Grease Lightning
“Wut RU doing 2nite? Cll me if u want 2 go 2 DF l8r. OMG LB clld me 2day. LMAO. WTF? Ill TTYL about it. Luv U!”
I think I’ve never taken to text messaging because I’m a fan of proper spelling and grammar. I’m also long-winded.
My Mother gave birth to a Scorpion baby in 1984 and, ever since, she’s had to remind it to be polite. I am that Scorpion baby.
Though I don’t necessarily go for the whole, “What’s your sign,” line, I will admit that I am very much like what my moons expect me to be. They say I’m to be determined and forceful. I’m emotional and intuitive, powerful and passionate, and exciting and magnetic. They also say I’m jealous and resentful, compulsive and obsessive, and secretive and obstinate. I think anyone who knows me at all would agree that I am.
These adjectives are why my Mom reminds me, “You be nice to that boy,” and says, “(Gasp) Ashley Rose,” like how Mother’s do when I tell her stories or seek her advise. I’m really only ever honest, though. One can never get angry with another for simply being honest.
My Mom thinks I have “boys” too. I don’t. I have HAD boys, but the only way the word can be used in a plural form is when it’s being used in the past tense one.
A few days will go by before we speak and my Mom will call and ask, “How are ‘the boys’?” I know whom she’s talking about exactly. But she says it as though I’m currently seeing every guy in the Greater Los Angeles County area. Like how she used to ask, “How’s that Nagel-boy?” or “How’s that Kelly-boy?” as if she’d never been introduced either of them and that my relationship with each was nothing more than a passive one.
I know when she asks me now about ‘the boys’ she means Casey. And she inquires about Alex. And I think she just doesn’t know what Trev is. These people are the ones she refers to as; ‘the boys,’ though.
Casey is just fine. I think he’s unhappy but, then again, I always suspected him to be. He doesn’t like his job but is eagerly awaiting a call from FedEx regarding an interview he had with them earlier this month. FedEx to him is like Capital Records to me. If he gets the job he’ll fly ¼ as much as he flies now and, probably, make twice as much money. He seems to think all this will make him content. I seem to think it’s going to do him no good at all; what’s money and time when you’ve had the first all along and you’ve nothing to do with the second? I speak to him often and see him just as much as I did when we were together. Which, if you remember, is hardly ever at all.
Alex’s number is still programmed in my phone but I haven’t used it in quite sometime. Sisters visiting from Norway, apparently, merit a string of a few un-returned phone calls. Sisters returning TO Norway, however, wonderfully frees up .2 minutes of the day to check-in with me.
Without being passive; Alex didn’t return some phone calls I placed to him before Christmas time. A few weeks after I came back to L.A. he called me. There was no apology made for falling off the face of the Earth. There was no remorse. There was no urgency. I figure that I was never attached enough to him to care. My Mom thinks I’m being un-realistic and bratty by not contacting him. I really don’t like finding time to convince people I’m worthy of their’s, is all I see it as being though.
Trev is a very special character in my life, one could say. He’s not what you’d call ‘my boyfriend’ but he’s more of a ‘love interest’ or ‘potential boyfriend’, if you will. I’m no good with titles. He’s the guy I ‘date’ and he’s the guy who gives me butterflies. I look forward to seeing him and talking to him and spending time with him. So whatever all that means is what HE means.
Trev is so similar to me that we’re opposite. As in, we disagree just for disagreement-sake. He’s the kind of guy who’d hear a song at a restaurant and ask if you’d want to dance. He and I played “Opinionated Guess Who” the other night. It’s just like the regular Milton Bradley “Guess Who” but without asking questions regarding appearance. For example, questions like “Does your person run an internet porn site?” and “Did you’re person go to war for our country?” and “Did your person eat my blueberry muffin?” were asked. When the game was finished and we realized neither of us had guessed the other’s person correctly, a debate would begin:
“Tom totally lost his virginity before he was 18!”
“No he didn’t. He was 23 and in love. And Mary doesn’t subscribe to GQ. She’s a woman!”
“She buys it for the guys she brings home. But don’t even try to convince me that Claire is not a school teacher.”
“No she’s not. She’s a stripper. Her hat and glasses are part of her costume.”
…as you can see the game is a lose/lose situation.
Trev went to his Dad’s rehearsal the other day and met Paul McCartney. I’d dwell on the subject but I’m a little butt-hurt about it all. Or jealous, rather.
Tonight I think we’re going to watch “Goodfellas”. Because I’m in a gangster-flick sort of mood and he’s got it TiVo'd for me.
I think I’ve never taken to text messaging because I’m a fan of proper spelling and grammar. I’m also long-winded.
My Mother gave birth to a Scorpion baby in 1984 and, ever since, she’s had to remind it to be polite. I am that Scorpion baby.
Though I don’t necessarily go for the whole, “What’s your sign,” line, I will admit that I am very much like what my moons expect me to be. They say I’m to be determined and forceful. I’m emotional and intuitive, powerful and passionate, and exciting and magnetic. They also say I’m jealous and resentful, compulsive and obsessive, and secretive and obstinate. I think anyone who knows me at all would agree that I am.
These adjectives are why my Mom reminds me, “You be nice to that boy,” and says, “(Gasp) Ashley Rose,” like how Mother’s do when I tell her stories or seek her advise. I’m really only ever honest, though. One can never get angry with another for simply being honest.
My Mom thinks I have “boys” too. I don’t. I have HAD boys, but the only way the word can be used in a plural form is when it’s being used in the past tense one.
A few days will go by before we speak and my Mom will call and ask, “How are ‘the boys’?” I know whom she’s talking about exactly. But she says it as though I’m currently seeing every guy in the Greater Los Angeles County area. Like how she used to ask, “How’s that Nagel-boy?” or “How’s that Kelly-boy?” as if she’d never been introduced either of them and that my relationship with each was nothing more than a passive one.
I know when she asks me now about ‘the boys’ she means Casey. And she inquires about Alex. And I think she just doesn’t know what Trev is. These people are the ones she refers to as; ‘the boys,’ though.
Casey is just fine. I think he’s unhappy but, then again, I always suspected him to be. He doesn’t like his job but is eagerly awaiting a call from FedEx regarding an interview he had with them earlier this month. FedEx to him is like Capital Records to me. If he gets the job he’ll fly ¼ as much as he flies now and, probably, make twice as much money. He seems to think all this will make him content. I seem to think it’s going to do him no good at all; what’s money and time when you’ve had the first all along and you’ve nothing to do with the second? I speak to him often and see him just as much as I did when we were together. Which, if you remember, is hardly ever at all.
Alex’s number is still programmed in my phone but I haven’t used it in quite sometime. Sisters visiting from Norway, apparently, merit a string of a few un-returned phone calls. Sisters returning TO Norway, however, wonderfully frees up .2 minutes of the day to check-in with me.
Without being passive; Alex didn’t return some phone calls I placed to him before Christmas time. A few weeks after I came back to L.A. he called me. There was no apology made for falling off the face of the Earth. There was no remorse. There was no urgency. I figure that I was never attached enough to him to care. My Mom thinks I’m being un-realistic and bratty by not contacting him. I really don’t like finding time to convince people I’m worthy of their’s, is all I see it as being though.
Trev is a very special character in my life, one could say. He’s not what you’d call ‘my boyfriend’ but he’s more of a ‘love interest’ or ‘potential boyfriend’, if you will. I’m no good with titles. He’s the guy I ‘date’ and he’s the guy who gives me butterflies. I look forward to seeing him and talking to him and spending time with him. So whatever all that means is what HE means.
Trev is so similar to me that we’re opposite. As in, we disagree just for disagreement-sake. He’s the kind of guy who’d hear a song at a restaurant and ask if you’d want to dance. He and I played “Opinionated Guess Who” the other night. It’s just like the regular Milton Bradley “Guess Who” but without asking questions regarding appearance. For example, questions like “Does your person run an internet porn site?” and “Did you’re person go to war for our country?” and “Did your person eat my blueberry muffin?” were asked. When the game was finished and we realized neither of us had guessed the other’s person correctly, a debate would begin:
“Tom totally lost his virginity before he was 18!”
“No he didn’t. He was 23 and in love. And Mary doesn’t subscribe to GQ. She’s a woman!”
“She buys it for the guys she brings home. But don’t even try to convince me that Claire is not a school teacher.”
“No she’s not. She’s a stripper. Her hat and glasses are part of her costume.”
…as you can see the game is a lose/lose situation.
Trev went to his Dad’s rehearsal the other day and met Paul McCartney. I’d dwell on the subject but I’m a little butt-hurt about it all. Or jealous, rather.
Tonight I think we’re going to watch “Goodfellas”. Because I’m in a gangster-flick sort of mood and he’s got it TiVo'd for me.