The reason why I need this completed is because I need to know that Bruce can be responsible. I am giving up a lot to move so that he and I can build a life together and for some reason, this has become a thing. I’m fine with the idea that I am going to make a sacrifice or two for this, but I am not fine with having to be the sole responsible party here. I need to know that he is going to do what he says he’s going to do and that I can depend on him.
I was talking to Willis tonight and she, being the best friend from forever and a day, knows things and can verbalize what is bugging me better than I can. What came of the conversation was the point that for the past 6 months Bruce has been rather vocal in his dislike for his job. He still says that he might stay, but to hear him speak, he’s already gone. Except, he has to do his resume. For 6 months. He has been saying. The. Same. Things.
When I went to go visit him he had almost no work to do except this one thing. And nothing.
We went away for the long weekend and he brought his laptop. I went on a three hour tour of a spa, leaving him with explicit instructions. And still nothing.
We returned to the city with both of us stating that he still really needed to do this one thing. And still nothing.
His co-workers have threatened to call me to goad, shame, and/or coerce him into doing this one thing. And still nothing.
So here I sit, knowing that he was totally aware of what I said. He knew I was entirely serious. And still nothing.
Maybe Bruce was all full of shit, the men, they occasionally are full of shit. Maybe he was just being whiny about his job, but if that is so, then there needs to be someone else to whom he moans, because the Girl, she has reached her breaking point.
Let’s have a lesson in how women think: I stated that I would refuse to speak to him until this was done and I had proof of it. He failed to meet my request. He clearly has no desire to speak to me. Considering that we speak three times a day, maybe what he’s really trying to say is that he’s just not that into me.
Whether my hypothesis is correct or not, is not really the point (just illustrating why girls are crazy) . The point is that Bruce needs to make up his mind…and he’s still in time-out.
More walking, less bleeding: It is as it should be
Landing in (the place to be named) was a thing. Being the people that we are, both Bruce and I were working like mad in preparation for our time away from our respective offices and by the time I was in his arms, both Bruce and I were hungry and tired. So we ate and slept. Hard. Saturday saw us blinking awake and kind of shyly introducing ourselves to each other.
We filled our days with touristy things and couply things. It was like we were normal. It was nice. Nice seems so bland, I know. I’ve been searching for the right superlatives, but honestly, it was just nice.
The verbal closeness was soon matched by something else. The something else that was a concern (not mine). I tend to live my life worry free. You can’t control so many things so why worry about them. Everything else, just try to mitigate the pain by looking both ways when you cross the street.
Bruce lives life very differently and what ifs everything to death until he’s satisfied that all angles have been appropriately investigated.
Spending the extended time together eased some worried minds (a worried mind that didn’t belong to me) and by the last few days the decisions about a (our) future had been solidified.
We were happy and joyous. We were having our season in the sun. Life was good and fate smiled upon us.
This is where I say: we went to a museum and did errands; we wandered about a chic shopping area, did errands, took a hike (with me wearing heels) without a map or cell phones (do what I say, not what I do); we went into a major metropolitan area a bit north and site saw (including a ferry ride and I LOVE ferry rides); we went to a not so major town and saw some fish in enclosed spaces; we went back to the major metropolitan area and saw some animals in enclosed spaces; we drove much further north to a resort type area where we drank wine and listened to jazz type music (during which time we decided to picnic at a lake at the top of a mountain) and everything was very relaxing.
Until I fell down the mountain. And bled. Profusely.
Bruce turned into Rainman and wouldn’t shut the hell up. I recognized that he was nervous that I was really hurt (just a skinned knee and a few deep cuts that have almost healed over now). He was also betraying his ability to be in control when the children get hurt. Seriously, if you fall down, do not call upon Bruce to save you. However, if you need some entertainment after you fall and would enjoy seeing someone run in circles, call Bruce.
In a moment of seriousness, Bruce turned to me and said, “What we need here is more walking and less bleeding.”
On Ice: we interrupt this program to bring you breaking news
Today is day one of the anti-Bruce campaign. Fucker didn’t do his shit and even though last night we spoke and he assured me that he was going home and doing what needed to be done, he still hasn’t done what he was suppose to do.
Last night I reminded him that there would be no IM’ing and emails in addition to no phone calls. This is around the time when I normally call him in the morning, and it pains me to not call him. However, I am more than a little disappointed in him right now, so I guess it’s probably better that I am not going to call him now.
I’ve told Bruce that he should comment if he wishes, because he tells me what he thinks of the posts, but never leaves any comments. He says that a comment by him will interrupt my narrative, I said I think he should either comment on the blog or refrain from reading the blog entirely. The more I think of that, the more I am sure that is what should be done.
Also, Bruce (who should have left this in a comment, hence my point) would like everyone to know the story about his employment status and why he needs to do his resume, but I am not going to explain that story because Bruce is in time-out for being a fuck-wit (Bruce, it’s up to you to let people know why you are tasked with your resume).
More Walking, less bleeding: How Bruce became my almost-boyfriend
After several months of listening to my grievances regarding some [fuckhead] boy and other sundry bad dates, I realized that Bruce was something of a thing (I believe oft referred to as potential). Bruce was a Good Guy. Before you mock me and laugh at the idea that the mythological Good Guy truly exists, trust me, Good Guy status will be irrefutably proven shortly.
So the months role on and I finally have the moment of clarity when I jump from my bed and run down the streets crying “Eureka!” I hemmed and hawed and listened to advice from her. Eventually I wrote Bruce a thinly veiled email. Bruce’s first response was…I’m busy. His second one was…don’t trust anything/anyone on the Internet. I responded rather coolly and received a concerned email back from Bruce asking if I was offended by something. I dug down deep into my bag of tricks and lied. I told him that I was just having a bad day and that my emotions had nothing to do with a stranger that I met on the Internet who I clearly couldn’t trust. I verbally bitch slapped Bruce.
Bruce, finally wise enough to see the error in his ways, replied with an apology for being terribly obtuse. He also laid out a three point ordered list as to what he thought was going on and why he thought it was terribly unwise to continue (needless to say, that email will live on in infamy for being totally wrong and will be the cornerstone of every time I want to be right).
Thusly began the endless hours of phone calls. Bruce and I are now on the same cell phone service because of a shockingly high phone bill ($198.17). Over the first month Bruce and I discussed the realities of our relationship. Someone is going to have to move for this to work and by someone, I mean me. Plans (big and small) slowly were made and I was booked on a flight to (a destination to be later named).
Bruce quickly earned the title of almost-boyfriend and he carried that moniker like a hair-shirt. He disliked the connotations, but there was no real way to argue the point. I am far too pragmatic to believe that I can consider someone my boyfriend if we had yet to meet.
As the second month evolved into the third the discussions that were held in act one reappeared. Now the statements that were made about marriage, children and futures were no longer just feelers to see if there was a something upon which we could erect our altar to Psyche . We started to realize that as different as we are (and boy are we different) the deeper pieces of our pieces we quite well matched.
More walking, less bleeding: Or how I spent my vacation week
I suspect I have some ‘splainin’ to do.
Swinging between rah rah rah and noncommittal is confusing, but in some cases a safety measure for all involved (me). Being less than excited meant that there was a way to minimize aches and pains, in this case a skinned knee due to Stupid Jack London (stupid is capitalized here as I am using the invective as a title). The actual fallout was a literal oozing wound. Funny I prefer this to the figurative oozing wounds of the past.
So here’s the story (or part of it)...
I’m dating a blogger. Someone who has read my entire blog. Someone whose blog I’ve read. We both want to maintain our anonymity so just like my fake name; I gave him a fake name. Bruce is nothing similar or related to his real name; it’s just something that makes sense to me.
Bruce and I have a mutual friend, also a blogger (keep up with this), heretofore, Agent X. Agent X and I are blogging friends brought together by an ignominious commonality. One day Agent X sent me an email regarding Bruce, mind you, she didn’t call him Bruce. A correspondence regarding the blogger soon to be named Bruce began. Eventually I sent an email to Bruce and he turned bright red with anxiety (“Why would Some Girl ever write to me?”).
Over time Bruce, not knowing that he had been previously discussed and therefore I knew bunches about him (even what he looks like), and I started to exchange proof of life and greater details of our private selves. While I was off making some interesting mistakes, but living life, Bruce stood by and offered some great advice.
Here at Laughing All the Way, I have a propensity for well-placed lyrics within the body of text. Synapse fire warms the memories of the mostly forgotten days of yore and with the pulse of a bass line I feel the time fall away.
The starting chords of certain songs create an apoplectic reaction within the depths and as I pull forward and flatten out, I remember (I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind) Oops; I did it again (see!). I have sentient bits of memory sliding in and out of my days, making me say: “Aha!” and shit. Others make me lean back and sigh while I fondly remember Sunday afternoons, cleaning my bedroom to the weekly top 40 Countdown. Cassey Cassum is the voice of my youth and instant good karma washes over my soul when I hear a throwback.
These days, the music factor seems to be secondary layer of the dynamic, maybe because I am having a hard time sleeping. Four hours is just not enough for me to recover and greet my day bright eyed and bushy tailed and the side effect, besides me being exceptionally grumpy, sarcastic and living in a haze, is the landslide of long forgotten memories.
Todays and yesterdays are slamming into each other and every piece of remembered history is living anachronistically in a haphazard jigsaw puzzle. My thought process is illogically constructed with long forgotten mundane moments stacked in concentric rings supported by comparable social norms. The sparks of time dancing in my head, memories of sitting on the dog statue at the entrance of the park during weekend visitations with my dad and playing with Match-Box cars in the mud cities we would build after the heavy spring rains, rolling around during a meeting planning for the eventual invasion of the Avian Flu.
People plan for contingencies. Emergency backup generators and Plan B exist for when things go horribly wrong. I don’t. I can’t see through the now, even with the lessons well learned and recorded for all of posterity. Rattling around in my head are just strings of lyrics, great battles of wills, disappointment and tragedy book ended by My Little Ponies and Gem. I can’t run away to live to fight for another day, because I’ve not thought of the other days, the days to come, I’ve just thought about my imminent victory. Even with lessons of past failures, I lost the battles (here you should read: relationships, I feel like this is getting a touch esoteric) and with no direction home, like a rolling stone, I can’t change the behavior long learned and situated at my core, like the soft inner flesh of a tomato that has been left on the vine too long.
I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind
There was something so pleasant about that phase.
Even your emotions had an echo
In so much space
And when you’re out there
Without care,
Yeah, I was out of touch
But it wasn’t because I didn’t know enough
I just knew too much
Does that make me crazy
Does that make me crazy
Does that make me crazy
Probably
And I hope that you are having the time of your life
But think twice, that’s my only advice
Come on now, who do you, who do you, who do you, who do you think you are,
Ha ha ha bless your soul
You really think you’re in control
Well, I think you’re crazy
I think you’re crazy
I think you’re crazy
Just like me
My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on a limb
And all I remember is thinking, I want to be like them
Ever since I was little, ever since I was little it looked like fun
And it’s no coincidence I’ve come
And I can die when I’m done
Caw caw, motherfucker, I wish that he would leave her alone. But I wonder, wonder, wonder, what IS the word? I have a vested interest, and a selfish one at that…we all need to do the check and balance of where I fit in the bell curve. I hope that I fit somewhere in the peak, I love being the peak, but only if it is good news, if not, I would like to be part of the 2% that is above average. I also love being above average.
There are sheep that I can pet and Bruce is resistant. I wish he would bend to the will of Some Girl, because, we are going to spend some time in the closed quarters of his house and I worry that the bad parts are going to be all up in the joint (but not made of marijuana because that would be illegal). What was I saying? Oh yeah, bend to the will of Some Girl because, I am reasserting the loud piece that has been awfully quiet these days.
Pete, who is less than angry, saved me from having to do something because of a backslash. He saved me, can I get an AMEN, and I asked if he wanted to make out….he politely declined, but I feel like he totally wanted to suck my kiss (let me be vain…and drunk…and dependant on the ellipse). But I refused the good advice to clean out a file, (IT TAKES FOUR CLICKS!!!) is what he said [look at me making full use of punctuation this evening], and I thanked him for being so concerned about my carpal tunnel syndrome. I think we were both appropriately sarcastic. Now the captchas are working and should fully deter spamalot. I am working on sprucing up the list (Pete, if’n you’re reading, I totally figured out where the list o’words lives) and making it appropriately ironic.
Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks, I don’t care if I never get back. The sox, RED of course, have been superfantastic and blowing shit up, yo. Tonight the game was a joke. Joke I say, and last weekend I went to the game, and saw some things and the things were there and stuff.
But I paid penance, for the drinking and had to take a bus home. I was the keeper of the things and as the keeper I was suppose to remember that I had keys and phones that didn’t belong to me and as I walked in the other direction looking for a cab, dawn came and I cringed in fear while horror washed over me and I realized that I was still the keeper. I tried to find a cab, but there was no cab to be found. A 30 minute walk, while Bruce bitched me out for walking in the not so nice place, and a 10 minute bus ride, and then a 10 minute walk later to get home, in my heels because who wears reasonable shoes to a baseball game? NOT ME!
And now, this weekend seems to be filling up with things with the people who know me and want me to do things that include copious amounts of alcohol. Yay! If I get my way, my weekend will be a big shebang because I need to shape up and ship out to make things A-Okay with Bruce.
so I had to dump the basket and buy a bowl from a convenience store.
The thing is, I LOVE them, but I’ve now become an outcast at work and am being referred to as: “The one with the bugs,” which is totally what I want people to call me in a business environment.
I am taking the whole shebang, minus the bugs, home tonight because I’ve been politely asked (this is so embarrassing!) and I will be staying late so I can drop a stealth spraying of this. I’m just a little nervous that they will infest my other plants, so I am taking precautions and letting everything dry out a little and will spray everything down really heartily. No organic growing here.
From now on, I respectfully request that people refer to me as: “The one with the bugs.”
You know how when someone confesses a crime, they always claim: “It was an accident.”?
I didn’t mean to sleep with him, it was an accident (like you accidentally fell pussy down on an erect dick?).
I didn’t mean to stab that old lady, it was an accident (like the old bird ran in to the knife you were holding blade out?).
I didn’t mean to snort that line, it was an accident…well it really was. Okay, maybe not an accident, but there was this party…and it was so casual…and I didn’t think it was a big deal. But I didn’t tell Bruce (I tried and I know it’s so fucking passive to do this).
Bruce is away on business. He said good-bye via text message. Right.
I know that he’s a neophyte to this whole grown-up dating thing, but to send a text, knowing that we weren’t going to speak for the better part of a week, it’s just that sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t have to teach certain social queues. After all this time, he still does this shit that makes me kind of wonder. And just to validate that I am not over-reacting, I check in with other people, turns out I am not expecting too much.
I’ve always been told that I expect too much, so I try to temper what I expect with what I say that I expect. I don’t want to be too overwhelming or too demanding. I get that and create a well organized system of checks and balances. I edit my internal monologue and craft my message to read softer than what I hear shouted between my ears.
Now if only I could have this conversation with Bruce without being pissy. Good thing I am being slightly passive aggressive and I know that he will read this and be all Doh!
Passive aggression: a sure way to avoid a fight.
PS. Look at all the categories that this one fits!
the catastrophe hasn’t become catastrophic yet (hmmm, having a hard time spelling today)
I know, I know, lack of writing on the blog. Not for lack of love of words but the incredible load of STUFF I have to do for work this past week. And next week. Please come back for updates but don’t be sad if this is still the last post.
Let’s see, let’s see: Bruce is being his normal self, which is both good and bad. Sometimes he can annoy me to no end, and then when I ask him why he’s doing what he’s doing he says: “Because it annoys you and I like to annoy you.”
How annoying.
But there are other indications that his annoyingness is the least of my problems, mostly because many of the things he does to specifically annoy me are no longer annoying, more a matter of course. Which means he’s going to have to go out of his way to find even more annoying things to do to annoy me. Eventually, Bruce is going to be a social outcast made up of a series of ticks and Touretts-like symptoms and I won’t even notice, but everyone else around us is going to stare in wide-eyed wonder and sympathy. You know, when you see a really mismatched couple on the street and you think: “Now how could that possibly happen?”
So, I have cracked one of life’s great mysteries. And I will drive Bruce to become the most annoying person on the face of the earth.
Today I ate the cack hummus. I told you I would. I grabbed extra lemon wedges, seems that the addition of lemon juice makes the cack less cack like and more edible.
Bruce is killing me. All the greatness and rah rah rah overwhelm because there has never been such a rah rah rah type of guy. Usually it’s just rah. Rah rah rah is nice, especially when he sends flowers to work.
