On my way to recovery, but what the hell is “Dry Socket”?
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Please define the terminology of “slight bleeding” because I am working through my third package of gauze pads. In two hours.
The drugs were promised an hour ago, still not here, I think that the teeth next to the ones pulled are falling out of my head, oh no, that’ just the throbbing from the gums that are mourning the loss of THEIR TEETH.
My bottom lip is still doing all kinds of crazy things, I was told it would wear off in 45 minutes, so why no sensation below my upper lip and above my neck?
Is it bad that I put a bunch of vodka in my milk shake? And what are the rules regarding cigarettes? I think I heard something about not smoking, but I was too busy looking for a lighter.
And on another note: Carrie Elizabeth Patch, I hope you enjoy your African Drumming. Carrie Elizabeth Patch do you enjoy knowing you will achieve google fame when I am done with my plan? I cannot wait to see what you bring to the table in retaliation, I hope it’s wicked smaht.
The DRUGS just got here! Good bye.
Vodka infused ice cream
I can’t feel my tongue. Or bottom lip. I tried to stickout my tongue and ended up pouting.
The Dr. said I was all set to go home, but I’m here and an awful lot of blood is dripping out of my mouth and down my throat.
I’m giving it four hours before I call the practice and make them fix the bleeding.
I think that there is a purple cow following me. I swear there was one when I woke up.
Off to make a mintchocchip milk shake with a health does of vodka, my pills will be here in an hour, until then I must enact the preemptive vodka strike to stave of pain.
On a side note, I am well into a book on the basics of HTML, XHTML and CSS because I am tired of other blogs having the same template. I am going to try to mess around with it over the next few days and see if I can come up with something that is all about me.
Peace out, oh and if you’re in Boston in the next two days, I know a girl with drugs and booze and she not afraid to mix them and she’s big into the sharing, you should totally look up her crib.
What ever happened to smoke signals?
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Dear Carrie:
I have two points to make:
1) I miss you
2) I am evil
Whenever someone googles you I want them to be brought to me. Really that means wherever I am you will be able to find me, oh sure, you could just call me like a normal person, but why the fuck would you want to do that? Where is the fun in calling me? We should start using Carrier Pigeons instead. When was the last time you got to be all: “Well I got this message from some girl via Carrier Pigeon. She wanted to know what I am doing this weekend.”
Don’t worry. I won’t link this to your site. We need our Internet anonymity so we can talk smack about our families.
Carrie Elizabeth Patch Carrie Elizabeth Patch Carrie Elizabeth Patch Carrie Elizabeth Patch Carrie Elizabeth Patch Carrie Elizabeth Patch Carrie Elizabeth Patch Carrie Elizabeth Patch Carrie Elizabeth Patch Carrie Elizabeth Patch Carrie Elizabeth Patch Carrie Elizabeth Patch
Evita never had it this bad, so go ahead and cry for me Argentina
So, I am still at work because I am trying to get a few things cleared off my desk before I go under the knife…or pliers. I am not really sure what tool or implement of dental destruction is going to be used on my Wisdom teeth and I do not really want to know.
Be prepared for some drugged blogging.
Here’s the thing, I may have said that I am one part wimp and three part percocet lover, but the truth is I am a touch scared about waking up with less in me than when I went to sleep. Call me a baby or wimp, but there is a (totally irrational) fear that I AM GOING TO DIE.
Okay, breathing deeply. Nothing to see here; move along, there is no girl here FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.
I should never have watched that MTV show where some kid gets his face done like Ricky Martin. There was blood and moaning and a puffy face and OH GOD, SOMEONE GET ME A PAPERBAG.
Woulda-shoulda-coulda
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Ever woken from a dream spastically jolting your limbs, your arms thrown wide, your legs straining to stop the fall, your heart beat resonating through your body, only to find yourself safely tucked into bed? That fleeting second, as you hovered in that space between awake and asleep, you have a nebulous memory of falling into a vast abyss of nothingness. Your head drops back down, secure in the knowledge that you are fine, it was merely a dream; you are not plummeting to your death.
The precise moment before you plunge is important. That is when you are on the edge, balanced precariously between light and dark, life and death, everything and nothing. I have lived my whole adult life teetering on the edge.
My edge is the perilous sliver of potential that separates greatness and inconsequentiality. This small town girl knew what small town expectations were looming: high school, college, marriage, and children. She also knew that there was something vastly more significant waiting for her beyond the sand dunes and trees, beyond Friday night football games and drunken fumbles in the dark, beyond the paper mill and the grimy river. I boxed my belief in the idea that around every corner there was the potentially great experience that would complete my being.
I will not ever know what instilled this belief and fear, because it was also a fear of failure, but this foundation to my personality has led me on some great adventures: Archaeological digs in Albania, a Junior year abroad, a Masters degree in London, vacations to Tunisia, Texas, Israel, Poland, Corfu, and an application to the Peace Corps. I was always willing to jump into something with potential; something that was fun, exciting, risky, and sometimes dangerous. My core belief about personal potential is reflected in my eternal optimism for everyone else. I am always encouraging people to take a plunge, dive into life, see what is out there, and experience every opportunity available.
One of the greatest literary devices is to create the notion of potential. Characters, the readers believe to be real, making decisions that could affect an imaginary life, causing the reader to think: “Well, if only he had missed his train.” Science is built upon the theory that the greatest source of energy is that which is stored in the potential of a movement. So why not build a life around the potential of tomorrow? The problem with building a life based on tomorrows is forgetting to live for today.
So, I believe in potential because this belief propelled me out of where I was and took me into the world. I believe in potential because the other side of my edge is failure; failure is not an option. I believe in potential because it allows me to believe in the potential of every person, regardless of color, creed and upbringing. I believe in potential because if I did not then what has my life been about all this time?
I believe I can fly
So Greg has issued a challenge. 500 words on what you believe. I was at a loss this morning and so far inspiration has failed to rear its ugly head, so I guess that I will start my missive on who I am and what I believe
The trick is keeping one in the air
Monday, June 27, 2005
Somewhere along the age of ten people learn to juggle. We are going to school, participating in sports, doing chores around the house, creating friendship, breaking friendships, learning how to play an instrument, taking swimming lessons and, of course, just being a kid. The only way to manage is to make sure that at any given time there is at least one activity in each hand and all the rest are up in the air. As we get older we get better at juggling; we keep calendars and journals, we hire someone to clean for us, we combine events like inviting a friend out to eat (we get to see them and we don’t have to cook for ourselves). It does not matter if we are juggling balls, bowling pins, chairs or boys, as long as we keep the rhythm, and there is always one in the air, we are doing just fine.
Things are getting difficult. The Texan is wondering where I am all the time, TG is curious why I only answer certain calls around him and FROG is wondering when we are going to go on a date on a normal date night. The rhythm is getting to be too hard to maintain, I am at a point where I need to start making decisions on my own, yet I truly wish one of the boys would get bored and wander off into the sunset, but the likelihood of that happening is nil.
I guess it is time for the Pro/Con list. With the Texan, he is great, nice, smart, funny, caring, BUT cannot meet my need for sex and for the time being lives in Texas. TG is strong, smart, funny, caring, and a better match for me based on the fact that he actually says no to me, BUT cannot meet my need for extended sex and can be very self-centered. FROG is smart, stable, funny, caring, sweet, BUT he is a Republican who would have voted for George W. both times if he were an American citizen. Yikes!
I know that I cannot really start a relationship with someone who cannot satisfy me on one of life’s most fundamental bases I just keep thinking that maybe it will change. I am the eternal optimist and will always believe that just because we do not work now, does not mean that we cannot work in the future. That last sentence just defined all of my relationships between 18 and 25; I seriously consider all my past ex’s as potential for future relationships.
My goals for this week, I need to talk to The Texan, see where he thinks we stand, talk to TG about what he really wants because the way I see it, he wants the benefits of a girlfriend without having to be a boyfriend, and try to make a date with FROG on a normal date night. That is going to be difficult this week, I am getting all four wisdom teeth removed on Thursday afternoon and I am sure that I will be completely out of commission for at least two days (I am getting the full sedation and lots of pain medication, I’m one part wimp and three parts Percocet lover). I scheduled the surgery for the long weekend purposefully just in case something went terribly wrong.
At least I was able to have a good time out with bad girls last weekend. I was actually the best behaved, I mean, I have enough to deal with already, I have no desire to add a random hook-up to the list of men I must confront. Friday nights are notoriously difficult because of the hours I work. I left work after 6 and was unable to disco nap. I got to the Living Room at 9 PM where I met up with a co-worker, PB*, and her friend, Nanny. They had just finished dinner and we decided to wait at the bar for the rest of the girls, J, AA, JL and LL. At the bar I look over and see someone who had this really familiar look. I turned to PB and said, “Either he’s famous or I went to college with him.” I figured that eventually I would get drunk enough to suss out the situation, but for the time being, I tried to figure out what his name was, I was pretty sure it was Oscar.
J was complaining about her feet, and every girl was sympathetic because we all have those work shoes that look great but are destined to cripple us. Thus began Operation Get Us A Table. OGUAT paid off and we found a perfect table that fit us and had a great view, which meant that we could begin to drink in earnest. There was the usual random guy hitting on group of girls moment but for the most part, it was still on the early side. This is where the drinking interacted with the lack of food in my system because time passed but I am not sure when and how much.
I cannot really figure out the timing of everything but somewhere around 11 there was some sort of temporal shift and when I looked up there were three guys hovering. J was talking to Tony from LA, AA was talking to Kevin, and PB was talking to Germain. The next time I focused my eyes, PB’s roommates JL and LL had shown up and PB was talking to Tony. I wandered off to the bar where I reacquainted myself with Orlando (“Hey, Lady!” “Hey! Did we go to college together?” “Yeah” “Is your name Oscar or something?” “Orlando” “Orlando, Oscar, same thing.” “Um, I guess.” “So, what are you doing here?” “Hanging out with Will (points to Will).” “Holy Shit! Hot Will!”) and Will. Some time later, Orlando was buying rounds, Hot Will had his hand on LL’s ass whose hand was on my breast, JL was talking to someone whose name we still don’t know (“Well, he took her number, so when he calls he will have to give his name.”), PB was making out with Tony (the shame of it) and AA was flirting shamelessly with Kevin (with liberal use of the hair flip).
How the night ended:
I went home alone without making out, hooking up or otherwise acting out in public, well besides a little girl on girl breast fondling action to tease Hot Will, which I guess worked because he went home with LL. I did give my number to Orlando, but just as friends.
PB made out with Tony some more, went outside to talk and wait for the rest of the girls to come out, but never caught up with them, exchanged numbers with Tony who has already called.
LL brought Hot Will home and sent him on his way in the morning. PB confirmed that he still looked pretty good in the morning.
AA took Kevin home but when Kevin mentioned that he had to be up early in the morning, she said, “Well you won’t be sleeping here. Thanks for the good time, but you can go home now.”
JL has yet to hear from the unknown guy, but has high hopes as she spent the entire night speaking to him.
J and Nanny went home at reasonable hour and feel like they are fine upstanding and respectable young ladies, however they do agree that, “There is always next weekend.”
*All names have been changed to protect the innocent and the not so innocent.
Out with the girls
Friday, June 24, 2005
Am drunk, way too many Martini type drinks, ran into some guys I knew in college. I may have given my number to them, don’t know why, not really thinking it was such a good idea. There was lots of random hooking up (I think at least two public displays of kissing a guy met tonight, but not by me) and some girl on girl action (I am not above fondling another girl’s breast to mess with a guy’s head). Will give up the details later. Must make room stop spinning, at least I waited till I got home to get wasted. Cab ride was tough. Off to sleep off drunkeness and welcome a raging hangover.
Rant
I just finished watching the Today show interview with Tom Cruise. How in Earth did Matt Lauer stop himself from beating the hell out of TC. I mean how f’in smug can one guy be. If I were sitting there asking the questions and TC went: “Well, some girl, you don’t know the history of Psychiarty and I do,” (about 8 minutes into the video) I would have put l’il ol’ Mr. Cruise through the wall.
Also heard: “Yeah but here’s that point, I’m not even getting into that game, I’m just living my life, man.” (Said in creepy whisper).
When I was younger I was infuriated by a particularly ineffective therapist. I think she was one of the people we (as a family) saw post divorce. She would have this weird whispery voice that was taught as a method in her courses to create a calming and soothing safe environment in which all parties felt comfortable in sharing their emotions, however all that created was a life long desire to slap the hell out of anyone who whispers in a situation in which the whisper is totally inappropriate.
Whisper in the library not during a therapy session or in an interview.
Tag, you’re it
So this here situation has been created by one Merry Widow. Well Ms. Widow, I’ll see you and raise you one.
The rules:
Remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump every one up one place; add your blog’s name in the #5 spot; link to each of the other blogs for the desired cross pollination effect:
1. Searchin’ For a Rainbow
2. Agent 99
3. Hornblower
4. The Merry Widow
5. Somegirl
PS. I totally copied and pasted from MW, I have a meeting in four minutes ago and I want to get this done before I a) forget and b) have actual work put upon me.
Okay Step two! Add some people to the list o’ people on the list! Only participate if you want to, no pressure and all.
1. Greg
2. Ranting Redhead
3. Random and Odd
4. Sarcastic Journalist
5. A Somewhat Normal Life
Whew, done, okay meeting was meant to start 11 minutes ago, but no one has called looking for me, I’m sure they just think I am caught in some other work related activity.
So here’s the question: What 5 things do you miss about your childhood?
1.) Not being afraid.
I wish I still climbed trees. We were wild children there was five of us, including the two boys from next door, who knew no fear and no limits. Growing up in West Warwick, Rhode Island had few benefits, but we could play in the sand dunes along the river, build illegal tree houses, play baseball on the little league field after dusk and as long as we were in shouting distance from our house, we had a free reign to do what we wanted. And we wanted to climb trees. We also had no balance. Oh and we liked to dare each other to jump from the highest branch possible. I’m not sure how, but we never broke a bone. We didn’t know enough to be afraid.
2.) Lelaphant.
I had a stuffed elephant. I took it everywhere. I loved it. I can still remember the way the tip of the nose tasted (salty, is that gross or what) and the way it smelled (soil, like I had been in the garden with my mom). I remember the feeling of waking up on it, where the decrepit noise box left it’s imprint on my chest, I never remember the noise box working, I do remember making the noise I thought it would make when I was playing with it. I also remember that my mother was always going on about how gross and dirty Lelaphant was.
One night, while I was sleeping, my mother took Lelaphant and put it in the wash; that night a crime was committed. We’re going to call it Stuffed Animal Slaughter in the Second Degree. I mean I am sure she did not set out with the intent of disintegrating Lelaphant in the wash, but her actions did cause the death of a much beloved toy. Seriously, I am getting teary-eyed just thinking about it right now.
3.) Rice and Beans.
As young children, my sister, brother and I were shuttled between Mom’s and Dad’s. Many weekends my Dad would be scheduled to take us, but then some sort of business would interrupt our time and rather than incur the wrath of my Moms, he would bring us over to the family house. His mother and her husband lived on the first floor. His sister lived on the second floor. His niece lived on the third floor. A big ole house o’ Puerto Ricans.
There was always a huge pot of rice and beans. Not that crap stuff you find in bad fast food places, but the kind that takes all your troubles away. On the next burner would be the MEAT. You never knew what kind of meat, but whatever it was would be so good; it would just melt in your mouth. I think that after finding out where the rabbits in the backyard went, we stopped asking what the meat was, but we never stopped eating it.
Eventually my Grams moved to Florida, my Aunt bought her own house and the cousin moved to New Jersey. Whenever I smell pinesol or see plastic covered furniture I am taken back to the place of my childhood where I felt most loved.
4.) Kites.
One of my Mom’s nicest boyfriends, Ken, would take us kite flying. I couldn’t tell you where it was, some hill in Rhode Island, probably in Narragansett or Newport (I have a vague recollection of going to the Newport Mansions once after kite flying). I don’t know that I had flown a kite before Ken came into our lives, I’m pretty sure I haven’t flown one since, what I do know was that of all the men my Mom dated he was one of the two that I wished she would marry. For a while she was engaged to One of The World’s Most Odious Men, I capitalize to stress the depth of his odiousness. She never married the jerk, but he was just an example of the men she liked. For some reason, Ken never fit this type. Even after they stopped seeing each other, he would come by in the winter and snowplow the drive. Eventually he married someone else and he stopped coming by and plowing the drive. I think somewhere, deep down inside, he still wanted to be with her, she just couldn’t get her act together and figure out how to appreciate a nice guy.
5.) Masie E. Quinn Elementary.
I went to High school with the same people I went to first grade. Sure some people moved away and some people came halfway thought junior high, but for the most part, all those kids in my first grade class graduated high school with me. Except my best friends. I use to make friends with all the broken kids, I still do, but back in the day it was Amanda, Bobby, Ronnie. The four of us were together all the time.
They were the bad kids (after two abortions, Amanda had her first child at 16, Bobby was expelled for trying to buy a gun to shoot our geometry teacher, Ronnie just disappeared) and I was a good kid. We always sat together because our last names. I think that a few teachers hoped that I would be a good influence. What really happened was that they showed me a thing or two about life. Amanda would have boot shaped bruises on her legs from her stepfather. Bobby would come to school with black eyes. Ronnie would always be able to supply whatever was needed to forget.
Now I know the truth, or rather I can comprehend the depth of what I was seeing back then, but I think that those friends were some of the best I could ever have. We knew everything about each other, we provided safe haven when we could, we helped each other forget what was really happening, and it was always totally selfless. And as bad as things were when we were ten, I know that they were so much worse when we were sixteen.
The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly
Thursday, June 23, 2005
I believe it is now the time for my missive on Internet dating. Maybe missive is the wrong term; I shall actually call it Ten Reasons to Get Drunk on a First Date.
As we sit down, pull a little vial out of your pocket. After our order has been taken, open said vial, pour out something that smells like Calstat and rub your hands. Did you just disinfect your hands at the table? Are you allowed to do that on a first date?
Ask me if my breasts are real.
Tell me that you are into the Poly scene because: “well, people have the capacity to love more than one person at the same time, so why not get sexual pleasure from more than one person at the same time?”
Mention that your second ex-wife was a stripper from Tennessee with a gambling problem.
Cry.
Flirt with the waitress.
Explain that you’re really here because your wife doesn’t understand your needs and then go on to explain that your needs include being able to rub a woman’s feet and then ejaculate on them.
Inform me that I sounded hotter on the phone.
Share with me that all three parental units in your life were verbal abusive towards you and your long term girl friends were all “tight with sex” so now you want to explore the alternative side of life with women who are considerably younger than you…oh and you want to have lots of sex.
Advise me that I will need to bring a Thesaurus on our dates because you are very intelligent and will use large words that I will not understand. Oh and then call me a spoiled, Jewish bitch who gets everything she wants and thinks that she’s the hottest thing in the room and every guy want to fuck her.*
*I couldn’t make this up if I tried…I was way more pissed about the Thesaurus comment than the Jewish bitch comment.
In my dreams
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Sometimes I read someone else’s writing and I have a hard time breathing. I realize how completely superior their writing is compared to mine. Tonight I am going to recover from this realization by putting my head between my knees, breathing slowly, and main lining vodka.
Matthew Wilder. Pure. Genius.
What goes up must do something or other
As it was Father’s Day on Sunday I have been thinking about my father. I think that the last time we spoke was a few months before Christmas. I told him some story about how I thought I was going to be out of the country for Christmas when in reality I just had no desire to drive out to his house where his wife and her family would be celebrating in their usual fashion.
People always think that a statement like that means I do not like the stepfamily. I do like them, I have always had a great time with them and they are the ones who really taught me how to drink. They showed me that a clear odorless liquid was always a better choice over beer, champagne trumps wine, and always use the bootleg moonshine Rum in the eggnog.
It’s the father and stepmother of whom I am not so fond. I mean I think they use to try, but I think that may just be the hazy memory of a child. Now I know that my sister, brother and I are so not considered part of the family. It’s the little things. My father was getting a PhD from a university and the invitation to the celebratory party was sent a month before (the first I even knew about it) and to my sister’s house (I have been living at my address for almost a year).
The thing about my father is that he would never consider or understand the notion that he has been a less than perfect example of fatherhood. I think he believes that he has done everything spot on and that he should be congratulated for the wonderful children that he raised. Never mind the fact that there was a six-year period where I never saw him. Never mind the fact that getting child support out of him was a hassle. Never mind that he still asks me if I have reached 21 years old yet. Never mind that he showed up late to my sister’s wedding (which was held two hours from where we live in Boston and twenty minutes from his house). Never mind any of that.
What really frames my father’s persona is that he does not believe in gravity. Yeah, I know. Right, who does not believe in gravity? A man getting a PhD cannot not believe in gravity. Well, my father argues, and stay with me here, that no one ever proved it to him. In school a teacher read about it in a book and told the students. The teacher did not discovery gravity, a white man did. I think that he feels it is his duty as a Puerto Rican man to dispute any theory presented by “the white man”. My father has refused to acknowledge the reality that we do not float off into space, that the earth is not rushing up to meet us when we fall, as well as posits that there may be some sort of magnet system that hold people to the ground and please do not get him started on Australia (he cannot fathom how they stay on the Earth, after all they are upside down).
Knowing all this, it is hard to really fault him for being a less than perfect father. He clearly has other issues going on in his life. I cannot imagine what he thinks about evolution and cellular cloning.
Is honesty always the best policy?
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Last night J started asking questions. Not exactly direct, “How many men have you slept with?” type questions, but pretty close.
Up to now I have done an admirable job at telling the truth. Not just the parts that I want to tell, all of the pieces of the story. Sometimes I look good and other times I look bad, that is just the way it goes. I do not regret things that I have done, but I am smart enough to recognize that I may not have always chosen the smartest and safest route to get to where I am today.
In response to J, who from herein will be referred to as The Tough Guy or TG*, I answered, that he was good in bed and satisfied me. Men should never ask how they were in comparison to past men. Really do you want a breakdown of the time with an ex- where we were on the beach having sex in the middle of a meteor shower? Or the time where we failed to see daylight for three days straight? Or the one who made my toes curl just by whispering in my ear? No, you do not want me to tell you everything; you just want me to reassure you that you are good at what you do.
In TG’s case there is a little more to it. I think someone cheated on him real bad. He has repeatedly requested that I be totally honest and straightforward, if I ever decide that I want to be with someone else, tell him, there is no way he could be serious about a girl (ME) if she is dating other guys at the same time as dating him, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. TG also keeps talking about how he never thought he would like me as much as he does.
According to him, the Internet dating thing was a lark, he did it to see what or who was out there, he never expected to have actual (meaning he was going to have fake?) feelings for a girl and he certainly did not think it would all happen so quickly. I will only focus on the very end of the sentence, but there is so much that should be dissected.
My typical boyfriend was a one-night stand that never went home. After recovering from our hangovers, we would hangout for the rest of the weekend. We would realize that we do not totally hate each other and eventually we would agree to be exclusive. I mean it is hard to not be exclusive when you are together all the time. While we may not move in together, I have never officially cohabitated, we do spend a bunch of time together and then one day, a friend of ours will introduce us as: “This is some girl and her boyfriend.” Then it will be official. The time between meeting and official recognition is spent getting to know each other; learning about hope and dreams and aspirations. This all takes place between six months and a year.
This differs significantly with on-line dating because you never had the drunken disorderly introduction wherein you state: “I’m having a hard time focusing my eyes but I think you are really cute.” Or “I wish I could just take off my underwear.” Or “I have a really comfortable bed.” Shut up, I have never used any of these lines. Okay, maybe once.
Furthermore, on-line dating makes people bold. This is the greatest opportunity to be honest and real. You have no worries or fear behind the double-blind email. The basis of secrecy means that you can open yourself up to a stranger and not see them cringe or flinch when you tell them something. Sure you can disclose too much information, but if you do, you never have to meet the person and you have not been rejected, mocked or teased.
Combine this all with the fact that I give good email, I know that I am a good writer and getting good email can work wonders on a budding relationship. I tend to only date men with whom I have a sincerely healthy mental connection. I also judge the men based on the way they write. Shallow I know, but there has to be some way to decide.
The point being, you feel this hyper connection with someone you have been emailing for about two weeks, and after three dates you already know a lot more about them than all your ex-boyfriends (I still have no idea what their middle names are, but I know TG’s middle name and his father’s middle name). Internet dating moves quickly, you are in and out of like/lust for someone with the speed of a high school Sophomore transfer student who just discovered the cutest man alive, the captain of the football team but has yet to see the captain of the wrestling team.
When TG emailed me, I noted that his profile was well constructed, honest and straightforward. I think that from the very beginning we have always been sincere in our conversation and honest in our approach. I thought that honest was the way to go with this, but now I wonder if it was.
TG has repeatedly made comments about the fact that I was casually dating others when we met. I asked if he would like me to stop, his response was that he could not tell me what to do, I should do what makes me happy, and if I want to date others I should go out and do just that. He also says that what I did in the past, before we met, has nothing to do with him and he will not judge me based on that. For instance, although he thinks that some of my actions in the past are sluttish, he does not think that I am a slut. For someone who is not judging that seems an awful lot a judgment.
That is not even the biggest problem. The one thing that stands in our way is that I have applied to join the Peace Corps. I know, thank you, it is huge. Most people have congratulated me and said some sort of genial statement about how I will have a great experience. I told TG because I knew that we had a great first date and that there would be a second. I told him because I wanted to be honest and real. I told him because I knew it was fair and equitable. I told him because I wanted to share the information with someone who could really be affected by the knowledge.
I am not leaving for at least a year. I have some commitments here in America to which I must attend first but I am hoping to be somewhere else by the Christmas of 2006. TG acted very nonchalant with the information and said some sort of platitude about how we just met and we should get to know each other. Over the past few days he has pulled out the “you’re leaving in a year” card. Not in a mean way, but as an excuse for not wanting to fall for me. I keep telling TG that a year is a long way off in the future, we could hate each other by then, but the reality of 27 months in the Peace Corps is that if we really were in a happy, committed relationship, we should be able to hold it together while I was away.
So now I look back and see what I have written, and from this instance (my sluttish past! and my leaving the country) if I could have kept a secret, I think everyone would be much happier. So if TG and I do not work, from now on I lie.
*Name to be explained at a later time and date, but trust me, Tough Guy totally fits.
What I hate about you
Monday, June 20, 2005
Please do not ascribe depth and emotion to my writing that I do not explicitly express in my writing.
Thank you.