I bit the bullet and went to the open mic poetry. I had originally had a beautiful piece written but I had to go with cometry (comedy-poetry) because that was the theme. So this is what happened….. Yes, I did forget what I was saying. It happens….
I wasn’t going to post a blog today. Mostly because my mom has always told me, ” If you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything at all.” But I’ve found myself brewing and stewing over something, someone, who has been quite insignificant to me over the last 14 years…my son’s dad.
When we met, it was just another one of my whirlwind romances that started off all hot and heavy with me head over heels for a man who was undeserving of all I wanted to offer. But instead of it ending in the usual fizzing out fashion, this time it ended in a kid. And halfway through my pregnancy, he left me. Pregnant, alone, and to move in around the corner with the woman he was seeing while he was seeing me. I was shattered. I cried so much over the next few months, I was sure there was no way my baby would be born happy or healthy. But he was. He was beautiful and perfect and his dad wanted nothing to do with him nor did he want to help pay to raise him. So I left Erie and headed to Knoxville. I would always call and give the family my address or my phone number if it changed. Not that it mattered because nobody ever called or sent a birthday card or a Christmas present, except once, I think my son’s grandmother did.
Fast forward 12 years. I’m living in Knoxville. Facebook is my thing. I become Facebook friends with his brother whom I really have nothing against. And he says “Larry has a Facebook, you should friend him.” Of course, at first, I think “why the fuck would I do that?” But I wasn’t angry anymore. My struggle to raise my kids was my own. I didn’t expect for anyone else to take responsibility. I made the choice to birth them, I would struggle to raise them. By the time he was twelve, my two oldest were adults and had moved out. Fantastic adults. Not mediocre adults. And that was no thanks to their dads either (yes, they all have different dads, this should not surprise you by now). So I sent him a friend request. Our son was on Facebook. I had pictures of him on my page. I thought maybe his dad would want to finally get to know him. And the first message I got from him after he accepted my request was that he wanted to come visit….me, not his kid.
I basically told him it wasn’t happening but his kid was old enough now to foster some sort of relationship with. I had never muttered a bad word about him to Mel. In my mind, I had murdered him a thousand different ways, but I would never say a bad word about him to my kid.
Recently, he has become active on my Facebook liking pictures and he even posted a comment on one of my blogs that said, “hey, I’m a good man.” I didn’t approve it because then I would have had to reply and you all don’t want to know that person, but the more he does it, the more pissed off I get because I know Mel can see that he has liked a status or a picture and he’s waiting around for a friend request or a message from his piece of shit father because he doesn’t feel about him the way I do.
Mel found the one and only picture I have of his dad holding him as a baby, which was the last time he saw him, and he hung it on the fridge. He tried to tell me it’s because he was a cute baby, but I know it’s because he just wanted a pic of his dad around. Of where he came from. Of his history. And this mother fucker can’t muster up the energy to send a friend request to his kid. And I know it shouldn’t bother me so much, but I’m his mom and I don’t want his feelings hurt when he realizes that his dad only wanted him if I was part of the deal. So I’ve been wrestling with whether to block him like I’ve done so many others or just let him continue on doing what he is doing because Mel is fourteen now and is already starting to form his own opinions. And normally I wouldn’t rant or rave because I’m typically a calm and happy human being, but this thing has gotten under my skin.
First, my friend Crystal tells me that I need to try to go two weeks without sex, because she thinks I have a problem. I think my ability to have a decent amount of sex is actually no problem at all, but I gave her suggestion a try. Twice. And I failed. I’m not cut out for abstinence. Some people are. Some people aren’t.
Then she had the brilliant idea that I needed to meet a nice country boy. She said, “You haven’t seen the commercial for farmers only dot com?” (She sang the jingle here).
Me: “No, I have not seen that commercial.”
So she goes on to tell me that it’s a site for farmers. Obviously.
Her: “You can meet a nice country guy. A farmer.”
And I’m like, “Are there any black farmers?”
And she says, “Yea, of course. There’s black country singers.”
Me: “There’s one black country singer. And he’s married.”
Her: “What do have against white guys? There’s probably some Mexicans on there.”
Me: “Nothing. I was just asking.”
So I go to the site and sign up. I’m talking on the phone with Crystal as I make the profile and it’s short and sweet and to the point.
“I’m not a farmer, but I like gardening and good organic food.” And there may have been something else, but I forgot. It was short, though. I would never have a profile that short. I like people to have to work for my attention on a dating site. I like to put in little comments that lets me know if they read the whole thing before I even respond. For example, one time I put, “please do not just send me a message that says ‘hi’ or ‘hey.’ So all the messages I got that just said ‘hi’ or ‘hey’ went straight to the trash because I knew they didn’t read it or they did and they were fucking smart asses. And no relationship needs two of those.
So I get the profile made and I immediately got a few messages or “flirts,” but here’s the kicker, you can only reply to those who are paid members unless you yourself are a paid member. It’s like $10.99 a month or something. I don’t like to pay for online dating. I did it once on Match.com, because I thought if people were paying they were serious, but guess what? I was wrong like I am about a lot of stuff.
So I got two messages from paid members. I only responded to one. Also, there is “a dozen roses for you” feature that this site offers, apparently, and you can send someone a “dozen roses” possibly once a day? Maybe you have to pay for them. I don’t really know. So here is the conversation that happened. This pretty much sums up most of my online dating experiences. All words in parenthesis are my thoughts at the time of receiving said message.
Him: You have the nicest smile. (Real Original)
Him: A dozen roses for you
Me: Thank you
Him: You are very welcome. How is your evening going? I’m … , nice to meet you. How long have you been on this site? Do you fish or possibly shoot pool? Hope you to hear back from you. Have a good night….I will be up a bit if you would like to chat.
Take Care (Your pictures look like you just left Jared from Subway’s house. Let me think about this)
Him: May I ask you a question….? It is kind of a “Strange Connection Question”. (Still thinking)
Me: sure. go ahead and ask
Him: Do you like to wear jeans and if so what are your favorites and favorite brand. I will tell you why I asked that when you reply. Forgive me if I have offended you. Hope to heat from you soon. Have a great day….. (Asking about my jeans does not offend me, shithead, who gets offended by that?)
Me: I love wearing jeans. They are my preferred wardrobe. My two favorite pairs at the moment are a pair of tattered LEI’s and a not so tattered pair of Levi’s. Now I’m curious as to why you asked.
Him: I asked that question because I like the way ladies look in Levis because it is “kind of” an attitude nice but tough. That is what I want in a woman. There is a little more to it but I will not go into that until we chat a bit and get to know each other. I hope you would like to. How is your day going? Hope to hear back from you soon.. (Oh, I have an attitude alright and it is not because of my jeans, genes maybe, but not jeans, but I’ll be nice)
Me: My day is going good. I’m getting ready to go to work. I work until 9pm. How is your day going? What do you do?
Him: I am doing alright, having a hard time getting motivated though/lol. I am Retired Navy and Draw 60% Disability and that takes care of everything. I can go and come as I please even though I am contemplating getting a part time job at some point. But, I am taking Guitar Lessons, Read, Clean Up and get out and do/see things. When do you have to leave for work
Me: I’m supposed to be leaving in a few minutes but I started watching this movie about Herman Melville and the Moby Dick story and I want to finish it.
Him: That is cool, I love the water and two of my favorite animals are Crocodiles and Sharks (love Sharks). Shark week coming soon :))) on Discovery. I like old movies too…very cool. Do you like history and exploring like old towns, battlefields and stuff like that? (Moby Dick was a whale, dickweed, not a shark. When is Moby Dick week?)
Him: You might like my Hobby, would you like me to tell you? (Is your hobby offering candy to children?)
Him: I hope I haven’t offended you or driven you off. I want to be up-front and try to show you me. What other things do you like to do. My Mom loved gardening and flowers. She died back in 2009 and it is just my Sister and I…hope we are rolling and I hear back from you soon.
Him: I will go ahead and tell you about my Hobby. I have been seriously investigating “The Paranormal” since 1997. I was on several teams on the West Coast when I wasn’t doing “The Navy Thing”. I do hope to hear from you again. (Paranormal? Good maybe you could talk my ghost into cleaning the house while I’m at work)
Him: Hello, how was your day and work? Hope everything went well. Hope to hear from you soon.
Him: A dozen roses for you
Him: Thought I would send you some more flowers :)). Have a great day!!! Keep Smiling :))) (Virtual flower words. Not even a visual. I think on plenty of fish you at least get a picture of flowers. Maybe it’s the thought that counts? Fucking farmers)
Him: Good morning………how is the day going so far? Did you finish watching your movie yesterday? Have a great day what is your name? (And then I started to feel bad because he is a persistent little fucker)
Me: Hey. My day is going well. It’s been a little busy. I’m off today so I play catch up on my days off. I am going to see Kevin Smith tonight with my brother. I am very excited about that. Do you know who he is? My name is Angie by the way.
Him: Hey Angie, no I have never heard of Kevin Smith. You are the second one within 24 hours to tell me about an “Artist or Artists” that they like. My cousin Scott told me about a “Folk Band” I might like. What did you think about my Hobby? (Never heard of Kevin Smith? What do I think of your hobby? I think you should add googling to it so you won’t be a douchenugget forever and quit using quotation marks randomly while you’re at it)
Everyone knows who Kevin Smith is. If you don’t, go google him now and watch a movie or two. Or don’t and join the rest of the douchenuggets.
(Now I know for sure I don’t need to message him back)
Him: Do you know who Mark Cohen is? He sang that song “Walking in Memphis”? What kind of music does Kevin Smith play? I’m sorry, is he a musician? (No, he’s not a fucking musician, Farmer Boy)
Him: Is Kevin Smith a Comedian? I just looked him up and there were several Kevin Smiths… (Shoot me now)
Him: Hey Angie, are you still here? I have another question for you…… (No, sir, no more questions)
Him: Hey Angie, are you still here? (No, Sherlock, I am not)
Him: Well, thought I might hear back from you.(You thought wrong) I had a question about your love of “organic healthy food”. Have a great time tonight and hope you want to chat some more and maybe have dinner sometime. (In North Carolina? Do you even know where I live, quotation boy?)
Him: Hey Angie, have you left yet. Give me a shout when you get home if you can….again, have a great time! :)) (I’m busy getting ready for Kevin Smith the singer. He’s doing a comedy show)
Him: Hey You, how was your night out with your Brother? Did you have a good time? Hope to hear from you soon
Him: Angie, did I say or do anything to upset you? If I did, I apologize. Hope you are having a good evening… (Oh my goodness. Yes, you messaged me incessantly. Stop apologizing for me ignoring you)
Him: A dozen roses for you (I don’t like the way these alphabetical flowers smell)
Him: Hey Angie, how are things with you this afternoon? What are you doing today? Hope to hear back from you soon…. (Keep hoping farmer boy)
Him: Angie, I have to ask because I love organic food too and fresh vegetables but, do you like steak or hamburgers, ham…..stuff like that. I love my crock pot and to grill….:))). Hope you are doing ok today…. (I do not like cows in a crock pot or otherwise, sir)
Him: Hey Angie, do you wanna keep talking? I am hoping you have just been busy and I haven’t done anything to chase you away. I feel like we could talk for hours. Hope your day is going good… (You could talk for hours. You have. How much money do I need to send you to buy a clue?)
Profile Deleted. You, sir, are no farmer.
And that was my whole farmersonly.com experience. They should call it nofarmersatall.com, because it was basically just a bunch of city folk who probably just listened to their friend when their friend said, “you need to find a nice country guy or girl.” And this, dear readers, is why I usually just stick with what I know and have a hard time trying new things.
Prince died. And it was sad day for everyone, including my unemotional unboyfriend who I haven’t talked to in 63 days or seen in 72, but who’s counting? He was consumed with grief and he sent me a text. I’m still not sure why. I guess because we both had a love for Prince. Not that that makes us any different from the other 50million people who are in mourning right now. Maybe he had been looking for a reason to message me for the last two months and that was as good a reason as any. I don’t really know, but he messaged me. And the funny thing about it is that I deleted his number the day I “broke up” with him. Not that you can break up with someone you aren’t with, but the day I broke it off, I deleted his number and every picture I had but one. And I tried to move on. But I recently got a new phone and I guess where I had downloaded my Google+ on the phone, it automatically updated all my old contacts too, including him. I just hadn’t noticed. So when he texted me and his name came up, I almost had a panic attack, because even though I had half heartedly been expecting him to text me, I was kind of hoping he never contacted me again, and I certainly wasn’t expecting to see his name. I was expecting to see a number that I didn’t know and get to reply “who is this?” and hurt his feelings a little, because I can’t ignore him and not text him back. I can’t even block him like I do everyone else. There’s just something about him that has this part of me and I hate it. So he sends me a text:
Him: Prince Died!!
Me: I know. So sad. Are you ok?
Him: Yea. Just drinking and watching some of his movies.
Me: (sad emoji face with tears)
Him: You in bed?
Me: No. I’m out.
Him: Damn, sorry didn’t mean to bother you.
Me: No bother. The show is almost over.
Him: Then you going home and crashing?
Me: I’ll probably be up for a while.
Him: Ok. Text me when you’re done.
So the show ended and I did text him:
Me: Still up?
Me: Want me to stop by?
Me: Ok. I’ll text when I’m there
Just like that, as if we had just spoken yesterday, we pick right back up like we always do. No apologies necessary. No need to talk about what happened. No need to talk about this thing we keep doing. We just keep doing it. We never fight, we never argue and we never ever talk about the times when we are not together. We just pick back up where we left off and nothing changes yet everything changes. And like I’ve said a hundred times before, I’m not sure if I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone, but I definitely love him differently. And he would probably say the same about me or not, because he says he has never loved anyone besides his family. He says he’s incapable. It doesn’t even matter though because I’m always on the fence when it comes to love anyway. I either don’t love people enough or I love them too much. There’s not any middle ground. And with him, I always love him too much.
So I get to his place. Text him that I’m there, he opens the door for me and lets me in. I take off my shoes and sit in my regular spot on the couch. He sits in his regular spot and we start talking…about Prince and his movies and how he’s gone too soon and his songs and we eventually start talking about other things, but we never mention that it’s been over two months since we’ve seen each other. I don’t tell him I missed him. He doesn’t tell me he missed me. And why would we, because we are definitely falling into the same place we were before we stopped talking. It was as if No time had passed. Like when you are best friends with someone, you don’t get mad when they don’t talk to you for months because they have their life going on. You just catch up when you do finally get together. And that’s exactly how it is for us, despite the fact that when we stopped talking it was usually because I was feeling emotional in some way and he was being all too understanding of my feelings. It’s really the craziest thing I’ve ever experienced. And I didn’t even feel the need to talk about it with him. I didn’t feel the need to express my feelings. And he certainly didn’t want me to nor does he have any desire to express his feelings verbally, but if he was trying to express them nonverbally, he did an excellent job of that.
We eventually did what we do best and it was beautiful and amazing. He touched me like he missed me and loved me. Maybe he was just mourning the loss of an era. Maybe he only wanted to see me laughing in the purple rain. I bet there was actually a lot of Prince sex that night. And when the moment was over, he wrapped his arms around me and held me tighter than he ever had before. And I curled right back into him like he was my favorite blanket that just came out of the dryer. I practically had to wrestle my way out of his grip just to go pee, but it was sweet. Especially sweet because it was Mr. “I have no emotions” holding me so tight.
So here we are back at that square one that I find so frustrating yet soothing, but it’s different this time, because I finally have less emotions about the whole situation. At least I think I do now, but I always start out with less emotions when we are “back on” and it builds like an snowball on a mountainside until we are “back off” again. I don’t really know what I will do with this situation, but I know how it ends….the same way it always ends. And yet, it never ends.
You may remember my unboyfriend from the blog “Excerpt from the Unboyfriend,” a book I have been slowly working on that looks like it may never get finished. Someone will probably steal the title and write a bestselling novel and I will still be working on the chapter called “the Unboyfriend” because it is obviously a never ending chapter and quite possibly the answer to the never ending question of “why are you single?”
I think, probably, the answer is him. I will try to make this saga short, not like that Kymani debacle. I met this guy online. He was quiet and reclusive and everything I never wanted. I was working very hard to get myself back together after a long exhausting relationship that taught me a lot about what I didn’t want in my life. So I took everything I didn’t want in my life and used it to find someone I just wanted to have sex with. In hindsight, that was a terrible fucking idea, but at the time, I thought I was a genius. I figured if I found someone who snored I would never fall in love because I slept next to a snorer before and I had visions of homicide dancing in my head. If I found someone who had young children, I would never fall in love because I don’t want to have any more kids. I don’t want to raise any more kids and I definitely do not want to deal with anybody’s temperamental mother. If I found someone who smoked cigarettes, I would never fall in love. I hate cigarette smoke. I only to only go to bars that are non-smoking because if I go to smoke filled bars, when I get home and go to sleep and the smoke settles, it settles in my lungs and I find myself hacking all night unable to breathe. If I dated someone who drank all the time, I would never fall in love. I grew up around alcoholics. I have a family filled with them. I had a kid by one. Nothing good will come of falling in love with a drinker.
That was pretty much my dealbreaker list and also the list that I went by to pick the person I was going to be sleeping with. I would pick someone who I would 100% not be able to love for all the reasons listed above. And I didn’t have to look very long. It was like I manifested him into my life. I didn’t even know I was good at that until I met him, my future unboyfriend. He was strong and well built. He had tattoos and strong hands. He worked…all the time. He wasn’t sweet or emotional. He would never bring me flowers. And, most importantly, he snored, he drank, he smoked, and his youngest kid was one. He was perfectly imperfect for me and conveniently lived in my neighborhood, around the corner. We wouldn’t spend time on dates. We both wanted one thing and one thing only. Companionship. Carnal companionship.
The first time we were together was amazing. It was like we were meant to sleep together. I should have run then, because something so bad for you shouldn’t feel so good, but then again, I guess that’s what heroin users think and they keep going back for more too. But it eventually turned into something more. It turned into seeing each other a couple times a week. It turned into turning on a movie and not watching it because we were talking for three hours instead of watching the movie or having sex which was not how it was supposed to be. It turned into nights where we would fall asleep together and just hold each other. It turned into he was the only person I was sleeping with and I was the only person he was sleeping with. It turned into love, but according to him, it only turned in to love for me.
He still lacked emotion and would not admit that he had any kind of feelings for me. And so I ended it. More than once. And every time I did, I would stand strong and believe that he would come around and realize he loved me too. But he never did. I would end it and two weeks would go by and I would get a text from him out of the blue. “How’s work?” and I would answer “Same shit. Different day.” And we would pick up where we left off and start all over again until I would start getting too emotional and I would avoid him. He would always know it was coming and would say, “you’re leaving again aren’t you?” And I would tell him yes and disappear. We wouldn’t talk for two weeks or a month and then out of the blue, I would get a text from him that says, “How’s work?” and I would reply, “Same shit. Different day.” And again we would pick up where we left off. Sometimes I would try to talk to him about why he can’t just admit he has feelings, but he’s not a talker and I’m not supposed to care because I picked him so I wouldn’t love him and it backfired terribly. The last time I left him, it was for good. We were both seeing other people. And although he didn’t care that I was seeing other people, I cared that he was. I cared too much. I wanted to burn down his house, and flatten his tires, and hers. I was not a rational human being. I’ve had other times in my life where I had been betrayed, but it never hurt like this did and he wasn’t even really betraying me, because we weren’t “together.” But he had my heart in a way nobody ever had and he understood me better than I understood myself. We were both fucked in the head and we worked well together. Except he still had all those deal breakers that I had picked him for and they, all of a sudden, started to be insignificant. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. I could sit next to him while he was smoking and was un-phased by it. I didn’t care that he had a few shots every day after work. He would pick me up a bottle of vodka and he had his tequila and we would take shots together. He introduced me to his little one and I wanted to hug and squeeze the cuteness out of him. And when we would sleep, I was perfectly comfortable with him snoring in my ear as long as his arms were around me. I was totally fucked.
I knew I had to end it. Permanently. So I did. He knew it was coming days before I decided to do it. He mentioned it and I denied it. And when it happened, he said, “I knew you were leaving again.” When I asked him how, he said, he knows me and he knows how I start acting. I still don’t know, but he knew and he was right. I left. The last time I saw him was February 8th. The last time I talked to him was February 18th. Both of those days I would never forget which is kind of ironic because I usually can never remember. And I keep waiting for him to text me, because that’s what we do. I leave, he comes back. I leave, he comes back. So I’m starting to think that’s why I am single. I keep waiting for him to message, but hoping that he doesn’t so I can move on with my life, because for the most part, I think that’s what I want. And I thought maybe we were done for good. I even started feeling like it would be ok if we were and then out of the blue, 72 days later, he texted me because Prince died.
I started a fourteen day colon cleanse a few days ago, maybe five by now. I’m not really counting. I just figure I’ll know I’m done when the bottle is empty. Although I did accidentally take Ashwaganda one night instead of two of the other pills I was supposed to take because the bottles somehow got swapped. Needless to say, I had a really well-balanced stress free poop that night and now I’m going to finish one bottle two pills early. I’m a little disappointed in this cleanse. I was expecting at least a couple days of explosive diarrhea. Remember, because I was going to not have sex for the 14 days I was cleansing because I didn’t want to have any “accidents”? But there was no explosive diarrhea. There was nothing. It’s a super gentle cleanse. Damn you and your natural products, CVS!
I know it sounds crazy to wish for your colon cleanse to be a little less gentle and more explosive, but I just want to feel like it is working. I can kind of tell it’s working because I am definitely “going” more, but it definitely didn’t make me not have sex due to fear of the unthinkable. But I promised my daughter there would be no sex in this blog. No butt sex. No regular sex. No sex at all. So come back tomorrow if you want to read about sex. And this cleanse didn’t really come with any directions besides, here’s two bottles. Take two pills from bottle one, take two pills from bottle two and swallow them with 8ounces of water at breakfast and at dinner.
And these pills are huge! I don’t usually have a gag reflex (that’s not a sex reference), but, twice, I’ve gotten a little gaggy attempting to swallow these pills. And 8ounces of water? They should have specified that you need 8 ounces of water PER PILL. The method they should have recommended: You need to take a drink of water to wet your whistle, then throw the pill in your mouth, take another drink to get the pill down, and another because your first attempt failed, and then you have to guzzle the rest of the 8 ounces because the Vienna sausage sized pill is stuck in your throat and you can feel it doing summersaults all the way down. And then repeat three more times. I have easily guzzled a 32oz mason jar full of water more than once while doing this cleanse. And the directions did say to increase your fluid intake. It did not mention that your fluid intake would be increased inevitably to avoid choking.
Despite the death pills, I do feel like I am feeling better overall. I had been having a small dull pain in the right side of my abdomen on and off for a while. It has completely disappeared. Maybe I just needed a good poop. Or lots of them. And I feel less bloated and more energetic. Not Adderall energetic, but a little more than usual. And I think I’ve lost a few pounds, but I don’t know for sure because I don’t own a scale or ever step on one.
Here’s where things get a little weird. I mentioned that I was doing a colon cleanse to someone. I don’t know if colon cleansing is on the list of “things we don’t talk about” or not, because I threw that list away the day I started this blog, but I mentioned it to my sister’s friend. And she said, “If you see any pinworms, take a picture for me.” I don’t know if I would actually send someone a picture of my crap. I didn’t even ponder using one for the picture to this blog. You’re welcome. Since she said that , though, from day one, I have been staring intently for a lot longer than necessary at my shit looking for worms. Apparently we all have them. Mine are either microscopic or they are still trying to hang on for dear life in my intestines, but I’m keeping a close eye on it while giving myself a pep talk that when the time comes, I will be able to send a picture of my worm riddled poop to my sister’s friend. After all, taking a picture of my own worm infested feces is way less demented than requesting a picture of someone else’s worm infested feces, isn’t it?
I finally had a successful date the other day. He picked me up exactly when he said he would. We went to my favorite restaurant and talked and laughed. And then we went to see a show in downtown Knoxville. Unfortunately, “he” is my brother. It’s a pretty sad day when your brother is your most successful date in years. Every time I hang out with my brother, I think, man, if I could find a guy that I could get along this well with, I’d be set. But then I think, that might not be a great idea, because if I do find someone I get along that well with, it probably means he is super fucked up like me and we are destined for failure. Not that my brother is not a great guy, but sometimes, I look at his wife and wonder how she hasn’t killed him already because he can be a little much to handle. And then I start realizing I don’t have daddy issues at all. I have brother issues. Not that I’m creepy in love with my brother, but I do compare a lot of the men I meet to him. Or to my friends’ husbands.
Like the married guy, Mister. I know you’ve been wondering if he’s still around. Yes, he is still lingering around and yes he is still married (and beautiful). We went a couple of days without talking and then he re-appeared, but everything is still platonic so I’m not even feeling guilty about it or like Karma is going to get me. Anyway, Mister, despite the fact that he is hanging out with me on occasion is a guy like my brother or like my friends’ husbands. He’s just a decent human being and we have things in common to talk about. We can waste away two hours in the blink of an eye and never have an awkward silence. Granted, it is probably because we are both working very hard to stay away from awkward silences because, if I had to guess, I would say that an awkward silence could potentially lead to boatloads of bad karma. And I want to feel bad for hanging out with him, but I’m finding it more and more difficult to care. We just get along. And it’s nothing romantic. He’s not trying to make it romantic. I’m definitely not trying to make it romantic, but it’s clearly because we are trying not to make it romantic. Because if he were single……
And every time I see him, I’m more and more convinced that maybe there is someone out there for me. And I don’t mean him. I’m actually in his wife’s corner and keep offering suggestions for him to try and make it work. Not that anyone in their right mind should ever take any of my suggestions. I am even amused right now at that thought. Like the old saying goes, if this is wrong, I don’t wanna be right. I know that’s not exactly how it goes, but you get the point.
So maybe I’m not comparing men to my brother, because that does sound kind of weird and Freudian, but I think because I consider my brother to be one of my best friends, that is what I am looking for in a companion. I want someone who knows all my shit and still wants to be around me. Although, now that this blog is out in the “interweb,” it would be really hard to meet a guy who didn’t know all my shit. Unless he was illiterate. And that would never work for me.