I have been VERRRRY lazy today. It’s definitely a Sunday. I woke up at noon and finally got out of bed by 1:00. The one block walk with the dogs wore me down so much that I was seriously considering a nap by 2:30. The nap never happened, but I did lay on the bed for most of the day. I still lay on that bed as I write, having not moved very much at all in the past few hours. I can feel my muscles atrophying.
MotorcycleInstructor came over last night, ever so briefly. Yes, we resolved the Friday turkey sandwich incident. He called me, of course, because I certainly would not have called him again. I DO NOT chase men. We each explained our side of what happened, he didn’t understand that I thought he was condescending and I didn’t understand his assessment that I went “psycho.” We’ve really got the makings of a beautiful, committed, communicative relationship in the works. Uh, ok, maybe not.
Don’t judge yet. These infuriating events help me care less and less for the day when he exits my life. I agree with all of you who have commented, both in person and on the blog, that it shouldn’t be this hard. I’m letting it die a slow painful death and in the spirit of getting back to the basics of what I do worst, I’m officially in the dating game again. I posted profiles on Yahoo and Match, and so far I’ve attracted most of the current residents and several alumni from the We-be-missing-some-teeth-Trailer Park. I might have to date some of them just for fun. And the fuckers at “It’s Just Lunch” have called again. So, we’ll see what shitpile they are going to dump me into later this week. Can’t wait.
Tonight I agreed to help BestGuyFriend-M move some things to his new place. I know, I know, I had that whole diatribe on Friday’s post that I’m no longer operating the favor train. But, M hasn’t burned me yet so I’ll still give him a shot.
You have to find out what kind of cologne Jeff wears for me. You don’t seem like the type, normally, to hit people with food, and yet you still let him come over after he pissed you off that much. So it has to be his cologne, which sneaks in, under the guard of your conscious mind, and convinces your Id to give him yet another chance. I need some of that cologne.
Oh, the things I could do with that cologne.
See, most guys would assume that he has an enourmous penis. But he’s already way past everything an enourmous penis can accomplish. So I’m guessing it’s cologne.