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Playbook Pages {workcrush update}

19 Aug

Seeing you makes my day happier… 🙂

As I hit send on my sappy g-chat message, I realize I actually mean it.

My work crush and I had hung out a total of 3 times outside of work, but I was starting to realize that I wanted to see him more often. I first noticed it when I had to sit and interview possible roommates off of Craigslist. I set-up a four hour block of time for strangers to just pop in and out of my life. For both my safety and my sanity, I didn’t want to sit there alone; somehow, when I realized I needed a buddy, the first person I thought of was WorkCrush.

The second time I noticed it was when he had to leave my open-house to go to improv practice {yes, I said improv practice}, and I didn’t want him to go. So, we made plans to go to a movie later that night and it tied me over.

A few nights later, when he slipped away from his department to walk me to the bus stop, I got it again–the same little tug that I didn’t want him to leave. It got worse when I was on the bus and realized that I wished he was coming over after he got off.

And then today, when I snuck into the studio to give him a hug, I realized I wish we got off of work at the same time so I could be around him a little longer.
Could it be that I have an ACTUAL crush on my WorkCrush?

When my chat box starts to blink, I get a little nervous. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent that! But then I read his response…

The feeling is mutual. I was just thinking about that same thing.


ThisMorning {over it}

18 Aug

I don’t know why I thought this time would be any different. I came to 30-Something’s with the intention of hanging out, getting some work done and then going to bed. Before I agreed to go over there, I hit him with two disclaimers: 1) it was that time of the month, so I couldn’t have “fun time” {his stupid phrase, not mine} and 2) I had just taken a couple of hits, so I was a little high.

By the time he picked me up, I realized I was too stoned to do anything but talk and eat. I would do my work in the morning, which is probably what gave him the wrong idea.

Now one interesting thing about me when I’m high–and maybe it’s true for most people–is that I become super honest and somewhat easily annoyed. I can usually go with the flow, but if something starts nagging my brain, and messing with my high, I can get a little testy.

So that’s why if we had stayed at his counter eating crackers with brie and fig jam and drinking wine, things probably would’ve been better. And even if he had given me a neck and shoulder massage in the livingroom, things probably would’ve been fine. But when he said he wasn’t trying to “get me in bed” but that the massage would be easier in the bedroom, I believed him. And I guess that’s where I got the wrong idea… the idea that he would actually respect what I said about having my “lady time” and what I said about not wanting to fool around.

But instead, when the massage seemed to be focusing on my boobs, I knew I was wrong. It was then that the slow, wet kissing started, the kind that is supposed to be “sexy” in some sort of slow-motion world; in my world it just grosses me out and annoys me. I knew I was in trouble.

Sure enough, then came the awkward middle school hand pushing… down, down, down to his crotch. And that, my friends, is when my high self had had enough.

I pull my hand away.
Ummm yeah. I’m just really not in the mood. I told you I wouldn’t be able to mess around.
He pushes my hand back down.
So you can’t do anything at all?
I fumble around down there for a second and then pull my hand away again.
I’m just not feeling well, I guess.
So, you’re really not in the mood… at all?

When he got back into bed from the shower, I apologized, but I didn’t really mean it. When we both retreated to “our sides” of the bed, I was relieved. I woke up at 6am, after only a couple of hours of uncomfortable sleep, to do the work I meant to do the night before. When I finished, I showered and got dressed in the bathroom making sure not to wake him up.

Then I slipped into his room and as I was putting on my jewelry he opened his eyes. When he asked if I was going to work early, I nodded and kissed him on his shaved head. I told him goodbye–knowing that this time, I really meant it.

ToDo List {cutiecollegelookingboy}

16 Aug

Oh, what’s up, CutieCollegeLookingBoy!?

You remind me of pretty much ever crush I ever had in college. You look like a West coast boy with your cargo shorts and your striped rugby shirt, your Jansport backpack and low-cut Nikes.

Broad shoulders holding up a cutie-pie face, cropped hair and big headphones.

Going to study on a Saturday, huh? I like it.

You’re taller than most boys in these parts… I like that too 🙂

Overall, CutieCollegeLookingBoy, I’d like to do you.

Playbook Pages {I just want to be…friends}

16 Aug

I’ll be right back.

It was literally moments after he came, but I was scrambling out of bed and heading to the bathroom feeling as bored and frustrated–exasperated?–as I have every other time we’ve slept together. When I get in the bathroom I have one of those movie moments where I stare at myself in the mirror with one of those super disappointed looks on my face and shake my head. A shudder runs through my body as the last 15 minutes comes back in flashes. How can he enjoy it so much when I hate it so much?

And that’s when it hits me, a different kind of flash–a strong realization: I am such a hypocrite! Here I am going on and on about bad sex and how annoying and frustrating it is… yet I keep having it! Well, hello, Red! Why don’t you heed your own advice: STOP. It takes two to tango, and if you’re unhappy but refuse to change anything then the only person to blame is yourself!

Well crap. Now what do I do? This is usually why I keep my sex and dating separate. The guys I like to date are the not the same ones I want to sleep with; the ones I like to sleep with I would never date.

In college this predicament actually worked in my favor. My schedule was busy enough that the guys who took me on dates never saw me often enough to feel attached or entitled. We were always “just starting to date.” I had a movie guy, a dinner guy, a day-date guy. These guys were basically just friends, but they picked me up at my apartment, paid for everything and usually kissed me goodnight.

Then there were the boys I slept with–my hook-ups and business partners. I had bar hook-ups, fraternity hook-ups and class hook-ups. We’d get drunk, have fun, never make it awkward and NEVER go on an actual date. My business partners were like more organized versions of a “fuck buddy;” we had regular meetings that were never broken. It was always just sex, but we communicated well and respected each other. One time I kept the same business partner for over a year and a half.

So why, may I ask, are things so complicated now? I still have business partners, but it seems like the guys in the dating pool are confused about their place. Apparently so am I. They keep wanting to sleep with me and I keep letting them. I really like 30-Something and feel like he’s a friend, but now that we’ve done it… how do we go back? Is that even possible?

ToDo List {sexylongboarderboy}

15 Aug

Well, hello, SexyLongBoarderBoy!

Look at you with your longboard… Walking around with no shirt on, then putting your shirt on. It’s all just so cute.

Even your ridiculous white watch is cute.

You are what I think of when I hear the phrase “boys of summer,” with your jet black hair and your tan skin.

Overall, SexyLongBoarderBoy, I’d like to do you.

My House Guest {the final night}

15 Aug

It was our last night together, and I needed a new plan. HottieFireman was leaving the next day to go home, and I was determined to accomplish my goal.

After 4 days of being rejected, I realized that I had been breaking all of my own rules. Not only did I tell him that I wanted him, but I threw myself at him…EVEN after he told me he didn’t want me. Now that kind of attention can be flattering–in small doses; in large doses {like 4 days}, it can be repulsive.

By telling him that I still wanted him after he rejected me, I broke another rule: I gave him all the power. He may have had it the whole time, but by pointing it out, I was just asking him to run wild with it. 

So, the new plan meant I needed to put my head back on my shoulders and approach him the same way I would anyone else I wanted to sleep with: I would act like I could care less. The second part of the plan would be to get him drunk. Drunky, drunk, drunk {Yes, I realize I sound slightly rape-ish here, but after 4 days, I had to pull all of my cards}.

Step 1: Finish a bottle of vodka at the apartment. Check. Step 2: Meet work friends out on the town. More drinks. Check. Step 3: Flirt with every thing that moves and has a penis. Check. Step 4: Ignore HottieFireman. Check.

I could tell the plan was working because he couldn’t keep his hands away from my ass. That and the fact that he was acting like a big drunk frat boy. So much so that my friend pulled me aside to ask if this was REALLY the guy I was having trouble nailing. This was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel… or some sexual version of that saying.

Soon enough, we were in cab heading back to my apartment. We stumbled up the stairs, grabbing each other for balance as much as for pleasure. He already had my dress unzipped and was starting to pull it off of my shoulders by the time I was fumbling with my keys to get the front door open. He picked me up and threw me onto my bed. If only I had known, as we were pulling each other’s clothes off, that it would be the last “normal” thing that would happen.

The next 15-20 minutes weren’t a blur as most of my sexual experiences are–probably because the passion disappeared before it had a chance to blind or deafen me as it usually does. Instead, I remember every word he said, every aggressive push of his hand, every quizzical look that crossed my face.

I can honestly say, after all of my MANY sexual experiences, that I have never been talked to in that way. I’ve never heard the words dirty slut uttered more times through gritted teeth. And I’ve never felt more like a doll or an object placed there for someone’s enjoyment. Dirty talk I’m used to, but this was different. He was saying things to me, but I wasn’t allowed to say anything back. He was touching me, but I wasn’t allowed to touch back. I might as well have been a prostitute… and a cheap one at that, because {get ready for this}… he STILL DIDN”T HAVE SEX WITH ME. After far too many minutes of this strange, forceful, and disconnected sexual behavior, all he did was jack himself off, make a huge mess and walk out of the room without saying another word.

Weirdest. Sexual. Experience. Of my LIFE. {It even tops the time that guy asked me to slap him and then put that knife in my wall.}

I just laid there in shock. Then I turned on the light and looked in the mirror. I had to see myself to make sure I was still real, to make sure this was really my life. What the hell?! I actually laughed out loud for a moment, because the whole thing seemed so strange.

When I heard him get out of the shower and walk down the hall, I slipped into the bathroom. When I got in the shower, I just stood there, too mentally exhausted to attempt basic hygiene. I felt drained and gross and used. Slowly I pushed my hands over my hair, smoothing the hot water through it, attempting to rinse out the cum, attempting to rinse away what had just happened.

When I got out of the shower he was lying in my bed as if nothing was wrong. I told him I was pissed. I was pissed that we STILL hadn’t had sex. I told him I got nothing out of his little escapade and wasn’t impressed. He said it had been a “test,” to see if I really could be submissive, to see if I really could step out of my bossy-pants, controlling role. I said that if that was the test, I clearly passed. Suddenly he didn’t have anything to say. He realized I was right and that his bullshit argument that I was too much of a man-eater, too sexually aggressive, for him didn’t hold up.

But then I realized it didn’t matter how many tests I passed or how many of his qualifications I met, we would never end up together because he didn’t love me back. When he finally said it, I let myself cry over him one last time. And as I cried, I gave into him. I let him hold me and comfort me as the friend he so desperately claimed he wanted to be.

I cried for our winding history–for the first time I saw him in the baseball dugout and for the times we swam in the lake. I cried for the hours-long phone calls and for all of the plans we had made. I cried because I loved him and because I knew, for the first time in our 5 year friendship, that we wouldn’t fully recover. I cried for the fact that we would never be the same.

This Morning {step 1}

13 Aug

Breathe in… Breathe out.

I swear it feels like my heart hurts… but maybe it’s just my lungs. My sternum and diaphragm feel tight and rigid. Breathing takes actual effort. I feel like I pulled a muscle somewhere in my neck, and my sore throat makes it painful to talk. Maybe I’m getting sick…but I think it’s just from crying. My whole face feels like its been punched and bruised, but it’s probably just the swelling around my eyes. Keeping my eyes open at my desk actually takes effort, too; they are so puffy that they just feel better closed.

I look around my newsroom and take a deep breath… In and then out.

The pain shoots through my chest… Maybe it’s just my lungs, but I swear it feels like my heart.