Try Not To Puke: Another Blog About Love
"Need a new entry.... maybe one that doesn't use f%*# or drunk, etc....it's a mom thing... :) how many mom's are reading this? :) Two? Anyway...."So my mother's email started the other day. Well here's the reason I don't do as many entries; I've been talking to too many people. One person told me to swear more, another told me to write shorter posts, another told me to write twice a week, one every day. One person said I need a theme. Ah, a theme. He was right. So since I've realized I really don't have one, I feel like I can't fully indulge. If this website doesn't make me money, what's the point?
It's kind of sad when I realize that the reason I started this was so that I could write about what I wanted, when I wanted. For once in my life not having to submit, or edit. It seemed fun. Except for that little blip about how I still can't quit my day job. And all because I don't have a theme. How sad. Until I met my boyfriend and his Hollywood exec-type friend I didn't realize how aimlessly I had been plugging along. But for this entry, I am going to write something because anything in my opinion, is better than nothing and last week I started a whole lot of something. Number one. I realized I have been a complete bitch to my boyfriend for the past five months. We have been going out for five months. I know, the math is horrifying. Either I'm used to being with assholes, ie. guys who ignore me, guys who get mad when I spill things, guys who break plans, guys who don't respond, guys who lie, you get the picture--guys. I've always felt that when I met the right person he would actually love me. Like he would love the little things, like how I start a junk drawer everywhere I live of things that aren't quite junk but aren't exactly usable. Hunter found my junk drawer of unopened straws and bobby pins, an orphaned pen cap, a piece of something that looked like it fell off of something...and he thought it was cute. He fucking thought it was cute (sorry Mom). He asked me questions about some of the objects that had made it to the front of the drawer and when I couldn't explain he said I was adorable. So here's my news. I think I've finally realized that this guy loves me. It's really hard to write because it's almost like saying it out loud and it's almost like believing it, but I think he really does.
So this past week I've decided to be more patient and stop expecting that he's got every piece of dick in him that every guy I've ever dated. It's almost like I've made him some kind of dick monster, comprised of only bad parts. That's how fucked up guys make you. They are so cute at first and handsome and they're so sexy because they want you to sleep with them and love them. And then they just totally let you down in their own ways. So by the time I found Hunter, well you can imagine how hard he had to convince me that he wasn't a joke. I was 31. I had been all wooed-out.
I seriously asked him if he was gay. Five times. Then I wondered if he had dead bodies somewhere in his apartment. I wondered this, I am not kidding. He was that perfect. I was that afraid of falling for someone else. So here's the news, and it's not that newsworthy unless you know how much denial I've been in and how much I've been fighting to believe in this love. I'm vowing here and now to start to believe him. He actually does love me, in an honest, authentic, old-fashioned kind of way. It's not because I'm pretty, or skinny, or because I have a nice ass. It's actually something inside of me that he sees, plus all of those things. And that's pretty news worthy to me.
VirginiaEddie
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