March 22, 2009

I hate orange cars

I've come to the unsettling, uncomfortable and altogether agonizing conclusion that this annoying crush will not disappear entirely until he does. No worries, I'm not contemplating offing him. I'm thinking more along the lines of his fast-approaching relocation. I'm thanking all things holy that he will be moving a fair distance away in just a couple short weeks. The fact that he'll no longer inhabit the same apartment complex as I fills me with priceless bliss. And most of that last sentence is a blatant lie. But I'm hopeful that eventually it will ring true.

I'm finding comfort in the notion that I'll no longer feel the pathetic urge to break my neck looking out my window when I hear an engine sounding similar to his fast, obnoxious sports car. Hopefully my stomach will stop dropping each time I see orange cars driving around the neighborhood. Every time I see a freaking orange taxi (because lucky for me we have those around these parts believe it or not), my stomach immediately reaches my feet. I am a pathetic excuse for a grown woman.

I'm pretty sure my drunken mind will still default to him. He will be who I want to dial and text. I'll still be reminded of him for no reason that makes any sense, and I'll still think of him. But I'm hoping (gosh I'm saying hoping a lot), that these things will no longer be magnified for days/weeks after I see him because I won't be seeing him.

Needless to say, I saw him yesterday for the first time in over a month. Oh hi, welcome back tongue-tied, gooey-legged, twelve-year-old girl self. I don't understand what it is. I can't figure it out and possibly that is the very reason that it plagues me so.

Oh, but it felt so good to hug him and I could tell the feeling was mutual as he continued to ask for more hugs, each time holding me closer and longer. He lifted me up even. He lingered. He didn't want me to go after the reason for the meet up was complete. He tried to keep the conversation going. Sometimes I think he's just like me in that he makes a conscious effort to act as if he doesn't care, as if he isn't into me. Other times I think I don't matter to him at all. And each time I feel those two polar opposite feelings, I feel them to be intensely true.

He asked me if I'd missed him. He asked me if I would stay with him one last night before he left. He drives me nuts. (And he literally just drove by as I'm typing this). FML.

I vow that I will never again date, hell, associate with a guy who writes their rent checks to the same place I do each month. I'll no longer confuse an adult crush as a fun, exciting thing to explore. This has been painful for close to a year. I'm incredibly embarrassed by it all.

I can't say enough how hopeful I am that the end is near.

In other news, last night I attended a bull roast with my brother and, for the lack of a better description due to my fuzzy brain, a large collection of married couples. This was clearly their big night out which consisted of an aged DJ who alternated been 70’s dance music, every line-dance song ever created, and Beyonce. They were taking full advantage of this “night on the town.” I on the other hand felt like a social leper. No one knew what to say to me so they asked me about work. Fun topic. Then, after that topic was thoroughly explored, they asked me for the update on the bar scene. Yup, pretty much sums up their opinion of my life. Work and bars. Simultaneously ultrasound photos circulated around the table. Oohs and ahhs percolated at the view of an alien-like, blurry, black and white photo that I couldn’t make out to be human but accepted it as so. I’m not knocking procreation and marriage it’s just a totally different world than the one I currently inhabit.

I wanted to leave mere minutes after arriving. My girlfriends were out having dinner and drinks just miles away. I was itching to join my own kind. I stayed for a courtesy three hours that felt like a lifetime. Then I high-tailed it to the bar to meet my ladies. Apparently my emotions were written all over my face, along with “buy me a shot” because that is exactly what ensued. One particular guy bought me shot after shot along with a drink every time he ordered one for himself. When he lagged, his friend filled in. At one point, a girl even bought my girlfriend and I shots from across the bar, and the bartender stepped up and passed around free shots as well. I did not buy one single drink. We shut the place down. Last to leave, and no one pushed us out the door. It was exactly what I needed. We danced, we drank, this outcast shook it like a polaroid picture. And the previous hellish three hours were erased from my memory.

We then proceeded to go back to my place where we polished off an entire bowl of chili con queso dip and Tostitos and I drunk texted.

Regardless, a blast was had by all and I was reminded that although it would be nice to have a hubby and a bun in the oven, it’s not for me, not now. It’s easy to look at those my age living another lifestyle and feel I’m missing out, before I stop myself and think about what I want. Me. Despite my age, there is nothing I should feel is expected of me at this stage in my life. I’m single. I’m happy. And that’s OK. Shit, that’s fabulous.

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