A: Because he never thinks he has to play by the same rules as all the other players.
I wrote about accepting all the horrible things a guy might say to me if I finally told him I cared. I wasn't asking for any explanation of said possible things, I was just recognizing the possibility of those things happening and realizing he was worth all that pain. Like my buddy pointed out tonight no one really "knows" anyone else (don't fuck with me on this point, I'm versed in epistemology) . . . all we have are our beliefs. I finally got to a point where I was certain the pain of losing this guy was something I was prepared to live with. But not getting a chance to try . . . well that was a regret I was not prepared to accept.
Apparently the feeling was not mutual, he still needed more facts. Sorry I didn't come with a receipt and a 30 day money back guarantee. On that note, I hate working the return desk of Marshalls. I hate having to tactfully call people out on lying.
I can be wrong about the facts. I can misunderstand all the reasons. I can miss all the clues.
But how I feel is very much real. And as I've stated previously in past arguments, you can't really argue with feeling.
Love her infatuation with life. "Je vais à l'amour." Although her last words are a topic of speculation, I like the idea of "making love" (and all the anticipation leading up to it) representing a kind of . . . monument to life.
and quite frankly if I could just as easily learn from a book what I could learn from you . . . I'd prefer the book at this junction in my life. The book would be less intellectually stifling but more stimulating and it would fit easily into my schedule (not to mention my purse).
For those of you who haven't seen Night at the Museum 2: Battle of the Smithsonian, my personal recommendation would be to see it. Or sneak in to see the last 10 minutes of it or so. From the moment Larry Daley (Ben Stiller) meets Amelia Earhart (Amy Adams) he is under the impression she doesn't know she's not real and that she has no idea what is going on. He struggles with telling her through the majority of the film. The kicker: she knew, just acted like she didn't . . . it was funner that way. Just as phony as can be, but it wouldn't be make believe if you believed in me. I'm the kind of person that doesn't like to know how the magic trick is performed. I'd prefer to be entertained by it. It's too much . . . enjoy the show.
If Wes is playing it cool, I'm having another drink and going home . . . alone. Fuck. That. Shit.
I ventured to a new establishment to get my Canadian Stomp on Thursday night. I hung out with a girl from work, Nick 1 (who is madly in love with her) and Nick 2 (her sister's boyfriend). I had a real good time and met some new comer to the whole line-dancing scene, Wes. Wes was there with this real beautiful blond and her friend and her friend's boyfriend. I guess he had talked with Nick & Nick before and came over to make some small talk before the next dance. We all told him he was the Mac for scoring such a hottie and he said that he wasn't actually with her. We all started fueling his confidence telling him stuff like, oh man don't worry she's so into you, you'll get her number before the night is over . . . blah blah blah (she was actually into him by the way . . . sooooo obvious). He had a pimp Hans Solo moment and goes, "I know." So what was the problem, why wasn't he actually "with" her, then? I asked him when the last time he went on a date was and he said this past Sunday actually. Oh so there's the problem, he actually likes another girl and he doesn't want to get this one's hopes up. Admirable, Wes, admirable. Let her down easy.
"So you really like the girl you went out with on Sunday, Wes?" I ask.
"Oh yeah, she was fantastic."
"Great when are you going out with her again?"
"We were supposed to go out tonight but I canceled to come here."
There were no words, I just looked at him as confused as could be so he felt a need to explain. "I really like her and I want to see if she likes me as much as I like her."
"So you canceled on her to come here with a girl that is throwing herself at you but that you don't really like."
Now girls have been accused of having some pretty fucked up logic when it comes to dating but . . . this is absolutely nuts (I would like to point out that the last guy to accuse me have having fucked up logic did so through a make-believe myspace profile in order to see how much I cared about him after he "the real" him. . . er, the . . . oh nevermind, called me skeevy). Absolutely nuts. Nuts. "So when are you gonna call her, Wes, The Sunday Kind of Love, gal?"
"Oh, I'm going to wait until she calls me."
"Wes . . . you really like her, though, right?"
"Oh man, yeah, I didn't know girls like her were out there."
"But you're sure you're going to wait until she calls you, right? I mean you're sure that's the way to go?"
"Definately."
"Wes, before Sunday, when was the last time you went on a date?"
"Four years ago." I must have shook his unwavering confidence in the situation . . . because he suddenly asked, "Do you think she'll call?"
"Wes, you're here with this beautiful blond who . . . yep . . . she just shook her booty at you and all you can think about is that girl. Honey, you're asking the wrong person the wrong question."
I walked to my car in the rain that night. But it was a good rain. If you can't swim don't try to fly.
And I did call . . . just never seemed to be on time.
Posting more sporadic for the next few weeks at least. Stress is a part of it but it's more like breaking through glass, finding a new home, but always fearless at heart. Just in case, Pixie Lott's cover of Use Somebody is the default Saturday Night Lullaby.
There wasn't a 12 year old girl in '96 and '97 that didn't tape this song off the radio. ♥
Ttonight my fortune cookie fortune read, "The smart thing to do is to start trusting your intuition." But further confirming my fortune's message were the events leading to me getting that particular fortune. The Chinese take-out was HORRIBLE . . . barely edible. And my intuition while we flipped through menus was to order pizza. See?
I recounted this weekend's events to my friend today and knowing my medical history she gasped at what my gut told me to order Sunday. I likened it to breaking your finger so you wouldn't focus on the pain of a bullet wound. I can remember my doctor handing me a list of items not to eat and drink and hearing myself muttering, "But this is ALL I eat." I'd rather die happy with a fire in my belly I suppose.
they came on the car radio and I didn't have the heart to turn them off. Thanks WERS 88.9, The Left End.
While the Miracle Fortress' video kind of scares me . . . it's the song that hits all the right chords and makes my soul the soul that it is. Maybe Lately . . . I just feel so torn open.
" you may not be her first, her last, or her only. she loved before, she may love again. but if she loves you now, what else matters ? she's not perfect - you aren't either, and the two of you may never be perfect together. but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. she may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break - her heart. so don't hurt her, don't change her, don't analyze and don't expect more than she can give. smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she's not there."
