Wine and Whine:

(ex?) Boy [later named, "Asp"] made a cameo in my Friday night, and after some talking, some silence, some talk of how I’d “planned to be meaner,” and some chain smoking, I came to the conclusion that a definition of relationship needs to happen.
I know for a fact that things can not go back to the way they were— that whole title-less existence was awesome when I was sixteen and when making out in the back seat of a shiny red Mustang was cool, but apparently some time in the last three years nature decided to make me grow up and start having feelings.

I know, it shocked me too.  


I suppose this Asp was my first breakup? Kind of? Sure, I’d dated the infamous “same hair” boy, who I dumped via text message at the bittersweet age of 15, and then there was aforementioned title-less Mustang guy, who I never really dated, so I never really had to break up with, but Asp is different.


We had our first “talk” (read: 72 hour break up) which was sad and left me with that sinking stomach feeling that people in movies always talk about, but less than three days later we both decided that our mutual breakup was mutually not going to work.


Then he did his cowardly shit and we didn’t talk for a week, and then Friday night happened. Long awkward story short, he’s still in my life but this time he needs a purpose. 

Unlike most girls who simply have boys in the “friend zone” and the “dating zone,” I’ve got a few more options:

Gay Zone: This zone is for the wonderful “outdoorsy” men in my life who accept that I have lady parts that make me batshit crazy, and love me in spite of my, “indoor* entertainment district.” We talk about boys, we bitch about girls, we snuggle, and we’re as disgusting as Newlyweds— it’s perfect. This is a good zone. 

I could put Asp in this zone (with a few modifications), and it would mean he could still spend the nights here and cuddle.

* Credit to Jake for that God-awful analogy. 

Fuck Buddy Zone: This zone is pretty self explanatory. This is for the men in my life who I just want to make out with (*wink*) on a Friday night. We do not cuddle and we do not have feelings. I kick it skanky high school style with these boys.

 I could put boy in this zone, and I think we all know what it would mean: it would mean we wouldn’t cuddle or have sleepovers anymore.

Friend Zone: BOO BOOORING. This means we hang out… sometimes. It means he becomes the boy I text when I don’t know how to act around another boy. Which, let’s be honest, sucks. I don’t care if we decide that hand holding doesn’t work out, it still means there was hand holding in the past and that he doesn’t want to know if I hand touch other boys, just like I sure as shit don’t want to know if he’s hand touching other girls. 

I could put Asp here but it would mean I’d probably have to work really hard not to get all crazy jealous best friend on his future bitches girls.

Commitment Zone: This means we hang out, make out, and cuddle. SHIT SON, IS THIS THE BEST OF ALL ZONES? I CAN HAVE MY CAKE AND EAT IT TOO (no pun intended)!? BUT I DON’T DATE! WHAT?!?!?!?!

I could put Asp here, but it’d mean I’d have to be ballsy enough to tell him how I feel even though I’m having a little trouble trusting his still-in-the-doghouse ass. Also, it means I have to go back to holding in farts, and I’m just not sure how I feel about that. 

I’m just not sure what to do. I guess he gets a say in it too, but I should probably figure out who I’m voting for in this election too, right?

Home

There will be times in every persons life when they find themselves sobbing at 2am and praying that no one will find them in their state of puffy, teary-eyed woe. That'd be me right now. My brave face had been nicely packed away since I'd moved back to school, and I'd almost forgotten it existed until tonight.

There's something all too real about coming home.
Seeing someone who has an illness in their own home (even if said home was your former residence) is much different than seeing someone with an illness on your own turf.

My Mom is everything to me. She is the bravest, most beautiful woman I've ever met-- and I happily embrace all of her quirks that I acquire as the years pass. But having Multiple Sclerosis, even for someone as brave and strong as my mom, is still a scary scary thing.

To her, hospital visits happen so frequently that she gauges them on a "need to call the kid" and "we'll just tell her about it later" scale.

Tonight was a "we'll just tell her about it later" night.

I didn't know anything was wrong-- my mom and I were having a lovely post-work, 1:00am chat, and she casually mentioned that she'd been in the hospital just hours before.
Another allergic reaction to a drug. They decided not to call me because it wasn't too serious-- but the tiny fact that she had to be rushed to a hospital was serious enough for me to be blindsided by my overwhelming amounts of fear.

I can't decide if her allergic reaction is scarier, or if I'm more frightened by her being so nonchalant about it.

I finally said the thing that I've avoided saying all along: I'm scared.

A Bit Off The Beaten Path... (Can't get my real non-anon blog working, so I'm drafting here)

Saturday, September 17th. 3:35 PM.


I've been locked up in my bedroom all morning (er... afternoon) enjoying my usual meal of steak, waffles, french fries, and of course, Scotch--kidding, but ten bonus points for the Anchorman fans who caught that reference. 
I have, actually, been locked in my room all morning. Being a full-time student and working two jobs definitely gets tiring, so I enjoy my alone time, but it has been brought to my attention that I turn into a bit of a hermit on weekends after a stressful week. And, according to one of my roommates (from here on out we'll refer to him as "Social Butterfly") is something that I shouldn't necessarily be proud of.


As I shuffled out of my bedroom at 3:15PM, I was greeted by "Social Butterfly" who promptly noticed that I had not yet showered and proceeded to ask me (in his most condescending voice) exactly how many episodes of 30 Rock I had watched since waking up.
Six, thank you very much. I have watched six episodes of 30 Rock, have purchased a new paint easel for my Sim, Levar Burton, and ate a pudding cup.
Okay, two pudding cups. Stop harassing me, okay?


Now, I will be the first one to own up and say that I am a professional grandma. My idea of a fun Friday night, being in bed by eleven and drinking a cup of tea and reading a book before lights out at midnight. I might do a little knitting if I'm feeling wild, but I usually reserve that for special occasions. I'm 19 going on 90, and I have no problem with this, but there's got to be more to life than work and school, right?


Now, I am by no means and anti-social person, let me tell you this. My favorite past times include spontaneous road trips with friends, organizing events for friends, and just hanging around friends. I do have friends-- real friends. Promise. But, how does one balance a social life, sixteen hours of classes, and trying to make enough money waiting tables and answering phones to pay rent AND eat? Well, it's a delicate balance that I have not yet mastered, but I have learned a few things in my year and a half here, and I will pass my wisdom on to you, young Padawans.


B's Ever Growing List of Advice For College Kids Part One:


1. Don't sleep on couches. 
You may think that you're spry and able with that rockin' young adult body of yours, but 7 hours on a love seat that is three feet shorter than you and smells like a post-flu haver's toilet is not equal to 7 hours in a bed that's made for someone your size. If you're going to have a late night, make sure you get home safely. You'll thank me in the morning.


2. Don't go on online shopping binges.
I can't tell you how many times I would hold off from shopping with friends in an attempt to save money just to come home and blow thirty bucks on Amazon DVDs and Apps from iTunes. Credit cards aren't magic money, so save yourself the stress and budget with credit like you budget with debit and cash.


3. Don't procrastinate.
 I do it (I'm doing it right now), but I'm telling you not to do it. So don't.


4. Have a friend you can cry to.
I would be nothing without my best friends. There is a chain of command amongst the three bests-- Obama, Biden, and Condoleezza Rice.
                Obama sees me at my craziest and we've established that we are "real friends" because she's seen me in full-blown cranky mode and we can still manage to love each other. Also, she and I have common interests like seeing who can go the longest without showering before other people start to notice, and how much Burger King we can eat before our stomachs fill with shame-- stuff real friends do.
                Biden, comes second in the chain not because I love her less than Obama, but she has a lower threshold for crazy. She's seen me cry, but we try to reserve the crazy times for special occasions like birthdays and finals week. We too have common interests like being overly creepy towards one another and having fake marital spats in public. 
                 And finally there's, Condoleezza Rice, who is no less loved than Obama and Biden, and who has probably seen me cry more times than the others based on the longevity of our relationship, but who has a schedule that tends to conflict directly with mine. Condy and I have long, painful spaces between our encounters, but I know for a fact that this girl will be there to play me a ridiculous love song and lend me a sad Ro-Co* when I need it the most. Our common interests include loudly proclaiming our love for one another and feigning unresolved sexual tension.
*Romantic Comedy


In a nut shell, my friends rock, and we all share a lot of really creepy and moderately shameful pastimes.  They love me despite my craziness, and have never once tried to change me for their own selfish purposes. Now, these are not my only friends, I've got many John Archibald Campbells and other high ranking sergeants in my chain of command, but Obama, Biden and Condy definitely stand above the rest.


5. Relax.
If your favorite way to unwind is to dance around in your living room to show tunes while wearing nothing but your underwear and a feather boa, then by all means do it, and do it often. Preservation of sanity is the number one challenge in college. You may think that that exam over the quadratic consciousness of extraterrestrials in relation to the euphoric tendencies of bacon to the third power is going to eat your lunch, yourself, and your family, but if you take some time to turn off your mind, relax, and float down stream, you may find that that that test is just triangular aliens battling lots of really well-cooked bacon. What I'm saying is take time to relax-- it makes the crazy things seem less crazy when your head is clear.


Now, I have managed to make it to 5:00 without showering or having any social interaction. I'm going to get myself cleaned up and head out to the living room. Who knows what kind of adventure I'll get myself into.

"And... and I'm... I'm real. I'm a real boy!"

I haven't blogged since May. Hmm. Wonder why.

So, though my "exciting" life of no-strings-attached flings and emotional evasion were... well, all I'd ever known, I decided this summer to class-up my act a bit. I dubbed this summer the summer of "growing up," and aside from a sloppy kiss after a few too many glasses of wine, I kept myself off the market and out of trouble.

After a few cut ties from a poisonous influence or two, I felt that I was ready to grow up and have my very first big-girl relationship, and let me just tell you that he is great.

To keep up with the theme of my previous posts I will shorten his name, but only for that reason. The boys in the previous posts were given aliases out of my sheer embarrassment, but as proud as I am of my big girl relationship with this boy, I need my symmetry. So, we'll call this one Pob.

Pob worked with me at my temporary summer job in the city, and we spent the better portion of our three months working together ignoring one another, but after a clumsy fall on my part, our relationship began to blossom.

Our first out-of-work excursion began with friends and ended with us sitting in the parking-lot engrossed in conversation until the wee hours of the morning. I can not remember the last time I had a boy that I actually wanted to spend time with while fully clothed, but this boy sparked that in me.

He and I became cuddly and cute almost instantaneously, but we had still yet to have even a kiss. I was ecstatic. I knew that not adding the physical action in until later was the classy and grown-up thing to do,  but I was very anxiously awaiting that first move.

It happened on our first... wait for it... real date.
Who's a classy girl now? Oh, right. That's me.

Our first kiss may have been the most precious thing I've ever experienced. I haven't ever felt like I was in a chart topping romantic comedy as much as I do with this boy, but there's always a downside.

The wonderful part of moving back to the city for the summer was getting to live in the city (and meet him), but as the rules go, summertime must come to an end.
I have six more days until he and I go our separate ways, but I am staying optimistic.

I think being a novice relationship haver and making number one long-distance is a wonderful plan, but time will only tell.
Updates to come.

Love,
-B.

We'll Paint the Town

Hello, babies. Sorry for the absence, my life has been a bit crazy lately.

We all know that can only mean I have new boy news, right?
Right!

I had every intention of introducing all kinds of old flames in this post, but I am just too eager to tell my recent news to even stand it.

SO, remember Dom and Gab? Well, let's just say I've been... Dom-ing and Gabbing quite a bit lately, if you know what I mean.

The Dom part of the story:

I'm pretty bored with that whole situation.
The thrill? Yeah, not so thrilling anymore.
That being said, I am seeing him tomorrow for an "exciting appointment." Eeeps.
Thrilling? No. Still a little saucy? Yeah.

The Gab part of the story:

I will forever be a sucker for this stud, but being around him is kind of like hearing your favorite song on a loop-- you love the song, but you get sick of it after listening to it for four hours.
But, irritation aside, my body is like a magnet to his. I find myself physically moving close to him sometimes.

The other night, I had a dream (CORNY ALERT) about him.
We were in a grocery store singing and dancing (my subconscious gaydar was working overtime this night), and I had that swelling feeling where my heart felt big and my stomach fell into my butt. Then, of course, I woke up with a mega-urge to pee.

It was nice to fall in love with him in my 4am dream land, but IRL I'm avoiding the "L" word like the plague.

ANYWAY, the sexual tension between the two of us is pretty intense. We'll see where that goes.

Then there's New Boy (from here on out we'll call him Mag), but his story will have to wait until I'm less sleepy.

Raggedy Days and Silky, Smooth Hours.

Today, we talk about another boy.
He's been around for longer than we'd both like to admit, and he will be around for many years to come.
He may be the only person I have ever even coming close to using the L-word with, but don't tell him that. We keep our emotions a secret.


This boy, we'll call him Gab.


Gab loves to tell the story of our first encounter. He makes himself out to be the hero, and makes me out to be the damsel in distress. The way he tells the story is precious, but you'll have to live with my boring summary: I was a bit confused about a piece of machinery (imagine that), and he stepped in to help (or, in his terms, "rescue").


Gab and I had a very quick progression from being strangers to being inseparable, and each passing moment became more than just a tick on a clock; our time together was perfect.
We played a bit of a tennis game when we were in like, and we've been on different pages about our relationship ever since.
During that epiphenal moment when I finally decided he was worthy of my desires, he was looking for an unconventional situation (much like I chased down with Dom). And while he was dreaming of white picket fences, I was off chasing independence.


I got my heart broken.


Gab was the first boy to ever really understand what was going on inside of my head. He read me like a familiar book, and I read him like a brand new title that was hot off the press. He always kept me guessing.


The two of us never had a definite beginning, and I cross my heart we will never have a definite end, and I say with confidence that he will be the person whose face pops into my head on my wedding day (if I ever actually calm down enough to do that whole wedding business).
He and I are something that is truly special, despite our embarrassments and shortcomings.


He drives me absolutely insane sometimes, but at the end of the day I can't help smiling when I hear his name.


But I will say right now, just like I said about Dom: I am not in love with this boy.
However, he is the hook that temps me while I swim through the sea.


Arrivederci,
B.

The Night Lightening Bolts Surged Through Our Fingers

I could bore you with my life story, but instead I'll start with the most recent happening in my life.


We'll call him Dom.


I saw him on my first day of high school, and from then on I knew that there was just something about that man that I'd never be able to get out of my head.


While we both inhabited the hallow halls of my high school, I would admire him from afar, making sure to keep a low profile. I have an inexplicable shyness when it comes to love interests, and he was no exception to my cold shoulder 


So how, you ask, did this shyness blossom into romance? Fast forward to a few years later when my desires could no longer be ignored, and neither could his.


It took nothing more than the brush of a hand under a streetlight for me to realized that his body was one that could not be ignored, so I began sending him little messages here and there suggesting my interest. But, as I said before, I was still unabashedly shy.
Years of not seeing each other went by before I made my big move, and boy was that a rewarded move to have made.


My vague messages suggesting interest were not enough, so one night I went for it.


"I'd let myself make bad decisions with you."
"I'd probably go along with it...




Minus the probably."


And so it began: the sneaking around, the lying, and the lust. 


He was much different than the other boys. He knew just what to do to keep me from getting bored, and he knew just how to woo me without scaring me off. I left our times together enamored and anxious for more, this he knew. 
I will state here that I did not love this boy. 
There were outside forces beyond my control that kept my guard up, which proved to be helpful.
I knew we would never be a conventional pair-- that was the appeal. I was sick and tired of of the boyfriend/girlfriend scene, and I was crazy about breaking out of that mold. He was just the kind of dysfunction I needed.
But, the story of B and Dom came to a screeching halt when aforementioned forces stepped in.


In a way, I was relieved. 
I never wanted to let myself want convention from him, and an abrupt end was just what I needed to keep myself in check.


So, now I'm back to swimming in that sea full of fishes.


Adieu,
B.