I woke up feeling renewed after spewing out all of my drama on here last night, and I feel like the universe spoke to me in between dreams and helped me understand one thing.
As much as I hate not knowing what's really going the hell on in my love life, I know that I am truly only seeking one thing. Not a guarantee, but rather that I find someone who has the qualities and strength of character that I could fall in love with every day, all over again.
It was reaffirmed by Star's infinite wisdom; ideally, that person wouldn't fuck around with me and play a constant game, but rather be as open and honest with me as I am with the whole damn world. I deserve honesty.
Enough of this. Off to get my calf tattoo!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
I feel like my brain is exploding.
Trying to apply logical thought to something as illogical as emotion is humanity's biggest downfall as a whole, I think.
For serious.
Because I am one of those people right now. I am a full-on, flat-out, 100% fucking retard when it come to reading the book of love. And I HATE it. I loathe not understanding shit, not getting why people do what they do, why certain men will kiss me and others want to be in relationships with me and some just want to fuck me and WHY.
I feel like part of this links back to my weight loss, and how I predicted this would happen. I knew when I considered doing surgery that when I was thinner more guys would be interested in me and I'd question their intentions more than the normal woman. I always sypathized with my beautiful cousins because men would pursue them and they'd never know said man's intentions. Now I'm in a similar boat.
I hate my love life. If it were a boat still floating, I would capsize it. We were dead before the ship even sank.
I have friends and coworkers that have feelings for me, and I reciprocate them in two of those cases. One, you, dear blog-reader, already know of, and since a few weeks ago, another gentleman has been on the case.
But he's moving to Frisco, and am I cut out for long distance? And really, no one has talked about us being serious, anyway. Like I said, this not-knowing. This uncertainty, this second guessing.
And Cesar is...Cesar. I feel like he'll be Mr. Perpetually Unattainable.
Can I just quit my love life and start over? With something simple and uncomplicated?
No. Of course not. This is my life, remember?
Sorry for the angst. NO, fuck it, I'm sick of being sorry. I'm allowed to be bitter about my own stupidity on my own damn blog.
For serious.
Because I am one of those people right now. I am a full-on, flat-out, 100% fucking retard when it come to reading the book of love. And I HATE it. I loathe not understanding shit, not getting why people do what they do, why certain men will kiss me and others want to be in relationships with me and some just want to fuck me and WHY.
I feel like part of this links back to my weight loss, and how I predicted this would happen. I knew when I considered doing surgery that when I was thinner more guys would be interested in me and I'd question their intentions more than the normal woman. I always sypathized with my beautiful cousins because men would pursue them and they'd never know said man's intentions. Now I'm in a similar boat.
I hate my love life. If it were a boat still floating, I would capsize it. We were dead before the ship even sank.
I have friends and coworkers that have feelings for me, and I reciprocate them in two of those cases. One, you, dear blog-reader, already know of, and since a few weeks ago, another gentleman has been on the case.
But he's moving to Frisco, and am I cut out for long distance? And really, no one has talked about us being serious, anyway. Like I said, this not-knowing. This uncertainty, this second guessing.
And Cesar is...Cesar. I feel like he'll be Mr. Perpetually Unattainable.
Can I just quit my love life and start over? With something simple and uncomplicated?
No. Of course not. This is my life, remember?
Sorry for the angst. NO, fuck it, I'm sick of being sorry. I'm allowed to be bitter about my own stupidity on my own damn blog.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
First Date?
Cesar and I went to the Conga Room last Thursday. I'd wanted to go to this Nat King Cole tribute but Melanie was doing VMA rehearsals next door, so it was unlikely that she'd be able to go with me. On a whim, I text Cesar on Wednesday night and ask him...interested in going? I get an immediate yes. Immediate accelerated heartbeat.
So we went. Mel ended up meeting us outside, which was awesome, so we all went in together. Later, she'd get us deluxe VIP, because...that's how Melanie works. As we were walking up, I reached out and held his hand. I only held it for thirty steps, but those were content moments. I feel so comfortable with Cesar; every thought comes flowing out, everything I feel for him is so plain in my smile and blush.
Inside, I got a drink pretty immediately. Felt golden and tipsy and loose, shaking my hips to the spanish music and grinning happily at my comrades. I had Cesar's hand on my back in an almost constant contact, the back of my neck, my leg when we'd later sit.
It might sound silly, but I'm really judgmental on how a man touches me. It conveys a lot about themselves; their security, confidence, maturity. Chris touched me to evoke a reaction, like a child. He didn't do it to "arouse" me; he'd touch me inappropriately in public to get a rise out of me, to get his hand slapped away or glared down and giggle in response. Cesar, who is, by the way, an amazing gentleman, didn't send out any odd signals; it was just a man touching a woman, to let her know she was cared about. Not possessive, or even particularly romantic. Just contact.
Whatever I felt unsure about before is gone now. If nothing manifests, that's fine. But I know without a doubt that someone I care about cares about me back, and that's enough.
(In case it isn't clear, there was no end-of-evening kiss. If there's no kiss, is it even considered a date? ...Titles aren't that important, anyway.)
So we went. Mel ended up meeting us outside, which was awesome, so we all went in together. Later, she'd get us deluxe VIP, because...that's how Melanie works. As we were walking up, I reached out and held his hand. I only held it for thirty steps, but those were content moments. I feel so comfortable with Cesar; every thought comes flowing out, everything I feel for him is so plain in my smile and blush.
Inside, I got a drink pretty immediately. Felt golden and tipsy and loose, shaking my hips to the spanish music and grinning happily at my comrades. I had Cesar's hand on my back in an almost constant contact, the back of my neck, my leg when we'd later sit.
It might sound silly, but I'm really judgmental on how a man touches me. It conveys a lot about themselves; their security, confidence, maturity. Chris touched me to evoke a reaction, like a child. He didn't do it to "arouse" me; he'd touch me inappropriately in public to get a rise out of me, to get his hand slapped away or glared down and giggle in response. Cesar, who is, by the way, an amazing gentleman, didn't send out any odd signals; it was just a man touching a woman, to let her know she was cared about. Not possessive, or even particularly romantic. Just contact.
Whatever I felt unsure about before is gone now. If nothing manifests, that's fine. But I know without a doubt that someone I care about cares about me back, and that's enough.
(In case it isn't clear, there was no end-of-evening kiss. If there's no kiss, is it even considered a date? ...Titles aren't that important, anyway.)
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