Being Bug

The End of the Beginning of the End.

2008-01-14T09:31:00.000-06:00

Well, things have calmed down on all fronts these days. Except for the fact that I’m on my second of four interviews for a new job! Aside from that, however…

Is it too stupid of me to say that the flame has died out with Firefighter? (Clearly, yes, that was stupid.) Anyway. He did his job… HE managed to put it out. Nevertheless, I’m happy about it. Relieved. It hurt a little, I won’t deny that. I don’t even really know what happened, but he managed to be so elusive that I had enough time to myself to realize how monstrous the mistake I almost made was. I was actually re-evaluating my relationship with Boy; considering ending it, for a new, exciting fling with Firefighter. A chivalrous and gorgeous, yet guarded and imperfect man... A man who, by the way, saw me out to dinner with Boy and his parents a few weeks ago. That’s when things got weird.

He knew all about Boy (well, a little about Boy, maybe not all. However, he knew of his existence.) I still can’t help but feel terrible though, when I remember the look on his face when we walked by his table on our way out. He saw me, his face lit up, his eyes brightened, he stood to kiss my cheek… and saw Boy. He sat back down. Defeated. Deflated. Nodded hello, asked how I was, and immediately turned back to his conversation with friends. Boy has no idea about Firefighter… but he was upset by the exchange, nonetheless. He had to have sensed something, but it was never really discussed; more or less just dismissed.

It’s weird. The last time I saw Firefighter, before dinner with Boy and his parents, we had drinks and spent hours talking, laughing, catching up. This was a week before dinner with Boy and fam. He reavealed things about himself that no one else knows; we laughed over stories of college, spoke seriously over ambitions and hopes. He told me how much he wanted to be with me; that he knew what he wanted in life, and that he wasn’t going to beat around the bush anymore. He wanted me. He knew from the night we met, he said. I melted; I wanted him too. And then you know what? I didn’t hear from him again after that night, at all. Not until he saw me with Boy at dinner a week later. He texted me and wanted to know what was going on, and I responded that he was confusing the hell out of me… that he couldn’t just say what he said to me and then disappear… and that maybe I was focusing my efforts on the wrong man, that I was maybe making a big mistake and should be trying to fix, rather than replace, what was broken? No response.

A few nights after that, Firefighter asked me to meet his family. What?! I know. They were in town, and he wanted me to meet them for after-dinner drinks. Had I not been with Boy, I just might have, but we were at a Christmas party. And had he not completely confused the shit out of me, that is. I didn’t hear from him for another few days after telling him that meeting his family wasn’t an option for me right now. Fast forward to New Year’s Day. He asked me to meet him and four of his friends to watch football, and I agreed. (BTW: The things that were/are happening with Boy, at this point, are worthy of a completely different post. Let’s just say that I needed to get out of the house, and Firefighter’s invitation was exactly the break I was looking for.) Now, as I was pulling into the sports bar, I texted Firefighter to ask where they were sitting. (Big place – don’t you hate walking into places like that and looking like an ass, craning your neck looking for someone while everyone stares at the solo chick in the sports bar? I do.) Anyway. He immediately replied,

“Sorry, but we’re just getting ready to leave.”

Whoa, what? I didn’t have a chance to reply before he sent another,

“I think I’m going to head back to [hometown] to spend the day with my family.”

Whoa, again.

“I’m sorry, another time?”

Whoa. Fucking whoa.

I replied, “Not a problem at all… drive safely.”

And that’s it. The last contact we’ve had.

I’m not sad… but, well, I guess maybe I am, a little. I’m glad too though, that it’s over. It was getting to the point that I lied to Boy almost daily, even about going to happy hour or the mall or the gym. I was making excuses to see Firefighter, getting caught up in my lies and having to backtrack and retrace and try and remember what I had said or “who” I had been with and where and why. It was awful. Things aren’t exactly great with Boy, but as I said, that’s another post. The point, and the good news, is that they are over with Firefighter. Over.

Happy Hanukkah

2007-12-04T15:14:00.000-06:00

On this day every year, on the eve of Hanukkah, I've either personally given or mailed a card and gift to my Jewlove for as long as I've known him. He really is just that. My Jewish love. Formerly loveR. But now just my love. A gorgeous boy; a proud man; a bittersweet memory. Why? Well... I'm Christian. He's Jewish. That's it. For a whole year, while I was living in the city, we "dated". Not really, though. Why? Well, I'm Christian. He's Jewish. I guess you could say that it was always a way of getting off the hook if I wanted to go on a date with someone else, or sleep with someone else, or give my phone number to someone else. I guess you could say it was his way of doing the same. I mean, technically, he wasn't my boyfriend. I wasn't his girlfriend. I loved him with an intense passion, but we were not committed to each other. We couldn't be, so we just weren't.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to be his girl, his everything... and lying if I said that I often needed to be "let off the hook"; I wanted to be with him so badly that my heart still hurts to think about it. I never really messed around during my time with him... I accidentally fell in love with him instead. I guess you could even say that I practically lived with him. Now... I miss him. But I've always missed him, even when he was holding me in his arms.

At first, I would casually bring it up... "Why can't we just try it and see where it goes?" He would always respond that no matter how much we felt for each other; no matter what happened, I'd never be Jewish, and nothing would change that. Even if I converted - I'd still never be "truly" Jewish, and he couldn't marry someone who wasn't. Not that I wanted to convert, no. I'm a proud Christian, and it's just not that easy to change your life and beliefs. After a while, and after many conversations, discussions, and arguments about our faith and religious beliefs, I just accepted that no matter how deeply we immersed ourselves into our delusional world, I'd never have what I wanted from him in reality. I could never, in return, give him my heart, either. It was like the white religious elephant in the center of our studio apartment that no one would talk about, but whose shit we had to clean up every day.

We let ourselves get wrapped up in each other for over a year before it finally broke my heart enough for me to walk away. In that year though, he became my best friend. He introduced me to a culture that I never would have known, or ever would have cared to know. He became my personal tour guide in the greatest city in the world and became part of some of the most amazing memories that I'll have in this life. He helped me become a person that I never knew I was capable of being: he showed me how to stand up for my beliefs and fight for what I wanted. He showed me that even if I didn't get what I was fighting for - the battle always made me stronger. He taught me to be tough. To laugh at myself. To stand up for myself. To respect myself. He'll never know... but he'll always have a piece of my heart.

He's with a nice Jewish girl now (whose mother, I'm sure, is so proud... he's a doctor), and I'm really happy for him. She's pretty cool too, and although doesn't know the half of our story, has accepted our friendship very well. I have yet to meet her, although he tells me that if I'm up for a long plane trip to Israel, I'm the first on his list of wedding guests... should it get that far, of course. Did I mention he's somewhat of a player? A looker, that Jew... Oy.

Anyway... Hanukkah has me feeling a little nostalgic this year, and I definitely miss him more during the Jewish holidays. I'm so glad to have had him in my life, and wouldn't trade a single minute of the hell or heartache that being his shiksa entailed.

And Then There Were Two...

2007-12-03T14:44:00.000-06:00

I'm proud of myself... I've gone over two weeks without seeing the Firefighter. I'm also not so proud. I miss him. I've talked or tm'd him almost every day. He's almost all I can think about, and I've wanted to see him the whole time. But I've found ways to be "busy"... I know he's starting to get impatient, and I'm bracing myself for when the time comes that he's not going to put up with my "issues" anymore.

Did I mention that I told him about the Boy? Yeah. Even worse, I told him that I wasn't going to walk away. From "this". From our thing. Regardless of Boy. He told me that he wouldn't either, because he feels like it's something more than a casual meeting of two people who happen to be perfect for each other. He feels like it has happened for a reason - and so do I. So he told me that he'd wait for me until I was ready. Ready for what?! To leave Boy? How can I tell him that I won't, ever? He has me on this pedestal, like I'm actually worth waiting for... and I don't get it. I don't understand why he isn't moving on, why he isn't out being a single guy, looking, having fun, doing what he should be doing. I know he told me he would wait... but I know that even he, being all "devoted" and whatnot, won't wait forever. I'm dreading the moment when I find out that he actually has met someone who can give him what he's "waiting" for.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Things with Boy are so up and down these days. Sometimes I'm just so full of love for him that I can't stand it; I can't stand how corny I feel and how passionately I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him. I found him reading about the 4 C's online the other day! It scared me, excited me, made me happy, sad, and nervous. How can a girl with a Boy and a Firefighter be ready for that level of commitment?! I mean, I'm not, right? I especially don't think so for the other simple reason that I can go from loving him this deeply to almost loathing him as much, in a very, very, ridiculously short period of time. I don't know if this is because I know I have something waiting for me if I totally push him away? I mean... I get to levels of "bitch" that are incomprehensible... I don't know how he still wants to put up with the drama that I sometimes create. It's awful for him, and it's awful that I know I'm being so wretched. Yet I can't apologize for anything... and I find ways to justify everything. It's always his fault... always. Even when it's not.

I feel like things between us are so different. I compare us now to the "we" we used to be a year ago, and it's like two completely different people. A different couple entirely. Last year, when we put the tree up, for example: we lit my entire place up with candlelight, played Christmas music, had ridiculous amounts of wine, and focused on nothing but the tree, the decor, and each other. We ended the night with a fire in the fireplace and made love right there on the floor. This year, I had to entice him with Irish coffee to even leave our townhouse to go out and shop for Christmas lights with me, and when we came home, instead of candlelight, laughter and Christmas music as I had anticipated, it was a football game and him on his laptop and cell phone doing the fantasy football thing. I bought wine and eggnog, rented Christmas movies, had Christmas music ready, made chili and sweet bread... and nothing. Tree up. Lights up. The end. I practically put the tree up myself. I had this vision (that I'd even shared with him, to let him know how much I was looking forward to our "tradition") of another perfect weekend holed up all warm and cozy at home, getting ready for our first Christmas together in our new home... and nothing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I have to get my head straight, that's all I know. The holidays have never, ever had a history of improving sanity, so this is bound to be one hell of a season. I love Boy in an almost dangerous way, but am I still in love? I love his family - this is for sure. I'm so entangled in them; I'm one of them - how could I even begin to imagine life without them? Or Boy? What would my life be like without him? Hot tears immediately sting my eyes when I begin to imagine it. Yet, what would life be like with FF? He wants me to meet his family. To go horseback riding with him. To see his hometown. To bond with his sisters. To spend time with his friends. For me to be a part of his life. How do I say no to someone I'm clearly falling for? It's only been two months, and the connection that I have with him is so genuine. And he's nothing... nothing... nothing at all like Boy.

Far Too Deep

2007-11-14T14:48:00.000-06:00

Jesus, it's only gotten worse. So much worse. I'm in so far over my head that I don't know how I could backtrack, even if I wanted to. I'm starting to wish that I'd never met Firefighter, because he's made my life so completely difficult... and worse, has brought me the happiness that I used to feel with Boy. Maybe more? I feel that at one time, there was a chance to find it again with Boy, but that now... I won't. I'm so wrapped up in FF that I'm not giving my real relationship with Boy the attention and serious effort that it deserves. I feel myself letting go... But I can't stop thinking about him. About FF... I wait on edge to hear from him during the day, take every opportunity to see him when I can at night. He consumes my every thought. I desire him. I want to kiss him until I can't breathe; I want to press my body against his and dig my fingernails into his back; I want to feel him and taste him and run my hands along his rock-solid body. I want him to shove me against the wall and kiss me like it's our first and last time. And he still doesn't know about Boy. I know that the only thing to do is break it off - I KNOW that it's the only answer, and I know that I'll never, ever leave Boy. But why am I finding it so heartbreaking to let go of FF? This is a man that I don't want to lose... He's too good to let go of... how do I do this? I'm terrified that I won't walk away, and that I'll only fall deeper into whatever this is.

Something

2007-10-21T16:37:00.000-06:00

It's something now; it's officially something.

I stayed late at the office on Friday night, so I ended up not going out for cocktails with my girlfriends as I had planned. Usually, I wouldn't care much, but I was really disappointed on Friday... why? Because I knew that somehow, being out with my girls and having cocktails would've turned into being out with Firefighter. Or being somewhere with him. Anywhere... I didn't care, I just knew that I wanted to see him, and knew that I wouldn't once I realized I had to work late into the night.

I seriously contemplated meeting him out for extremely late-night drinks, but in my mind and heart, I knew I just couldn't do that to the Boy. My conscience tells me that there's something more 'wrong' about spending time with Firefighter in the night... or something. So I met him on Saturday morning for coffee instead. My thoughts were that daylight + sober = me coming to my senses, but I was wrong. It only made things worse. Our "quick" coffee date turned into a couple of hours that flew by like minutes.... and officially confirmed that this is not a momentary, fleeting crush that'll just fade away. I'm involved in something with Firefighter. And I want it. I like it; I like him; I like everything about what's happening. I hate lying. I hate that I'm a person I never thought I'd be; I'm someone I hate. But it's happening, and I don't know how to walk away now. I don't want to. I like Firefighter. But... I love Boy.

A New Flame...

2007-10-18T09:13:00.000-06:00

I didn’t mean for it to happen, but last night… it did. God, who am I? I’m the girl that cheats on her boyfriend?! I’m not like that… what was I thinking? And now what? Firefighter doesn’t even know that I have a boyfriend. And I like Firefighter. Like him a lot. And Firefighter likes me back. A lot. Fuck.

I met him on Saturday. And yes, this is the weekend that the Boy and I went back to our crazy college town to get crazy college drunk and have crazy college fun. And we sure did. Separately. I don’t even want to go into that. I’ll just say that Boy got so drunk, that when I walked into the bar to meet up with him, he didn’t even recognize me. In fact, he looked up, I waved, and he sloppily, drunkenly turned back to the random girl that was very interested in whatever he was saying that was sooooooo funny. And boy, was he having a good time saying it. We haven’t had a lot to say to each other since then.

Anyway. I left. I wasn’t having any of that, and my wonderful girls were just what I needed to take my mind off the bullshit. So they dragged me to like, THE wildest bar I’ve ever been to, and the next thing I know, I’m taking shot after shot with this gorgeous guy who’s a fireman and omigod lives in my town. What?! I know. Things got blurry, he got flirty, we started getting playful, telling stories, laughing, touching…I got shitfaced… and somewhere, somehow, fuck, I developed a serious CRUSH. And then I gave Firefighter my phone number. What the F was I thinking? I don’t do that. I have a boyfriend. That I live with. That I love. (I literally just muttered “What the fuck?” under my breath and scratched my head, and furrowed my eyebrows and everything.)

So since Saturday, we’ve had a lot of very playful, flirty, fun, funny text-offs, and he’s adorable. I like him. And last night, I went to happy hour with my girlfriends and had too many glasses of wine. And then we decided to go to another bar, and take a few shots, of course. And then, what the hell? Why not? I called Firefighter. And then he showed up.

Shit. He is so much more beautiful than I remember. And he dresses so well. And he smells so good. And he’s so sweet. And mysterious. And gentlemanly. And he opens doors. And gaaaaaah. So I decided that of course it was a good idea to go to another bar. Just us. Just Firefighter and me. And that another stellar idea was that at the end of the night, when he leaned over to kiss that spot at the corner my mouth, to not turn away. And I let his hands, that were gently holding mine, find their way to my hair and the back of my neck, and I let him pull me close and overwhelm me in a kiss that at this very second, leaves me breathless and shaky and oh god wanting more...

But that was it. It was a very deep, very passionate kiss. The kind of kiss that leaves you gasping for air. But that was it. But still. It was a kiss. A very real kiss. A kiss that I can’t take back and and don't want to take back and can’t stop thinking about and that I want to have again. But, what the hell, what am I thinking? Who is this person I’ve suddenly turned into??? I don’t even kiss on the first date – what was I thinking, kissing on the first “have a few drinks”, while fucking cheating no less?!

He just sent me a text message that said, “You amazed me last night, and you took my breath away. Even today, I’m breathless. Who are you?” Now what am I supposed to do?

Feelin' Good

2007-10-12T08:46:00.000-06:00

Last night (as if the Gods of "let's push her to the limit" had decided to play a sick, poorly-timed joke), Boy told me that he received an e-mail from the very ex-gf that I spoke of yesterday. He non-chalantly made it clear that he was one of about 75 people that were on this mass e-mail, and that it was simply to share a really wild story about something that happened yesterday in the small town she and her family had just moved to. (Normally, he probably wouldn't have shared in order to keep the peace, but this town is a quiet little town in the state that we both grew up in.) As I sat there in bed, listening, I literally bit my tongue so as not to say anything. I nodded, ooh'ed and aah'ed at the craziness of the story... and then I let it go. I searched the covers for our remote, turned on the TV, and we resumed our ritualistic 15 minutes of bedtime ESPN and talking shit about each other's fantasy football teams. With the exception of his "Last One Standing" fight-scene, kicking, punching dreams, I slept like a rock.

This weekend, we're headed back to the city where we both attended college. We're alums of one of the most well-known football schools in the nation, and we're headed back to party and tailgate like the rockstars that all U** students are! We're going together, but Boy is meeting up with the guys and I'm meeting up with the girls... and I can not freakin' wait!!! I'm so excited to see my girlfriends, and I'm really excited for him to get to see his friends too. The best part? They're all friends now, and we're all planning to meet up at some point and spend a majority of our partying moments together. I think it's going to be a blast... and I'm looking forward to missing each other. I get a little freaky about his galavanting sometimes (his friends are W-I-L-D wild, and single, ecckkhhh), so please cross all of your virtual fingers that my completely un-warranted, un-called for, un-cool jealousy stays in check...

Blue-eyed Monster

2007-10-11T09:05:00.000-06:00

He does love me. Only me. Since the day we met, he's been wild about me. He loves me like mad. Flashes of realization hit me at the most random moments... it can come in the form of a mid-afternoon "Love you." text like it did today, or it can come in a flash of his amazing smile while we're wrestling like the UFC fighters that we seem to think we are. Sometimes it's just the way his pale eyes look at me through long, black eyelashes... He's my best friend, and he loves me with a passion that I've never known and that he's never thought possible, and I'm going to seriously fuck it up.

I am THE most psycho, jealous girlfriend that I've ever known... and what makes this conundrum even shittier is that in fact, I am NOT that girl. At least I never have been, anyway. What the F? Why on earth, after a year together, am I so obsessed with... *frustrated grunt* ...everything?! I can not explain it to myself, it's hard for me to explain it to others, and he sure as hell doesn't get it. I can't expect him to; he's done nothing but reassure me in the most positive, heartfelt ways that he knows how. Poor guy, he shouldn't even have to. He has never given me a reason to worry one bit. But I do.

He finally started telling me that eventually, my jealous weird-ness (rage, even?) is going to push him away if I don't stop with the freakouts. Fuck, I KNOW this! I know... but still, I'm a complete mess sometimes. I'll have a total meltdown because someone mentions the name of a girl he hooked up with 3 years ago, or he'll get an e-mail from an ex-girlfriend -married ex-girlfriend- showing off her new baby. He works with a chick that he boned a few years ago, and he mentioned her name the other day in a work-related conversation. I flipped.

Seriously - I need fucking therapy or something. What feels the worst is that I know I'm a total headcase about this stupid nonsense, but I can't stop. Thing is... (and please don't misunderstand the following), I'm an attractive person. And although you'd never imagine it, I'm as normal and down-to-earth as they come. I have a great career, a wonderful family, and fabulous friends. I'm the outgoing "hot girl" that the boys like to be around. I'm smart. I'm really funny. (All previous qualities are listed more for my personal ego-boosting benefit than for your knowledge. But thanks for taking into consideration.) Again, don't take it the wrong way, but I'm a catch and I know that he'd never cheat. And I know he'd never even be tempted to - but I can't help thinking that because I love him like I do, that every other woman would fight tooth and nail to have a chance to do the same. Women are vicious and I know how evil they can be... I've never been insecure, but I've also never been with someone who is the object of so many damn crushes.

It's not a trust issue... it's a jealousy issue. I need help. (But I swear to God that I'm completely normal. Any of my friends or family that saw this posting would probably laugh and make fun of me...) Who is this crazy LOVE-induced monster that I've become?!?!?!

Flashback...

2007-08-03T08:20:00.000-06:00

I was so nervous... riding the subway as my heartbeat increased dramatically, and what I thought for sure: got noticeably louder the closer I got. I remember thinking that I could actually see it beating through my form-fitting, deep green shirt; the dainty chains of my layered gold necklace bouncing off of my chest in rhythm to the clack-clacking of the train. I caught a glimpsse of my long, wavy hair hanging over my shoulders... I wondered, "Will he recognize me as a brunette?" Eight years... eight years. I hadn't seen him in eight years, and now there we were, after all of our travels and years out of touch... there we were, living in the same city. We were in the same beautiful city on the same cool, gorgeous fall night. I honestly thought I'd never see him again. And now, we were in the same city.

The train started to slow down and people started to stand up. OhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGod. Pounding pulse, trembling hands, shaky legs. This was it. Out the windows, I could see the solemn remains of the World Trade Center underworld, a constant reminder of tragedy and loss. It was comforting to realize that soon, I'd also hold this place in my heart as a place where the once lost, was found again. Wringing my hands, pulling on the hair that had gotten caught in my lip gloss, I unsteadily tried to stand, knees weak, mind racing; I lost my balance and had to sit again. I was there. He was there. Somewhere. Waiting for me up on the street, he was there. He had taken a cab to meet me at the WTC stop, and he was there.

My palms... sweaty; I felt like my face was sweating, by whole body was clammy and scared and nervous and excited and shaking. Was I the girl that he remembered? Better? Different? Older. Smarter. In my head, I could hear my breathing; shallow. I heard the echo of my footsteps as if I were the only soul in that subway station, walking towards the stairs that would take me to him. My legs seemed slow and heavy, but I was still walking faster the closer I got to those stairs. Cold hand on the cold railing; stair one. Stair two.... Ten stairs, eleven... I could see the street now... Hundreds of feet shuffling by. I could smell the city, see the cabs, hear the commotion, honking, traffic and general stir that is NYC. I thought I might get sick and I wanted to cry... This was IT. This was the reunion that I had waited eight years for, and here it was. The one time in my life that this was going to happen, and I was living the moment.

I knew it was him; I knew his shoes. Don't ask me how, but I just knew it was him. I could see the leather, then the bottom of his jeans... sexy, they were. Very. I noticed that my nervous rush up the stairs had turned into a gentle, seductive strut, and as I could see more of him, more of me started to relax and loosen up. Knees... waist... chest... and there he was. Waiting for me. His dark, Italian complexion, his gorgeous, crooked smile, those eyes, that black hair. There he was. He stared back at me in what looked to be the same awe and bewilderment and uneasiness and happiness and what-now?!-ness that I stared back with... It seemed like 10 minutes we stood there, but it was seconds... And we laughed, and ran, and enveloped each other in what will forever be one of the most amazing embraces I will ever know.

My heart didn't slow down once that night, and as we shared our meal through three seperate couples at the table next to us, it was as if nothing had changed in the world that we had once known. Yet everything had. Everything was different, our worlds were different, and I knew that after that night, nothing would ever be the same.

Puffy Motherf*cking Clown Head

2007-05-16T10:22:00.000-06:00

You would not believe what I did last night. I... do not believe what I did last night. What I let my asshole, bastard, never-to-be-visited again hairstylist talk me in to. A man that should have known better; that DID know better, yet attempted to rape me of every penny that he could, regardless of the awful, life-altering consequences that he knew would follow.

I got a perm. A F*CKING PERM.

Well, it was more like a body wave... think sexy, tousled wave, more so than cute, tight curl. The pictures that I gave him (him = my hair guy) were absolutely adorable, and he promised, over and over, that he could do it on my hair. My hair that I'm trying so desparately to grow out... I even e-mailed him pics, stating that if he couldn't do it, to please tell me before I made the 50-minute drive to the east side of the city. "Aw, honey! No problem! It'll look amazing!" Even worse - in an Asian, flaming, FLAMING gay accent.

He knows my cut. He knows my color history. He knows my texture. HE is responsible for all of it... yet he felt that it was perfectly safe to PERM my hair. My BLONDE color-treated hair. With harsh chemicals, for two extra minutes, mind you, then sit me UNDER THE DRYER, BLOW DRY, TEASE, AND CURL my hair. Apparently it was a "new" type of perm, totally not harsh for ANY type of hair. Of course it wasn't. Of course. F*cking bastard.

Two and a half hours later, I sat in the chair with a sticky mixture of mascara and tears streaming down my face as two and three inch bits of "straw" fell into my lap, just breaking off like twigs... it was absolutely heart-wrenching. Another hour later, I finally freaked and stormed out...

I drove my car at a heart-stopping speed back to my side of the city - think the drunk chick in 40 Year Old Virgin, but add a miserable, bawling moan. There I was: hysterically sobbing; my clown puff bobbing up and down with each sigh and breath-catching heave of LOUD, obnoxious sobbing, black streaks running down my red cheeks. Windows down - people were pulling up next to me, staring with mixtures of shock and extreme humor at what they were seeing. It's like when you pull up next to someone singing in their car... except I was sobbing. Hysterically, like hyperventilatingly. With HUGE, puffy, dry, damaged, awful, wiggish hair. And angry black mascara running down my face.

I found another salon, whose staff, upon my entrance, took a collective gasp - and all immediately rushed to my side as if I had just entered an emergency room with an ax plunged into my skull... "OH.MY.GOD." "What can we do to help you?!" "Are you OK???" "We can fix this, just stay calm..." "What the hell happened?!" "Did you do this yourself?!" "Follow me... and don't look in the mirror until we're done..."

Me: "ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodthisisnothappeningthisisnothappening..."

An hour, an extreme haircut, three deep-conditioning treatments, an extra repair therapy, and $170 dollars later... I was left with a short-ish bob, that in about a week (and after my next four scheduled treatments) WILL be cute, believe it or not. But, NO blow dryer, NO flat iron, NO curling iron, NO hot water... for at minimum one week. My next assignment is to bring in the haircut that I want to have (now that that the one I DID want and DID have is non-existent and RUINED.)

I need help. Like, for the sake of my sanity, kind of help. What's the opinion on Jenny McCarthy's new bob?

Oh. And I started my period today. Can you imagine how mentally unstable I must truly be? I think it's literally beyond the level of my personal comprehension.

Like A Boob Job For My Confidence...

2007-05-08T07:42:00.000-06:00

"Pussy back! Tits out! Come on you sexy bitch, fucking make him want to fuck you!"

That's what Instructor shouted at us over the pulsating bass of the music and through the mysterious, sexy glow of the blacklights and fog.

That's how real strippers walk.

The good ones anyway, the sexy ones. The "moneymakers". And that's exactly how I strutted my ass around in my W.E.W. class last week... and damn, my body still hurts in places that I never even knew were places.

I was sweaty; breathing hard; pulling loose hairs away from my face, out of my eyes and out of my mouth. Off of my forehead. I spun on the golden pole of sexuality. I arched my back. I crawled across the floor like a "panther", like a "kitten" and like a "serpent". I wore six-inch stripper shoes with three-inch soles. I did a move called the "Kitchen Quickie".

It was amazing. I can't wait for class this week!

But I wonder, am I seriously in some kind of stripper training? I thought I was in an exercise class... but everyone seems to be taking it pretty damn seriously...

As I walked out, Instructor grabbed my ass, and playfully told me, "With an ass like that... You had better be wearing booty shorts next week..."

"And Now, On the Main Stage..."

2007-05-02T14:04:00.000-06:00

I signed up for an Women's Exotic Workout class.

I start tonight.

I. AM. SO. EXCITED.

I feel like I need a stage name. And a Pussy Cat Dolls get-up. Fishnets. Glitter eyeliner. Gloves that go all the way to my elbows.

Yeah.

I spoke with my instructor on the phone this afternoon, and she told me that if I wanted to have a cocktail or two during class, that I was more than welcome to. She used words like "tits" and "quickie" during our funny little conversation.

I might love her already.

I'm already feeling more liberated. A little racier. A male co-worker just walked by my office and gave me a wink. He must know that I hide a dirty, sexy little secret. I bet he was thinking, "You go, you nasty sex kitten, you. You naughty pole dancer. Rrrrar."

Are You Serious?

2007-05-01T08:52:00.000-06:00

OH it is SO easy to bitch about the bitch-worthy things, but when you're happy, you rarely report it. Is that just how it is in this blogging world? Anyway, I think you know what I mean. Well, what I mean is... It's always the petty, shitty stuff that seems to come to the surface, but the good stuff rarely makes it in writing. Aaggghh. What I really mean is... that my life doesn't suck and is generally (99%) fabulous! But the 1% that pisses me off usually makes it to the blog or to some other gossip outlet. Why the hell is that? Anyway, so what I just wrote totally makes sense in my head. But I think you get it.

I tried to get Boy to call in sick with me yesterday after a GREAT weekend of fun. We were exhausted from lots of sex and general fun-having, so we sort of agreed that it would be a fantastic day to play hooky. But then he apparently came to his senses and decided to be a grown-up and that it wouldn't make sense to call in just for a day filled with irresponsibility. OK. Bummer... but OK. Whatever.

So last night, we're chilling on the couch having a great night cuddling, as I imagine most happy couples that live in sin do. He mentions the infamous "guys-trip" of next weekend. And that instead of Friday, they've decided to leave on Thursday night and that we have to cancel our golf date. Me: "Oh. Umm, OK. Well I guess that's cool that you were able to get Friday off, huh?" Boy: "Nah. I'm just gonna call in sick."

Really.

I decided it was time for me to go to bed.

Erotic Sunflower Seeds... Apparently.

2007-04-27T08:36:00.000-06:00

OK, this post has no meaning but the story is definitley worth sharing. To be honest, I'm trying to conceal my smile at work as I'm typing... Everyone knows that smiling in the morning at work means that there's no actual work happening.

Last night, I awoke to the sound of the boy giggling like a little kid in his sleep. It made me giggle, and as I rolled over to hug him close in all of his sleepy, carefree innocence, I realized he had a massive hard-on, which made me laugh right out loud. It kinda, sorta woke him up and he stirred a little bit, so I asked him, "Babe, what the hell are you dreaming about?!" He responded (through his downright belly laughs, at this point), "Sunflower seeds!!!" He has no recollection of the event.

Maybe you had to be there.

One Month Later... A Bunch of Random Thoughts on Cohab

2007-04-26T08:03:00.000-06:00

Well. Holy shit. I've survived a month in the frustrating, fabulous, fun, f*d-up world of cohabitation. It's so weird, but so fun, and soooo good. I'm actually loving it, for the most part. There are few kinks that need to be worked out, yes - but that's only natural, right? Shit, two very bachelory and bacheloretty people have come together here.

I came home from the gym the other night to my boy making me dinner... so cute. Made my heart melt a little. So I came up behind him, wrapped my arms around him and realized it was the quintessential boy-meal: sloppy Joe's. Still cute. But then I saw it - the mustard. I kinda freaked. Me: "Mustard? Are you serious? You know I hate mustard! Why would you put mustard in sloppy Joe's when you know I hate it? Why would you do that anyway? That's disgusting. I'll gag." Boy: "Um. Hi honey. I, um, I'm sorry. I forgot." I instantly felt like an asshole. He eats everything; of course he forgot. He's a freakin' human being for God's sake. He looked like he was going to cry. F. I messed that one up. I felt so bad that I ate three and told him they were great. (If anyone ever figures out who I am, don't ever tell him that they were actually really, really good.)
I bought a bunch of stuff to decorate our place. You know, candles, picture frames, plants, wall stuff. I spent a bunch of money. He told me that I was a little anal about having everything done all at once and that maybe I should try to save some money instead of blowing it on things that we don't necessarily need. Of course that pissed me off and I told him that I since I bought all of that stuff that he 'gets' to purchase the new kitchen table. Like, I made him feel bad for NOT halfing my wild shopping spree expenditures with me. Adventures that he knew nothing of until post-adventure status. Jeez, I kind of AM an asshole. But if I don't buy stuff, we'd live in a bachelor pad, wouldn't we? Bare walls? NO kitchen table? No pretty (and -of course- essential) bathroom candles? No pics of us, family, friends? No curtains? I mean, that's how dudes are, right?
He's in a golf league. I'm jealous of his buddies and his nights out. He's very involved with an athletic team that takes up an almost unbelievable amount of time. (Without giving too much away, I will say that in his position, he really has no choice - but it still kinda sucks to miss him like I do!) Not that I mind the fun and benefits of his involvement:) But it's like he has this busy, busy life and I've kind of put mine on hold, I guess? Not his fault at all... I just sort of let it happen. Anyway I decided that not only am I going to start a poker night with a bunch of fun chicks to combat his poker nights, but I'm going to volunteer one night a week doing something. I'm going to get my MBA. And learn another language. We've sort of morphed into this entity (that I DO love being half of), and at the same time I've definitely abandoned my me-hood. I met him so shortly after I moved here that I didn't really have time to establish who I am as a solo artist here before I became part of this duet. Again... not his fault and I wouldn't change a thing. I just need to find those fun chicks!
We argue over dumb things... who has more closet space. (I win.) Where our tennis shoes go. (Entry/coat closet or bedroom closet?) If he should be allowed to put the whole case of Diet Mountain Dew in the fridge, or leave some in the pantry to make room for other fridge stuff. (He wins.) Where the big couch goes. Where the little stereo in the bathroom goes. Whether or not to have one or two rugs in the kitchen. Who gets the leftovers when there's only enough for one. (We take turns, now.) It's dumb... but every time we argue and conquer our personal stubbornity (yes, made it up), I feel like we really accomplish something as a couple, as a team, as partners... as small is our issue-of-the-moment may be.

Hmm. I think I intended to vent or complain here. But... I guess I don't really have a lot to complain about. I'm pretty lucky, now that I think of it. It's amazing what writing will do for perspective. I thought we had these "big issues", but looking back and reading them, I'm laughing at them and realizing how trivial they are, and how things could be. Somehow still, I'm exhausted from the fun, the newness, the tests of my patience, the adjustment of it all - but wouldn't change a thing. I kind of, sort of have this fear in the back of my mind that my life will get boring (by previous standards), but then again... we're both two extremely busy people with a LOT of wild stuff coming up this summer. If we survive the next four months... we're golden.

Headcase...

2007-03-27T13:31:00.000-06:00

Lately, the reality of cohabitation has been freaking me the f*ck out. I don’t swear anymore, so that’s extreme f*ing freak-out. My boyfriend and I are moving in together this weekend, and I. Am. Nervous.

There truly is no need to be, except for the fact that for the past three years, I’ve been traveling around the world, having amazing sex with strangers, intimate sex with lovers, and playful sex with friends. I’ve purchased Prada because I wanted to… I’ve slept in until the early twilight of evening… I’ve gone shopping instead of doing laundry for weeks at a time… I’ve partied for days on end with strippers, celebrities, foreigners, and politicians… I’ve left the country with no notice… I’ve flirted with women… I’ve survived solely on 3 Musketeers and walnuts when my bank account dried out due to excess shopping, traveling, drinking, and other exciting forms of binging. I’ve lived MY life. No questions asked. No answers given. And here I am. Settling down. FREAKING OUT.

The thing is… I’m ready for it. I think. And even if I weren’t, I’d be a FOOL to let this boy get away. (That’s a dumb thing to say, because if I weren’t truly ready then he’s obviously not “the one” I should be settling down with. I’m just saying.) Actually, after experiencing the things in life that I have – I should be (and I’m almost 100% sure that I am) ready to give a little and settle down. I can’t run wild forever, can I?

So. The boy. He’s amazing. He’s my best, best friend, and I can’t wait to do everything in life with him; to introduce this small-town heart throb to all the things that he’s never experienced… and vice versa. We laugh like little kids, we make love like every time is the first time, and we get along like we’ve grown up together. He hugs me, a lot. He smiles at me, a lot. He thinks I’m funny, and he’s absolutely gorgeous. He has an amazing family and he loves children. He puts up with my shit, always. He’s shown me what’s truly important in life, and no one else on this earth has ever given me that gift. So why am I so nervous?

I’m scared to lose that crazy, wild part of me that just doesn't give a f*ck. What if my 'free spirit' doesn't transcend cohabitational boundaries? I’m afraid of having to answer to someone when I decide that I need three weeks to myself to travel. Or that I need to paint a room yellow. Or that I need a parakeet. Or that instead of working, I want to call in sick so that I can drive and drive with no direction and no destination and with the music turned up all the way and end up in a place I've never been, but leave days later with friends I'll never forget. I’m sad, that in my heart, I know life won’t realistically ever be like that again. And the thing is, I knew it would happen someday. I mean, it has to. I don’t want to live a life where my boyfriend/husband doesn’t care what I do; where he’s ‘cool’ with me doing my own thing; where he’s ok with my wild ways and irresponsible behavior. I’m ready to be an adult. Or more adultish, anyway. (Hell, I’m 26. I’m not ready for pureed food, but I don't spend my days worried about snack time and show-and-tell anymore, either.) I just didn’t realize that adultish would sneak quietly up behind me, snap a thin metal wire around my gentle neck, wrench my unsuspecting body backwards with the furious force of Ares, and snicker annoyingly as I choke and struggle to stay breathing.

Good Lord… looking back and re-reading this, it sounds like I should be moving into a mental institution, not into a townhouse with the man of my dreams.

*Moment of clarity: To be honestly, fully, really, truthful, I think I’m scared the most that eventually, I won’t miss that crazy life I used to know… I’m scared that this love is the real thing, and that I really am ready. FUCK.

PORN. Puke.

2007-03-16T09:31:00.000-06:00

So. When it comes to porn, why do women see it so differently than men? Seriously. It makes me want to puke. A couple of months ago I hit 'eject' on my boyfriend's old-school bedroom VCR, only to find myself staring at a copy of "Aboriginal Sin". Puke. Of course I tried to be cool and act like it didn't bother me, while he briefly stared at me with that caught-picking-your-nose kind of look, then a coy, half-smile as he nervously laughed, "What?" What? What did he mean "what"? Puke.

The way he explained it to me is this: "Babe. It's harder for guys to get aroused than it is for chicks. I just want want to get it over with so I can take a nap. This seriously helps get me off faster. That's it." Oh, really? Why? Puke. I wanted to know why he couldn't just think of his girlfriend (ME). Why wouldn't that work? So is he thinking of those nasty, disgusting girls in whorish groups of four when he's with me? He gently explained to me that I just don't understand and that we have to agree to disagree on the porn issue. Because porn is different for guys and girls.

After the initial discovery of the disgusting porn, I asked him if it would be too selfish of me to request that he 'hides' his collection whenver I'm at his house. At this point, I was still in fairly 'new girlfriend' status, so I was still trying to be supercool about this horribly perverse discovery. He agreed. His 'hiding' place sucks, he just stacked them in his closet... but hey. He tried. Well, it's come up a time or two since then, and I asked him if he could live with out it. He said yes, and that was that. So I played -what I thought would be- a funny little joke. It totally backfired.

Fast forward to yesterday. In the morning, I decided to take all of the actual tapes, but leave the boxes stacked in his closet. Hey, if he doesn't even watch them anymore, he'd never notice - right? WRONG. He sent me a text message in the afternoon yesterday saying that I was "something else" and that I was "too cute". For a minute, I couldn't figure out what I'd done to deserve such random compliments, but then it hit me. He found the empty VHS boxes. I did not take this well, no matter how 'cute' it makes me look. What the HELL was he doing watching porn?! Well, trying to anyway...heh heh... (I feel gross just saying it. PORN.) And how often does he watch it, if he noticed it being gone only hours after I hid it? Puke.

I asked him how he would feel if every time we were apart, how he would feel if the only way I could do the deed was to look at other guys, watch thier huge, pornish man-parts, listen to their man-noises, fantasize over them - and not him. He won't even let me finish my argument before he gets all freaked out about it. So how the hell is it so different???

Am I an idiot because porn hurts my feelings?

(And oh yeah. I have a boyfriend now. A serious one. Already a six-monther. And already in the dog house.)

Bug is Back...

2007-01-17T11:17:00.000-06:00

Wow, how things can change in such a short amount of time... or is 5 months considered short? I don't know. Seems like a long time ago that I was worried about the "Good Pounding" guy, but at the same time it seems like I was so recently concerned with him. Anyway... it makes me laugh to look back and read that now. I mean, that was kind of funny, no matter how distasteful it was. "Good Pounding"? Who says that?! Even though I'm honestly (really) so over him, being that I'm a such a girl I just LOVE that GP guy is eating those bold words now...

I think I'm single...

2006-08-23T08:04:00.000-06:00

So. Dating. Hmm. I think my use of the word yesterday in reference to the man of the moment was a little too formal. I don't think that someone I'm dating would send me a text message that simply says "Good pounding the other night.", especially after not having spoken for a couple of days. Am I wrong about this? I've been avoiding the whole dating scene for awhile now; is this what I've come back to? Originally, emotional ignorance was one of the reasons I vacated the scene in the first place, but has it only gotten worse since I've been gone? Maybe I never should've left. It seems that if I'd snatched a mate up sooner, I might've caught a good one before he reached the level of complete oblivion regarding gentlemanly conduct.

Then again, this single thing has really been working out well for me. Maybe I'll just stick to it; cherish each moment I have of not catering to a significant other. Each precious second of not having to deal with the bullshit of a relationship, wondering what he's thinking. Is he thinking of me? How do I make this work? Does he wonder if I think about him? How do I keep his interest? Does the think of me thinking of him? Am I the only one? (Did I mention that this is a long-distance thing?) Wow.

A simple glance over what I've just written tells me one thing: That I seriously need to focus on something other than this dude, as it's completely turned me into that girl that cares waaaaay too much about -this dude. I don't really want to spend a whole lot of time caring about any dude for that matter, as I have a plethora of other things to worry about right now. Namely, adjusting to my new life in my new city with my new friends and my new job. New guy just might be pushing it.

Not Exactly Snug...

2006-08-22T11:53:00.000-06:00

So there's something to be said about the anonymity of a blog. I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I can tell you all of my secrets, my dreams, my thoughts... I'm new to blogging, so I'm hoping that I don't get carried away, but we'll see how this goes. Welcome to my life.

First of all, you can call me Bug. I've been known as Bug since the day I was born. No, not because of some crazy birth defect or anything like that, it's just a nickname that two very special women gave to me 25 years ago, and it stuck like a bug on a windshield. (Ok, that was sick. Sorry.)

Not only am I new to blogging, I'm new to a lot of things in my life at the moment. I'm new to the city I live in, I'm new to my job, I'm new to my circle of friends, new to the guy that I'm, um, dating(?)... pretty much everything. 99.9% of the time, I'm an incredibly upbeat, funny, energetic, outgoing person, but lately I've been a bit down about things; I miss my old life more than I know how to express. I thought maybe this would be a good way to alleviate a little bit of the stress, uncertainty, regret, sadness and frustration that I've been holding in about where I've come to find myself in recent months...

Let's hope it works.