Archive for November, 2010

You have gotten so skinny. You were always skinny, but when I saw you almost naked the other night, it was alarming. Maybe just because I hadn’t seen you naked in six years. Maybe because I hadn’t seen you naked with your shaved head before, and something about the uninterrupted fuzzy skin made you look sort of like a newborn rodent. That’s awful. I only thought that for a moment, I swear. I meant it when I told you how well you’ve aged.

We were not the best match when we dated a decade ago. So much drunken drama, mostly surrounding your jealous tendencies and my flirtatious ones. I remember you becoming infuriated when I danced with The Communist at a party. You were upset that I hadn’t asked YOU to dance. I replied, “I knew you would say no.”

Eventually on the phone one night you said, “Maybe we should just break up,” and I said, “FINE.” I started dating a guy you probably still hate. You seemed to have a hard time being around me, until we hooked up at a wine-drenched party in that awful apartment I lived in. Somehow, that made our friendship normal and possible again. We kept sleeping together occasionally for the next few years. It was so comfortable and nice, and there was never any does-this-mean-anything tension; it was just two old friends enjoying each other.

So when your girlfriend of several years finally dumped you, my immediate reaction was to think, “We’re totally gonna do it.” That, and, “I can’t believe it took them so long.” We were finally in the same place, and it seemed like old times, all of us hanging out, drinking beer, joking around. We got back to your apartment and you seemed to have a battle with yourself about whether or not you were ready to be sleeping with someone. I thought that maybe I misremembered your tendencies toward over-thinking and self doubt, but now I think time may have just magnified them.

We didn’t do it. That’s OK. I really like the friendship that we’ve maintained all these years, and if sex isn’t part of the deal anymore, that’s fine.

But you’re totally missing out.

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You are a friend of a friend. Actually a bunch of friends who are not connected to each other. You are definitely “in my network.” Whatever that means. The way your hair is graying reminds me of someone else i have a crush on. Maybe that’s the appeal. A number of my friends have gone on dates with you. None of them stuck with it, because apparently you are a heartbreaker. This makes me think you may be sort of perfect for me. It’s so fucked up on so many different levels. Maybe that’s the appeal. When will I meet you finally?

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You are the first and lasting proof i have that you should definitely sleep with your friends. There’s no need to be “in love” with the people you are fucking.
I love you, of course, I just don’t want babies and forever with you.
I love how you breeze in and out of my life.
I love how I think you are over it then you tell me how hot I am out of nowhere.
I love how you actually booty call me.
I love how we don’t really fit, and yet somehow we do.
I love how you can’t stop touching me, especially when it’s highly inappropriate.
I love how you handle me roughly, even though it scares me a little.

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I am so fucking lonely I could chew metal. It’s mid-November, the start of the howling hollow that are the holidays in the western hemisphere. Time of mothers, fathers, aunts, boyfriends, children, engagements, Christmas trees, presents, parties, and prettiness.

I left home at 18 to escape the lie of being abused by a father still married to my mother and still parenting my younger brother. He was a fucking judge for fuck sake! What a fake picture of a false happy family we were. What a lie! The lie was killing me.

The holidays have been hell ever since. I haven’t become a wife, mother, or girlfriend – I haven’t been able to make a family of my own. So. Where and with who do I spend Thanksgiving? Christmas? New Year’s? Whose family should I leech onto? I’m ashamed around the friends with husbands who kiss them and want them. I am tired of talking on the phone to friends who are talking to their kids the whole time and can’t follow the story I’m trying to tell. I am ashamed around the friends with happy children. I feel awkward and ashamed around the friend with a new boyfriend of six months.

I need to fill the void. I want my phone to ring. I want the invitations to parties and places to fill my email inbox. I want the shame of being the only single woman at a holiday party to go away. I want the pain to go away. I want you to love me. you and you and you.

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I wasn’t a lesbian when I met you. I was disgusted by the idea of eating out a woman. But my husband at the time was dying to see me with another woman. My husband and I had been together for 12 years, since my freshman year of high school. But the romance, passion, fire was dead. We were only like friends at this point. Then I met you at work. We became very good friends, interested in all the same shit. At some point, I felt a weird emotion toward you, something I had never experienced. Maybe it was because you told me that your husband was supportive of you getting together with a woman. You proudly told me this on a long drive to a family weekend getaway. Both of our husbands were thrilled when we first hooked up. After that point, we were unstoppable. We would find any excuse to see each other outside of work. For the first time in my hard-working life, I looked forward to going to work just so I could see you. After my marriage ended, I lived with you and your husband. For three years we were an exciting and turbulent threesome. We were madly in love with each other, all three of us. It just worked. At one point we all considered marriage, a house, kids, and a future together. That’s when the expectations that I had set on us drove us apart. The turbulence came to a sudden halt when I left the country to pursue my dream of living abroad (and to try to forget my sadness). Since then, we haven’t spoken, and I lost my best friend forever. Now we both have our own families. I often think of you and him and your kids. I’m very happy now, but I still think of you and hope the best for you. Those three years were a monumental turning point in my life and changed me for the better. I hope that maybe one day we will speak again.

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You slapped my ass at the club. You asked me if we could go shopping and buy dinner and drink apple martinis. You asked if I was with him, but answered for yourself, “not yet.” You told me my natural blonde hair was amazing. You asked if you could teach me how to back my ass up. You kept making out with that boy but trying to bump into me; brushing into me on purpose. You asked for my phone number. Your crush on me was fleeting but real. Drunkenly revealed.

I hope you figure it out. I hope you date women. I hope you admit it when you aren’t drunk. I hope you find a hot dykey girl, like me, but who simultaneously likes your make-up and perfume.

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“hi, I think I should be pretty honest about the type of person I am and the type of person I’m looking for. I’m mainly looking for a top/dom type of woman for a “bend-over boyfriend” kind of relationship. NSA at first and then see where it goes from there. This may be a bit too much info right from the start but I think I should say it, just in case you’re not into that at all (which is totally understandable) and thereby save each other some time and effort. That said, I think you’re very pretty and very very interesting from what I’ve read on your profile and I’d definitely like to talk with you some more.”

What? gag me.

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I read your emails today. Yup, I know that makes me psycho. But isn’t it somehow less psycho to know you are sending her flowers than to keep fucking hoping that someday you will look at me the way you used to? It would be psycho to hold on. Once you start reading them, you can’t stop. It’s like some sort of disease or addiction or vortex. You get sucked in. One little innocent glance suddenly turns into an archeological dig of every woman you ever exchanged an email with. You can make up entire stories from a moment’s glance at a subject line. This is why crazy clingy girlfriends in movies read emails. Sick, twisted, and somehow gratifying.

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I think it’s your birthday today. We aren’t friends on facebook, but I can still see your photos since we have so many mutual friends. From middle school.

Things I can garner from stalking you on FB:

-Overall, you’ve consumed too much beer and have that chubby cheek/lack of jawline issue as a result.
-You have become a man in the past 20 years, but have really bad facial hair always. Like, ew.
-At sporting events, you get really drunk and might even punch people in the street if it’s a really important game.
-You have an entire album entitled “truck,” so you are definitely still a hick regardless of what cities you have traveled to or lived in.

Ok, I don’t think it’s your birthday, I know it is. You were my first serious crush. I liked you when I was 5 years old. Right away. Of course I remember your birthday. Every year I think of you on this day. You were adorable and had bad hair even then, but not in a gross way, in a cute and innocent way. I would gaze at your picture in the school photo. I remember standing in line before the class picture year after year hoping beyond all hope that I would get to stand next to you and somehow we would be immortalized together forever next to each other and that would like, mean something.

Looking back on those 1st through 5th grade photos, it’s clear I had good aesthetic taste. You were in fact the cutest, year after year. But, it’s also clear I had bad taste, in the sense that you are a bit of an asshole. Clearly, now. But definitely even then. You would tease me endlessly. Adults would say it was because you liked me, but I think you were just plain mean. I would turn pop songs into anthems to our love, changing the lyrics in my head just enough to make them special for you. I would blush whenever your name was mentioned. It’s intense how seriously a 5 year old will take a crush.

But now, that’s all. I don’t love you or miss you or even really wish you well. You just cross my mind on your birthday.

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Our paths have only crossed a handful of times over the years but you are still the longest standing crush I’ve had.

The sunny afternoons sitting with you on the floor under the picture windows on the back wall of study hall were my favorites. You were in a relationship then but I’ll never regret wasting my time flirting with you. It was worth it for the times I would make you laugh and get to watch your face light up.

It’s always been different timing and places but I like that we’ve kept in touch. It’s nice to hear what you are up to and then daydream about what that would be like to do with you.

This winter I think I’m going to come see you. Maybe we could have some tea and reminisce about our adventures and I could finally tell you that I like you.

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