a completely barfy weeked

Our Company’s Holiday party was Friday and me and 2 coworkers went out after. We stumbled home shitty shitty drunk, and my coworker (who I barely know) proceeded to barf all over the tile floors in my living room. Seeing as I was passed out on the couch and couldn’t do more than crawl to my own bed, my roommate, after arriving home at 2:30 am herself, cleaned up the mess.

She gets a prize.

Barfy coworker on the other hand does not. He flushed a huge was of paper towels down the toilet, clogged the toiled, flushed again, overflowed the toilet, then puked on the mess and fled the scene.

I woke up to my roommate recapping the living room barf, and me discovering my soggy toilet barf water covered bath room.

Seriously, the only thing I was stoked on Saturday morning was that my hangover wasn’t that bad, and at least I wasn’t my coworker.

So after eating breakfast, buying a plunger at 9:00 am, and cleaning barfy toilet water, the only thing I had left to do was unclog the toilet. Only I couldn’t do it.

It literally took hours of plunging before the clog freed itself, and finally I was free of a puke filled bathroom.

———————

So I showered (duh!) and headed to LA to hang out with Refuses. Where we had a relatively casual party with his roommates, cousin, and sister, and a smidgen too much Patron. I was on high alert from having been drunk not-to-long ago and passed out on the early end of the party.

Refuses on the other hand blacked out and barfed all over the place, and on carpet no less!

He had never gotten sick with me before but let’s just put it this way, I saw the barbeque AFTER.

I went to bed and Refuses kinda cleaned, and on Sunday I watched football and Refuses was still cleaning.

Gross. Once again, I was just thankful it wasn’t me.

Do you have my heart in there? (part 7)

Refuses sat at my counter in the kitchen, and I sat on a stool next to him. We both grabbed beers as soon as we walked in, honestly, because we both knew it wasn’t going to get any more awkward than this.

He said that after Tuesday night, when we talked, he went home and thought about us. He pulled down a shoebox from his closet and found these. He opened his suit jacket, and pulled out his wallet, and pulled out my three post it notes.

And I lost it.

He set them on the counter one by one and said that I made him a better man, and that these post its were the reason we are so good for each other. He said he didn’t know it at the time, but that he loved me, and he wanted to be with me. He wanted to make this work, that though he didn’t know how, he knew that we could make this work.

He said that he didn’t know if I ever wanted to talk to him again after Tuesday night, but he knew after I texted him Wednesday morning that we had to give it a shot.

We drank beers and broke onto the roof of my downtown apartment building. We rehashed out every part of our first relationship, and had all of the conversations we were too scared to have.

He loved me, and though I knew it all along, I really needed him to want my love in order to let my guard down.

Just thought you should know. (part 6)

Refuses had these stupid post its. These exact ones, in fact.

I found them on his desk in the first few weeks we were dating. They were shuffled below papers and schoolwork, and seemed like a safe enough place to leave a note. So I did. Amidst late night beers and movies, and casual sex on school nights, I wrote “I kinda like you. ” and I signed it with a heart and my name. Nothing of the note was ever mentioned.

Months later, Refuses graduated from college and as we both landed great new jobs, I wrote “I am so proud of you” and signed it with a heart and my name. Each time I went to write a new note, the previous note was gone.

Finally, the two nights before he moved to LA,  I wrote a post it that read: Just thought you should know “the best part was loving you” and signed it with a heart and my name.

It was true. I loved him, and this was my way of telling him before he left.

friday night fire (part 5)

I couldn’t focus on Friday. Couldn’t think, couldn’t work. I went home after work anxious to get ready, but nervous too. Refuses was on his way, but hinted at hanging out with his buddies later tonight… as in…he wasn’t planning to stay with me. And my only goal for the evening was to not sleep with him.

I looked hot. Thank God. He showed up at my door and we finished my beer while I grabbed my clutch and keys. He met me in my room, where we kissed for three quick seconds, perfect and slow. Not knowing what to say, he rushed to sit on the couch, while I used my shaking hands to locate my lip gloss, and muttered something to myself about not crying.

We went to dinner and drank. Asian Pear Mojitos for me, and keep ‘em coming. We had a great time, loved every second.
Refuses leaned in to kiss me again, I pushed him away.

He said “We should probably talk,” and I got a bitter taste in my mouth. Like he really came all this way to break up with me, again? I couldn’t believe it. I could feel my cheeks get red, full of all my foolish hope that it would turn out another way.

The meal took a turn away from pleasant, and we left to finish the conversation at my house.

Once there, he sat on a stool and began talking.

And I started crying.

gone til Friday (part 4)

I woke up excited he was gone. Done. Now, I could move on.

Except that I texted him “You still coming down?” on Wednesday morning because he had mentioned it the night before. He texted me that he would really like to see me. He was coming down to visit a friend and wondered if we could have dinner. Part of me was dreading it, that this would be his chance to say his last words. Tell me how awesome I was, how happy I made him, so he could leave without any burden on him.

I wanted him to want me. Wanted him to want me back, but I had last words too. I wanted to tell him that I loved him too, even if we couldn’t be together.

And so I waited.

screaming on the inside (part 3)

He was emotional. I was calm. and defensive.

I didn’t want to let on that I had missed him, that I was having a hard time. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his text messages had an affect on me. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t here, and he never came back to tell me he missed me himself. Why did he think he had the right to remind me about our relationship, when he didn’t want to date me and never said otherwise?

He said he loved me. And he missed me. Said he loved what we had together, and lots of other cliche relationship barf.

I asked what he wanted from me. He said he wanted to know that I cared. I was stoic, and he asked what I wanted. I said that I wanted to date him.

I said we really only have two options, you can date me, or you can stop texting me.

And he said, okay, then I guess I won’t text you anymore.

And I said okay and hung up the phone, even though every inch of me was screaming on the inside.

the break up talk (part 2)

We never had a real one. Never had a what are we going to do? I’m actually going to miss you talk. Sure, we said things, but I knew he just wanted to get on with the rest of his life, and I just wanted to get out unscathed.

So between Facebook stalking Refuses and ignoring his texts, we would email once every month or so about stupid bands we both liked and anything to get a hit of each other during the workday. He was my high on the days that we talked, and my reason for being down on the days we didn’t. We kept it clean and short, and I showed no signs of remorse, no signs of giving in.

He caved first. Said that it was “obvious I had moved on and that he should too,” said that he wished he could talk to the me he remembered- the cute, sweet girlfriend me.

That last email infuriated me. He wanted me to act sweet and charming and say that I missed him? He didn’t want to date me, but wanted me to act like it? My blood was boiling.

I texted him to find out if he was okay. He said no, said that he hated breaking up and that he missed me. Said he was having a hard time. I asked if he wanted to talk, and told him I would call him later.

I postponed the conversation with a few glasses of wine- wine to kill the nerves that had been building for three months; wine to dull the anger.

the preface (part 1)

Refuses texted me the day before Halloween.

“Hey I just got to Vegas for my buddy’s birthday & thinking about the awesome time we had when you and I were here. Miss you & hope you’re well “

And I was furious, but determined to not be brought down the day before my Halloween party. We had decorated! There were balloons! I was a sexy bee!

So I ignored him, because I didn’t want to stroke his ego, while he deflated my holiday. I just didn’t think that was fair.

The next day he texted “Sorry” only to earn no response from me. And honestly I could not have been more pissed, that he MOVED AWAY, and he couldn’t find it in himself to keep the pity party to himself?

So I partied without the pity part.

Playground tactics

I feel like I’m on a see saw.

Every conversation puts me opposite of where you are. Happy, sad, angry, satisfied.

All I ask is for a little consistency. Put me somewhere in the middle and leave me there.

You heard me right, I said it.

LEAVE ME.

Can one of us talk without crushing the other?

I didn’t think so either.

on being manipulated.

Refuses: Sorry for the lame text…sounds like you’re moving on pretty well, so I should too…just having a little bit of a hard time. Allow me a little bit of weakness though, ok?

my non-responses:

..if you only knew.

FUCK OFF!

I wish you would just call me and fix it, but I have a hunch your actions mean more than your words. They always did. And you still haven’t called.

Grow a pair.

I miss you.

You don’t have the right. You did this. You don’t get to be sad, and you don’t get to drag me down with you.

If you loved me, you would let me go.