those ones that has tornadoes and stuff going on too.  There were other people there, don’t remember who, just that we tried to hunker down in a doorway but that didn’t do any good since the entire house got lifted up out of the ground. I was looking out a window somehow, saw another house coming into view, and just before we crashed into it I woke up.

Whatever my subconscious was trying to tell me about the crazy shit that would be happening today, it was right. It was just one of those days, you know? Nothing goes the way you want it to. Most of it was minor shit, like I rode the elevator down before it went back up to where I was trying to go and my professors were being particularly batshit and my soon-to-be ex-husband was being an annoying bitch over text. Buuuuuttt no day like this could just be full of minor shit, so of course at lunch today I locked my keys in my car. In the ignition. With the car turned on.

If J hadn’t been there and taken control of the situation and called some guy to come pop the lock, I would’ve probably just been a sobbing mess for a while before I figured out what to do. Honestly, as hard as I try to deny it, I don’t think I can survive without being in a relationship. I’m a smart person, the grades I’ve been getting compared to the amount of work I put in for them prove that, but I don’t think a person more clutzy than me exists on this planet. And when I do these absolutely moronic things like oh, I don’t know, fucking leaving my car light on for hours or get lost in the middle of downtown because I tried to use the bus system here or as the case may be, lock my fucking keys in my running car, I basically need someone to save me. Because I just can’t handle these things on my own.

So once again, praise J for being the most awesome fucking guy on the planet and literally being my knight in shining armor here. Could not have done it without him, though I don’t know how I will ever thank him enough since we’re basically just friends now so I can’t just give him blowjobs for the rest of eternity or something. Oh whale!

Anyway, in other news, the Cook is… ugh. He’s falling for me hard and I’m at this point where, whenever I’m with him, I just have this mental image of me with my arms up saying “Stop, just STOP!” I guess it never occurred to me how difficult it could be to break up with someone I’m not even dating, especially since his best friend is in my class so that would make things even more awkward, but I HAVE to. Really have to not be a pussy about this… and that’s so hard for me. Ugh, just ugh. I guess I could be super annoying to him but honestly he seems like the kind of guy who would take it just to have a girlfriend. UGH.

On the complete opposite end of the spectrum is the Lawyer, who I would date in a heartbeat if he asked me. Yeah yeah, I know, I keep changing my mind about this one but we’ve been hanging out a bit more recently and every time we do, I always leave with a smile plastered on my face for hours and maybe a couple of butterflies too. Maybe ;) He’s the guy out of all of them that I wouldn’t be good enough for though – hotshot lawyer, way smarter than me, 6 years older so way more mature – not super great-looking but that’s the thing, guys like that would be embarrassed to have a girl too pretty next to them, since they know everyone would be thinking “trophy girlfriend.” Plus I’m way more socially awkward than he is and that would just pile on the embarrassment.

Kinda sad, isn’t it, that I’m actually strongly considering finding myself a boyfriend? It’s more out of convenience of cuddles than anything – I mean I just want someone who will cuddle me whenever I want for as long as I want and otherwise leave me alone. That’s not too much to ask, is it? But it does make it difficult to fuck everyone I want, so there’s a dilemma I suppose.

Anyway, I can’t just get a boyfriend to have a boyfriend. Gotta really like the guy and the only two guys I even remotely feel that way about clearly don’t return the feelings, so it’s actually not much of a dilemma. Just have to keep doing my thing.

Whore

Can’t remember if I mentioned this before. I think I did. My husband said to me a while back, “You can’t turn a whore into a housewife.”

Initial reaction was irritation, but upon further reflection I realized just how funny it was. I wish I had replied, “You’re right, YOU can’t.”

Maybe it’s true what they say. I just haven’t met the right person yet. That person that won’t just make me flustered and nervous around them, that won’t just love me unconditionally, but that will make me love them every day of my life. Because isn’t that the problem?

Maybe I haven’t ever actually been in love. Oh sure I had a 4-year relationship, followed by this 3-year one with my now husband. I’ve had other shorter relationships and fuck buddies galore. But how could any of that have been love if it didn’t last forever?

I used to make lists of boys I had crushes on. It was like a self-check for reality. Like I was making sure I was still alive, checking my pulse, because if I didn’t feel that desperate desire for someone, how could I be sure I still existed? It’s insane now not having a single person I really want, like I’m missing a part of my soul. And so freeing too, makes me really think.

Maybe I really don’t know shit. Maybe the reason I don’t believe love exists is because I’ve never felt actual love, just that constant repetitive heartbreak I keep talking about on here. And maybe I will feel it someday, but if I haven’t yet then I doubt it. I am the way I am, a certain way, and I think that way precludes love. At least the kind of love that everyone talks about when they tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about.

I think that’s why I’m a whore, in the super promiscuous sense. I’m trying to find this special, magical thing that everyone keeps referring to, and this is the only way for me to go about that journey. It’s the only way I know, anyway.

And yes, it’s easy to say “you should do this and you shouldn’t do that and three steps later you’ll find love.” But that’s bullshit, isn’t it? That’s not how it works. Everyone has to go about it their own way, because how else would they meet the “perfect” person for them? If they do it someone else’s way, it’s not real. It’s an artificial love, and I’ve had plenty of those. They all ended, and isn’t that the point? Real love doesn’t end.

I never thought of “whore” as an insult. I never thought of it as some basic thing that everyone could do. Not everyone could be a whore. Not everyone could get the same fulfilling experience out of it that I do. I’m doing my best to use this part of me in search of a greater goal, that “meaning of life” that everyone refers to, love. But in the meantime I’m not going to deny or try to change this part of myself, my personality, my soul, that has gotten me through the absolute hardest times I’ve ever been through, through a near-suicidal depression. How moronic would that be?

I’m a whore and I’m okay with that. In fact, I’m more than okay with that. I love that part of myself. And sure, I’m a narc so that might seem obvious, but there are parts of myself I don’t love. My tendency to procrastinate on everything. My aggression toward people I think are being stupid, even when I do the same things sometimes. My slightly bumpy nose. I don’t love those things, but being a whore I do love. And how many people can really say that about themselves, that they love the parts of themselves other people think are imperfect?

Criticize me all you want, but don’t expect me to take it personally, much less do anything about your opinion. I am happy. Are you?