Hell Week Isn't Just For The Military

I’ve come to the conclusion that I am never, ever, EVER moving again. Ever.

EVER!

When am I moving again?

Never.

Good, just so we are clear.

What is it about the process of moving that throws one’s life into complete and utter disarray? Even things not connected to the move itself seem to hit the fan and scatter like confetti. Leaving me with the feeling that the only thing to help pick up the pieces is my bad back and a pair of chop sticks.

I’m actually amazed that I’m able to sit here and write some of this out at all as I’ve been hit with a severe case of writer’s block. I can only hope that once I get settled into my new place I am able to resume my often times unfair yet cathartic bashing of dating, love and the male population in general.

But, I have a confession to make. I’ve been holding out on you. My heart does belong to someone. It has for quite some time. Longer than I care to admit. And much to my dismay, this feeling is completely one sided. It has left me feeling empty, hurt, frustrated, angry and sad. All at the same time.

I only bring this up now because upon leaving my apartment I also left “him” behind. I’ve struggled for a while about whether or not to even write about him. Putting my feelings into words and onto paper somehow just makes it more real that there will never be an “us” and I have once again failed in the romance department.

Think back 2 ½ years. I was new to the building having just moved in three weeks prior. He lived two doors down from me. The only reason we met was because I had a botched booty call that arrived 3 hours later than expected while I was long asleep. My neighbor had run into him in the hall at 5am while he was roaming around telling anyone who would listen that he was there to see “the girl in 206”. The booty call and I never connected but the next afternoon I was paid a visit from The Neighbor to make sure I was ok and that the guy wandering through the building wasn’t a serial killing psycho.

After much apologizing and trying to conceal my embarrassment from the very cute neighbor, he left. I thought he was sweet and cute yet my fear of rejection kept me from asking if he was single or taken. Two weeks later I ran into him again. Twice in one day. To this day I’ll swear it was fate as I’ve only run into him once the whole rest of the time I lived there. The second time around I was coming home from the bar (read: drunk) and no longer felt the trepidation of asking him over for a cocktail. He said yes and the rest was history.

Over the course of the 2 ½ years I lived there I fell hard for The Neighbor. When trying to explain my feelings for him, I was without words. Having feelings so strong that no words could even do them justice is something I haven’t felt in almost 10 years. In fact, I’ve never felt that spark with anybody like I’ve felt it with him. Smelling his scent, feeling his lips on mine literally make my heart pitter patter (Lame? Yes. Shut up). My heart aches when he isn’t around. I think about him when I wake up, I think about him during the day, I think about him when I’m lying alone in bed at night. When I’m on a date or with another man, it’s him I long for. How does one explain these things without sounding like some crazy stalker chick? All I know is, I haven’t felt this way about a man in a decade and I can literally feel my heart breaking when all I hear is an echo to my declarations of love and affection.

Being single for so long, I’ve become quite selfish. I won’t deny it. I own it. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to relate to men in anything more meaningful than a sexual relationship. I’ve lost my patience with getting to know someone and having to deal with their issues and hang ups. I’ve become bored, stagnant, and cynical. Simply put, I just don’t care anymore.

I had a friend tell me a few years back that I had an attraction to men that were not available to me. He claimed that I used it as a defense mechanism. I argued profusely thinking that was just another cheesy way of saying I had my “walls up”. For God’s sake, who doesn’t have walls? Who isn’t a little apprehensive when it comes to matters of the heart? I did not want to be put into the category of women who relied on stupid excuses to rationalize their poor choices when it came to dating. Fuck that noise.

But I’m starting to see the patterns. Men that are married, not interested, GAY I have found myself enamored with. Men that are gentle and sweet, available and eager to open their hearts to me I find repulsive and annoying. I have become a fucking cliché.

So, when the neighbor happened along, I didn’t know how to react. I became THAT girl. I played hard to get, then laid it all out on the table, and then acted as though I didn’t care. When I didn’t get the desired response I would become angry and hurt. No wonder he got confused. I took being passive-aggressive and made it into an art form. In other words, I blew it. The part that upsets me the most is that I knew what I was doing yet couldn’t seem to stop it. Now it’s too late. I was so close to something I’d wanted for so long that I let it consume me and I fucked it all up.

He insists that I would bore of him if he ever gave in to me. Knowing my history, he may be right. Perhaps, that’s why I want him so bad. As if knowing I can’t have him all to myself makes me long for him even more.

I don’t take full responsibility for why things didn’t go as planned. He was far from perfect and had his own issues. He was often too busy to make time to walk the 15 feet to come say hi, even if he was home. Promising to make time for me “soon” every time I asked to come over. Always full of excuses as to why we couldn’t make a legitimate plan and stick to it. To this day, I’m not sure if his actions were in response to my attitude or if my attitude was in response to his actions. Either way, I’ve had to come to terms that he just can’t (or won’t) give me what I need to feel fulfilled and cared for. Not to mention, I’m not so sure I want to be in a relationship with a man that takes Tom Lykus’ relationship advice as gospel.

So, in leaving my apartment, I also left my apartment romance. I know I will never live there again and I know I will never see him again. If I could barely get him to visit me when I lived two doors down I know better than to expect a visit from him when I’m 15 miles away. But this is a good thing. That chapter of my life is now over. It’s time to move on. I can no longer waste my feelings on somebody that clearly does not feel the same way. I can’t fault him for not returning the strong feelings I have for him. I myself have often been in his shoes. You can’t force love. You can only offer it and hope that it gets returned.

With all this in mind, I consider myself on the rebound and the best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody. Hello, new city….hello, new men…hello, new stories…

Consider yourselves warned….;-)

If I could kick my own ass...

…I would. Twice.

This morning I woke up with the stark realization that I was all alone and there are only two episodes of my beloved “True Blood” left on HBO. I’m not sure which upset me the most. Unfortunately, HBO has yet to consult with me in regards to their show line-up and when they should be allowed to take a hiatus. I seem to have even less control over my downwardly spiraling love life.

Why am I so excruciatingly cheerful today? I’m glad you asked. Let’s backtrack two days…

Wouldn’t it just figure that within hours of deleting Nigeria #2 from my Facebook he would once again intrude into my already desperate life. Considering he has well over 300 friends I hardly thought he would notice. Whether or not he really had remains to be seen. All I know is that this is my life and therefore I’m not entirely surprised at his timing. I just didn’t feel like being constantly updated on his work ventures and all the reasons as to why he just didn’t have time for me.

Minding my own business and enjoying my self induced isolation I turned on a Dateline rerun and busted out my knitting. I can party like a rockstar and fuck like a pornstar but when all is said and done I’m really just a nerd…with a great rack.

My phone buzzed alerting me that I had a new text message. I went to check it and there it was…“What’s up Melissa?” Who knew that such an innocent question could piss me off so much? Never mind that his text was about 2 weeks late and he spelled my name wrong.

Me: Hey N2
N2: What’s up?
Me: Not much. U?
N2: Very busy, took time off this weekend but still worked a bit. I wanna start traveling more,
Me: Traveling is good. Gives u a chance to regroup
N2: How’s dating?
Me: Fine, I guess
N2: I’ve stopped trying to date. I figure things will happen when it happens.
Me: Good for you
N2: Thank you lol

After his last text I didn’t bother responding. He was clearly fishing and I wasn’t biting. Here was a guy that had fucked me twice, told me that my biological clock was about to start ticking and then left me high and dry with the old “I’m just too busy with work” excuse.

The only thing I got out of that experience was a cup of coffee and a bruised ego. He wasn’t even good enough in bed for me to keep as a booty call just for the sake of being local. Listen, if I’m going screw just for the sake of screwing I have plenty of other assholes in my arsenal with bigger cocks to hit up.

It really is such a shame because I could’ve seen myself liking this guy. Despite his knack for telling time he did seem to have a decent head on his shoulders and the most amazing upper body allowed by law. He was complimentary and seemed to be a rising star in his new business venture. He had even indicated that we were looking for the same things in terms of relationship and family. But I fucked him, he fucked up and it was time to move on. Perhaps, if he had just been honest with me from the beginning I would still be interested in keeping him around.

But the story doesn’t end there. Three hours later…

N2: Hey, what you doing tonight?
Me: (NOT seeing you!) I’m not feeling well so I plan on staying in bed.
N2: K. Get better
Me: Thanks.

And the next day:

N2: Wanna come over later?

What was it with this guy? Could he smell my desperation? Am I in heat? That’s the only reason I could see for this dog to come sniffing around again. Did I take the bait? Hell yeah, I did. Hey everybody, look at me! I’m the girl that can talk a lot of shit but what it all boils down to is that sometimes I need to feel wanted.

I dragged my pathetic ass over to his place like a wounded puppy. Once there, we chit chatted for a little bit. None of which held any interest for me. I have also yet to open up to him about my current situation in regards to money and work. In his presence I just want him to shut up and get naked. Funny how I can let this man see me in the buff but I can’t bring myself to let him know how fragile my psyche is at the moment. I’m not about to explain to him how I feel that if I walk too hard my whole world is going to come crashing in on itself.

He finally shut the hell up and we got down to business. I was ready to leave when he started asking me questions. “Are you working?” “Have you thought about going back to school?” “Have you checked Starbucks?” The last time I was there he told me I needed to start thinking about having babies and now he was suggesting I go sling coffee? He started off making suggestions on how I could better my situation like I was some retard that hadn’t thought of them yet myself. For some reason, I didn’t quite feel like explaining myself to him anymore. He started to drift off and I got up and got dressed. When I knelt down beside him on the bed to say I was leaving he looked startled.

N2: You’re leaving? I thought you were going to stay the night?
Me: I never said I was going to stay.
N2: Oh, I see. You just come and use me for sex (smirking). You show up at midnight, sleep with me and then leave. There aren’t that many of us out there.
Me: Oh, there are plenty of you out there.

I locked his door on my way out and headed home. Suddenly more depressed than I was before I got there. When I woke up this morning and realized that I was alone and hadn’t taken him up on his invitation to stay I was devastated. I was somewhat surprised by this feeling as I actually hate sharing my bed. I’ve gotten so used to sleeping alone that when my personal space is impeded upon I get restless and have a hard time sleeping. Or maybe my choice of bedfellows lately hasn’t exactly been worthy of staying over.

I think I’m gonna swear off men for a little while…