I dwell… deal with it.

My favorite moments. On replay.

You telling me your mom was an alcoholic, then looking at me, surprised and saying, “I can’t believe I just told you that.” The look on your face was flawless, like we fit together so well that you didn’t even realize it was happening.

Me, waking up to your kisses, asking me if I needed a pillow.

I looked at you at the game, held my hands above my head, and asked if you knew how I got the matching bruises on my triceps. You leaned in closer and showed me yours. They matched too. I wish I could remember that sex. It must have been fabulous.

Just like my bruises did, this too, will fade away.

old times sake

I went to a party last weekend for a friend from high school. The place was covered in randoms.

One of which was my first boyfriend, ever.

Not such a big deal, except that we broke up via old-fashioned avoidance followed by a completely awkward “This isn’t working out phone call” about three weeks too late, and I was left scrambling for a new homecoming date.

The method was actually quite impressive on his part, seeing as we kind of hung out in the same group of friends and we were forced to show up at school every day. I never claimed him as an ex, and the few people that knew about it were smart enough to never bring it up.

Regardless, we didn’t really speak until my last day of high school when he signed my yrbk and wrote something to the tune of “You really were a great girlfriend.”

We have maybe seen each other twice since then, both times I looked fabulous, he looked as though he was run over by a tractor.

And then last night, there he was. I made jokes, surprised him by my comebacks, and he grabbed for my waist. The conversation was easy and light, and it made me remember how it all (awkwardly) happened in the first place.

He was my first kiss (super sloppy) and I like to think I was his first mistake.

Regret

Not really, but kinda.

I am waiting for a phone call that isn’t on its way. I am wishing it will come despite my little sister’s insight, “Uh, you don’t hang out with poopheads.”

I want to play the weak card and I want to call. I want to say, “Look, we are both royally fucking this up. Let’s do something about it, even if it is ending it all, no hard feelings.”

Nevermind, adult conversations are for boys who call.

I kinda hope I see him at kickball on Tuesday. I hope he comes.

Reply

I wrote back:

“Insightful. Poophead wasn’t exactly what came to mind”

Now I am waiting. again.

Serves me right. Not so worried if he doesn’t call (would you? after that? I think not). I’m thinking of it as a way of saving myself $245 in shopping funds. If he doesn’t call it is close enough to the last spending extravaganza that I will carry over the satisfying feeling of mopping up my tears with my pretty new jeans.

Could I have said something vague like, “um… I’m not sure what that means?” or hopeful like “Fortunately your phone still works and it might not be too late?

Ya- but you and I both know I’m not like that.

Lightning Strikes Twice

9:03 pm

Phone beeps. 1 new text message.

“No need to say it… I know I am a poophead”

9:03 pm

Phone beeps. 1 new text message (directly after the first).

“Um…hi”

Bear texted me last night while I was at the Tap Room (the same bar this occurred)

A few things that came to mind:

1. And I thought I had issues.

2. I really don’t get guys. At all.

3. Not again? I can’t afford another round of Retail Therapy.

4. Does he still have bastard children in Montana?

5. poophead… seriously?

I have yet to respond and am open to suggestions. Keep ‘em coming, girls!

Thinking

I am missing my non-stop smile. Bring it back!

Cartel

I went and saw Cartel play at the fair last night. It was free with fair admission, and since I had tickets through work, it would have been stupid to not go.

I was however, cautious. My friend had seen them before and didn’t have the best things to say, and I have grown weary of shows where the crowd is super young (as in they have to bring their parents?) It says a lot about my taste in music (not good, clearly).

So I was really surprised when we got there just when the show was about to start and there was no BS. We just joined the crowd in front of the stage and sang along. It was great!

The crowd was definitely random, as it was peppered with a lot of younger kids and some d-runk guys that were super messed up.

Oh ya, and then there was this guy:

HELLO, DOUCHE-O-MATIC. Him and his friends were playing “Bro of the Day” (with coordinating bandanas) and then the band leaves the lead singer on the stage to play this one sappy song that isn’t that well-known. And the guy breaks down. As in- he could not have been more into a song. He knows every word, and all of the sudden the Bandana Brophys start to resemble the Backstreet Boys. I could not stop laughing.

Then, as if by direction, the crowd shifts, the boys step forward to fill in the gaps, and there is a group of five girls, definitely not past their training bra teens, and they are dying laughing at the same guys. They are cracking up and mocking his movements.

Good thing they recognize lame guys at such an early age. Maybe they will burn the images in their heads so when they see a look-a-like brophy approaching them at a bar in seven years, they can just laugh it off before they get burned.

Oh- and it has officially been decided that I can pretty much fall for any guy in a band in about 2 seconds.

Panty Problems

Have I told you yet about the great underwear curse?

Ya, I know, but I semi believe in jinxes, and this one hits a little too close to the hipbone.

So, I didn’t think anything of it until I was dating C. and we had gotten to the stage where we were seeing each other regularly enough that I was soon going to be repeating panties. Heaven forbid. Of course, I had been wearing redos on the nights I knew they would come off in a dark drunken haze and no one would know they were neon blue striped. I had also been saving the cuter ones for nights when we were not so ravenous and a little less drunk or for the nights we barely made it in the house, let alone out to dinner.

Valentine’s day quickly veered in my direction. So I ponied up (not too soon, either- It was definitely February) and bought some lacy panties. I even threw down the bones for a matchy bra and underwear set. Just the right amount of lace, in colors that would be suitable for other occasions, and didn’t make me look like I was covered in the pink frosting from a sprinkled Lofthouse cookie.

It was almost as though walking to the cash register was the equivalent of turning in my relationship card. One swipe in the name of underwear will cost you approximately one potential boyfriend. And no amount of clapping will bring him back to life.

No sooner than three days after my purchase did I receive my notice of dumpification, via email.

No big deal, right? Except that I dated a guy in college and purchased this super cute tank and tanga set that was never worn, because we broke up a short time later. To top it off, I feel weird wearing lingerie with a person it wasn’t necessarily purchased for. While I eventually get over that for fear of having to purchase new lingerie with each new man, I still haven’t worn my pre-Valentine’s Day purchases.

And then there is was Bear. And me in desperate need of everyday undies. I happened to be at a downtown mall, where the only GAP BODY exists within 20 miles of my life. I have a habit of scouring thier sale bins, because there are usually some pretty good finds. I even thought to myself, as I took my 12 dollar purchase up to the counter, “Should I really be doing this?”

Sure enough, no more than one week later, I am comfy in my new chonies, unhinged about an unreturned phone call.

Daddy’s Girl

Ironically, my dad made me feel better. Out of a lack of understanding, he basically said I didn’t even know the guy, and that overall, it was a relatively small investment.

Then he asked me to help him move next Sunday. I am a sucker and I own a truck, so on Sunday I will be helping him move- likely hungover from a bonfire on Saturday night.

My newfound neutrality was all I needed to feel refreshed so I hit the gym after pilates in a burst of energy.

Then, as I ran into the grocery store to pick up something for dinner, I simultaneously ran into HIS friends. What are the chances? I met the couple the night Bear and I met, and have maybe seen them twice since then. I definitely hadn’t factored grocery store run-ins into the mix (especially sweaty, straight from the gym ones). Good thing all I had in my hands was edamame and spinach, as opposed to a pint of Phish Food, a bottle of wine and a six pack of swirl Snack Packs.

As neutral as can be expected.

This is not good.

How did this…

Turn into this? (third from the left)

The bare chested Blossom boy turned into a bald How(ie) to Make a Deal look alike. What? I had Masters of Dance (awful) on in the background and only after the second half-hour episode did I realize it was him. And only after he said “Thanks for watching Masters of Dance, I’m Joey Lawrence.”

As I pulled my jaw off the sofa cushion, I simultaneously googled whether or not he was currently undergoing cancer treatment. Turns out that silver-y, metallic suit played no role in deflecting radiation waves for better causes. It was just there for looks.

Amazing, people.