...um, Pumpkin, that's pretty much me in a nutshell. I'm a phase. Gluten free, though. I've even eaten some of the food, since Ms. J's celiac.
I almost hope there's someone else. Preferably black, because that's just natural selection. Then I can sleep. I miss Sleepytime.
Saying she's focusing on her big new promotion and her fucked up, shiftless kids (although the daughter is hot) is pretty much chick speak for I'm banging someone else, ain't it?
The only alternative is that I'll be looking in the mirror and staring at me will be the reason why she's not here (thank you, Kelly C. - too bad about the tour dates, seen her twice, well worth it). And, as the 2 of y'all what have been hereabouts more than once know, I do tend to make with the donning of the ever-popular hairshirt from time to time. So, I'd prefer not to go through that. Again. It would be easier to hate her rather than, you know, ME.
Song of the night: Kelly Clarkson - I Hate Myself For Losing you
It's not FB stalking if you check to see if you've been blocked. Now I have. Remarkably quick, too. Usually there's the obligatory few weeks of let's pretend we're friends first. She does have a certain je ne sais quoi. I actually have remained FB Friends with some of the womenfolks I still visualize with my cock in their mouths. And, to be actual and factual, that's pretty much alls I remember about them. My focus is tight. Money and head.
But, let's make with the 20/20 of introspection: the very instant she swallowed my load on our first meeting, I knew I wanted to keep this girl around. And our second date was at a hotel. Dude, I wasn't going to clean Stately Deranged Manor until she earned it. Our first time (sadly, my memory serves me far too well, I'm aching for the Alzheimer's) was with a condom. After that, not so much. I've been doing a lot of that lately. Comes with banging the damaged, I guess. Like, after all, attracts like.
I broke every rule afterward. Shit, I likely made up some rules just so I could break them, too. Anything worth doing.
I said I love you. Meant it, too. In my defence, such as it is, I was inside of her at the time. Said it afterwards, too. Still do.
I bought her things that caught my eye, were quirky yet inexpensive, and I thought she'd like. Inexpensive is the key. I'm saving for my retirement. Par exemple, when I was in California, spending time with the last woman I'd fucked before her (long story, don't ask, we're still friends), I found her some Tabasco, Champagne and Beer flavoured Jelly Bellys with cool bottles. After seeing how she pretended to like my Flintstones drinking glasses, I was able to find her some Snoopy ones for $2 USD (like, $50 Canadian) each. I just hope that when she's eradicating every part of me from her life she doesn't destroy them. They're worth, like, you know, $7 on the eBay.
I made future plans with her and (this is the part, other than missing the way she gobbles cock, that's flat out straight up fucking killing me) didn't make her pay for the things that can't be cancelled. A hard lesson but a valuable one. Learn from my mistakes, kiddies. So, now, I have to make a drive I don't want to, to see a band I'm indifferent to, and had to throw good money after bad to get a hotel room. And yet, still don't hate her. I'm still down with just having casual sex. Did I mention she swallows when she's not begging for facials? How could I not miss that?
When she mentioned she needed Bath & Body Works handsoap, I stopped and picked some up a few days later. And then I wonder why I'm in the Friend Zone. VIP section, in fact.
That time she had to go to the gyno to get her IUD removed, as it had become dislodged and I insisted on driving her to and fro, because I'd do the same (or equivalent) for a dude or an ugly, fat chick. No one should have to drive themself to such an ordeal. And her kids don't drive. Yeah, I know, I'm a total chode. I care more about my friends than about myself, sue me.
This is helping a little. Catharsis often does. And, let's face it, I don't have a support network. I have this.
So did waking up (much too early, again) and realizing that I really only miss the dirty little whore (I still remember when she asked if she could be that for me) side of her. The drama, the cockblocking kids (except the daughter, girl's crazy and fine), the extra expense of gluten free foods in restaurants, not so much.
I even started drinking again with her. She was kind of a lush. I'll always regret not taking advantage of the night she was passed out and her hot daughter was on E. Stupid (shakes fist) moral compass.
Haven't had anything since she left. Yay, me! I should've known there'd be troubles when she ordered like 3 wines at the Applebee's (again, how I roll, I love love LOVE me some Applebee's - even got to look up a clueless waitress's skirt while she was cleaning a table; pointed it out to J and she laughed) on our first meeting. But then she kissed me (again, Memory Lane is a painful address, I remember every kiss) on her way to the washroom, and I knew we'd be intimate. There are certain kisses and touches when you just know. Looks, sometimes, too.
I showed weakness (stupid teenage angst bullshit coming to pay a visit) when I didn't hear from her for 8 hours one day. We usually texted back and forth within 1/2 an hour. And then when she invited me for lunch the next day, I assumed it was time for the We Need To Talk talk. Which is all well and good but, I fucking TOLD her. I know that the second I told her I loved her (she eventually said it too, even broke down and cried over the shit her kids and her drunk ass, possibly dying, ex put her through), I could start counting the seconds until she left, but this was likely the straw what broke the camel's back.
I was too thoughtful. I treated her well, but no pedestal. No one-itis, that would be Kendra. I wonder whatever became of her. Check the archives regarding that one. It ain't pretty, but I stand by it.
Or maybe it's really not about me at all. But what fun would that be? I looked around and there conclusions were. No jumping. Definitely no falling. I loved her, but I wasn't in love WITH her. The difference is roughly equivalent to the difference between the Sermon on the Mount and the Crucifixion. Boys that look like me don't know how to use spell check.
I'll always miss her. I know I'm fronting, but I'm actually in pretty heavy turmoil over this one. Because I'll always remember the time she blew me in her pantry. I'd remarked once after seeing her innocently assume the perfect position while doing something ordinary that I'd thought about whipping it out and smacking her across the face 5/6 times with it (she liked that). She said I should've (how could I NOT love that), so this time I did. Stupid photographic memory. No wonder I can't fucking sleep. Luckily, I have the kind of gig where I can show up pretty much wheneverish.
And, since she works for Lindt, I'll miss the free chocolate. My most vivid memory of her is of a Saturday morning (she's someone I liked spending all day Saturday with) when we were sitting across from each other (instead of beside each other, it was a 2 seat booth) at the Denny's and I thought to myself: self (yep, really do talk like that, sue me), this woman chose you. You've had her and you will again.
And that's what hurts the most. Hopeless romantic. Okay, just hopeless. There's likely an app for that.
So, I'll go back to hating myself. May even make with the moping and pining for a spell. But this is the last time I'll speak of that fucking gay Amy story.