Archive for June, 2010

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We have never hung out, though we have danced a little. You asked for my number so you could get back into the party if you needed to, but you never texted me until after I left that town. We started texting all the time. You listen to all my crazy and help me out a lot. I’m really grateful to you for being so nice to me. You say I need someone to be nice to me and you are happy to do it. I hope someday we can hang out and I plan on making that happen.

Sometimes you say maybe we could work but sometimes you say there’s no way. I don’t really want to date you either, but I really like you as a person. I remind you of your ex. You asked how many pple I’ve slept with. You were so incredulous when I said 6. You said from the way I talk you thought it was a lot more. I told you how it had been concentrated into a short period of time. You said #6 looked gay and were not surprised he never wanted to have sex. I thought that was hilarious. We have pix of each other in our underwear. You say I’m good at cheering you up.

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I never dreamed I would relate to anything that came out of Betty’s mouth. She’s always so morose and pouty and her dresses are never wrinkly. I can’t imagine being married, let alone to someone who expects ham dinner upon his arrival back from the office. The entire first season went by before anything out of that woman’s mouth was even remotely relatable. Then she struck a nerve:

“The way he makes love to me is sometimes what I want, and sometimes so obviously what someone else wants.”

So poignant. It made me feel ill in the pit of my stomach. So sad that even brief attention to communication could have prevented that painful moment of clarity.

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I met you when I was 19 years old and now I’m 20 years older. Now, you’re so old and a grandfather and your body has totally fallen apart. We’ve never had sex or made out because of your teeth and how little you take showers and what a pigsty your apartment and car are, but, seriously, you are the real boyfriend I never had. We walk all night when it’s warm muggy or it’s freezing cold and snowing. And we talk and laugh about everything. And when I got super excited and pounded the table, you pounded the table too and said “You are so fucking cute!” You love the shit I have to say and I say smarter shit around you.

All these other men wanted me to shut up. But your eyes just keep sparkling the whole time I talk. My Dad used to tell me “You’re fuckin homely enough, no man is gonna want you for your looks, you better learn how to talk to a man without being so pushy and know-it-all.” ex-boyfriends: “You’re snippy and odd.” “You’re psycho.” “You never stop talking. I don’t understand all dis shit you talkin about.” “Why do you have to go around telling everybody what you think and feel all the damn time?” “You’re kinda masculine.” “Baby, you never play attenshun whan I talk-ing, play attenshun whan a man talk.”

You better stop flattering me, it’s a shock to my system. And also. Thank you for your love. Those other guys will never shut me up, ‘cuz I’ll think of you and know somewhere, sometime, somebody loved me for how much and how loud I talk.

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more often than not, i forget this even happened. it’s because i have horrible horrible guilt for “cheating” on #8. really, are a few kisses cheating? i never told him, as it seemed irrelevant at this point. our brief fling was not a threat. you did make me feel like a kid again, though. we would argue about things like whether or not i would ever like it if you called me “princess.”

i partly enjoyed the break from politics and academia. you were not a very good kisser and i told you so. laying in bed with you would make me wet nevertheless. when we slept at x’s house i made you stay in a different bed. in the morning when you woke up, you came into bed with me. you lifted the covers and looked at my ass. you said “damn, yo.” i tried to teach you to be a better kisser. it was somehow hilarious to me to kiss you in the break room at work. we would nap together on those nasty couches. your mother wishes i would marry you. you said you had never met a girl like me, and you hadn’t. i hope i didn’t raise your bar too high.


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I’ll be in your neighborhood this Saturday blah blah blah if you’d like to meet for tea or wine blah blah blah. I’m trying to reach out because I interpreted in your long email blah blah blah that you wanted to have a friendship with me blah blah blah. If I misinterpreted and you have no interest blah blah blah that’s of course fine, but please don’t blow off and/or screw over the nonprofit for which I work after we collaborated on an event that I interpret as having been really successful for you. Not to mention a nonprofit that does such noble work around the globe blah blah blah. Thanks blah blah blah.

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#6 we met before I met #4 and you were good friends so you asked him permission to pursue me. You had a crush on me from the night we met and everyone knew it. We met on your 20th birthday. Walking home with my roommates I said I danced with you as a birthday present and they all laughed.

I tried not to date you for 8 months because you were not attractive and so down all the time. But yours became my favorite face in the world. I always felt so comfortable with you. You are still the only person who makes me feel like myself. We are so much better as friends. I feel like the whole time we were together I was trying to force you to be more than a friend. Because a boyfriend should want to sleep with you.

I should have broken up with you after a year and a half but I needed the emotional security. One of the reasons I broke up with you is that I don’t want to have kids and you need to someday. I didn’t want to waste the best years of my life not having sex with you to only break up later. You’ve admitted that breaking up was good in the long run for that reason. You are my best friend.

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