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This Morning: a first

8 Sep

{**This post was written a few weeks ago. Updates to come SOON!}

There are so many firsts when you start hanging out with someone… The first time you go out, the first one you kiss, the first time you guys hold hands, finish each other’s sentences, stay up talking and laughing. The first time you have sex, the first time you have amazing sex…

Then there’s the first time things don’t feel perfect. The first time you kind of get annoyed with each other. The first time you don’t sleep totally comfortable through the night next to each other. The first time you have not-so mind-blowing sex.

Now I have to throw a warning out there that when I really like someone, I tend to fall super hard, super fast. So these kind of nights usually throw me off pretty hard. They usually rock my confidence in the relationship and usually make me give up. I burn out pretty quickly.

So, now I’m at that crossroads with WorkCrush. This is always when I ignore my own best advice–to just go with the flow, don’t think about it and let it happen–by over thinking and ultimately sabotaging whatever good things we may have had going. Fickle lady indeed.

For instance yesterday I was imagining dancing at our wedding and now I’m pondering how hard it would be to avoid talking to him ever again. Yes. I’m crazy. There’s a reason it’s in the title of the blog, folks.

I’m going to ride the wave and see what happens. Maybe this will be the first time I actually listen to my own advice!


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.

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.

This Morning {the morning after}

10 Aug

Well, my eyes look about as red and puffy as I thought they would. My hair looks a little better though… go figs.

I don’t know why he insists on torturing me, but I want him next to me so badly that I push the feeling that this is all fake back, far into my head. I’ll deal with that when his hand isn’t on my waist pulling me closer to him and I can’t feel his breath on my neck.

Ugh. Torture.

As I try to relax into the wall of his body, I try to ignore images and sounds flooding back from last night.
me: So, are you EVER going to kiss me?
him: {silence… I can’t look at him.} No.
me: Wow. Really?
him: Really.

My only other thought, as I’m curled into his trying to dodge the light of day, is that I wish I could do this every morning. I wish I could have this man next to me all the time.

You know... like this. But more terrible and painful.


This, apparently, is my wake-up call; not a figurative one {though that’s probably well on its way, too}, but a literal one. This big man coming into my room and climbing into bed next to me certainly woke me up; whether or not it will make me get out of bed is another story.

I have a headache… probably from the whopping 3 drinks at the Comedy Cellar; the extreme lack of food consumed yesterday; and the fact that I spent a combined total of about 2 hours crying last night. Oh, yes. I cried. I cried standing up, I cried sitting down, I cried on him, I cried next to him, I cried under him, I cried into my pillow and into the phone to my sister.

Hopefully, I’m done with that… but the lump in my throat tells me otherwise. So does the dull ache in my heart.

This Morning {still at work}

2 Aug

Morning…breakfast and a “squeeze”? 🙂

I look at the text on my phone, hit the button that makes the screen go black (what is that button called?), and put it back on my desk. It’s 8 a.m.  and I’m in the home-stretch of the end of my overnight shift at work. I pick up the phone again and re-read the message. Really, 30-something? I expected more from you.

Not served here...

Since when did it become OK to start blatantly asking me to sleep with you? Unless we are in a bar or you are my fuck-buddy {see playbook pages: business partners coming soon}, you should never directly ask if I want to have sex with you. Because, really, if you have to ask… the answer is probably no.

I thought Out-of-Town-DC-Friend was bad enough–but he’s young and was wasted at the time. 30-something is sober… because it’s freaking 8 in the morning! Which brings me to my next question…

In what world does it seem logical to ask me to “bone” right after I get off of an 8+ hour shift at work? First RealEstate Reginald and now 30-Something? This was even worse considering it’s an overnight shift. Are you TRYING to annoy me–in all of my Sunday morning, post-work, exhausted glory?


Sorry… I’m actually super tired from work.  I type back.
No worries. Feel better. If anything changes either this morning, or later this evening, am here.

Ha. Yeah. I bet you are.

this morning {afternoon [opposite of] delight}

30 Jul

It takes a bold woman to walk the streets of NYC in boxers, a t-shirt, and flip-flops from the nail salon. It takes an even bolder one to do it while walking 18 blocks that include Fifth, Park and Madison. And yet an even bolder one to do it at 430 on a Friday afternoon. Sometimes I look back and wish that I felt just a tiny shred of shame for my behavior… sadly, I rarely do. 🙂

Another sad fact is that I basically had to beg for these clothes. Beg. And freaking stick-up-his butt, late twenty-something RealEstate Reginald finally caved–but he was bitter about it till the end.

Now call me crazy, but if I were a boy and I had just delivered a downright terrible sexual performance in what should have been a matinée of Afternoon Delight, I would do everything I could to butter the girl up after. Or at very least, I would do my best not to be a doucher right after for fear the girl would REALLY start to get fed-up. It’s the least I could do since I didn’t bring my A-game. But hey! Maybe that’s because in the world where I am a boy, I am actually some form of a gentleman… Cue the Beyoncé song.

Really though, Reginald. Don’t lure me into your apartment on a lovely Friday afternoon, after I’ve just gotten off of a 9-hour shift at work that started way too early on a way too hungover morning, not deliver on the lunch you promised me {literal} OR the dessert you promised me {figurative}, and expect to get off easily. Not. Going. To. Happen.

The bottom line is this: I don’t need you to buy my dinner if you want to hook up with me; I can buy my own dinner {I like my life too much to waste time on forced conversation}. But if we make a plan to hook-up, AT LEAST deliver on the hooking-up part. I’m a busy woman, and frankly, that  ten minutes in bed today is time I will never get back. Thus, it is time, dear friends, for RealEstate Reginald to go.

this morning {shame shielders}

18 Jul

PartyGirl Rule #2: ALWAYS carry sunglasses. You never know where you’ll end up in the morning, but God knows it will be bright (you know, with all that sunshine and shame shining down on you.

PartyGirl Rule #1 is, of course, go big or go home. Maybe that’s why I never wake up at home… because I ALWAYS go big.

Omg. I got paid last night. Yesssss. I can finally afford cigarettes again.
Can I get the American Spirit Menthols? 
(facing look of confusion) The green ones.
Why do they always have a non-smoker working the cigarette counter?
Why yes, genuinely good-natured Duane Reade worker, you’re right. I really should stop smoking.
Not today though.

Sorry I smell like I was literally rolled INTO a cigarette. It’s been a long morning already.
Oh, what’s that, sweet, adorable eyebrow threader?You’re allergic to cigarette smoke?  I’m so sorry. Thank you for being so kind while you’re coughing up your lungs.
I think I need to put my sunglasses back on.
No, no… I love my eyebrows! It just seems to be really bright in here all of the sudden… with all that shame streaming in from the windows.

What’s that regular Starbucks worker? Oh, yes, I usually am going to work when I come in. But no, not today. Just a little walk of shame ridiculously close to my place of work.
(nervous laughter)
Yeah, yeah… no, the light in here is fine. I just need to put my sunglasses on.
The shame seems to be coming out of the display case now.

So much for doing errands. This PartyGirl should’ve just broken rule number one and GONE HOME.