So there are a few things I'm sure of, at this point. Shall I make a list?
Human relationships are all doomed.
Even when you're broke, somehow rent gets paid.
There will always be hot girls driving in newer cars than me.
There will always be other hot girls driving in rust buckets.
I guess the first two statements do not need an explanation, but the next two may be confusing.
I've noticed, while driving in the city, without AC, that it's hard to be attractive and drenched in sweat.
Every now and then, I see a girl who can master it. I am not one of these girls.
Maybe if I was in a Mini Cooper, I'd be better looking.
I guess I've distracted you from the meat of the story here.
I've been trying to adjust to my new reality for a few months now. I am alone in the world.
Recovering from a long-term relationship is difficult, and many of us rebound with something simple and fun. In my case, I became involved with a total asshole.
I'm in the city because of this asshole.
I drove three hours to escape him for the evening. But he's still on my mind.
His pursuit of me was ruthless until my interest was sparked. Story of my life.
I spoke to him rudely, I drank excessively, I acted like a drunken slut, and so I dug my own grave.
I'm considering going to IHOP, because I desire a chicken tenders basket.
I don't know how to get into the real story.
So I'll just mention a karaoke night a few months back.
After work, I went to a local bar, for karaoke, with co-workers and the ex, before she was the ex.
The ex immediately was enamored by an acquaintance with long blond hair. She spent the evening following her around, and so I effortlessly avoided her.
After I performed a startling and wretched rendition of "Step by Step," by The New Kids on the Block, a stranger came up and complimented me.
Of course he was being sarcastic, but we ended up talking until last call.
The ex sang a few songs, I confessed to the stranger that the girl on stage was no longer in love with me, and would be leaving me permanently in a few weeks.
I guess we were standing too close. The ex shot us dirty looks all night.
A few weeks later, I find myself corresponding with the stranger on a regular basis online.
That's how it started.
Now I'm ready to be done with it.
I think it ended yesterday, in traffic.
He pulled up beside me, rolled down his window and shouted, "Slut!"
Then he sped off, blowing exhaust in my face, leaving me wondering if a nicer car could make my life easier.
I have a hunch he's going to call me tonight. It's more than likely that when he does call, he'll bitch at me for making out with his friend last weekend, then apologize for being so angry, and expect to come over and get laid.
My best and boldest move is to be in another city when he calls.
The first time we kissed I said, "You must think I'm a crazy whore."
He replied, "I hope so."
Anyway.
I'm weaving through traffic, southbound on Seventh Avenue, shaken and sweaty.
My shirt is glued to the vinyl seat, my hair is greasy and disheveled, and the steering wheel is slippery in my hands. The trash on the sidewalk is ripe, the trash on the floor beside me is getting there, and my stomach is churning harder each time I take a sip of red bull.
I have no trust in myself, obviously.
I have driven three hours from home to avoid a phone call.
Well, maybe I'm just insane.
Oh, there was something else.
This guy I barely know approached me at a bar.
He immediately mentioned my recent break-up, and proceeded to grab my face and try to kiss me on the mouth.
I pulled back, stunned.
He tried to play it off, "Ha, just to fuck with you!"
I shook my head, and took off for my car.
And so here I am, almost to Thomas Streetâ¦should I fight traffic to get to Central? That's where IHOP is.
I have nowhere to go here. I know a few all-night coffee bars and of course, IHOP. But unless I get a motel room I can't stay the night here.
I could just get on the ten and cruise.
But which way? East or west?
The cliché move would be to head to the coast.
Mexico is another cliché, but wouldn't it be nice to go to Puerto Vallarta? I think so.
What am I thinking?
I'm not a character on the screen, I'm not a novel's heroine.
I'm not really running away.
I should just get a coffee for now. That's it.
The worst thing about this city is that it reminds me of the ex. Her presence is all over this city.
She lives in Chicago, now.
I live in a little-known mining town in Northern Arizona.
I'm an unknown silversmith, with a cardboard and velvet display board.
The ex is a painter. She's some famous artist from Arizona, exhibiting in Chicago, New York and Carmel.
Chicago and New York don't impress me, but Carmel. Swoon.
Anyway.
I have literally been left in the dust here.
She's out there, having a shiny, sparkly, glamorous life.
I'm stuck in a "Devil Town," and my jewelry doesn't support me.
I have two serving jobs, so life between jobs is less than half a life, and doesn't leave much time to make jewelry, art, or write, or even do my laundry.
And does anyone else find it ridiculous that laundromats don't have locks on the washers and dryers?
I hate having to sit there for an hour, guarding my thrift store clothes like gold, but have lost dresses and printed polyester pants. I can't believe anyone else would want these strange and recognizably stolen items, but someone in town seems to like my style.
I refuse to go dumpster diving until it is absolutely necessary. I spend my time guarding clothes, rather than working even more to buy new clothes.
Anyway, some of my tops are on round three. That's bad for a shirt. Really bad. I just need to budget some time for laundry.
Anyway. I don't want to think about her. She's off having a wonderful life, without me, while I move through the whole list of last resorts.
I don't want to think about this boy either. I feel like I need a rebound from my rebound.
He's in love with a girl. They dated in high school, for exactly eleven days. Anyway. She's the one who is always on his mind. He's twenty-four years old, but he's in love with a girl he dated nine years ago. And what is dating when you're only fifteen?
How could you carry fifteen-year-old puppy love for nearly a decade? Really, How can you carry a torch for a lover you've never even met as an adult?
It's confusing to me.
But anyway, this boy, who is all about mixed signals, has confessed, to me, his love for this girl that's been burning away at him for over ten years.
He only got eleven days of mutual consideration, but, he loved, and still loves, this child.
He's aged. But, he hasn't seen her in years, he remembers and lusts for a child. He is twenty-four, lusting for a girl of thirteen, or fourteen. Creepy.
I don't know why I kissed his friend. I can't explain it. I'm not attracted to the guy, not in any way. I was wasted, and alone, and so I kissed him in the parking lot after I was ejected from a bar.
I'm not a liar.
So I told the boy.
Then I called the friend's girlfriend.
She was upset.
She was threatening suicide with a samarai sword.
I tried to calm her down.
The friend was pissed, the boy was even more pissed.
I've gone from unavailable, to overavailable, from desired, to acquired, from lonely to truly alone.
norritt