The plot thickens...
I log into Facebook to check any updates before finishing my last minute packing to Boston and I see the following in my inbox.
Paul: I miss you! Make your visiting hurry up!
Nearly damn choked on my own spit. Wow...that's....out of nowhere but totally welcome. I had to reply...I mean, really!
me: Awwww! I miss you, too! Patience, I'll be there in exactly 3 weeks and 2 days. Did you want anything from Boston? :) See ya soon!
I think I'm going to like being single in the summer. Oh yeah.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Your friendship is a fog that disappears when the wind redirects
I keep telling myself I need to concern myself with guys out of the dreaded 2002 to 2005 time warp. By that I mean, I need to stop worrying and pining over dudes I dated back in the day. I can’t seem to break out of that cycle.
My first night back in my beloved Whittier and I already had plans. I saw that my old flame Rob had another gig, but this time in nearby Downey and there was no cover charge. I thought about the half a dozen shows I had blown off or had promised him I would go and then never showed. I figured I owed him one by now. I would be there for him in support as a friend, right?
He has a girlfriend, I know this. I don’t mess around with guys who have girlfriends. I do have a shred of morality left. I tried to resist the urge of peeping her FB page, but I caved. The last time I had seen her picture, she made me look like a bag of farts. Her name is Sunny and she had bright red hair…har har har. I knew I could never compete with that. Her recent picture though, revealed a pale faced, almost frowning fatty with purple hair. I guess she wanted to finally keep it real. So Rob’s girlfriend is ugly and fat! I can go to this show now with my head held high!!!
I showed up late and was surprised to see Robert tuning his guitar on stage of the Stardust Club. I walked right up and waved at him until he looked up. He smiled instantly and called me by name. He has never addressed me by my nickname. He leaned over and gave me a big hug and asked how things had been. I gave him the quick recap about moving back to Whittier and how I finally made good on my promise to be at one of his shows. I had watched him over the years go through three different other incarnations of this band, but here he was with the Black Verse and finally playing legitimate gigs. I remember the first time I saw him perform live he had played in someone’s backyard and I had filmed the show….with no sound: yeah, real smart. The bassist walks over and tells Rob they’re on next. I scamper back to my seat and enjoy my tasty White Russian as the Black Verse rips into someone of their original material and a couple of covers (Yardbirds “For Your Love” and Rage Against the Machine’s “Snake Charmer”). I must admit, they’re not half bad. I can quickly tell that Rob has improved his guitar playing. He’s always been good at it but now he’s really coming into his own. He actually looks like he’s having fun! I sit through their whole set and even their encore. I keep an eye out for Rob’s girlfriend but she’s nowhere in sight as far as I can tell.
The show’s over and the band starts to break down their equipment and use the restroom. I start to wonder what to do next. I really don’t want to see the next band. And then I see her, a great purple mass out the corner of my eye. I turn and see her there standing across from the bar, chatting with friends, wearing some ungodly wannabe Goth dress. I tear my stare away and panic. I think I need to leave. Rob is at the bar ordering some beers, so I know it’s now or never. I walk up behind him and give him a slap on the back. He turns around with a cold Newscastle in hand and asks why I’m leaving so early. I tell him it’s getting late and I haven’t had dinner yet and there’s other stuff I have to do. I hate lying but its necessary at this point. I wonder if his fat girlfriend is staring daggers at me as I talk to him. I tell him he’s really hitting his stride with this new band and that his new songs are real “foot stompers.” I tell him he looks like he’s finally having fun onstage. He’s very modest and thanks me. Apparently the band is going through a few more line-up changes as they find a new drummer and bassist. They’ll be taking August off to audition new band members and write more material. I say that’s great and that I gotta go now. He moves in to hug me but stops himself when he sees how sweat soaked his shirt is. I decline politely with a smile and instead shake his hand, like two buddies saying goodbye. I walk past his girl without so much as a glance in her direction and then practically run back to my car as soon as I make it outside.
I drive home, relieved you could say? Though I still like Rob a lot and find him very attractive, his lifestyle is not cut out for a girl like me. Some of my worst jealousies have stemmed from dating musicians. I always felt like I had to look over my shoulder when he and I dated. I never felt at ease, which is why it’s so easy to run away from him now. I can’t be in one place with him for very long without feeling like someone’s watching me, whether it be other people or just my own gnawing suspicions. I also forget that he’s perpetually broke and one of the reasons I cut him loose was because he never had time or money to do anything with me. (sigh) Oh well, at least I indulged my curiosity.
My first night back in my beloved Whittier and I already had plans. I saw that my old flame Rob had another gig, but this time in nearby Downey and there was no cover charge. I thought about the half a dozen shows I had blown off or had promised him I would go and then never showed. I figured I owed him one by now. I would be there for him in support as a friend, right?
He has a girlfriend, I know this. I don’t mess around with guys who have girlfriends. I do have a shred of morality left. I tried to resist the urge of peeping her FB page, but I caved. The last time I had seen her picture, she made me look like a bag of farts. Her name is Sunny and she had bright red hair…har har har. I knew I could never compete with that. Her recent picture though, revealed a pale faced, almost frowning fatty with purple hair. I guess she wanted to finally keep it real. So Rob’s girlfriend is ugly and fat! I can go to this show now with my head held high!!!
I showed up late and was surprised to see Robert tuning his guitar on stage of the Stardust Club. I walked right up and waved at him until he looked up. He smiled instantly and called me by name. He has never addressed me by my nickname. He leaned over and gave me a big hug and asked how things had been. I gave him the quick recap about moving back to Whittier and how I finally made good on my promise to be at one of his shows. I had watched him over the years go through three different other incarnations of this band, but here he was with the Black Verse and finally playing legitimate gigs. I remember the first time I saw him perform live he had played in someone’s backyard and I had filmed the show….with no sound: yeah, real smart. The bassist walks over and tells Rob they’re on next. I scamper back to my seat and enjoy my tasty White Russian as the Black Verse rips into someone of their original material and a couple of covers (Yardbirds “For Your Love” and Rage Against the Machine’s “Snake Charmer”). I must admit, they’re not half bad. I can quickly tell that Rob has improved his guitar playing. He’s always been good at it but now he’s really coming into his own. He actually looks like he’s having fun! I sit through their whole set and even their encore. I keep an eye out for Rob’s girlfriend but she’s nowhere in sight as far as I can tell.
The show’s over and the band starts to break down their equipment and use the restroom. I start to wonder what to do next. I really don’t want to see the next band. And then I see her, a great purple mass out the corner of my eye. I turn and see her there standing across from the bar, chatting with friends, wearing some ungodly wannabe Goth dress. I tear my stare away and panic. I think I need to leave. Rob is at the bar ordering some beers, so I know it’s now or never. I walk up behind him and give him a slap on the back. He turns around with a cold Newscastle in hand and asks why I’m leaving so early. I tell him it’s getting late and I haven’t had dinner yet and there’s other stuff I have to do. I hate lying but its necessary at this point. I wonder if his fat girlfriend is staring daggers at me as I talk to him. I tell him he’s really hitting his stride with this new band and that his new songs are real “foot stompers.” I tell him he looks like he’s finally having fun onstage. He’s very modest and thanks me. Apparently the band is going through a few more line-up changes as they find a new drummer and bassist. They’ll be taking August off to audition new band members and write more material. I say that’s great and that I gotta go now. He moves in to hug me but stops himself when he sees how sweat soaked his shirt is. I decline politely with a smile and instead shake his hand, like two buddies saying goodbye. I walk past his girl without so much as a glance in her direction and then practically run back to my car as soon as I make it outside.
I drive home, relieved you could say? Though I still like Rob a lot and find him very attractive, his lifestyle is not cut out for a girl like me. Some of my worst jealousies have stemmed from dating musicians. I always felt like I had to look over my shoulder when he and I dated. I never felt at ease, which is why it’s so easy to run away from him now. I can’t be in one place with him for very long without feeling like someone’s watching me, whether it be other people or just my own gnawing suspicions. I also forget that he’s perpetually broke and one of the reasons I cut him loose was because he never had time or money to do anything with me. (sigh) Oh well, at least I indulged my curiosity.
Friday, July 23, 2010
And you can stand right there if you want but I’m going on….
The moving process went very well and this afternoon Dan should be out of the apartment.
You would think this last week, what with breaking up and packing up all our belongings, things would be tense between us. But it totally wasn’t. We got along extremely well, didn’t fight at all and were very friendly. Things were actually BETTER now that we weren’t officially together. We went out for dinner all this week and took a swim in the pool. We even had a few farewell fucks to spice things up. There’s a lot of mean things I could say about him but there’s no denying he was always a consistent, dependable lay. I could always count on him for a good time.
I’ll be spending my last night at the apartment tonight with no television, no internet, and no furniture. I might just order in and get a pizza. Enjoy the peace and quiet and reflect over a few slices. I have my music and my ever-churning thoughts to keep me entertained. By tomorrow Saturday, I will be a Whittier resident once more…right where I belong.
There’s nothing too exciting on the boy front, which is fine by me.
I see Julio was in a reminiscent mood and posted some old pictures of himself from when he was a kid all the way up until the summer we dated for the first time. He was kind enough to include a very darling picture of the two of us when we were head over heels in love. Glad to know he kept it:
Yes, of course I commented.
Me: So we were young once.... love it.
Julio: So young. So young!!
Edgar caught wind of me moving out, breaking up with Dan and returning to Whittier. He was one of the few people who “liked” my status that referred to packing up boxes.
Not a peep from Jon. I had sent a message along with my friend request that mentioned I had left Milwaukee with a big of a crush on him. Maybe that comment creeped him out? I don’t get it. I’m disappointed in how this all played out. Out of all the schmucks I have fucked this summer, he’s been the nicest and with most boyfriend material. Pity we’re thousands of miles apart. I suppose in another life. For now, I’ll forever be sprung on him.
My trip to Boston kicks off next Thursday the 28th. Again, I am keeping an open mind and an open heart. I want the city to sweep me off my feet, just like Milwaukee and Vegas did. I wish I could say there’s no Boston boys on my radar, but there are…kind of. Dan’s good friend Alfonso is living out there and I’ve made loose plans to see him for dinner and drinks. He’s cuter than I remember. I might bone him, not as a revenge act, but because I’ve currently got a streak going. I’ve been drunk and fucked somebody in every U.S. state I’ve visited (with the exception of Maine). If I have to hook up with Alfonso Hernandez to keep that streak alive, so be it. He’ll be considered collateral damage.
You would think this last week, what with breaking up and packing up all our belongings, things would be tense between us. But it totally wasn’t. We got along extremely well, didn’t fight at all and were very friendly. Things were actually BETTER now that we weren’t officially together. We went out for dinner all this week and took a swim in the pool. We even had a few farewell fucks to spice things up. There’s a lot of mean things I could say about him but there’s no denying he was always a consistent, dependable lay. I could always count on him for a good time.
I’ll be spending my last night at the apartment tonight with no television, no internet, and no furniture. I might just order in and get a pizza. Enjoy the peace and quiet and reflect over a few slices. I have my music and my ever-churning thoughts to keep me entertained. By tomorrow Saturday, I will be a Whittier resident once more…right where I belong.
There’s nothing too exciting on the boy front, which is fine by me.
I see Julio was in a reminiscent mood and posted some old pictures of himself from when he was a kid all the way up until the summer we dated for the first time. He was kind enough to include a very darling picture of the two of us when we were head over heels in love. Glad to know he kept it:
Yes, of course I commented.
Me: So we were young once.... love it.
Julio: So young. So young!!
Edgar caught wind of me moving out, breaking up with Dan and returning to Whittier. He was one of the few people who “liked” my status that referred to packing up boxes.
Not a peep from Jon. I had sent a message along with my friend request that mentioned I had left Milwaukee with a big of a crush on him. Maybe that comment creeped him out? I don’t get it. I’m disappointed in how this all played out. Out of all the schmucks I have fucked this summer, he’s been the nicest and with most boyfriend material. Pity we’re thousands of miles apart. I suppose in another life. For now, I’ll forever be sprung on him.
My trip to Boston kicks off next Thursday the 28th. Again, I am keeping an open mind and an open heart. I want the city to sweep me off my feet, just like Milwaukee and Vegas did. I wish I could say there’s no Boston boys on my radar, but there are…kind of. Dan’s good friend Alfonso is living out there and I’ve made loose plans to see him for dinner and drinks. He’s cuter than I remember. I might bone him, not as a revenge act, but because I’ve currently got a streak going. I’ve been drunk and fucked somebody in every U.S. state I’ve visited (with the exception of Maine). If I have to hook up with Alfonso Hernandez to keep that streak alive, so be it. He’ll be considered collateral damage.
Monday, July 19, 2010
I know it's over and it never really began....
So Dan and I broke up last night. Finally.
(sigh)
I welcome catharsis. I welcome healing. I welcome the long road ahead.
And to start that off this morning, I see this in my inbox:
Jonathan Baas confirmed you as a friend on Facebook.
The games, they have begun.
(sigh)
I welcome catharsis. I welcome healing. I welcome the long road ahead.
And to start that off this morning, I see this in my inbox:
Jonathan Baas confirmed you as a friend on Facebook.
The games, they have begun.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Because if it's not love then it's the bomb....
Wisconsin was….uhmmm…interesting?
Okay, more than just interesting.
It was exciting, fun, surreal and ultimately the most satisfying vacation I have taken in a long while.
I never thought I’d make those comments about traveling to Milwaukee, Wisconsin: the heartland of the U.S., the Midwest, and America’s dairy land. This city has made me open my eyes and realize that my life is not over. At least my love life isn’t.
I landed in Milwaukee on sunny, humid Friday afternoon. It was nearly a 4 hour flight across the country and I won’t lie, I spent a lot of that time just reflecting and thinking about my life. I stared out the window of the plane and watched as desert turned into mountains into green pastures and then finally to the lake-filled country of the Midwest. What happened to me? I used to be such a fun girl. I used to not die over every matter of the heart. I used to take things in stride. I didn’t feel like everything had to be an ordeal or struggle. I made a decision then and there as my plane touched down at the Milwaukee airport: I would start living for me. I would stop living for someone else. If I truly wanted to be happy, I would have to be the one making that happen; not just waiting for some magical boy to show up and make all my dreams come true. And the first step towards reaching that goal, that awesome state of mind, would be to have a fun weekend with my old college roommate/ best friend Caroline. Unlike in Vegas, there would be no promise of boys or plans depending on what boys I’d be scoring on. NOPE! As I had said previously, fuck boys and their shit. I was going to have fun in a boy-free zone where nobody knows my name.
And then fucking Jonathan Baas shows up.
He doesn’t just show up….he breezes in. He sneaks in. My guard is down, I wasn’t even looking. I was totally oblivious. He blind-sided me. Like a 6 foot 2 inch tall Mack truck.
So to take a few steps back: I’m at this bar with Caroline and all her friends. I am, for the sake of this trip, a single girl. We had spent the better half of that morning running/walking in a 5K race. We ran out of time (and motivation) to shower, so we just walked directly to the Nomad Bar to watch the third place World Cup game between Uruguay and Germany. Nobody cared and we thought it was funny that a whole group of us where there in T-shirts, gym shorts and running shoes. Caroline’s friends are awesome and were buying me drinks left and right. I was having a good time (despite Uruguay losing!) and got drunk very quickly. The game finished and the bar got empty pretty fast. There I was enjoying the remains of my Cuba Libre as everyone was standing around, chatting, when this tall boy just sidles up next to our group and starts talking to us. Apparently, he’s a friend of Caroline and another part of her fellowship group. I was standing behind him and was immediately fascinated (in my drunken stupor) by his black shirt with white Cyrillic letters on it. I assumed it was Russian. I think he felt my eyes blazing a hole in his back because he turns around and introduces himself to me.
Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan. Wow….just a great kilowatt smile with these big, bright brown eyes. Not like the brown I’m used to. Mexican boys have these rich, coffee ground chocolate eyes. Jon’s are light, like honey, like caramel, like I want to live in them forever. He catches me off-guard. I was not ready for this. I am certainly not ready to pick up in my sweaty gym clothes. So I surrender myself to “whatever happens, happens” and chat him up like I don’t give a fuck BECAUSE I REALLY DON’T GIVE A FUCK. I let the old me kick in, the college me who was stalwart and fearless. All pretenses are out the door. All hang ups are out the window. I am confidant. I am smart. I am in control. I am myself and I let it all just flow out as we talk about school, friends, work and our home life. I find out he’s originally from Yuma, Arizona and he studied at Creighton University, a small Catholic college in Omaha, Nebraska. I tell him I’m from Los Angeles, California and that I studied Film at uber-liberal UC Berkeley in Northern California. His eyes light up and then the conversation really starts rolling. We’ve done the usual sizing up. And now it’s really effortless. I’m not holding back like I do with other guys. I am not completely hypnotized by his charm and his intellect. I am aware of it but I don’t let him lead. We talk like two friendly rivals, teasing each other, flirting more and more as the alcohol starts to rise in our bloodstreams. I want to kiss him, except I don’t know that yet. Because I’m the old me and the old me wants to strip him down and learn every single detail before I make a move. The old me is slightly competitive. The old me wants Jonathan to fall into my trap. But I think that shot of Jameson whiskey Caroline’s boyfriend gives me is a bad move. I drink it like its water. I feel dizzy. Jonathan asks if I want to go to Club Brady across the street. I follow him like I don’t have another choice.
Club Brady, I learn, is a tongue-in-cheek name for a bar on Brady Street with pool tables, cheap drinks and a bean bag toss game. Jonathan has a beer and announces he will be at the arcade, killing aliens on some video game I’ve never heard of. I shrug and continue NOT GIVING A FUCK and chat with the rest of the group. By now everyone else knows something’s going on. Everyone’s raising their eyebrows and giving me a little smile, “So what’s going on with you and Baas?” they ask. I like that they refer to him by his last name. Dave, Caroline’s very drunk friend, proclaims that I have amazing breasts and that he wants to wake up in them tomorrow morning. I laugh and say I’d rather have Jonathan wake up in them. Dave smiles and says he can make that happen but it’s in his best interest to have Jonathan fail. He walks over to the arcade booth and I worry that he’ll fuck up shit for me. Oh well. I shrug. Feeling this free, this non-chalant is so liberating. Caroline’s boyfriend slurs that he’ll help me out, too. All I can do is laugh carelessly. Not giving a fuck should be my new motto. I feel like anything can happen. Jonathan walks back over to my table. “How did the alien killing go?” I ask casually as I drink my beer. He grins and says it’s awesome. He sits across from me and we go for another round of conversation and sizing up. Everything we’re saying is making me feel like we should never stop talking. I hear a ding, a bell, an alarm in my head screaming: “Holy shit, this guy is my soul mate.” But instead I giggle, like a girl who knows too much. I apologize for my work-out clothes and messy ponytail even though I secretly stopped caring about my appearance. He shrugs and smiles: “Showers are over-rated.” It’s like I’m in a romantic comedy, an Imogen Heap love song or something….”Why'd you have to be so cute?” thunders in my head. I find myself playfully pushing him when he says something mean to me, when I know he’s just teasing and trying to get a reaction out of me. The old flirtation technique, I know it so well. So then things get even more intimate and we start talking about music, one of my favorite subjects. He mentions he likes the Beatles, Bob Dylan and various other bands I like, too. I go for the kill and decide to put it all out there, to expose myself and see if he likes it. I go for broke. I go for all the chips on the table and in true NOT GIVING A FUCK attitude, I confess my secret obsession: “Yeah, you know I’m really into that sullen 80’s British pop. I love the Smiths and Morrissey.” His eyes flash and he stands up straight, “No fucking way. I love the Smiths, too! I saw Morrissey in Omaha a few years ago!” I nearly hit the roof and squeal that I saw Morrissey on that same tour but in L.A. at the Palladium. And the race is on. Suddenly the air feels even lighter. Things feel brighter and shinier. I feel like I want to marry this guy. Like I want to always talk to him, like we would never run out of things to say. He grabs us a couple of shots from the bar: tequila, my absolute favorite. “What should we toast to?” I ask coquettishly. He pauses and slowly a smile spreads across his face: “William, it was really nothing.” We clink our little shot glasses and down it goes. He just straight out quoted one of my favorite Smiths song, my panties about hit the floor.
So we talk about his Peace Corp service in Kyrgyzstan and how he got so drunk at his host brother’s wedding that he missed the entire service. I see he has a penchant for vodka. He said he told his host father that he threw up so much; he had “nothing else inside of him.” His short little host brothers had to carry him home and he said they were all about as tall as I am, so around 5 foot 2 inches. He claims he’s about a whole foot taller than them, so it looks pretty funny. I bullshit him a little and tell him he’s nowhere near that tall. So I make him stand up and face me. We’re so close….I look right up into his face and don’t balk, I don’t look away, and I am not shy. I will NOT be that clumsy girl, afraid of going further like I was in that hotel room in Vegas. I hold my ground and flash him a smirk: “Well, okay maybe you are that tall.” He towers over me and I like it. He takes this chance to show me how his host brothers carried him home. He slips his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, right next to him. I laugh out loud and tell him to get off as he puts his weight on my right arm. I secretly don’t want him to pull away.
Our sparring lesson continues and it’s just a verbal chess game: he confesses he owns all of Shakira’s albums. I tell him I do, too and that I have tickets to see her in October. I tell him he’s a typical ‘Zonie (that’s what we call people from Arizona) and he scoffs and wonders why we don’t call Californians “Fornies.” I tell him he should. Suddenly his friend Aaron grabs me by the hips and pushes me right up against Jonathan and says I should stand close because I’m in the way of the bean bag toss game. I apologize and fall over Jon like a drunken fool. He doesn’t seem to mind. He says we should go to Jo-Cat’s down the street. I disappear with him into the balmy Wisconsin night and totally forget about Caroline and the rest of the group. Some of the people from Club Brady wander over with us. Jonathan waits for no one and hops down the stairs, incredibly sure of where he’s going. I don’t even know where the fuck I am in relation to Caroline’s apartment but I don’t give a flying crap. I’m following Jonathan and he’s already 10 huge steps ahead of me on the sidewalk. I run and catch up, forgetting to hesitate. I want to go where he’s going.
Jo-Cat’s is a dimmer, low-lit bar on Brady Street. It looks a little classier, like a wannabe jazz bar. Aaron looks over at me and says it’s time I pulled some of my weight and that I should buy Jonathan a drink. I raise an eyebrow and look over at Jonathan: “What do you want?” He refuses at first but I insist. He thinks and says he’ll have whatever I’m having. I shrug, “White Russian?” He makes a face and says we shouldn’t throw milk on top of what we’ve already been drinking. “Cuba Libre, errr I mean rum and Coke?” I counter. He shakes his head. He suggests a vodka tonic. I feel my insides churn but go along with it, like it isn’t a big deal. We down our drinks like we’re thirsty and keep talking. I make a reference to Foreigner, which leads him to make a reference to Aqua Teen Hunger Force which then leads me to do a killer impression of Ignignokt and Moth Monster Man. He laughs so hard and gives me this look, like I just made his life. I giggle and ask if we just became best friends. He hugs me and I’m convinced we’re made for each other. At least that’s what the alcohol in my veins is telling me.
We make our way over to a third bar (whose name I can no longer remember) and play a little foosball. I beat Jonathan and Aaron with the help of a very inebriated Sean. We trick Sean into giving us free Johnnie Walker shots. No Blue Label of course, but I’m so drunk it all tastes like sour water to me. Jonathan suggests we go back to Jo-Cat’s. I don’t even argue, I just follow him like a very drunk dog following her owner. I love it at Jo-Cat’s. The dance floor is packed and Jonathan pulls me over to dance. Me and some of the girls from Caroline’s group find us and we start doing an impromptu dollar dance. The boys will toss a dollar bill on the middle of the dance floor and then we girls have to get down low and pick it up all sexy like. Then the girls do it to the boys and so on. It’s hilarious to watch the guys try to be sexy. I make sure to bend down at the waist and show Jon my cleavage. Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face” comes on and the place erupts. I dance to every song with Jon, even to Big & Rich’s “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy).”Once Katy Perry’s “California Girls” comes on, Jonathan is a goner. I push him up against the wall and sing the entire song to him, throwing in all my sexy hand gestures and making sure to wrap his arms around my hips. He won’t stop smiling down at me, like I just let him in on the secret that none of these people here know: that we got a spark going. I pause and tell him I need to hit up the restroom. I wait in line for the ladies room and text Caroline that I’m fine and with Jonathan. Once I get out of the bathroom I stand near the bar and watch the activity on the dance floor. I’m miles from Caroline’s apartment. Should I go home? What’s going to happen? Jonathan has his own apartment; will he let me stay there? I look up and he finds me through all the faces in the crowd. He’s dancing and he’s gesturing at me to come over, beckoning me. I breathe and think, “Let’s do this.” All of a sudden “Whatta Man” by Salt-n-Pepa comes on and I think it’s time to get dirty. I turn around with my back to him and start grinding. He loves it and wraps his arms around my waist again and we go at it for the entire song. Once that song is over I start fanning myself because it feels like a million degrees here. He asks if I want to outside for some air. Of course I say yes. He grabs me by the hand and leads me out of the bar. We catch a cab and take off to his apartment. The air feels so fresh and cool. Jonathan is starting to sound a little drunk. He says the cabbie is a trust-worthy guy because he’s taking all the shortcuts to his apartment. The cabbie humors us and tells us he’s from Jordan, which Jonathan hears as Georgia. It’s hilarious. We get to his place and I stumble out. I manage to knock something out of the cab which I promptly apologize and try to put back in. I just throw it on the backseat and run while Jonathan berates me for destroying this man’s beautiful cab. I laugh and stumble even more up the steps, nearly four floors to Jonathan’s cute little flat.
Once inside, things calm down. Things take on a different tone. Everything’s quiet now. No more dancing, no sweating, no drinking. Jon gets me a glass of water. We sit on his couch and quietly chat about politics. He remembers our earlier conversation and says he’ll get some Smiths going. He fiddles with his lap top and suddenly iTunes is providing the soundtrack for the rest of our night. “Sheila Take a Bow” beautifully streams out of his surround speakers. I drink my water with pleasure and study his apartment. He has a Kyrgyz tapestry over his windows, a collection of Milwaukee Brewers baseball helmets on his wall and several Marquette men’s basketball posters. He looks over at me and motions that I should get closer. He wants to hold me close. I oblige and put my water down. I crawl over on his couch and rest my head on his chest. I put my right arm around his waist and listen to his heart beat. It’s beating pretty fast. He’s super excited. We sit and listen to music, both of us softly singing along to the Smiths. One of my favorite “That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore” comes on and remarkably I can sing all the words and not mess up despite all the alcohol I’ve had. He strokes my hair and I run my fingers across his stomach. I get up abruptly and announce I have to use the restroom. It gives me time to think what the next move should be. I pee and wash my hands in his tiny little restroom. I take a quick inventory: a bathroom scale, men’s shower wash in the bathtub, blue striped shower curtains, and a wash cloth on the floor next to the toilet plus blackberry and melon scented hand soap. I wash my face too and make sure I don’t stink. I glance at myself in the bathroom mirror and pray that this all goes well. I clear my throat and walk out. He’s still on the couch and now the Smiths “Half a Person” comes on and he’s impressed that I know all the words to this one, too. I confess that I harbor an unhealthy groupie lifestyle for a Smiths/Morrissey cover band called the Sweet and Tender Hooligans. He smiles and sings along, stopping to tell me he can relate to the song because he too was once “sixteen, clumsy and shy.” I agree that I kind of was too, except I was more sixteen, awkward and friendly. And then it happens. We hold eye contact just a little longer than normal; it gets quiet….and we both lean close to kiss. That first kiss is always so magnetic, so full of fireworks. His beard is coming in and though he looks pretty clean-shaven, I can feel the scratchy stubble burning on my lips, cheeks and chin. I absolutely love it and don’t want to stop kissing. I try to kiss his neck but he stays right on my mouth. We kiss wildly, like we’re going to die, like we’re on a collision course, like we might never ever get to kiss again. We bump teeth a few times and pause to laugh when it happens. I pull his T-shirt away from his neck and kiss the soft, smooth skin of his shoulder. Shoulders drive me nuts, by the way….huge turn on for me. He kisses me right at the neck, too and then tries to pull my shirt off. I whip it right off for him just so he won’t stop kissing me. He moves in for the kill and undoes my bra with one hand. We keep kissing like two crazed teenagers and once he moves onto sucking my breasts, I know I gotta make him stop before it goes any further.
“Do you have condoms…?” I ask breathlessly.
He shakes his head, “Uhh nope. Do you?”
I frown and think hard. I brought condoms on this trip just in case but I know they’re sitting a few blocks away at Caroline’s apartment, right in my suitcase. “No. I left them in my luggage….I didn’t think any of this was going to happen!”
We sit on his couch and debate what to do next. He doesn’t want to go back to Caroline’s apartment 4 blocks away (there’s probably nobody home) but he is willing to run over to the QP convenience store directly across the street from her place. My mind is racing but it sounds like a good idea. He hopes the place isn’t closed by now. He says I don’t have to come if I don’t want to, and then apologizes for leaving me to sit there in my underwear. I tell him its fine, I just want to be 100% safe and I don’t need any “souvenirs” from Wisconsin. He grabs his keys and bolts for the door. I put my shirt back on (with no bra on) and take my shoes and socks off. I lie out on the couch in my gym shorts and sip my water, while listening to the Smiths. “Ask” comes on and the only sound in that little apartment is the sound of my own voice singing along to the music. I’m left there with my own thoughts wondering what it’s going to feel like when he finally takes me. Will I finish? Will he? Will it be weird? Will it be awesome? Suddenly my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of keys jangling. I look over at him and ask how it went.
He says, “You know condoms are pretty overrated.”
I gasp but he quickly starts laughing and tells me he’s kidding and tosses over a packet of Trojans. I thank him and say I’m sorry for making him run around but he says it’s quite alright and that this should be his responsibility anyway. He says he ran the 4 blocks over to the QP and when he got there the clerk asked him if he wanted a packet of one, three or 40. He said three would be fine and didn’t care how much it would come out to, it could be a hundred dollars, and he was ready and willing to fork over his debit card. I laughed and felt pretty good about myself, I guess. I have Jonathan prepared to hand over a copious amount of money just for some sex. Suddenly he looks down at me with that smile of his, it always looks like he’s being sarcastic and asks: “Why is your shirt still on?”
Off goes the shirt into a pile of his clothes and mine. We go at it on the couch for several minutes and I reach for his dick. He’s pretty fucking hard. I stop the wild and passionate kissing to ask if I can suck his cock. Yeah, it didn’t take very long for him to turn his futon couch into a fold out bed. He says his regular bed is an air mattress and it’s not very comfortable. I don’t care. I tell him to get on his back, to which he responds with a very enthusiastic “Yes ma’am!” The old me is totally back. Now I’m the one in the lead. He’s not circumcised. Oh well, they can’t all be perfect. I give him a hand job while asking if he’s the type of guy that will come in my mouth but then won’t be able to come inside me later. He says he won’t try to come in my mouth and will try to wait. I grin and say “Good!” before deep throating him like a fucking whore. I love, love, love it. He can barely talk. All I hear from him are soft moans and the sound of my name. I pause and tell him that he’s hit pay dirt, “I love sucking cock and I can come pretty quickly.” He sighs and says that I’m not kidding. I suck on him for a long while, taking him all the way. I know he’s close and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction yet. He reaches down between my legs and rubs my clit until I'm practically sobbing his name. He doesn't struggle to find my spot like other guys, he finds it very quickly and murmurs "There you are" when I start to squirm and shake. I make him stop and scoot back up so that we’re face to face lying on the bed. He kisses me and says it all feels great. I ask if he wants me to get on top. “Yes, God, yes!” he says and hands me the condom. I refuse and tell him that it’s all him. “If you do it, then it’s not my fault later if something goes wrong” I say and he agrees. He slips the condom on and I quickly get on top. It’s a little awkward but together we’re able to maneuver his dick inside of me, It’s not a huge thing so he feels like he’s going to slip out. I don’t let on, I just ride him like my whole life depends on it. It takes a few tries but we get into a nice rhythm. He reaches up to kiss me several times with this silly look on his face. I ask him if it feels pretty bad. He laughs and shakes his head, “No…no…it feels…whatever the opposite of pretty bad is!” His face is pretty red. This is usually a tell-tale sign. I ask him if he wants to switch it up again. I whisper in his ear: “Come on, fuck me, please!!” In a flash he’s on top of me, struggling to get his dick back inside. Once I know he’s in, I tell him to let me put my legs on his shoulders. “It’ll hurt more this way” I whisper. He happily obliges and then we get to some straight, dirty, painful fucking. I know it’s weird…but I like a little pain with my pleasure. Jonathan gives it to me hard and fast. I look up at him, practically screaming his name out, telling him I love the way he fucks me. I dig my fingernails into the wooden arm rests of his futon couch and hear how they scrape with every thrust of his dick. I tell him I can’t wait any longer and asks if he’s going to come soon because I am sooooo close. He reaches down urgently and kisses me again and says I can come anytime I want to. That’s all I need, that’s all the approval I want and I feel it all swell up inside of me, rushing through every nerve of my body. I come so hard on his dick, I squeeze him out. We pause only for a little bit before we switch positions again. “Do you want to do it from behind?” he asks all out of breath. I beg him to but not before telling him that if he dares to put it in my butt I will sock him in the mouth. He shrugs and says “Fair enough.” I get down on all fours, put my head down and angle my hips upward. He grabs a hold of my butt and effortlessly slides in. I cry out when I feel him enter me and immediately feel the need to tell him he can slap my ass if he wants to. He doesn’t even hesitate and gives me a few sound, spanks on my bottom. I scream, “Oh God, Jonathan!” over and over before I hear him choke out: “Okay, okay, I’m coming!!” and then it’s all over. We collapse on the futon and catch our breath. That was amazing. I roll over on my side and tell him I’m so sorry if his neighbors heard me screaming to which he responds “Fuck that guy! He hates me anyway.”
Our post coital talk is even better than our regular conversations. We lay there, both still naked and talk about the night, how we both sized each other up, how silly Caroline’s friends are. He confesses it’s been a couple of years since he’s had sex, since Peace Corps when all they had to choose from where other PC volunteers. I tell him it’s not been that long for me but that I’m in the middle of breaking up with my boyfriend of a few years. I tell him that our relationship disintegrated and now I’m moving out. Jonathan retorts: “Fuck guys like that…fuck him.” I laugh. I know he doesn’t know all the details and I’m guilty of not telling him everything, but whatever. It’s weird….I had forgotten all about Dan for a few hours there. I’m over him without even being completely out of the relationship. Oh well.
Jonathan says he doesn’t want to be one of those guys that immediately fall asleep after sex. We cuddle and talk some more. I ask him about the small 5 inch scar across his stomach. He lies and says he got cut by a bottle in a bar fight in Mexico. I scoff and say that’s not true, why would the scar be so straight? He smiles there in the dark and squeezes me, “No. I actually had an operation right after I was born because all my organs were pushed up into my diaphragm. So they had to fix it when I was a baby.” I touch it and run my finger along the pink scar. I tell him about some of my scars and he feels them with his fingers and says he can’t even tell they’re there.
He brings out a white bed sheet and apologizes for the smell of mothballs. I take a bathroom break, too. It’s time for us to get some sleep. The chilling sounds of “Meat is Murder” come on and I ask if he really wants to hear it. He says no, it’s kind of a scary song and we turn off the music. We still don’t go to sleep. We talk for a few more minutes, vowing to not friend each other on Facebook. I tell him I know his last name already but he doesn’t know mine and he tries to guess. He goes through all the Hispanic last names he knows:
“Marquez?”
“Nope!”
“Garcia?”
“Nooo!”
“Hernandez?”
“Nah!”
“Okay, I got it….uhhhh..Arteaga?”
“No!!”
Finally I tell him but he pretends not to hear me. He asks, “So you said Escobar, right?” I laugh and say yeah sure, that’s it. I roll over on my stomach and fall asleep. He warns me that he sometimes kicks people in his sleep. I say it’s fine as long as he doesn’t spit on me or try to put it in my butt. He says that’s the best life motto a person can have. His screen saver comes on his laptop: it’s a picture of a donkey which he claims is his only friend. I smile and tell him he’s so incredibly cute and I touch his chest. He says I’m not so bad myself.
The next morning I wake up with a start. Jonathan is still fast asleep clad in nothing but his boxers. I hear the sea gulls outside his window as they fly over to Lake Michigan. I get up and use the restroom, a little dizzy and a little hung over. That wakes him up and he hops in the shower soon after. I get back in bed and doze a little, wondering if the night before was really that awesome. I look at the play list and smile. Of course it was! Jonathan comes back from his shower, wearing a blue Optimus Prime shirt and sits on his recliner to do some homework and read a few notes before he has a group meeting with his summer school class. I ask if I’m bothering him. He shakes his head and says it’s okay and I can totally go back to sleep. But I can’t. I sit up in bed and ask if he can just take me back to Caroline’s. He stands up immediately and says it’s okay. He asks if I’m hung over at all. I stumble towards his front door and kick a box full of empty beer bottles. “Uhhhh, no?”
We walk through his neighborhood and arrive at Caroline’s in a few minutes. I call her but she’s at her boyfriend’s place. Jonathan says it’s fine; we can grab breakfast while we wait for her to get over with the keys. We stop at the Broken Yolk and the cashier convinces me to get banana and chocolate chips pancakes with an orange juice. Jon grabs a coffee and an omelet. I’ve almost forgotten that he’s a vegetarian. The cashier asked what name should the order be under and he says “Jon” and I kind of melt inside. He grabs the local paper and we have breakfast on the outside patio. I love it!! The cashier guy chats us up outside and asks us if we go to Marquette. Jonathan says he does but mentions that I’m from out of town. The cashier asks from where and when I say “L.A.” his eyes light up. It’s mad funny how excited people get here when they meet someone from the “big city.”
When the cashier guy leaves, Jon mentions this guy is always this way, even when the line is out the door. He’s friendly and likes to chat. Suddenly an older lady who has just ordered her breakfast decides to chat us up, too. I guess we look like a pretty friendly couple or something because she jokes that I should have the control in the relationship and make sure he gives me the newspaper at the breakfast table. I laugh and say he’s been good so far. Jon smirks and tells the old woman that I definitely have all the control. I feel myself blushing. “Believe me, she knows…she knows” he laughs as he folds up the paper.
I’m almost done with my breakfast when Caroline shows up and takes me home. We more or less finish eating. We rehash some of the events of the previous night and then decide it’s time to go. It all happens so fast. He takes off the opposite way and I don’t even get to give him a proper goodbye. I just look back at him and wave goodbye as he says “See ya later.”
And that’s it.
That was my perfect day with this amazing, smart, adorable boy I will never see again. I tortured myself the rest of the day wondering if I could see him one more time before I left but he had a study group meeting at 6 pm and then I was too chicken shit to see if he’d be around later. I broke down and decided to text him around 11 pm after getting his number from Caroline.
Me: Hey, this is [...] from…uh, this morning. It’s my last night in Milwaukee. Just wanted to say it was great meeting you.
I got no response until the next morning.
Jonathan: Glad you had a good time. I’ve enjoyed it as well. Enjoy the Miller Tour and travel home safely.
Awww. He remembered I had told him I’d be visiting the Miller beer factory and taking a tour of the facility. And the sentiment was so sweet there at the end. I haven’t received a text that nice in years. It feels weird to be treated like I matter.
So what does this all fucking mean? I DON’T KNOW!!! I’m just so confused. I believe things happen for a reason, that chance meetings between someone like me and someone like Jon are not “random” or “meaningless.” I think God puts things and people in my path for me to learn and grow from. I’ve hooked up with a few guys over the years and though I feel giddy about it afterwards, the emotions soon fade away and I’m left with the crushing realization that there will never be anything more. I got my lumps this way dealing with the likes of Julio and Edgar….and I’m pretty sure soon enough Paul. But then there’s someone like Jonathan where I don’t know him so my image and memory of him are perfect. I don’t just feel like I could hit it and quit it. I feel like I want to know more about him, I want to date him, I have a deliciously unrequited crush on him. I want him to be in my life.
Ughhh….or maybe it was just a one time encounter. But why can’t I stop thinking about him? And why have I been quietly praying to God with tears streaming down my cheeks, begging him to let me see Jonathan one more time? I don’t need a boy to be my salvation, I know this. But why is my heart so stubborn?
In the mean time I’ve been Facebook stalking Jon and looking at all his pictures and thinking he’s about the cutest boy ever. That will have to do for now. (sighhhhhh) I really believe I left my heart in Milwaukee.
Okay, more than just interesting.
It was exciting, fun, surreal and ultimately the most satisfying vacation I have taken in a long while.
I never thought I’d make those comments about traveling to Milwaukee, Wisconsin: the heartland of the U.S., the Midwest, and America’s dairy land. This city has made me open my eyes and realize that my life is not over. At least my love life isn’t.
I landed in Milwaukee on sunny, humid Friday afternoon. It was nearly a 4 hour flight across the country and I won’t lie, I spent a lot of that time just reflecting and thinking about my life. I stared out the window of the plane and watched as desert turned into mountains into green pastures and then finally to the lake-filled country of the Midwest. What happened to me? I used to be such a fun girl. I used to not die over every matter of the heart. I used to take things in stride. I didn’t feel like everything had to be an ordeal or struggle. I made a decision then and there as my plane touched down at the Milwaukee airport: I would start living for me. I would stop living for someone else. If I truly wanted to be happy, I would have to be the one making that happen; not just waiting for some magical boy to show up and make all my dreams come true. And the first step towards reaching that goal, that awesome state of mind, would be to have a fun weekend with my old college roommate/ best friend Caroline. Unlike in Vegas, there would be no promise of boys or plans depending on what boys I’d be scoring on. NOPE! As I had said previously, fuck boys and their shit. I was going to have fun in a boy-free zone where nobody knows my name.
And then fucking Jonathan Baas shows up.
He doesn’t just show up….he breezes in. He sneaks in. My guard is down, I wasn’t even looking. I was totally oblivious. He blind-sided me. Like a 6 foot 2 inch tall Mack truck.
So to take a few steps back: I’m at this bar with Caroline and all her friends. I am, for the sake of this trip, a single girl. We had spent the better half of that morning running/walking in a 5K race. We ran out of time (and motivation) to shower, so we just walked directly to the Nomad Bar to watch the third place World Cup game between Uruguay and Germany. Nobody cared and we thought it was funny that a whole group of us where there in T-shirts, gym shorts and running shoes. Caroline’s friends are awesome and were buying me drinks left and right. I was having a good time (despite Uruguay losing!) and got drunk very quickly. The game finished and the bar got empty pretty fast. There I was enjoying the remains of my Cuba Libre as everyone was standing around, chatting, when this tall boy just sidles up next to our group and starts talking to us. Apparently, he’s a friend of Caroline and another part of her fellowship group. I was standing behind him and was immediately fascinated (in my drunken stupor) by his black shirt with white Cyrillic letters on it. I assumed it was Russian. I think he felt my eyes blazing a hole in his back because he turns around and introduces himself to me.
Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan. Wow….just a great kilowatt smile with these big, bright brown eyes. Not like the brown I’m used to. Mexican boys have these rich, coffee ground chocolate eyes. Jon’s are light, like honey, like caramel, like I want to live in them forever. He catches me off-guard. I was not ready for this. I am certainly not ready to pick up in my sweaty gym clothes. So I surrender myself to “whatever happens, happens” and chat him up like I don’t give a fuck BECAUSE I REALLY DON’T GIVE A FUCK. I let the old me kick in, the college me who was stalwart and fearless. All pretenses are out the door. All hang ups are out the window. I am confidant. I am smart. I am in control. I am myself and I let it all just flow out as we talk about school, friends, work and our home life. I find out he’s originally from Yuma, Arizona and he studied at Creighton University, a small Catholic college in Omaha, Nebraska. I tell him I’m from Los Angeles, California and that I studied Film at uber-liberal UC Berkeley in Northern California. His eyes light up and then the conversation really starts rolling. We’ve done the usual sizing up. And now it’s really effortless. I’m not holding back like I do with other guys. I am not completely hypnotized by his charm and his intellect. I am aware of it but I don’t let him lead. We talk like two friendly rivals, teasing each other, flirting more and more as the alcohol starts to rise in our bloodstreams. I want to kiss him, except I don’t know that yet. Because I’m the old me and the old me wants to strip him down and learn every single detail before I make a move. The old me is slightly competitive. The old me wants Jonathan to fall into my trap. But I think that shot of Jameson whiskey Caroline’s boyfriend gives me is a bad move. I drink it like its water. I feel dizzy. Jonathan asks if I want to go to Club Brady across the street. I follow him like I don’t have another choice.
Club Brady, I learn, is a tongue-in-cheek name for a bar on Brady Street with pool tables, cheap drinks and a bean bag toss game. Jonathan has a beer and announces he will be at the arcade, killing aliens on some video game I’ve never heard of. I shrug and continue NOT GIVING A FUCK and chat with the rest of the group. By now everyone else knows something’s going on. Everyone’s raising their eyebrows and giving me a little smile, “So what’s going on with you and Baas?” they ask. I like that they refer to him by his last name. Dave, Caroline’s very drunk friend, proclaims that I have amazing breasts and that he wants to wake up in them tomorrow morning. I laugh and say I’d rather have Jonathan wake up in them. Dave smiles and says he can make that happen but it’s in his best interest to have Jonathan fail. He walks over to the arcade booth and I worry that he’ll fuck up shit for me. Oh well. I shrug. Feeling this free, this non-chalant is so liberating. Caroline’s boyfriend slurs that he’ll help me out, too. All I can do is laugh carelessly. Not giving a fuck should be my new motto. I feel like anything can happen. Jonathan walks back over to my table. “How did the alien killing go?” I ask casually as I drink my beer. He grins and says it’s awesome. He sits across from me and we go for another round of conversation and sizing up. Everything we’re saying is making me feel like we should never stop talking. I hear a ding, a bell, an alarm in my head screaming: “Holy shit, this guy is my soul mate.” But instead I giggle, like a girl who knows too much. I apologize for my work-out clothes and messy ponytail even though I secretly stopped caring about my appearance. He shrugs and smiles: “Showers are over-rated.” It’s like I’m in a romantic comedy, an Imogen Heap love song or something….”Why'd you have to be so cute?” thunders in my head. I find myself playfully pushing him when he says something mean to me, when I know he’s just teasing and trying to get a reaction out of me. The old flirtation technique, I know it so well. So then things get even more intimate and we start talking about music, one of my favorite subjects. He mentions he likes the Beatles, Bob Dylan and various other bands I like, too. I go for the kill and decide to put it all out there, to expose myself and see if he likes it. I go for broke. I go for all the chips on the table and in true NOT GIVING A FUCK attitude, I confess my secret obsession: “Yeah, you know I’m really into that sullen 80’s British pop. I love the Smiths and Morrissey.” His eyes flash and he stands up straight, “No fucking way. I love the Smiths, too! I saw Morrissey in Omaha a few years ago!” I nearly hit the roof and squeal that I saw Morrissey on that same tour but in L.A. at the Palladium. And the race is on. Suddenly the air feels even lighter. Things feel brighter and shinier. I feel like I want to marry this guy. Like I want to always talk to him, like we would never run out of things to say. He grabs us a couple of shots from the bar: tequila, my absolute favorite. “What should we toast to?” I ask coquettishly. He pauses and slowly a smile spreads across his face: “William, it was really nothing.” We clink our little shot glasses and down it goes. He just straight out quoted one of my favorite Smiths song, my panties about hit the floor.
So we talk about his Peace Corp service in Kyrgyzstan and how he got so drunk at his host brother’s wedding that he missed the entire service. I see he has a penchant for vodka. He said he told his host father that he threw up so much; he had “nothing else inside of him.” His short little host brothers had to carry him home and he said they were all about as tall as I am, so around 5 foot 2 inches. He claims he’s about a whole foot taller than them, so it looks pretty funny. I bullshit him a little and tell him he’s nowhere near that tall. So I make him stand up and face me. We’re so close….I look right up into his face and don’t balk, I don’t look away, and I am not shy. I will NOT be that clumsy girl, afraid of going further like I was in that hotel room in Vegas. I hold my ground and flash him a smirk: “Well, okay maybe you are that tall.” He towers over me and I like it. He takes this chance to show me how his host brothers carried him home. He slips his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, right next to him. I laugh out loud and tell him to get off as he puts his weight on my right arm. I secretly don’t want him to pull away.
Our sparring lesson continues and it’s just a verbal chess game: he confesses he owns all of Shakira’s albums. I tell him I do, too and that I have tickets to see her in October. I tell him he’s a typical ‘Zonie (that’s what we call people from Arizona) and he scoffs and wonders why we don’t call Californians “Fornies.” I tell him he should. Suddenly his friend Aaron grabs me by the hips and pushes me right up against Jonathan and says I should stand close because I’m in the way of the bean bag toss game. I apologize and fall over Jon like a drunken fool. He doesn’t seem to mind. He says we should go to Jo-Cat’s down the street. I disappear with him into the balmy Wisconsin night and totally forget about Caroline and the rest of the group. Some of the people from Club Brady wander over with us. Jonathan waits for no one and hops down the stairs, incredibly sure of where he’s going. I don’t even know where the fuck I am in relation to Caroline’s apartment but I don’t give a flying crap. I’m following Jonathan and he’s already 10 huge steps ahead of me on the sidewalk. I run and catch up, forgetting to hesitate. I want to go where he’s going.
Jo-Cat’s is a dimmer, low-lit bar on Brady Street. It looks a little classier, like a wannabe jazz bar. Aaron looks over at me and says it’s time I pulled some of my weight and that I should buy Jonathan a drink. I raise an eyebrow and look over at Jonathan: “What do you want?” He refuses at first but I insist. He thinks and says he’ll have whatever I’m having. I shrug, “White Russian?” He makes a face and says we shouldn’t throw milk on top of what we’ve already been drinking. “Cuba Libre, errr I mean rum and Coke?” I counter. He shakes his head. He suggests a vodka tonic. I feel my insides churn but go along with it, like it isn’t a big deal. We down our drinks like we’re thirsty and keep talking. I make a reference to Foreigner, which leads him to make a reference to Aqua Teen Hunger Force which then leads me to do a killer impression of Ignignokt and Moth Monster Man. He laughs so hard and gives me this look, like I just made his life. I giggle and ask if we just became best friends. He hugs me and I’m convinced we’re made for each other. At least that’s what the alcohol in my veins is telling me.
We make our way over to a third bar (whose name I can no longer remember) and play a little foosball. I beat Jonathan and Aaron with the help of a very inebriated Sean. We trick Sean into giving us free Johnnie Walker shots. No Blue Label of course, but I’m so drunk it all tastes like sour water to me. Jonathan suggests we go back to Jo-Cat’s. I don’t even argue, I just follow him like a very drunk dog following her owner. I love it at Jo-Cat’s. The dance floor is packed and Jonathan pulls me over to dance. Me and some of the girls from Caroline’s group find us and we start doing an impromptu dollar dance. The boys will toss a dollar bill on the middle of the dance floor and then we girls have to get down low and pick it up all sexy like. Then the girls do it to the boys and so on. It’s hilarious to watch the guys try to be sexy. I make sure to bend down at the waist and show Jon my cleavage. Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face” comes on and the place erupts. I dance to every song with Jon, even to Big & Rich’s “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy).”Once Katy Perry’s “California Girls” comes on, Jonathan is a goner. I push him up against the wall and sing the entire song to him, throwing in all my sexy hand gestures and making sure to wrap his arms around my hips. He won’t stop smiling down at me, like I just let him in on the secret that none of these people here know: that we got a spark going. I pause and tell him I need to hit up the restroom. I wait in line for the ladies room and text Caroline that I’m fine and with Jonathan. Once I get out of the bathroom I stand near the bar and watch the activity on the dance floor. I’m miles from Caroline’s apartment. Should I go home? What’s going to happen? Jonathan has his own apartment; will he let me stay there? I look up and he finds me through all the faces in the crowd. He’s dancing and he’s gesturing at me to come over, beckoning me. I breathe and think, “Let’s do this.” All of a sudden “Whatta Man” by Salt-n-Pepa comes on and I think it’s time to get dirty. I turn around with my back to him and start grinding. He loves it and wraps his arms around my waist again and we go at it for the entire song. Once that song is over I start fanning myself because it feels like a million degrees here. He asks if I want to outside for some air. Of course I say yes. He grabs me by the hand and leads me out of the bar. We catch a cab and take off to his apartment. The air feels so fresh and cool. Jonathan is starting to sound a little drunk. He says the cabbie is a trust-worthy guy because he’s taking all the shortcuts to his apartment. The cabbie humors us and tells us he’s from Jordan, which Jonathan hears as Georgia. It’s hilarious. We get to his place and I stumble out. I manage to knock something out of the cab which I promptly apologize and try to put back in. I just throw it on the backseat and run while Jonathan berates me for destroying this man’s beautiful cab. I laugh and stumble even more up the steps, nearly four floors to Jonathan’s cute little flat.
Once inside, things calm down. Things take on a different tone. Everything’s quiet now. No more dancing, no sweating, no drinking. Jon gets me a glass of water. We sit on his couch and quietly chat about politics. He remembers our earlier conversation and says he’ll get some Smiths going. He fiddles with his lap top and suddenly iTunes is providing the soundtrack for the rest of our night. “Sheila Take a Bow” beautifully streams out of his surround speakers. I drink my water with pleasure and study his apartment. He has a Kyrgyz tapestry over his windows, a collection of Milwaukee Brewers baseball helmets on his wall and several Marquette men’s basketball posters. He looks over at me and motions that I should get closer. He wants to hold me close. I oblige and put my water down. I crawl over on his couch and rest my head on his chest. I put my right arm around his waist and listen to his heart beat. It’s beating pretty fast. He’s super excited. We sit and listen to music, both of us softly singing along to the Smiths. One of my favorite “That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore” comes on and remarkably I can sing all the words and not mess up despite all the alcohol I’ve had. He strokes my hair and I run my fingers across his stomach. I get up abruptly and announce I have to use the restroom. It gives me time to think what the next move should be. I pee and wash my hands in his tiny little restroom. I take a quick inventory: a bathroom scale, men’s shower wash in the bathtub, blue striped shower curtains, and a wash cloth on the floor next to the toilet plus blackberry and melon scented hand soap. I wash my face too and make sure I don’t stink. I glance at myself in the bathroom mirror and pray that this all goes well. I clear my throat and walk out. He’s still on the couch and now the Smiths “Half a Person” comes on and he’s impressed that I know all the words to this one, too. I confess that I harbor an unhealthy groupie lifestyle for a Smiths/Morrissey cover band called the Sweet and Tender Hooligans. He smiles and sings along, stopping to tell me he can relate to the song because he too was once “sixteen, clumsy and shy.” I agree that I kind of was too, except I was more sixteen, awkward and friendly. And then it happens. We hold eye contact just a little longer than normal; it gets quiet….and we both lean close to kiss. That first kiss is always so magnetic, so full of fireworks. His beard is coming in and though he looks pretty clean-shaven, I can feel the scratchy stubble burning on my lips, cheeks and chin. I absolutely love it and don’t want to stop kissing. I try to kiss his neck but he stays right on my mouth. We kiss wildly, like we’re going to die, like we’re on a collision course, like we might never ever get to kiss again. We bump teeth a few times and pause to laugh when it happens. I pull his T-shirt away from his neck and kiss the soft, smooth skin of his shoulder. Shoulders drive me nuts, by the way….huge turn on for me. He kisses me right at the neck, too and then tries to pull my shirt off. I whip it right off for him just so he won’t stop kissing me. He moves in for the kill and undoes my bra with one hand. We keep kissing like two crazed teenagers and once he moves onto sucking my breasts, I know I gotta make him stop before it goes any further.
“Do you have condoms…?” I ask breathlessly.
He shakes his head, “Uhh nope. Do you?”
I frown and think hard. I brought condoms on this trip just in case but I know they’re sitting a few blocks away at Caroline’s apartment, right in my suitcase. “No. I left them in my luggage….I didn’t think any of this was going to happen!”
We sit on his couch and debate what to do next. He doesn’t want to go back to Caroline’s apartment 4 blocks away (there’s probably nobody home) but he is willing to run over to the QP convenience store directly across the street from her place. My mind is racing but it sounds like a good idea. He hopes the place isn’t closed by now. He says I don’t have to come if I don’t want to, and then apologizes for leaving me to sit there in my underwear. I tell him its fine, I just want to be 100% safe and I don’t need any “souvenirs” from Wisconsin. He grabs his keys and bolts for the door. I put my shirt back on (with no bra on) and take my shoes and socks off. I lie out on the couch in my gym shorts and sip my water, while listening to the Smiths. “Ask” comes on and the only sound in that little apartment is the sound of my own voice singing along to the music. I’m left there with my own thoughts wondering what it’s going to feel like when he finally takes me. Will I finish? Will he? Will it be weird? Will it be awesome? Suddenly my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of keys jangling. I look over at him and ask how it went.
He says, “You know condoms are pretty overrated.”
I gasp but he quickly starts laughing and tells me he’s kidding and tosses over a packet of Trojans. I thank him and say I’m sorry for making him run around but he says it’s quite alright and that this should be his responsibility anyway. He says he ran the 4 blocks over to the QP and when he got there the clerk asked him if he wanted a packet of one, three or 40. He said three would be fine and didn’t care how much it would come out to, it could be a hundred dollars, and he was ready and willing to fork over his debit card. I laughed and felt pretty good about myself, I guess. I have Jonathan prepared to hand over a copious amount of money just for some sex. Suddenly he looks down at me with that smile of his, it always looks like he’s being sarcastic and asks: “Why is your shirt still on?”
Off goes the shirt into a pile of his clothes and mine. We go at it on the couch for several minutes and I reach for his dick. He’s pretty fucking hard. I stop the wild and passionate kissing to ask if I can suck his cock. Yeah, it didn’t take very long for him to turn his futon couch into a fold out bed. He says his regular bed is an air mattress and it’s not very comfortable. I don’t care. I tell him to get on his back, to which he responds with a very enthusiastic “Yes ma’am!” The old me is totally back. Now I’m the one in the lead. He’s not circumcised. Oh well, they can’t all be perfect. I give him a hand job while asking if he’s the type of guy that will come in my mouth but then won’t be able to come inside me later. He says he won’t try to come in my mouth and will try to wait. I grin and say “Good!” before deep throating him like a fucking whore. I love, love, love it. He can barely talk. All I hear from him are soft moans and the sound of my name. I pause and tell him that he’s hit pay dirt, “I love sucking cock and I can come pretty quickly.” He sighs and says that I’m not kidding. I suck on him for a long while, taking him all the way. I know he’s close and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction yet. He reaches down between my legs and rubs my clit until I'm practically sobbing his name. He doesn't struggle to find my spot like other guys, he finds it very quickly and murmurs "There you are" when I start to squirm and shake. I make him stop and scoot back up so that we’re face to face lying on the bed. He kisses me and says it all feels great. I ask if he wants me to get on top. “Yes, God, yes!” he says and hands me the condom. I refuse and tell him that it’s all him. “If you do it, then it’s not my fault later if something goes wrong” I say and he agrees. He slips the condom on and I quickly get on top. It’s a little awkward but together we’re able to maneuver his dick inside of me, It’s not a huge thing so he feels like he’s going to slip out. I don’t let on, I just ride him like my whole life depends on it. It takes a few tries but we get into a nice rhythm. He reaches up to kiss me several times with this silly look on his face. I ask him if it feels pretty bad. He laughs and shakes his head, “No…no…it feels…whatever the opposite of pretty bad is!” His face is pretty red. This is usually a tell-tale sign. I ask him if he wants to switch it up again. I whisper in his ear: “Come on, fuck me, please!!” In a flash he’s on top of me, struggling to get his dick back inside. Once I know he’s in, I tell him to let me put my legs on his shoulders. “It’ll hurt more this way” I whisper. He happily obliges and then we get to some straight, dirty, painful fucking. I know it’s weird…but I like a little pain with my pleasure. Jonathan gives it to me hard and fast. I look up at him, practically screaming his name out, telling him I love the way he fucks me. I dig my fingernails into the wooden arm rests of his futon couch and hear how they scrape with every thrust of his dick. I tell him I can’t wait any longer and asks if he’s going to come soon because I am sooooo close. He reaches down urgently and kisses me again and says I can come anytime I want to. That’s all I need, that’s all the approval I want and I feel it all swell up inside of me, rushing through every nerve of my body. I come so hard on his dick, I squeeze him out. We pause only for a little bit before we switch positions again. “Do you want to do it from behind?” he asks all out of breath. I beg him to but not before telling him that if he dares to put it in my butt I will sock him in the mouth. He shrugs and says “Fair enough.” I get down on all fours, put my head down and angle my hips upward. He grabs a hold of my butt and effortlessly slides in. I cry out when I feel him enter me and immediately feel the need to tell him he can slap my ass if he wants to. He doesn’t even hesitate and gives me a few sound, spanks on my bottom. I scream, “Oh God, Jonathan!” over and over before I hear him choke out: “Okay, okay, I’m coming!!” and then it’s all over. We collapse on the futon and catch our breath. That was amazing. I roll over on my side and tell him I’m so sorry if his neighbors heard me screaming to which he responds “Fuck that guy! He hates me anyway.”
Our post coital talk is even better than our regular conversations. We lay there, both still naked and talk about the night, how we both sized each other up, how silly Caroline’s friends are. He confesses it’s been a couple of years since he’s had sex, since Peace Corps when all they had to choose from where other PC volunteers. I tell him it’s not been that long for me but that I’m in the middle of breaking up with my boyfriend of a few years. I tell him that our relationship disintegrated and now I’m moving out. Jonathan retorts: “Fuck guys like that…fuck him.” I laugh. I know he doesn’t know all the details and I’m guilty of not telling him everything, but whatever. It’s weird….I had forgotten all about Dan for a few hours there. I’m over him without even being completely out of the relationship. Oh well.
Jonathan says he doesn’t want to be one of those guys that immediately fall asleep after sex. We cuddle and talk some more. I ask him about the small 5 inch scar across his stomach. He lies and says he got cut by a bottle in a bar fight in Mexico. I scoff and say that’s not true, why would the scar be so straight? He smiles there in the dark and squeezes me, “No. I actually had an operation right after I was born because all my organs were pushed up into my diaphragm. So they had to fix it when I was a baby.” I touch it and run my finger along the pink scar. I tell him about some of my scars and he feels them with his fingers and says he can’t even tell they’re there.
He brings out a white bed sheet and apologizes for the smell of mothballs. I take a bathroom break, too. It’s time for us to get some sleep. The chilling sounds of “Meat is Murder” come on and I ask if he really wants to hear it. He says no, it’s kind of a scary song and we turn off the music. We still don’t go to sleep. We talk for a few more minutes, vowing to not friend each other on Facebook. I tell him I know his last name already but he doesn’t know mine and he tries to guess. He goes through all the Hispanic last names he knows:
“Marquez?”
“Nope!”
“Garcia?”
“Nooo!”
“Hernandez?”
“Nah!”
“Okay, I got it….uhhhh..Arteaga?”
“No!!”
Finally I tell him but he pretends not to hear me. He asks, “So you said Escobar, right?” I laugh and say yeah sure, that’s it. I roll over on my stomach and fall asleep. He warns me that he sometimes kicks people in his sleep. I say it’s fine as long as he doesn’t spit on me or try to put it in my butt. He says that’s the best life motto a person can have. His screen saver comes on his laptop: it’s a picture of a donkey which he claims is his only friend. I smile and tell him he’s so incredibly cute and I touch his chest. He says I’m not so bad myself.
The next morning I wake up with a start. Jonathan is still fast asleep clad in nothing but his boxers. I hear the sea gulls outside his window as they fly over to Lake Michigan. I get up and use the restroom, a little dizzy and a little hung over. That wakes him up and he hops in the shower soon after. I get back in bed and doze a little, wondering if the night before was really that awesome. I look at the play list and smile. Of course it was! Jonathan comes back from his shower, wearing a blue Optimus Prime shirt and sits on his recliner to do some homework and read a few notes before he has a group meeting with his summer school class. I ask if I’m bothering him. He shakes his head and says it’s okay and I can totally go back to sleep. But I can’t. I sit up in bed and ask if he can just take me back to Caroline’s. He stands up immediately and says it’s okay. He asks if I’m hung over at all. I stumble towards his front door and kick a box full of empty beer bottles. “Uhhhh, no?”
We walk through his neighborhood and arrive at Caroline’s in a few minutes. I call her but she’s at her boyfriend’s place. Jonathan says it’s fine; we can grab breakfast while we wait for her to get over with the keys. We stop at the Broken Yolk and the cashier convinces me to get banana and chocolate chips pancakes with an orange juice. Jon grabs a coffee and an omelet. I’ve almost forgotten that he’s a vegetarian. The cashier asked what name should the order be under and he says “Jon” and I kind of melt inside. He grabs the local paper and we have breakfast on the outside patio. I love it!! The cashier guy chats us up outside and asks us if we go to Marquette. Jonathan says he does but mentions that I’m from out of town. The cashier asks from where and when I say “L.A.” his eyes light up. It’s mad funny how excited people get here when they meet someone from the “big city.”
When the cashier guy leaves, Jon mentions this guy is always this way, even when the line is out the door. He’s friendly and likes to chat. Suddenly an older lady who has just ordered her breakfast decides to chat us up, too. I guess we look like a pretty friendly couple or something because she jokes that I should have the control in the relationship and make sure he gives me the newspaper at the breakfast table. I laugh and say he’s been good so far. Jon smirks and tells the old woman that I definitely have all the control. I feel myself blushing. “Believe me, she knows…she knows” he laughs as he folds up the paper.
I’m almost done with my breakfast when Caroline shows up and takes me home. We more or less finish eating. We rehash some of the events of the previous night and then decide it’s time to go. It all happens so fast. He takes off the opposite way and I don’t even get to give him a proper goodbye. I just look back at him and wave goodbye as he says “See ya later.”
And that’s it.
That was my perfect day with this amazing, smart, adorable boy I will never see again. I tortured myself the rest of the day wondering if I could see him one more time before I left but he had a study group meeting at 6 pm and then I was too chicken shit to see if he’d be around later. I broke down and decided to text him around 11 pm after getting his number from Caroline.
Me: Hey, this is [...] from…uh, this morning. It’s my last night in Milwaukee. Just wanted to say it was great meeting you.
I got no response until the next morning.
Jonathan: Glad you had a good time. I’ve enjoyed it as well. Enjoy the Miller Tour and travel home safely.
Awww. He remembered I had told him I’d be visiting the Miller beer factory and taking a tour of the facility. And the sentiment was so sweet there at the end. I haven’t received a text that nice in years. It feels weird to be treated like I matter.
So what does this all fucking mean? I DON’T KNOW!!! I’m just so confused. I believe things happen for a reason, that chance meetings between someone like me and someone like Jon are not “random” or “meaningless.” I think God puts things and people in my path for me to learn and grow from. I’ve hooked up with a few guys over the years and though I feel giddy about it afterwards, the emotions soon fade away and I’m left with the crushing realization that there will never be anything more. I got my lumps this way dealing with the likes of Julio and Edgar….and I’m pretty sure soon enough Paul. But then there’s someone like Jonathan where I don’t know him so my image and memory of him are perfect. I don’t just feel like I could hit it and quit it. I feel like I want to know more about him, I want to date him, I have a deliciously unrequited crush on him. I want him to be in my life.
Ughhh….or maybe it was just a one time encounter. But why can’t I stop thinking about him? And why have I been quietly praying to God with tears streaming down my cheeks, begging him to let me see Jonathan one more time? I don’t need a boy to be my salvation, I know this. But why is my heart so stubborn?
In the mean time I’ve been Facebook stalking Jon and looking at all his pictures and thinking he’s about the cutest boy ever. That will have to do for now. (sighhhhhh) I really believe I left my heart in Milwaukee.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
What you take won't kill you but careful what you're giving...
So I'm trying to mentally prepare myself for my flight to Milwaukee tomorrow....the plan is to rest and relax with my best friend and not think about boys or boyfriends or cheating or lying or moving out (in a couple of weeks) or grad school or ANYTHING THAT AGGRAVATES ME....I want to just focus on myself.
Fat chance when the OTHER ex-boyfriend also has a Twitter account that I infrequently stalk. The following conversation ensued:
Paul's tweet: Something's on fire down here in west Berkeley. Fire trucks everywhere and it's quite hazy. Anyone know what?
my tweet: Clever diversion with that tweet....be honest, did you set something on fire??
Paul's tweet: Nope, but I did see someone get out of a traffic ticket when the cop blasted off to deal with the fire. Maybe they set it.
The joke is that Paul is a bit of a pyromaniac...no, seriously...he loves setting stuff on fire and playing with fire...and at one point, he was fire breathing with his friends for a few laughs...anyway, I thought the conversation was over...but then I get a random text from him 8 pm last night while I'm watching a movie with Dan:
Paul: When you come visit, I will introduce you to the best Tiki bar around. Killer drinks.
Wow....Paul never, EVER texts me...even when we were dating...I fired back:
me: Sounds like a plan!
If you've been reading this journal, you know that I'm spending the weekend at Paul's apartment next month...alone...about the best/worst idea I've ever had...I plan to be single by then...
Paul: The bartender is a world class mixologist and my particular friend. ;)
I hope to be drunk....real drunk.....super drunk...like so drunk that fucking him won't be a problem...that it will actually sound like a good idea. I know that when he gets plastered, he always comes back...I think the last two times we got back together in college were all dependent on how much alcohol both of us had drank. Sad, really...but whatever....I'm just not going to expect anything from him. Because as soon as I hinge myself on what a boy is promising me or offering me, I get into it...my heart falls for it and then I get squashed.
me: Gotta love that kind of hook up. Haha! It'll be August before you know it.
Let's see how this pans out. I'm 2 for 2 on the "Operation Bone All My Ex Boyfriends" plan...but I'm 0 for 2 on the "Don't Let Them Get a Piece of Your Heart" plan.
Fat chance when the OTHER ex-boyfriend also has a Twitter account that I infrequently stalk. The following conversation ensued:
Paul's tweet: Something's on fire down here in west Berkeley. Fire trucks everywhere and it's quite hazy. Anyone know what?
my tweet: Clever diversion with that tweet....be honest, did you set something on fire??
Paul's tweet: Nope, but I did see someone get out of a traffic ticket when the cop blasted off to deal with the fire. Maybe they set it.
The joke is that Paul is a bit of a pyromaniac...no, seriously...he loves setting stuff on fire and playing with fire...and at one point, he was fire breathing with his friends for a few laughs...anyway, I thought the conversation was over...but then I get a random text from him 8 pm last night while I'm watching a movie with Dan:
Paul: When you come visit, I will introduce you to the best Tiki bar around. Killer drinks.
Wow....Paul never, EVER texts me...even when we were dating...I fired back:
me: Sounds like a plan!
If you've been reading this journal, you know that I'm spending the weekend at Paul's apartment next month...alone...about the best/worst idea I've ever had...I plan to be single by then...
Paul: The bartender is a world class mixologist and my particular friend. ;)
I hope to be drunk....real drunk.....super drunk...like so drunk that fucking him won't be a problem...that it will actually sound like a good idea. I know that when he gets plastered, he always comes back...I think the last two times we got back together in college were all dependent on how much alcohol both of us had drank. Sad, really...but whatever....I'm just not going to expect anything from him. Because as soon as I hinge myself on what a boy is promising me or offering me, I get into it...my heart falls for it and then I get squashed.
me: Gotta love that kind of hook up. Haha! It'll be August before you know it.
Let's see how this pans out. I'm 2 for 2 on the "Operation Bone All My Ex Boyfriends" plan...but I'm 0 for 2 on the "Don't Let Them Get a Piece of Your Heart" plan.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Girl, you better recognize the game....
Why on Earth did I think Julio would be any different than all the other guys who have played me in the past? Why did I think he'd be cut from a different mold than Edgar....or Dan..or any of these other fools who just get my hopes up, only to squash them in the end....and why the HECK did I think my stupid heart would stay out of it for once?? I don't know...
What's that old idiom?: ""Fool me once, shame on you...fool me twice, shame on me."
As I have understood it, this means that you should learn from your mistakes and not allow people to take advantage of you repeatedly. Have I done that?
Uhhh. Nope. I keep thinking people will change. That I will finally get the wonderful relationship I've always dreamed of from guys who only want a quick fuck and a blowjob. I need a new pool of guys to choose from....because all these former crushes of mine from high school are driving me up the wall, mad. A very silent, painful madness that nobody but me and you (my dear reader) know about.
Julio offered me the world back in 2005 when we first dated. He wanted to marry me, have children with me, wanted me to move back to Texas with him. But once I resisted (wise choice) he forgot about me. Then in 2006 he said he'd come see me in Berkeley while I was finishing up college....he never called and made a million excuses for not showing up. In 2007 he moved (oh-so-briefly) back to California and took me out on a date...he confessed he had manic depression, which is also known as bipolar disorder...he also expressed the desire to move in with me and start a new life together...that didn't last very long and sometime in the middle of the night, he left again and went back to Texas....I should have seen this coming now in 2010...but I didn't. He was so perfect with me in Vegas, the strong silent type I had fallen in love with so many years ago...and when I hoped he'd come see in L.A., he was gone. He never showed up, never called, never texted....I had to find out through Facebook he was in Texas, back to his old tricks. UGHH!!!!!
Now I'm back in that horrible state of mind...where I'm not sure if I'm sad, angry, disappointed or lonely. Maybe I'm all those things. On the outside I'm so happy and smiling...but if only everyone knew I feel like curling up in a little ball and not dealing with the world.
Also, now I've started FB stalking Julio. Because looking at his pictures makes me happy and it's something to eat at the gnawing void I feel inside my stupid heart:
I need to get a life. As if FB stalking Edgar wasn't enough...now I'm staring at Julio's pictures and wondering why I wasn't worth him fighting for....what more could he want in a girl, if not me?
Ughhh. Fuck boys. Fuck them and their shit. I need to stop getting attached to hearts (and dicks) that don't belong to me. That weren't mine to begin with. SIGH!
What's that old idiom?: ""Fool me once, shame on you...fool me twice, shame on me."
As I have understood it, this means that you should learn from your mistakes and not allow people to take advantage of you repeatedly. Have I done that?
Uhhh. Nope. I keep thinking people will change. That I will finally get the wonderful relationship I've always dreamed of from guys who only want a quick fuck and a blowjob. I need a new pool of guys to choose from....because all these former crushes of mine from high school are driving me up the wall, mad. A very silent, painful madness that nobody but me and you (my dear reader) know about.
Julio offered me the world back in 2005 when we first dated. He wanted to marry me, have children with me, wanted me to move back to Texas with him. But once I resisted (wise choice) he forgot about me. Then in 2006 he said he'd come see me in Berkeley while I was finishing up college....he never called and made a million excuses for not showing up. In 2007 he moved (oh-so-briefly) back to California and took me out on a date...he confessed he had manic depression, which is also known as bipolar disorder...he also expressed the desire to move in with me and start a new life together...that didn't last very long and sometime in the middle of the night, he left again and went back to Texas....I should have seen this coming now in 2010...but I didn't. He was so perfect with me in Vegas, the strong silent type I had fallen in love with so many years ago...and when I hoped he'd come see in L.A., he was gone. He never showed up, never called, never texted....I had to find out through Facebook he was in Texas, back to his old tricks. UGHH!!!!!
Now I'm back in that horrible state of mind...where I'm not sure if I'm sad, angry, disappointed or lonely. Maybe I'm all those things. On the outside I'm so happy and smiling...but if only everyone knew I feel like curling up in a little ball and not dealing with the world.
Also, now I've started FB stalking Julio. Because looking at his pictures makes me happy and it's something to eat at the gnawing void I feel inside my stupid heart:
I need to get a life. As if FB stalking Edgar wasn't enough...now I'm staring at Julio's pictures and wondering why I wasn't worth him fighting for....what more could he want in a girl, if not me?
Ughhh. Fuck boys. Fuck them and their shit. I need to stop getting attached to hearts (and dicks) that don't belong to me. That weren't mine to begin with. SIGH!
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