It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, who the fuck a… February 28, 2006

It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, who the fuck am I kidding.

I deluded myself into thinking the something broken was suddenly fixed just because we had a couple of great nights, just because the phrase “moving in” was brought up.

Guess what? Still broken. Surprise, surprise.

I’ll spare you the specifics. It’s the same old, really: my feelings just don’t seem to be high on his priority list sometimes.

Problematic, no?

He doesn’t see it that way. He sees it as me reading into things, overanalyzing, being overly sensitive.

Also problematic, no?

I cried on the subway today. I was fine until this girl kinda pushed this guy when she was trying to get off the train and he got in her face and screamed at her and the train was so packed and she looked so scared and he was so mean and loud and borderline out of control and I was already emotionally unstable this morning because of the Boy and how cranky and therefore hurtful he was and…

Hence, tears.

(You: “Clink, why the hell are you always crying on the subway.” Me: “Because it’s really the only part of my day when I have time to think. And also, I’m usually listening to Coldplay. That doesn’t help.”)

You’re sick of reading about this, I’m sure. I’m sick of writing about this, that’s for DAMN sure.

I’ve got to talk to him. I will talk to him.

Saturday night: wine, pizza, bitching about my roo… February 27, 2006

Saturday night: wine, pizza, bitching about my roommate.

“She hasn’t paid me FEBRUARY RENT YET.”

“I know, baby.”

“Let alone FOUR MONTHS OF UTILITIES.”

“She sucks.”

“I HATE her.”

“I know you do.”

“Plus she TOTALLY stole my last Venus razor head.”

“Are you trying to tell me you haven’t shaved your legs tonight?”

“Shut up. Where’s the waiter? I need another glass of wine.”

Then he said it. Out of the blue. I was mid-sip and I subsequently drank a little too much and it burned the back of my throat and my eyes started to tear a bit.

I believe the exact words were: “Well, I wouldn’t be averse to moving in with you. I just want the next place I…well, we…live in to be one that I…well, we…own. You know?”

I’ve thought about it, I’m not going to lie. More so lately. There was a morning, a string of moments last month that got me thinking about it. We made pancakes. We did dishes. We got into a water fight. We watched The Big Chill in our pajamas. We read the Sunday paper, leaning up against each other on the couch, commenting on various articles. We fell in and out of naps. We scrubbed his bathtub. We wiped his counters.

It was domestic. It was bliss. It was, gasp, domestic bliss.

Ever since then – when I spend a night alone – I think of how nice it would be to come home to him each and every night.

He wouldn’t be “averse” which isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement. And obviously it’s not going to happen tomorrow.

But y’all can be sure as hell that I spent the morning looking for one-bedrooms in our price range.

We just found out that he might be leaving Sunday…. February 24, 2006

We just found out that he might be leaving Sunday. For over a month. Job-related, of course.

The pit in my stomach, the fact that I miss him already, the agony my body is anticipating… that can’t be nothin’ but love, right?

In other news, I accidentally left my cell phone at his apartment this morning. In addition to feeling like one of my limbs is missing (I swear, I hear the little LG flip vibrating even though I am in Manhattan and it is currently in Queens), I’m a little nervous. Not because I have anything to hide but because if he does decide to take a gander at my text message inbox, there are some texts that can be misconstrued as me being less than faithful.

Namely, College Ex’s recent text: “I love you.”

He was responding (drunk) to me telling him that our college basketball team had won a close one. No, it wasn’t an appropriate response and no, it will not sound terribly believable if I have to explain it to the Boy. I should’ve deleted it. I didn’t. Now I’m a bit worried. College Ex does not, in fact, love me (I don’t think he ever did, actually) but that’s not going to make the Boy feel any better now is it?

I can only hope that he’s a better person than I am. Because (yeah, I’ll admit it) I’d probably scroll through his texts if the situation were reversed. Maybe check out some recent received/dialed calls. You know. I’ve never had exceptionally good willpower.

We shall see. You think he’ll do it? Would you do it?

A start. February 23, 2006

On the crosstown bus home from two bottles of wine, a bucket of mussels and one of my best friends, I thought: “I need this to be good.” I even crossed my fingers. And closed my eyes. It’s the closest to prayer I think I’ve ever gotten.

He was coming over sometime after midnight. Because sports people? They have crazy hours. I was thankful. It gave me time to shower. To lotion. To polish.

I toyed with the idea of slipping into the pink lace halter dress–n–thong ensemble. I even put it on again, just for a moment. Then I delicately placed it back in my unmentionables drawer because having it on when he came home would’ve decidedly set a tone I didn’t want to set. Would’ve covered everything up with sweat, grinding, pulling, biting and kissing. I love all those things, don’t get me wrong. But they’re superficial. They’re a quick coat of paint over a spot of mold. They hide what’s ugly but the rot is still there.

It just looks better.

I ended up falling asleep after The Daily Show. I didn’t wake up until he had already taken his suit off, until he was lying next to me stroking my back in just his boxers.

“You’re gorgeous.” He kissed my shoulder. I was in one of his tee shirts, my hair falling out of my ponytail, my face rumpled from sleep.

We didn’t talk about anything, if that’s what you’re expecting. I couldn’t ruin the moment. I couldn’t ruin the night. It just felt too good. It just felt like us, circa this summer. It just felt right again.

This morning I was wide awake at 7. He turned onto his side, pulled me into his chest, whispered “I looove you,” yawned, kissed me and went back to sleep.

All the insecurities in my head were laid to rest at that moment.

Maybe me not bringing anything up, maybe me getting wrapped up in sweet words and really soft sex was just another way of covering things up, of hiding the ugly under a coat of “wow, this feels so right again.”

Only time will tell. But I didn’t cry myself to sleep last night and I didn’t feel empty on the subway this morning. That, my friends, is a start.

Fuck. Just…fuck. How did it come to this? How did… February 22, 2006

Fuck. Just…fuck.

How did it come to this? How did I go and accidentally let someone else determine my ultimate happiness on a day-to-day basis? Why does that someone else make me sad more often than he makes me happy? Why does he always fall short of my expectations? Why does he always let me down? Why do I feel so vulnerable and insecure? Why am I still in this? Why am I looking to get out of this? Why do I want to cry when he sleeps on his side, back turned to me? Why do I feel so much love for him in the morning, when he’s sleeping, that it physically hurts? Why can’t I believe him when he says nice things? Why is he all words and no actions? Why do I feel really cold and frighteningly sad when I think of losing him? Why am I afraid to put this all out there? Why do I think I should keep it to myself because he’ll get defensive, because we might break up over it? Why am I so terrified of breaking up? Is it him? Is it me?

I don’t want to let him go.

I don’t want to talk to him about it.

I don’t want to feel like this anymore.

I don’t want to know what it’s like to not have him in my life anymore.

I don’t want all of my showers, subway rides, drinks with friends to be dominated by these thoughts.

I don’t want to hear from my best friend that she thinks he’s a “stepping stone” for me.

I don’t know what to do.

I just want to snap my fingers and have us be the “us” I know we can be.

On to more pressing matters… February 21, 2006

He got me lingerie for Valentine’s Day.

A pink lace halter dress type thing that makes my chest look fucking spectacular.

Just this weekend I tried it on (he went with a small – bless his heart. I’m usually a medium but the outfit fit like a glove, which, I believe, is the whole point of lingerie). I pranced around my bedroom for a bit. I put my hair up, down, half-up. I looked at myself from every angle.

And then I totally flipped out. Because LINGERIE?

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve bought some very sexy bras and very tiny panties and worn them under clothes and have gotten very nice reactions from men when said clothes come off.

But this? This is a whole new level. You don’t take off your clothes and – oh hey! Look! A pink lace halter dress underneath!

No, no, no. You answer the door in lingerie. You undo a robe and reveal lingerie. He finds you in bed lounging in lingerie.

So, to the more sexually seasoned among you: how the hell do I go about this? I want a low-cheese, high-sexy factor. And no, I will not do some sort of half-assed striptease thing set to Cocker’s “You Can Leave Your Hat On” – those are better left to the professionals.

I just don’t know if I should be sitting in bed, casually reading a book when he comes in, all “Hi baby! Oh this old thing?” Or if I should come out of the bathroom wearing it and strike a pose in the doorway to my bedroom. Or if I should change into it in front of him, ask him to get the clasp.

The thing is, he asked about it the other day. Asked if I had tried it on, asked if it looked as great as he imagined it would. So obviously he’s itching to see me in it.

Sadly, my knowledge of lingerie and how to wear it for a man extends solely to Melrose Place, a mystical land where real clothes didn’t exist, everyone was in lingerie all the time. And it was completely natural.

Yeah, not so much.

Oh, man. I’m going to have to get so drunk.

See, there’s this mythical boyfriend who lives in … February 20, 2006

See, there’s this mythical boyfriend who lives in my head.

And instead of roses, lingerie and diamonds for Valentine’s Day, he gets me something obscure, cool and out of the blue that he knows I’ll love. Oh, and tulips.

And instead of using “attractive” and “sexy” to describe the physical, he uses “beautiful” – to describe everything.

And he loves telling people about the first moment he saw me.

And he counts from our first date, not from four months later when he decided to make it official.

And my parents talk and talk and talk about him on the way home from brunch with a tone in their voice that lets me know they realize I’ve got something wonderful.

And he’s not quiet and reserved around my friends. He’s the one asking them to tell stories about me from back in the day, before I knew he existed.

And he leaves me random voicemail messages, just letting me know he’s thinking of me.

And the thought of him cheating doesn’t occur – or barely occurs – because he makes me feel so secure. Like we’re in it together.

And in the morning, on the subway, all day at work, when I’m out with friends…I don’t feel so empty. Or, if I do, I can at least tell him about it.

And when I’m crying in bed for no reason at all, he hugs me. Without me having to ask.

And he wants to read my short stories, encourages my writing, recognizes it as a passion.

And every once in a while, he’ll indulge me and do the grand gesture thing because he wants to make sure – in no uncertain terms – that I know I’m loved.

Maybe I’m more afraid of being lonely than I am of being with someone I know isn’t right for me.

Or is it that I’m afraid to give up on this thing too soon, for fear that it is for real and we’re just going through some “growing pains” right now.

Either way, crying myself to sleep at night is getting really old.

Sadly, the most notable thing that’s going on in m… February 16, 2006

Sadly, the most notable thing that’s going on in my life at present is that I’ve started drinking massive amounts of water and am really proud of myself as I tend not to drink things in mass quantities unless the drink in question is at least 60% alcohol. 3 liters and counting today. Related: I now pee all the fucking time.

Seriously, that’s all I got.

I mean, there’s the weather. Spring-like conditions, yes, which I enjoyed very much for the ten minutes I was outside today.

There’s also the fact that I can’t quite pinpoint what’s going on inside my head in relation to the Boy, but all I know is that when I get on the subway in the morning after kissing him goodbye, I feel really empty. And a little sad.

Shifts have started, that’s news. No more of this “umm I’d love to meet you at the bar but I really have no idea when I’m getting out, it could be anywhere between 8 and 11pm so…yeah…um, guess we’ll just have to plan for some other time.” I rolled into work today at 12pm. I’ll roll out around 10pm. I’m deliriously happy. Sleep, glorious sleep. Empty subway cars, glorious empty subway cars. Gym, glorious….you get the idea.

I sent this personality test to my friends, the one where you pick six adjectives that you think describe you and then they all pick six adjectives that they think describe you and everything shows up in this little box that’s supposed to prove that how you see yourself is usually not how other people see you. Everyone sees me almost exactly how I see myself. I was a little disappointed by that. No one thinks I’m bold? Or self-assertive?

Why do I feel so sad about my relationship? Is this all in my head or is there something seriously wrong? I was told recently by my ex-boyfriend that he thinks I’m a lot like him – we both tend to react to things that aren’t necessarily real (shocker that it didn’t work out, eh?). I need to work on that and address it and get over it if my relationship with the Boy is going to survive. Because all this intense scrutiny just isn’t healthy. Neither is this me feeling empty all the time, when he just spent the better part of the night telling me how much he loves me. Neither is this me feeling sad because I know I won’t see him until tomorrow night and that everything is just going to gnaw at me until then.

(Somewhere along the line I became a certifiable headcase. It’s okay, I know you were thinking it.)

(And yes I’m aware that this is a “fuck there’s something going on” post masquerading as a “ehhh nothing to see here! How ‘bout that weather!” post but…humor me. I’m fragile.)

Is it okay that I’m disappointed that he didn’t se… February 14, 2006

Is it okay that I’m disappointed that he didn’t send flowers? Am I allowed to be? Or is that too spoiled brat materialistic of me?

Because I’m kinda disappointed.

Note to all boys everywhere: We appreciate gestures like flowers. Especially on Valentine’s Day. Especially when we have hinted since you’ve known us that we looooove tulips. Especially when EVERY OTHER GIRL IN THE OFFICE HAS RECEIVED THEM.

POST-VALENTINE’S DAY UPDATE: The flowers were sitting on my nightstand when we got back from dinner. There were also diamonds (of the non-engagement ring variety, but gorgeous nonetheless) and sexy lacy things that will be put to good use in the future, when I don’t have my goddamn motherfucking period. So, yes, he redeemed himself. But it still hurt yesterday, feeling like the only girl in the office who’s boyfriend wasn’t thinking about her.

Life? What life. I had drinks with Max and Angel… February 10, 2006

Life?

What life.

I had drinks with Max and Angelina the other night. Near empty hookah bar. The only other customers in there asked us about our underwear and then almost spilled a beer all over Angelina’s pantaloons. It didn’t matter. I could be sitting in Chevy’s in Times Square eating nachos doused with cheez wiz at 1am with those two and have the time of my life, have a stomach that is sore the next day from laughing so much. Oh, wait…

But other than that? It’s up, subway, venti coffee, work, some more work, crappy food for lunch (today pizza, yesterday burger), even more work, subway home after 12 hours, nothing on the iPod, fall asleep in the Boy’s armpit while he watches something I DVR-ed and was trying really hard to stay up for.

And, to top it all off, my nailpolish is peeling.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Friends are starting to get pissed. At first it was “oh, Clink can’t come out again, bummer! We’ll miss you! How’s that new job?” Now it’s “fuck you, what the fuck you fall off the fucking face of the earth? Fuck the new job, we haven’t seen you since ’05 bitch.”

My family is passive aggressively hinting that oh, hey, oldest daughter, we’d all love to see you. Especially your grandmother, your favorite person in the entire universe who is in town for only a short while before she jets back to her awesome existence in Greece. She’d really like to spend some time with you. So, you know, if you can make the trip out this weekend, we know it’s supposed to snow, but…

The Boy? The Boy just wishes we could sit down and have dinner like a normal couple. Wishes we could have an actual conversation that didn’t involve the words “I’m exhausted.” Wishes that I could stay awake for at least one round of sex.

I hate neglecting the people I love. Especially the people I love so fiercely. I feel like such a letdown.

I also feel old, very old. Because last night I actually said, for the first time in my life, “there just AREN’T ENOUGH HOURS IN THE DAY.” And meant it.