I’m a Britney Spears song

I’m still hanging out with Bachelor #3. We’re in quite the grey area right now and it’s too soon to ask him to define anything, lest I send him running for the hills. Yes, I am aware it’s my own fault. And while things are going well and we seem to have moved past the misunderstandings we’ve had, I still consider him a flight risk. But mostly, I like him. I like the way he laughs, and that we can talk about anything, and I love the way he teases me, and holds my hand, and remembers random things I tell him, and etc etc etc. I don’t like that he’s still trying to maintain some sort of distance and that I am stressing out about even texting him right now because he’s obviously not ready for something serious and I need to respect that and why is dating so FUCKING hard? I’m also just biding my time until he disappears. At which point, my only logical thought process will be

You know all the rules – don’t appear too eager, let him come to you, play hard to get, etc.

Rules, that by the way, make us look like…

And if I follow them or I don’t, it never really matters.  They disappear anyway. In fact, I am curious as to why B3 hasn’t disappeared already. We made plans to hang out this past Sunday and watch football, so I asked him if he wanted to pick me up before the first games started. He said it would depend on how late he was out on Saturday. I spent a good portion of the early hours of Sunday morning convinced he was blowing me off, and it was over, when it reality, he only ended up picking me up 30 minutes later than I had originally suggested.

We ended up having a lot of fun, but now I’m not sure what our next plan is.

What I WANT to do is ask him to go to Catalina for the day or something, because as much as I love watching sports with him, we need to do something else, but I’ll probably come off looking like this:

So, there’s the part of me that thinks he likes me and he’s just not ready, and the other side of me that thinks he’s Gamey McPlayerson. Except … I don’t know – take Mr. Titspervert for example. He told me he didn’t want anything serious and dropped off the face of the planet. B3 told me he didn’t want anything serious but is sticking around for whatever reason. Between Mr. TP and John Doe, my basis for comparison is so fucked up I don’t know my head from my ass:

This is all very confusing. I’ll see myself out.

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Emotional Russian Roulette

Well, not really, but my subconscious hates me!

Even though I haven’t seen or talked to John Doe in around six months, he was in my dream last night, and my subconscious was NOT kind to me.

Basically our parents were meeting and BFFs because him and I were going to build a life together – I mean, literally the exact opposite of reality in every possible way.  Very few times I wake up and immediately want to cry, but today was one of them.  I haven’t thought about him in a while but that didn’t stop some part of me deciding to go ahead and drag me back to 2007.  That’s cool, whatever.

Don’t you worry, I am not clinging to the hope that he’ll every change his mind, but I think what’s truly prevented me from fully accepting that and moving on is because I’m lacking any type of closure.  It’s more gutting than anything that we can’t be friends or have a normal, adult conversation.  And I know I need to just realize it will never happen but it makes me so sad.  On the bright side, it’s almost 1 pm and I’ve refrained from crying at work, so there’s that.

Why don’t you tell me I’m pretty??

When I lived in my old apartment at 2020 N Hell, we often threw epic parties.  It started with “Fall into Fall ’07”, which was such a success that we also created Spring into Spring the next two years, in addition to at least two more Fall into Falls.

Here is a glimpse of what our fridge looked like before one of our parties:

Who needs food when you can just serve jello shots??

Out of all of our parties, my personal favorite, by far, was Spring into Spring, 2009.  While we didn’t throw it until the last weekend of May, that’s still spring, technically speaking.

That was the first, last, and only time John Doe was at my apartment.  I guilted him into showing up because it was my psuedo birthday celebration (not that he knew when my birthday was.  I had to remind him).

He didn’t get there until around 2 am, and showed up with his friend Harold, who none of my friends could stand.  Actually, none of them could stand John Doe either, but they tolerated him through gritted teeth because they knew it was important to me and they’re amazing.

The party was still going strong when they got there – so much so that as I let them in, JD pointed out that someone had puked on our stairs on their way out of the party.  Gross.  (We never did figure out who the culprit was and Steph earned a mega gold star for attempting to clean it up since our landlord would have taken weeks to do it, if he even did.)

At one point, I was sitting on his lap when he looks at me and says, “that’s an interesting dress.”

With about eight gallons of liquid courage in me, I responded, “John, why can’t you just tell me I’m pretty?”  He said something along the lines of, “I assume you knew I thought that.”  Well when you NEVER compliment me, no, I don’t.

Anyway, I decided to put on his Red Sox hat with my “interesting” dress, the result of which is the below:

As you can see, there is nothing whatsoever interesting about this dress.  It’s just plain and black.

I can’t remember if this was taken before or after Courtney pulled me off his lap and dragged me into the kitchen to yell at me.  Good times.