In Which I Am Delusional

You don't want to hear about the mess I made of things with me and Que. He's still around but...that's a tale for another time. Maybe.

Not to keep harping on this but where is my man? Seriously, where is he? I have never had a boyfriend, never been on a date, never held somebody's hand as we walked down the street. What thee fuck. I mean I guess I haven't needed a man for the past 21 years but I sure as hell have wanted one. I'm used to not having one obviously but sometimes in the dark, quiet corners of the night I wonder where my love is. Every time I console myself into thinking I'll be fine on my own I get a glimmer of hope, a wisp of a man's attentions and he says all the right things and I think, holy shit, maybe I'm not doomed! But then he reveals his true colors and I sink back down again and the walls come back up.

I think I'm not attractive. Not ugly but literally not able to attract. Que says (in a judgy and kind of condescending tone of someone who's never had a problem meeting women) that it's my fault that I keep attracting guys who just want to have sex with me and I don't present the right package and I should flirt more because he always gets the girls that he wants by flirting with them. Is that in ANY way helpful to tell someone who's borderline socially retarded and introverted? That's about as useful as telling an anorexic "to just eat something already." But he succeeds in making me feel bad about myself because, well, he has a harem so it must be me, right? I just have to remember that he's attracted to a certain type of woman and I am certainly not her and dating advice is rarely general. I guess I just have to be patient--God hasn't seen fit to put a man in my life, apparently. Y'all know patience isn't my strong suit...and it especially kind of stings hearing Que say those things because it's him. He was supposed to be the one who wanted me back. He certainly acted like he did, in the beginning, anyway, even before the sex (and I use the term "sex" loosely, for the sake of brevity), but I guess it was all lip service or he's a really good actor. He's very good at avoiding the tough stuff. We will literally talk all the way to the point of:

Me: "I wouldn't mind being your girlfriend. All you have to do is ask." Him: "But would you cook sometimes?" Me: "I'll try." Him: *crickets*

And that will be that. What am I supposed to get from that conversation? And he'll be the one to bring it up! If I really didn't think that we would make an awesome team and have so much fun together then I'd leave it at that. But I think we would. And call me crazy but I think he knows it too.

Or maybe I am just delusional and like torture...

The Mistake I Wasn't Supposed to Make

You lot were right about the whole friends-with-benefits thing. It isn't just happy naked times. Somewhere along the lines I developed feelings for this young man. This isn't what I bargained for! I don't know if I am just transferring the lust into a different part of my brain that feels actual emotion, but, yeah. I want him all to myself, or at least acknowledge that it's not just physical. Because we were friends at first. And now we're lovers (how cliche). And now I'm past kicking him out in the light of day but find myself wanting to hang on a little longer. He's weird. He says he wants one girl. We drop "what if we were together as a couple" hints all the time. I want to hide my feelings but somehow make him confess his. Needless to say, THIS SUCKS. Somebody hold me...

What Happens After

My word.

The Que and I still have been rendezvous-ing all over the place. Well, all over my bed. We're no closer to anything resembling a real relationship, but at this point, we're using each other for our bodies, ha. It's quite liberating, actually. I think. Whatever we're doing is much better than any other flings I've had--if only for the fact that this one comes with nakedness and such. And no manipulative mind games. The whole "he has a whole lot of other women" trope is still here, though. But both (all four?) of my eyes are open, and his are too, so I'm praying we avoid any nasty collisions.

You know what sucks, though? When he rolls over and falls asleep afterward. I've been reading women's magazines for the better part of 10 years so I get that it's chemical ("a man thing" if you will) that I shouldn't take personally. But how come men get the "crash after orgasm" chemical and women get the simulated sensation of love/closeness towards the person from whence said orgasm came? Even if he is snoring. I try not to fret over it. I usually turn on "The Office" until my head mmmm, and my body mellow out. And um, there's not really any cuddling. Seriously, he sleeps like a log. That takes up a lot of space in what I previously thought was a big bed.

Is that healthy? I'd be interested to know what folks do after intercourse or intercourse-like activities. During the actual activities, though? I've got that covered. COVERED, IT IS.

A Numbers Game

"How many times did you come?"

He wanted to know. Truthfully, he'd lost count of how many times he felt her shudder, heard her scream.

"You came while we were first kissing, didn't you?" She nodded yes.

She'd straddled him as their mouths meshed, their tongues tangled. She squirmed in his arms as he suckled her neck just as she needed. He pressed harder and lashed his tongue firmer the way she begged him to. He didn't stop his quest, even when her limbs tightened around him in her first strained release.

That fire of hers smolders so close to the surface, he thought. Just kissing her neck can make her come.

He remembered almost erupting himself when she broke free to divest herself of her clothing: the tight shirt and tiny shorts that barely concealed her ass and the longest pair of legs he'd ever seen.

His eyes darkened as he pulled off her shorts, noticing the finery underneath.

"Stand up," he motioned, dragging her in front of him to stare at her magnificence. She turned slowly at his command. He gazed at chocolate-drop breasts resting enticingly in black lace, and when her back faced him, he reached out and filled his hands with her delectable ass, peeking out from matching panties.

He groaned as she mounted him once more, her flimsy lingerie the only barrier from his granite manhood. She whimpered, aroused by the sensation as he assaulted her throat again and began moving his mouth downward. Teasingly, she pulled off her bra slowly and deliberately. He wanted to ravage her on the spot. Tortured, he contented himself with feasting on her perfect breasts, one, then the other, attuned to her reaction to his attentions. Her moans grew louder, her body undulated harder and faster, and she arched into his mouth against the relentless tongue that coated her aching peaks.

He continued his feast even as she wailed his name in climax.

But he hadn't gotten his fill of her, he recalled, amazed. When would he?

She clutched at his broad shoulders, her cries softening into sighs. When she giggled into his neck, he broke free and eased her onto her back.

"Can I say that I'm nervous?" she asked timidly as he descended to his knees. He tossed her drawers to the floor.

"No."

With a smirk, he kissed her stomach. A soft protest died on her lips as he dipped his head to finally devour her as he wanted...

She would come again.

Close Encounters of the First Kind

I'm afraid I'm not a sex-blogger like Amy or Vix, just have enough dirty thoughts and the occasional hookup to keep things interesting. So I won't be able to go into details about what happened when Que came over to my house one evening last week.

Did we do the full monty? No. Did I want to? HELL YES.

Before this I made a promise that before anything else happened, I would come clean about my lack of experience. Before we hooked up at the party it didn't matter that I had TOTALLY lied by omission about being a virgin, because my sexual status was none of his business as a random acquaintance. But as we began toying with the idea of a physical relationship I thought it wouldn't be fair to him, and he needed to know the whole deal.

I told him in the front seat of my car after work. It was kind of funny, actually. He asked if my confession was that I had a boyfriend or spent my holiday break in a series of sexual aerobics with various suitors. "Did you mess with any guys?" he asked. "No, quite the opposite, actually," I replied. He looked at me. "You messed with a GIRL?"

Le sigh. Life is not easy.

After all the hoops I jumped through to finally confess ("say everyone assumes you've been to Paris, but you haven't. You've seen a LOT of Parisian films and seem knowledgeable about the customs and stuff but you haven't technically been. Actually, you haven't done that much traveling in the first place") he was quite understanding. Disbelieving at first, but he agreed with my reasons for not telling him sooner.

I started fantasizing about our first "real" encounter as soon as I was sure that he wouldn't curse me out or run screaming from the car at the mere mention of an intact hymen. My biggest concern was that he would expect sex, and I was at least comforted (and proud of myself) that we had outlined the boundaries beforehand. But still, I couldn't help but wonder: what if it was bad? How awkward would that be? Do I have to shave everything? What if I laugh? What if oral sex was nowhere near all it's cracked up to be?

In short, yes, it's all it's cracked up to be. HOLY SHIT IS IT EVERYTHING IT'S CRACKED UP TO BE.

All my research on Parisian customs and sneaking Cosmopolitan magazines all those years was not done in vain. Cheesy as it sounds, I was anxiety-free during the blessed event, thanks to those sources.

Some things that I learned:

-I am loud.
-It is, indeed, okay to laugh in bed if something is funny.
-Black lace does not fail.
-Inducing a boner is extremely gratifying and does wonders for your confidence.
-Any time spent worrying about the attractiveness of your vagina is time wasted.
-He has already thought about you naked. You will never disappoint.
-Following directions yields good results. Giving directions yields great results.
-Porn is a wonderful appetizer. Do not forget to close laptop and put it safely on the floor after viewing, though.

I greatly, greatly anticipate an encore very soon.

I Bet He's the Smitten One This Time

Coming home for holiday break came at the best and worst time. Best because it's Christmas and worst because I'm missing about five games with NBA team. Ugh, I can't even think about it because I'm so worried about making a good impression at this internship and it's really easy to fuck things up. So yeah, there's that.

But also, I can't help but think I dodged a bullet with Que (if you haven't guessed he's the one from the party). Before any of it happened, we had a very teasing relationship. Afterward, I resumed the teasing as usual, maybe a little more than usual to protect myself/not give anything away. On my last day, he sat in the passenger seat of my car and said that I act differently when it's just the two of us. It seemed like he was trying to get me to admit to feelings or something, but I was stressed and cranky and I couldn't be bothered to giving an inch.

"I'm going home to take a nap."

"Want me to come take a nap with you?"

I did, but I didn't know how to ask without feeling stupid. He said he'd call me after he got a haircut but he didn't.

One thing I've realized is that I have walls up when it comes to men, both inside and out.

First I think it's because I don't trust men romantically. When you hang around and work with guys as much as I do you see the cavalier attitude with which they treat women. Not to say that all guys are liars even though they ARE, but I definitely recognize the need for a thick skin.

Also, and a little more based off of my experience, it just takes me a long time to admit to having feelings because I'm always the one with the hopeless crush, the unrequited love. Friends would always make jokes about me being totally smitten and call me thirsty with a hint of desperate. And that takes a lot out of a girl, ya know? The affair with The Smoker left me kind of scarred as well, showed me the downside of giving too much, investing too much in a boy. Once bitten, right? So I need the guy to jump first. In Que's case (whether I have feelings for him or not other than lusty ones), I feel like he's trying to case the situation and see if I'm going to slip up and say "Uncle!" to the tune of "Yes I have feelings for you," or, probably more accurately "Yes I can't stop thinking about that night come over and let's make lurrrrrrvveeee." Aha! That's what triggered his frustration in the car, methinks, when I said if he came over there would be no actual, technical, fucking.

Because as he got out of the car he said, "You know the deal. You know I want you."

Color me perplexed. I almost yelled "What do you mean 'want'? You want to sleep with me? You want to really, like, date me because I have won you over with my glasses and humor and gossipy ways? WHAT?" But I didn't want to be that shrew who over-analyzes everything. Even though in this case I should have been.

Seeing everything all spelled out like this makes me think, eh, it was a one TWO time thing and we're better off being friends/coworkers/partners in crime. Who maybe fool around occasionally? NO. But damn it's been a long time since I've had some nookie...I mean, once I get back maybe we could...NO. Right?

Of course...

The thoughts have rolled in...

They made out in a freezing parking lot, his bold hands cupping her ass, her shoulders nestled against his chest, underneath his coat.

"What are we going to do?" she sighed against his neck. "It doesn't matter. You don't want me. I'm fraught with issues..."

"I don't care." He teasingly, urgently thrust his hardness against her clothes softness and watched her eyes flutter. "I can't wait to fuck you..."

We're not going to sleep together (well, not technically, I suppose. We'll see...). Tomorrow I leave Southern state for holiday break. Uncomplicated is key. He has a harem of women. I'm waiting until I get in a real relationship.

But my bed still smells of him...

Backstage Escapades

Hey kids.

I finally have a new comp, but I've been busy as hell so my updates still might be few and far between. Don't abandon me. I feel like good stuff is right around the corner and you won't want to have to jump back and re-read little tidbits when the juicy stuff starts, right? Right.

Note: I feel like my words are boring already! I haven't written in awhile so bear with me.

I started my internship with NBA team, and it's...different than the WNBA, that's for sure. Besides the players being men, I mean. Everything's a little more high-paced, a little more secure, a little more intense. But the food is better.

There is another intern, we'll call him Que (because he is one). We get along pretty well, sometimes he's a little slooooooww-moving for my taste but he's cool.

Know what I look forward to, nay, relish? GROUPIES. Yes, the stuff Billie Jeans are made of! The team had a fan event today, actually, open to the public, and yes, there were a few in the bunch. This one girl had her boobs out distracting everyone from her fug face and a long weave; I noticed her quietly flirting with one of the guys. I saw them out of my peripheral vision, and my gossip radar kicked into high gear, honey. She was spittin' game and he was reciprocating, and yes, contact info was exchanged. This woman wrote down her contact info for everything: I'm talking address, email, phone numbers...I witnessed a proverbial groupie exchange with mine own four eyes. Now, I'm sure the players don't follow through on every number that they get, but still. These people are thirsty, Lord.

You know what I did the first chance I got. Scampered over to Que and spilled all the tea.*

*Tea: Noun. Means gossip, news, or current situation (Girl, what's your tea? or I got some tea you won't believe!)

This all leads me to another point (y'all know I have an issue about everything). I don't condone desperation or outright gold-digging, and a lot of the time I can't believe players fall for this stuff (well, they're just looking for a good time. It's the girls who want more). But still, watching players or guys in general fall over these pretty yet fake women eventually takes a toll on the old ego. Not saying I expected anything (I'm in this business because I like sports, not because I'm looking for a husband, obvs) but it's just...weird...like you're invisible. I can't explain it without sounding like I want something from these guys, but...hmm...those girls make regular girls like me look frumpy and fug. There, I said it.

I HAVE ISSUES I KNOW. They don't cover this in the internship handbook because it's so taboo and I don't want to ask because players' "love lives" are unspoken and very few peoples' business. Plus, most of the workers are middle-aged white men. I'd like to find someone, a young attractive black female who works in sports. I have questions.

All that aside, though, this is a great gig. Fun, and Que and I have become adept at finagling free stuff. It's an art.

Jacked

For ONCE, it's not my fault. I have, for ONCE, a good reason not to blog. If there was ever a time to use the "this can't be life" tag, this would be it.

I was robbed. Um, twice.

The first time, someone kicked open my door and stole just about everything a) valuable, 2) sentimental, 3) that makes my life convenient and manageable. These things include Blackberry Curve (the second one I've lost for those counting at home), my LAPTOP, car keys, purse (the 2nd best knockoff I ownded) wallet, backpack (I had to buy a new Spanish book) and downstairs stuff.

They left my TV and DVD player, though.

And get this, this past weekend, someone broke into Cali Girl's trunk while we were at a club and stole our purses. Including the purple bag my mom bought me from NYC (Chinatown--the best knockoff I owned) and my new debit card and spare car key that I'd just gotten--to replace THE ONES STOLEN THE FIRST FUCKING TIME AROUND.

This shit is for the birds. I'm okay, I guess, past being scared and onto irritated. Because who gets robbed twice? Oh, yeah, the first time, I was in the house, sleeping way late, while degenerate asshole burglars cleaned me out. Basically, a something (work with me here) told me to stay under the covers, perfectly still. Yes, I think it was my instinct/gut/God trying to save my arse from something worse than losing all my stuff.

Let's not talk about it. Although I have to say what pisses me off way more than I thought was that my makeup bag was in my bag. Not only do you want my money but you want me to look busted in the process? The nerve.

When I get a new comp I shall update yall more about the happier stuff, like my new internship with an NBA team, my cousin's wedding, and my current crush. Stay tuned for that last one. I need all forces at the ready 'cause he is, to put it mildly, A VISION. A spectacle of football player, big-noseosity, and LUST.

Half-Naked Tuesday: Lovely Opposites

On a posting roll today. Been neglecting the past few HNTs, decided to make up for it. Late nights agree with me, I think.

I can never decide which is more fun: being the loyal, sensible one who keeps him in line or the naughty one who tempts his straitlaced nature unbearably.

Hmm, how about the smart cheeky one, who reads, goes to parties, and is the love of his life? Sounds good.
Happy (bonus) HNT!

Obligatory Women's Lib Rant

It's no secret that everybody is all over Drake aka Wheelchair Jimmy (not that I ever watched Degrassi. I SWEAR. I would tell you if I did, honest) as a rapper, and some of his music is cool.** It took a minute to separate this version of him with what was portrayed on The N, but his songs are quite catchy and he's an admirable rapper.

**Ok it is really good, if you can look past the budding misogyny. "A Night Off" and "Man of the Year" are my favorites so far.

However.

It seems that we have already started with the "bitches and hoes" mentality. He's throwing those adjectives around a little too freely for my liking. Even stuff like "Baby you my everything/other hoes ain't never on it" which, ok, you called me "baby" but why does my homegirl gotta be a hoe? It just leaves a sour taste in my mouth (ear?) after hearing those words used as legitimate words to describe a female. Because there are bitches out there, don't get me wrong. I interact with many on a daily basis.

I guess we didn't expect Drake to come out raunchy and/or profane which makes it sting a little more, but I mean, if he really wanted to be "revolutionary" he could have started by coming up with a better way to describe women.

There's a bigger picture here. Not only do men need to better, but women need to demand better. Take this Film Screening Guy situation. Men only do what they can get away with as many times as they can get away with it. Obviously, his less-than-chivalrous method of courting has gotten him sex before, to the point where he doesn't know how to act when a standards-having female like myself rebuts with, "I need you to come better than that if you want me to entertain you, let alone consider sleeping with you." But it could be argued that those other women were desperate because there aren't that many dateable men around. Which I secretly kind of understand but that doesn't make it ok for anyone involved. Because those desperate women are making it hard for ME.

I mean, other hardworking, slightly more modest women. Like myself.

Move Over, Hillary

Be very afraid, I've just been promoted :) on The Paper. My official title is "Associate Managing Editor"--of an award-winning college, student-ran publication. I'm third, well, 2.5th in-command and, if you'll allow me to brag for just a mo', the highest-ranking female on staff in The Paper's 85 years of existence.

I am woman.

Oh, and another thing: The Paper is the publication of an all-male HBCU, even though it covers events of the surrounding institutions as well. I go to the unofficial "sister school."*

*Maintaining anonymity is haaaaard. My school/these schools are relatively known**, so I can't give away too much lest my jig be up...gets up...be's up? Anyway. My sham of an explanation probably won't sense if you don't know how the said schools operate, but just know that I'm kind of a big deal :)

**Oh, my God. I sound SO pretentious. Ignore me. Bear with me. Forgive me. Y'all know I'd never intentionally stoop so low.

And you know what's funny? Well two things:

1. In the midst of basking in my awesomeness two days ago I was also dealing with the trite comeback attempts of Film Screening Guy, who continues to make it obviously--borderline rudely--clear that he has no interest in my life other than procuring my panties. During almost the entire pitiful (on his end, anyway) conversation I was just thinking, "This totally great amazing thing that I worked my ass off for for three years finally happened to me and this guy has no idea or remote interest.*** Volumes have been spoken."

***Actually, Mr. GQ was not exactly the picture of enthusiasm either when I told him my good news. Which actually stung a little. Maybe he was distracted: we were on the freeway. A lesson in humility, perhaps? But anyway.

2. I love how the movies that give you the option of "Theatrical Version" or "Extended Version" are the ones that went straight-to-DVD and weren't actually in theaters.

Final Thoughts

Have been the participant in the World's Most Unproductive Day. I'm going out tonight, though, if that counts as doing something. Cali Girl and Ms. Politics came over, though; always a treat.

I got my hair done last night and told Hairstylist B that I was having man troubles. "Let's talk," she chirped. "Sit in my chair." The first words out of my mouth were, "Ok so I met this guy on Friday..." and the first words out of hers were "And you're having problems already?" I love Hairstylist B; a light bulb went off when she said that. a) I am having problems, not him. Film Screening Guy isn't thinking about me, so why am I still letting him occupy brain matter? 2) and more importantly, this is not fun anymore, and at this rate when men stop being fun and start becoming work, that's a wrap.

This is the last mention of this affair, I swear, but once again, it sucks because he was cute and tall and played the guitar but I mean, that could have all been a ploy to get into my pants, men have said and done crazy things when faced with the prospect of the P(ussy). Besides, I don't know that much about him; we hadn't gotten to the interesting stuff yet, so there's not much to miss. As for him, I mean, he knows that my legs look awesome in short things, that I flirt a lot, and love tequila, but he doesn't know that I have an Amy Winehouse wig in my closet, eat pretzels with every meal, like bellydancing, or hoard romance novels under my bed.

And that's the good stuff.

PS--what's on your nightstand? I have two night tables. The one on the side I sleep on has a lamp, a digital clock, a birthday card from my family, meds and water, a pen, hair clip, Carol's Daughter body cream, Rosebud lip balm, an amber cube that says, "give thanks," and a candle. The other one has a fan, iPod speakers, another candle, and candy :)

Just curious.

Be Careful What You Wish For

On Friday I went to an film screening. Of course I tipped in late, so I sat in the back next to some dude. Key word: some dude.

We made little comments about the movie for a bit, I didn't really think about it because it was early and I was hungry and fantasizing about waffles. At one point, I was squirming and crossing/uncrossing my legs and I guess he noticed (I was wearing shorts) and leaned over to say, "I like your sandals." I am so sure.

After a minute, he introduced himself, and I did the same. I still didn't think anything of it. Really, I was that hungry, y'all. Anyway, my phone started buzzing and I when I whipped it out to address three missed calls he goes "while you have your phone out you should put my number in there." Points for finesse, sir!

He texted me later on that night and we went back and forth on Saturday, too, during both convos he invited me to his place. At 2am, mind you.

Since I'm on my Blackberry, in a booth killing time before class I'll skip to the part where I think we're hanging out this evening at a respectable hour, duh. I'll skip to the part where I say I'm nervous not that he's like sooo sexy blah blah he's ok but you know I hate awkward let's get to know each other one on one situations and I fear I'm not that interesting and plus omg here's the big part he's on the basketball team and I'm scared that his roommate is actually his teammate that I turned down to "hang out" last month wouldn't that be horrid?

Me and the Runner used to hang out in his room but we'd been talking on facebook for like eight months before so we pretty much knew each other and this is nothing like that. What do people do when they hang out?? Why am I so nervous?? Why did I not inherit social skills??
Somebody slap sense and calmness into me. Will report back later.

Update: it's 9:02pm, I'm supposed to be going to his place soon, after a rigamarole of plans. He asked if I had any single friends--like my roommate--if we could "all" hang out, to which I had to tell him me and the Roommate aren't friends like AT ALL, so it would be 10 kinds of stupid to bring her along. He asked if I had any single friends and I thought "do I ever, dude." But none who would subject themselves to being "hooked up." But I managed to convince Ms. Politics to accompany me, which abated my nerves for about an hour, until then she got really nervous, so I put her out of her foreseeable uncomfortability and said I'd go alone, as originally planned. So here I am [blogging] doing homework so I won't have to get ready to go on my first "hang out with a guy I just met" experience. What the hell is my problem?! (well, see above) I need a drink...

More Flashbacks

Thursday was Top Chef's 21st birthday...he is now the Official Buyer of My Drinks until my 21st in November. He's having a party this Saturday and I'm super-excited 'cause, you know, it's him, and it's a party and he told me there'd be Fuzzy Navels just for me (I can't bring myself to imbibe like I used to after Spring Break Fiasco 09).

Also, the Science Guy will be in attendance.

I had a huge, girly crush on SG for about, oh, a few months of second semester of freshman year. Lack of palpable chemistry** relegated him to the friend-zone, and that was that. Soon after, I moved onto the Runner...who eventually got eliminated as well for...well, lack of palpable chemistry on my part and lack of balls on his. For serious.

**Ok, and maybe a little because he's short. OKAY and I think I outweigh him. I never said I wasn't shallow.

Anyway, SG and I are cordial whenever we see each other, he is often very gracious with candy as well. Lately, though, he's intimated something a leetle more than friendship. The last time I saw him, in person, he mentioned his upcoming birthday celebration and hinted that I should come. I figured he'd just been making small talk and promptly forgot about it. After all, our entire beginning had been built on fake invitations.

True story: he invited me to church once. CHURCH. I agreed at first but chickened out so my inner heathen wouldn't show. He also invited me to go running with him. RUNNING. I laughed in his face.

Back to the story. When I actually wished him a happy birthday via text, he texted back with something along the lines of "we should hang out sometime." I forgot what I said but it wasn't "yes we should."

So today, I'm hanging out with TC, flipping through some program and SG's name and middle initial, "C," is under the Honor Roll list (I know, he's smart. Reason #44395 why I don't want him...that's sad...). Feeling jokey and in girlish high-spirits, I texted SG, "is your middle name Charles?" I thought he at a track meet and didn't expect him to respond, but he did, with "blah blah yes it's Charles how did you know blah blah I'm going to the party tomorrow you should come with me :-)."

Pause, sir.

This is totally not his fault or anything but he is two whole years late. I'm completely not interested and this fool wants to come knocking on my doorstep. First the Smoker and now this. If the Runner Facebooks me tomorrow asking me to go mini-golfing or something I will honestly blow my brains out and call it a day. Timing, you are an elusive bitch and the truth ain't in you. And of course the one I really would welcome back with open arms, Tex, is nowhere to be found.

Oh my giddy-God what shall I do? I don't want to lead SG on, I tried to ignore his advances without outright saying "no" because he's such a nice guy--a puppy, really--but I hope against hope this won't get out of hand...ordinarily I wouldn't care and let my powers of avoidance run their course but TC's party is Saturday... and a college party is no good to try and behave yourself especially when there's liquor present that I surely will be drinking because this is too much, Lord.

I try to move forward but the past keeps a-tryin' to pull me back. Absolutely not!

Hoop Dreams Deferred

Working with men is exhausting. You have to stroke their egos, display the right amount of power and docility, easygoing-ness and firmness to get anything accomplished. Try as I might, I never get that formula right.

The Paper gets free tickets to NBA games through the Ad Guy. There are no rules or entitlement, if you want them, you ask for them. I was originally going to see the team take on the mighty (?) Pistons, but we left for spring break that day so I had to forfeit them. 'Twas sad. I decided to get the team vs. the San Antonio Spurs, so I texted Ad Guy, asking him to bring the tickets to our weekly meeting. I get no answer from him. I miss the game.

Next week he says that those tickets were unavailable anyway. Wondering why he couldn't have relayed this in a responding text, I say, "oh, okay, well, I'll take this weekend's tickets against the Orlando Magic." These tickets are also the last of the package. He agrees to bring them to me. I even told him that I had planned to take a date** to the game, which meant, thus and such, my love life depended on him bringing the tickets to me on Thursday (yesterday) because I don't come to campus on Fridays. He concedes, stoically (seriously, would it kill this guy to crack a smile?).

**Not technically a lie, since I was going with Ms. Politics. She has been my date on many a weekend.

Thursday comes, I text Ad Guy. No answer. I call him (well, I have Artist Friend call him from my phone--I think I annoy him with my generally upbeat nature). His phone goes straight to voicemail. He is not known to [show consideration/human emotion] return my texts or calls. It is early Friday morning. The game is on Saturday. The game to which I have no tickets. The game, it is probably safe to say, I will not be attending. No Al Horford sighting for me.

What fresh hell is with guys ruining my Saturday night plans?!

As far as Ad Guy knows, my hot date is now ruined. And on top of that, both of these times, I've taken off work to attend these basketball games. So not only is Ad Guy messing up my (ahem, still very fictional) love life, but he is costing me money!

And we can't have that. Not in this recession, baby.

Not to throw a pity party, but THIS IS TOTALLY UNFAIR. The other two sports editors got to go to games, why do I always get the short end of life's stick?

Next week, if I must say anything to Ad Guy, it will be in a "dignity at all times" sort of way. Maybe even in a "my date still put out SO THERE" sort of way. I honestly keep forgetting that I didn't have an actual date in the first place.

Semantics, really. It's the principle that counts.

I'll Look Forever if I Have To

Those of you who've been around tGitG for awhile may remember last spring, when things just weren't going my way. I butted heads with friends, school, and guys. I used to have "good days" and "bad days," often in back-to-back succession.

It's about that time again, and while certain things have tried to reappear, I am making a conscious effort to feel better, do better, and be better. I really do think that your attitude determines the outcome of your life, and believe even more in learning from your mistakes and past experiences.

Last year I just felt like I was at the bottom of this dark, funky pit...I'd try to get out but something would drop-kick me right back down into it. I went through so many emotions on almost a daily basis, but one I remember most vividly, more than the helplessness or the loneliness, was the fear. The bottom of that pit was one of the scariest places I have ever been in my life. There was this fear that I would always be down there or that no one could or would pull me out. But one of the best things that happened was that *I* managed to pull my own self out. And when I say that I mean that I let myself be pulled out with support from a few lifesaving people (you know who you are!) and God.

Looking back at my state of mind last spring, I promised myself that I would do whatever it took to gear my life so that I wouldn't ever go back to that pit again. And for the most part, it works. But the calendar goes by and I start to measure my "progress" in all areas of life, I do feel a little bit of anxiety that things will start to go wrong again. I feel somewhat content, but I remember feeling the same contentment last year, just before things got rocky. I also feel like something's missing in my life right now, and I distinctly remember feeling this way last year, so needless to say, I'm tripped out about that as well: The Smoker came in around this time and he was supposed to fill that void and we know how that turned out. I'm having the same feelings but I don't want the same results. I can't go back there. I just...cannot.

So I'd be lying if I said I'm not slightly unsettled by anything that seems to be a repeat or remnant from that time in my life. I feel like I'm just floating on by, and sometimes I welcome numbness because it's better than sadness. I'm a little afraid, but even more, I'm afraid of being just "there," of settling, of being the person who could have had so much more. I want to be happy. The search for happiness, however, doesn't daunt me. Instead, I feel like I'm going to have fun searching for happiness. Where does one start looking for happiness?

Restored via Phone

It's amazing what a girly phone chat with your best friend can do to lift the spirits. Just thought I'd say.

Oh yeah, guess what? Tex has a GIRLFRIEND.

I found (via that damned Facebook) while I was on the phone with BFF. I looked at a few photos of them together and subsequently started whining, mid-conversation, about "the bad decisions and failures that are my liiiiiiiifffeee." BFF, no stranger to my "woe is me, I am single" ranting, wisely ignored me until I was through. And for that I love her.

Le sigh. Table for one, please. But I am trying to get my life right so maybe it's best that I go this one alone...plus, let's be honest, I don't have time to get through a whole magazine in one sitting and I'm pretty sure that if I had a boy at this moment he would get lost somewhere between my full dishwasher and carful of shoes.

The List That Wasn't

I am [watching Why Did I Get Married] completing my midterm and started thinking about this 80-20 business. If I had to narrow it down to 10 things I need in a man it would be

1. Be nice to me.

2. ...

Oh hell, I dunno. Complain though I might, I honestly can't imagine a man taking up my lifespace at this point. I have so many other things to think about that I can't come up with anything that would allow me to allow a man to get a slice of my life pie chart. Weird...

Or I could just be too lazy and worn from this week to come up with anything [other than a strong desire to make out] more concrete.

Spring break starts tomorrow, yippee!

Blast From the Texan past

Oh, life. You are funny.

Sidenote: this girl next to me has a huge zit and I can't stop looking at it. Dios mio.

Anyway,

Not nan a week after I delete Tex's number, he shows up on campus for a visit. This is like the third time he's been here since he up and left last year. Does he not have classes? Get off of my campus!

More updates as they become available. Which will probably be...never, seeing as I scurry like a loser every time he shows up.