Epiphany times infinity.
I think I've been going about this whole dating thing all wrong. Or, well. Not dating. Or whatever.
See, I've been under the impression that dating after high school is entirely different from dating during high school.
I think I'm wrong.
I got a text earlier this morning (it being 2:30am, earlier means about two hours ago) from Alex, asking if I was awake. He was bored, so we texted back and forth a few times. I told him I was watching Merlin, we joked about the internet's uses in defense against boredom, and I invited him over to my new place sometime once I'd gotten moved in.
Then it occurred to me.
I am not the sort of person who has casual sex. I've known that for as long as I've known anything about my sexual identity. But I must've forgotten it at some point over the past five, almost six years, since I've been approaching relationships entirely differently than I ought to have been.
If I want to have sex with someone, I'm going to have to at least like him. And form a romantic relationship with him. And force him to watch stupid BBC shows with me whilst cuddling around my laptop. ...The mention of which makes me regret Ryan, again, but all the pieces weren't there for that one. Me and Ryan were doing it the right way, but there wasn't chemistry on my end. I haven't been going about it the right way with Alex at all, and unless I change that I'll never know if there's chemistry on his end.
Hee. Try not to think too hard about that last bit.
Anyway, point is. I've been telling myself (and others, and many others when I've had too much to drink) that I know I don't see myself marrying Alex or anything, but that I would like to sleep with him. That's not what I should be saying at all. What I should be saying is, I don't see myself marrying Alex or anything, but I could certainly enjoy a relationship with him.
And suddenly the months of flirting and waiting an appropriate ex-girlfriend grace period make so much more sense.
Oh, God. I wonder if Adriel talked to him. I bet she did. I hope I didn't say anything too embarrassing. She was the last person I remember talking to before the puking.
Oh, maybe I should tell that story.
Yes, so, all epiphanies aside, Lincoln Day. I got absolutely hammered. Sloshed. Wasted. Puking drunk. Literally. For the first time in my life, I got so drunk I a) blacked out, and b) puked. Three or four times. It was ridiculous. Never drink 3/4 of a bottle of rum on a near empty stomach.
That resulted in a lovely hour or so in the bathroom with Meg and Jordan, the second if which was a bit of a surprise (even drunk I didn't expect him there, and remember telling him so multiple times and thanking him for it). Which in turn resulted in awkward sleeping arrangements and questionable sexual advances. Let's just say I really hope he was drunk, and so does Meg. Very drunk.
I really hope that doesn't become the boy drama in my tarot reading. Because it would definitely have involved me running my mouth off, and I don't mean puking.
Because I also remember talking to Marissa, Tim's girlfriend, all about Tim! But that was before Adriel, and I remember censoring myself (I was actually thinking about what I should and shouldn't say about him, which probably had more to do with the fact that he was three feet away than that I was talking to his girlfriend, but it worked, anyway), and I mostly came out with, "I'm really glad you're with him now, though, because he's definitely grown up," which I do believe is true, and I think that's alright, anyway, because she friended me on Facebook yesterday. So I don't think she's angry.
Adriel didn't seem angry, either. And I do like her, and I respect her position as far as my pursuit of Alex is concerned, and I told her as much (drunk, though; definitely drunk at that point). And... well, I was very drunk at the time, but I didn't get any possessive vibes from her. Which would make sense, since I believe she was the one who instigated the break up, but I could be wrong. Either way, it was nearly a year ago, now, before summer, anyway. That they broke up. So, I mean, it's been long enough.
Especially when he's initiating communication. Which he has done. More than once, now.
And the flirting has moved into cyberspace, as well as into public and documented, by which I mean Facebook. So. Enjoy that.
Hopefully I will, too, before much longer.
Anyway, two more things. First off, me being kind of excited about Alex now (still trying to quash hopes, because I'm still jaded and don't want to get too excited in case it doesn't come to anything) makes me feel twice as bad about my sour mood Monday night. And even Sunday, if I'm being honest, although Sunday I had hung-over and less-than-four-hours-sleep to blame. And there were dolls. So many pretty ones. Mmm... Tedros......
But I digress. I was feeling ashamed of being bitchy to my friends. Recently I've fallen back into my depressed state, which basically makes me act like I'm experiencing PMS constantly. Since I just had my period last week (I know, you wanted to know that), I can't chalk it up to PMS this time, although the true bouts of that have been becoming much more strong over the past year or so, which is annoying in itself. The cards suggested anxiety as opposed to depression, which is similar and often treated with similar methods, but either way I would like to talk to a professional about it. And I don't include my current doctor in that group, since I've really not had a lot of success with her; I feel brushed off and disrespected and treated as a child by her, and I don't like it. I should really get myself a psychiatrist, since they're the brain doctors who can actually write prescriptions and such. I need to check out my new insurance and such.
So, suffice it to say, I was not in a party mood at the party Stacy, Meg and I had at Meg's house Monday night. Stargate was fun, but I had a headache the entire evening (for which I ought to have taken more drugs, drunk more water, and eaten more substantial food to ward off) and was short and even downright mean to my best friends. For which I apologize here, and say that you know you've got a great friend when you're an ass to them and they love you anyway. So thanks, you two. Next time I'll try not to be such a bitch.
Second thing. George. My car. My beloved 1992 Mercury Sable, light blue. Is dead.
Holy shit, yup. Just started crying when I typed that. Must've finally hit me.
Anyway. The overheating thing? It's a $2,500 fix. If only I'd pulled over sooner, let the engine cool and put coolant in it it wouldn't have happened and I would still have George today. But the fact of the matter is, George is worth less than half of what it would cost to fix him, even if he were running (a year ago my dad was saying we'd be lucky to get $500 for him). So. Logically. It makes more sense not to fix him.
But now I'm really, really sad, because I went and got attached. I'd never named objects like that before, and then one day, about three years ago, it just so happened the car was called George. And now he's dead. And I'm crying. And it's the most illogical and silliest thing I can even think of to be doing.
I'm going to have a good cry about my car, now, and pretend it's hormones or other things. Or stress. Or anxiety.
Damn, I need to go back to that card reader.
See, I've been under the impression that dating after high school is entirely different from dating during high school.
I think I'm wrong.
I got a text earlier this morning (it being 2:30am, earlier means about two hours ago) from Alex, asking if I was awake. He was bored, so we texted back and forth a few times. I told him I was watching Merlin, we joked about the internet's uses in defense against boredom, and I invited him over to my new place sometime once I'd gotten moved in.
Then it occurred to me.
I am not the sort of person who has casual sex. I've known that for as long as I've known anything about my sexual identity. But I must've forgotten it at some point over the past five, almost six years, since I've been approaching relationships entirely differently than I ought to have been.
If I want to have sex with someone, I'm going to have to at least like him. And form a romantic relationship with him. And force him to watch stupid BBC shows with me whilst cuddling around my laptop. ...The mention of which makes me regret Ryan, again, but all the pieces weren't there for that one. Me and Ryan were doing it the right way, but there wasn't chemistry on my end. I haven't been going about it the right way with Alex at all, and unless I change that I'll never know if there's chemistry on his end.
Hee. Try not to think too hard about that last bit.
Anyway, point is. I've been telling myself (and others, and many others when I've had too much to drink) that I know I don't see myself marrying Alex or anything, but that I would like to sleep with him. That's not what I should be saying at all. What I should be saying is, I don't see myself marrying Alex or anything, but I could certainly enjoy a relationship with him.
And suddenly the months of flirting and waiting an appropriate ex-girlfriend grace period make so much more sense.
Oh, God. I wonder if Adriel talked to him. I bet she did. I hope I didn't say anything too embarrassing. She was the last person I remember talking to before the puking.
Oh, maybe I should tell that story.
Yes, so, all epiphanies aside, Lincoln Day. I got absolutely hammered. Sloshed. Wasted. Puking drunk. Literally. For the first time in my life, I got so drunk I a) blacked out, and b) puked. Three or four times. It was ridiculous. Never drink 3/4 of a bottle of rum on a near empty stomach.
That resulted in a lovely hour or so in the bathroom with Meg and Jordan, the second if which was a bit of a surprise (even drunk I didn't expect him there, and remember telling him so multiple times and thanking him for it). Which in turn resulted in awkward sleeping arrangements and questionable sexual advances. Let's just say I really hope he was drunk, and so does Meg. Very drunk.
I really hope that doesn't become the boy drama in my tarot reading. Because it would definitely have involved me running my mouth off, and I don't mean puking.
Because I also remember talking to Marissa, Tim's girlfriend, all about Tim! But that was before Adriel, and I remember censoring myself (I was actually thinking about what I should and shouldn't say about him, which probably had more to do with the fact that he was three feet away than that I was talking to his girlfriend, but it worked, anyway), and I mostly came out with, "I'm really glad you're with him now, though, because he's definitely grown up," which I do believe is true, and I think that's alright, anyway, because she friended me on Facebook yesterday. So I don't think she's angry.
Adriel didn't seem angry, either. And I do like her, and I respect her position as far as my pursuit of Alex is concerned, and I told her as much (drunk, though; definitely drunk at that point). And... well, I was very drunk at the time, but I didn't get any possessive vibes from her. Which would make sense, since I believe she was the one who instigated the break up, but I could be wrong. Either way, it was nearly a year ago, now, before summer, anyway. That they broke up. So, I mean, it's been long enough.
Especially when he's initiating communication. Which he has done. More than once, now.
And the flirting has moved into cyberspace, as well as into public and documented, by which I mean Facebook. So. Enjoy that.
Hopefully I will, too, before much longer.
Anyway, two more things. First off, me being kind of excited about Alex now (still trying to quash hopes, because I'm still jaded and don't want to get too excited in case it doesn't come to anything) makes me feel twice as bad about my sour mood Monday night. And even Sunday, if I'm being honest, although Sunday I had hung-over and less-than-four-hours-sleep to blame. And there were dolls. So many pretty ones. Mmm... Tedros......
But I digress. I was feeling ashamed of being bitchy to my friends. Recently I've fallen back into my depressed state, which basically makes me act like I'm experiencing PMS constantly. Since I just had my period last week (I know, you wanted to know that), I can't chalk it up to PMS this time, although the true bouts of that have been becoming much more strong over the past year or so, which is annoying in itself. The cards suggested anxiety as opposed to depression, which is similar and often treated with similar methods, but either way I would like to talk to a professional about it. And I don't include my current doctor in that group, since I've really not had a lot of success with her; I feel brushed off and disrespected and treated as a child by her, and I don't like it. I should really get myself a psychiatrist, since they're the brain doctors who can actually write prescriptions and such. I need to check out my new insurance and such.
So, suffice it to say, I was not in a party mood at the party Stacy, Meg and I had at Meg's house Monday night. Stargate was fun, but I had a headache the entire evening (for which I ought to have taken more drugs, drunk more water, and eaten more substantial food to ward off) and was short and even downright mean to my best friends. For which I apologize here, and say that you know you've got a great friend when you're an ass to them and they love you anyway. So thanks, you two. Next time I'll try not to be such a bitch.
Second thing. George. My car. My beloved 1992 Mercury Sable, light blue. Is dead.
Holy shit, yup. Just started crying when I typed that. Must've finally hit me.
Anyway. The overheating thing? It's a $2,500 fix. If only I'd pulled over sooner, let the engine cool and put coolant in it it wouldn't have happened and I would still have George today. But the fact of the matter is, George is worth less than half of what it would cost to fix him, even if he were running (a year ago my dad was saying we'd be lucky to get $500 for him). So. Logically. It makes more sense not to fix him.
But now I'm really, really sad, because I went and got attached. I'd never named objects like that before, and then one day, about three years ago, it just so happened the car was called George. And now he's dead. And I'm crying. And it's the most illogical and silliest thing I can even think of to be doing.
I'm going to have a good cry about my car, now, and pretend it's hormones or other things. Or stress. Or anxiety.
Damn, I need to go back to that card reader.