Poison

Don’t worry dummy, I’m not going to fall in love with you this time. I think to myself as he rolls off me and far away from me, almost as if the act of our naked bodies touching even the slightest bit after we’re done having sex will be what causes me to fall in love with him again, and not the actual sex itself. He’s very strange that way. He has no problem with us doing it in his jet tub, by candlelight no less, and then hanging out in there for a good hour after, chatting and laughing while we prune. But lord forbid I linger in his bed for half a minute too long after he’s done. 

I keep telling myself that this is the last time. This is the last time I’m going to be so available to hang out when he texts me, the last time I come to his house, the last time I’m going give in to the carnal attraction we have for one another. 

But when I see his name on my phone something inside me just can’t resist. Every. Single. Time. I have this weird pull to him. I always have. Even though I know that this is for the most part all we’ll ever be – fuck buddies – and it’s really all I want it to be at the moment, the power Erik has over me is sometimes astounding. And no matter how I feel after I see him, I keep coming back for more. 

Lately we have slipped back into the routine we had before I moved to Lakeview. I hear from him every week, like clockwork, usually on Saturday to chat. He’s so busy (nothing has changed in that way) that sometimes we just chat for a little bit about what is new and we say that hopefully we will see each other soon and that’s that. But more often than not, especially lately, hearing from him means I’m heading over to his place to go have a bath. 

While the bath thing is slightly hilarious, it has changed the dynamic of our relationship. A lot. You wouldn’t think it would, after all it’s just some hot water bubbles in a bath tub. But when we are in there together we talk. Like really talk. Whether it’s politics, religion, sex or Simpsons quotes, nothing is off limits. Our bath chats have even led to a fairly serious chat about his parents, whom he rarely mentions, and after knowing him for 11 years I finally found out how and when they both passed away. It was weird to see him so vulnerable and raw (emotionally of course, we were already naked in a tub, so how much more raw and vulnerable could a person even get?) But he has been more open with me in the last 3 months in that damn tub than he had been all previous 10 years we’ve known each other. Combined. Maybe the candles he lights have a story telling aroma in them, some sort of new age voodoo type deal. Or maybe he’s actually maturing. After all, he also told me he wants to have kids someday. 

Possibly my kids in fact. Yes. This conversation actually happened. It was a few months ago, and we were just chatting via text the one night. If you read all my posts you might remember me mentioning he and I having a 4 hour text conversation the one night? Well that’s the night he brought up the kids thing. It started innocently enough with him telling me that he was thinking that he wants kids now, but is scared that at his age, trying to find a partner who wants to have his children, especially since he’s still rather terrible at relationships, will be damn near impossible. I told him I’m in the same boat, I want kids more than anything in the world, but because I am single as fuck, and currently nobody wants to date me, my eggs are going to all die before I get to use any of them. He then said that if it came down to it, and we were both ready to hit the “panic button” so to speak on the kids thing that we should have a kid together. 

At first I thought he was joking. It was via text after all, and come on. It’s Erik. Of course this was just a joke. But the conversation evolved into baby names and gender preferences (we both agreed we’d rather have a girl, but would of course be happy with either) and as our conversation continued, it slowly dawned on me that he may not be joking. Eventually, the subject changed, and we were no longer talking babies, and I didn’t really ever get a good idea of whether there was seriousness to the baby thing or not. 

I put it out of my mind as best as I could, and had slightly convinced myself despite the evidence that he was just kidding, until about a week later when we hung out. We were in the middle of having sex, (in his bed) and he had said something along the lines of safe sex since he didn’t think we were ready to push the panic button just yet. Holy fucking hell. Could he really be serious?! In the moment, I half laughed, because what else was I supposed to do just then, we were in the middle of having sex? We finished, and that’s when he rolled away from me, as if to put actual distance between us. I honestly wonder what would have happened had we had sex in the tub that night. Perhaps the magic candlelit bubbles would have changed the scenario of that conversation ever so slightly. 

He hasn’t brought up the kids thing since, but I have not stopped thinking about it. I have a pros and cons list in my brain, and the pros side is surprisingly (not really all that surprisingly) long. There are so many reasons why having a baby with him would be perfect. He’d be a great dad. He’s a great man. He’d be in the kid’s life, and would provide for it. Erik and I have similar beliefs and values when it comes to politics, religion, and education. He’s educated, and reasonable, which I feel would be super beneficial when I raise my kid based on everything I know from my experience in early childhood education. The only con – and quite frankly it’s a big enough con to outweigh every last pro – is the chance of there at some point being feelings beyond just co-parenting involved. No matter how perfect a co-parenting situation might be with him, all of that is shot to shit the second one of us (probably me, let’s be honest) starts to fall for the other one. 

I know I’d get hurt by the situation. I know that no matter how he feels about me, I will never, ever in my life hear him tell me that he’s in love with me. That is just never going to happen. And as much as I am desperate to hit that panic button, and as tempting as it is to hit it immediately, I know that besides a baby that I would for sure love more than anything else in the world, nothing good would come out of that situation. 

So, I guess for now, that’s where we are. Yet again in this weird, fucked up limbo where I don’t quite know where I stand with Erik, or how I feel about the situation between us, but sure as shit not stopping myself from seeing him and putting myself into this confusing place. The only difference is that nowadays instead of daydreaming about being with him, I’m daydreaming about what our daughter might be like. She’s got a name and everything. It’s just a shame she will never exist, and after all this buildup, I’m in the same stupid place I have always been in, and will inevitably always be. 

Olivia

Let It Rain

I’m not sure what is harder; watching someone you love walk out of your life, or watching that person you once loved walk back into your life with his new girlfriend in tow.

For almost a year now I have been working part time in the retail merchandise store of the football team here in Lakeview in the location that is right in the stadium. As anyone who has been following me for more than a minute will know that in every way this is my dream part time job. Sure, it’s still shitty retail work, but at least it’s shitty retail work that revolves around something I’m super passionate about. That, and I get a pretty bitchin’ discount.

The reason why the location itself is important to this story is that we had been in the old stadium up until the beginning of March. That stadium was very well loved, spending about 100 years as the foundation of football history in this province. But because of its lengthy run, it was showing its age. The seats were uncomfortable and wooden, when you were “sheltered” at the concessions when it was raining, the ceiling above you poured water like it was a spaghetti strainer, the concessions were few and very far between, as were the run down bathrooms that only had freezing cold water in the taps. If it was raining and your seats were on the east side you were fucked, and if it was hot and sunny you were sunburnt and partially blind by the end of the game. The store I worked at was no better. It was tiny. The store was essentially a shoebox. It was small, the ceilings were low, the lack of windows made the room dark and depressing, the carpet stank and you were either freezing your ass off or cooking like bacon – there was no in between – just like having seats on the east side of the stands.

So a few years ago, the powers that be decided to chip a HUGE chunk of change (huge relative to this province, it was in the ballpark of $300 million, which I think is small potatoes compared to stadiums in other places, but still) to build a shiny new stadium just down the street. This new stadium makes the old one look like an actual pile of shit. The seats are still uncomfortable (because sports seating always sucks), but the view to the field is spectacular. Everything is big and bright and beautiful. The jury is still out on the weather factor because we still don’t have a roof, but at least most of the seats seem relatively covered from a similar overhang that the west side of the old stadium had (where the only advantage to the nosebleeds was that you were pretty much guaranteed to be somewhat protected during adverse weather conditions). All in all, I am completely impressed by the new digs, to the point where I may have to quit my job if they don’t let me book time off to go to at least one game here this season.

The store is amazing. We upgraded from a shoebox to a mansion of a building, with high ceilings, a wall of floor to ceiling windows, where everything is white and bright with big open spaces, TVs in every corner of the store, and a big window filled entrance out into the stadium itself where you can see all the action. We moved over from the old store to the new one at the beginning of March, and every fan that has come in to the store has been in awe of the opulence that we as football fans have never been accustomed to in our province. We finally look like a professional football team (at least off the field anyways).

Because of this new location, we have had a lot of people come from far and wide to see the new digs. Most people don’t even come to buy anything, they just want a sneak peek of the new place. This past week was especially busy as the city hosted the CFL’s first ever CFL Week, which was comprised of various high profile players past and present from across the league, and events for fans of all kinds. So when I went into work on Sunday, as CFL Week was wrapping up, I was expecting it to be busy. I was anticipating a various number of people to walk into the store.

I did not however anticipate seeing Kevin walk through those doors.

You know those big windows I was gushing about a moment ago? Well I love them even more now, because while we as staff can see out of them just fine, there is just enough of a glare on them from the outside that you can’t actually see into the store until you are pretty much right up to the doors. So I saw Kevin long before he came inside. As I was unlocking the door to open, I noticed a familiar truck parked across the street. Huh, I thought. That looks a lot like Kevin’s truck. I see trucks like his all the time in town, so I didn’t think too much about it, but I felt this weird twinge in my stomach about it. I wandered around the store, talking to my coworkers, while periodically checking on that truck parked across the street.

After a few minutes I noticed that someone had gotten out of that truck. A girl. Then, a second later, Kevin emerged from what was indeed his truck. It didn’t even feel real. It felt like I had dreamt it all up. After all, I had thought about running into him out in public a million times. I’ve gone through a million different scenarios of when and where I would bump into him, and in my mind I always looked amazing, and would always say the best things, and present myself in such a way that he would leave and regret ever letting me go. I’ve imagined him coming into my work, but I never thought it would actually happen. A couple minutes after he got out of his truck, his grandparents pulled up and parked in front of him, got out of their vehicle and joined Kevin and the girlfriend on the sidewalk. They stood there chatting for quite some time, and I sat there like a damn idiot, watching them, and praying to whatever deity was listening that they wouldn’t come into the store.

Let me tell you guys, prayer doesn’t do shit, because sure enough, after a few minutes of chatting outside, the four of them started walking towards the store. This is actual footage of me realizing that I was seconds away from seeing Kevin for the first time in a year.

Luckily one of the girls I work with fairly regularly was close enough for me to call her over, and briefly explain what was happening before I basically ran into the stock room, and hid. I stayed in there for a good 10 minutes before it dawned on me that they could be in the store for awhile, and that I legitimately couldn’t hide in there all day without catching shit from the managers that were there that day. So after having a slight panic attack, and with a bucket full of butterflies in my stomach, I peeked into the store, saw that at least Kevin & Co weren’t anywhere right in front of the stock room door, and proceeded into the store with extreme caution.

I heard his voice, and saw the 4 of them looking at stuff across the store from me with my peripheral vision, but I wasn’t going to dare risk catching his gaze. So maybe he saw me at that point, I guess I’ll never know, but I found my coworkers, they gave me a bunch of shirts to go fold, and I spent the next 25 minutes in the change rooms folding shirts with my hair pulled down to cover as much of my face as possible until I heard the four of them leave, and my coworkers came to tell me they were gone.

I wanted to cry. And scream. And throw up. I hated that I ran away. I hated that after a year and a fucking half, the thought of seeing him still hurts. But more than anything I despise the fact that he was the one who fell out of love with me, he broke my god damned heart to a million fucking pieces but he gets to be the happy one, while I am miserable as fuck, wading through piles of shitty dating app messages and meeting a constant stream of assholes. How is that fair? It just makes me so fucking angry.

So now, I’m picking up the pieces – again. And I somehow have to try and convince myself that all this will work itself out in the end. I don’t know how to do that, because right now I’m feeling lower than I ever have. It’s so stupid that I still hold on to what I had, and what I won’t have, and I wish it would all just go away.

All I know is that for all this bullshit I’ve gone through, the least the universe could do for me is throw me a bone in the form of a beautiful football player. I mean honestly, at this point I deserve that for fuck’s sake.

Olivia

Just Keep Going On

I’m not entirely sure when exactly my life became the script of a really poorly written sitcom, but here we all are, she writes as she continues to eat the half of a chocolate pie she pulled out of the fridge for breakfast, as she is too damn lazy to make eggs, obviously trying to illustrate the point she was trying to make.

This is where I am at now.  Comical levels of sadness. So comical in fact that I could actually be Sadness if anyone ever did the live action version of Inside Out.  Which is a vast departure from the state I was in the last time I put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard as it were) to write my story.  The last time you and I were together, I was sitting on the beach with Chuck, so happy to have a wonderful, beautiful new boyfriend.  I was enjoying our time together, and enjoying having someone in my life that I liked.  Of course, because it’s me, and my life after all is a sitcom, that feeling of joy didn’t last more than a full month after that.  I’m not sure if it was the sleeping with someone else that ruined it for me, the fact that he slept with someone who found out she had Chlamydia, or the fact that he couldn’t figure out why  I didn’t want to stay with him because of those two facts (he had apologized for cheating after all, AND he got me meds to take just in case I had gotten Chlamydia from him, and hey, he at least told me he cheated, he didn’t have to, so isn’t he a great guy, and can’t we just work things out?) and then proceeded to essentially stalk me for the following month till I threatened to go to the cops.  I’m not sure which of those three things really made me not like him.  I mean he’s obviously such a catch, I should have just been thankful that he wanted to be with me.  *eyes roll so far back into my head that I go blind*

After all that I took a little break from dating, haha, just kidding, no I didn’t, I got back onto Plenty of Fish and Tinder almost immediately, and by December, I had started meeting new people.  It was pretty slow going, not much to write about, until I got a message from a ghost named Max.  He sent me this really long message, apologizing for being such an asshole to me, and asked if I’d like to meet him for dinner sometime.  I messaged back laying down the law that if we were going to hang out again it would be on my terms.  So we did, and it was like a year had not passed.  I got the same feeling I had last year when we had spent time together, and it wasn’t actually until we were having sex, that I felt different.  Yes, I slept with him, can we save the judgment (I’m projecting here, I know this, shut up) for later in this post? Cause I’m betting you are gonna need all the judgment you got for later.  Anyways, when we were making the sex it was like my brain woke up and reminded me of how he treated me last year.  I started to give myself shit, like all he has to do is say he’s sorry, pay for your meal and buy you some really fancy expensive yarn (yes, he did that, and it’s beautiful and I can’t decide what I want to make with it) and you are back in his bed, and feeling like absolute garbage? What in the actual fuck is the matter with you?  So needless to say I left his place very unsettled and unsatisfied.  We saw a movie together a week or so later, and then after that you know what happened?  History repeated itself.  I just stopped hearing from him.  Again.  Because if I’ve learned one thing in this life it’s that if you do something you know you shouldn’t be doing, the universe or whatever the fuck will show you exactly why you shouldn’t have done that thing.

Which brings me to right now.  Yes there have been more funny dating stories that I could share, and a few more that are less than hilarious, but since we are talking about letting in blasts from the past when you fucking know better, and since it’s fresh in my brain, we come to last night.  After a few months of less than impressive dating stats, I wrote a big longwinded post on Facebook about the woes of dating, specifically online dating.  I was doing my best to keep things as light and funny as possible, but I obviously came off almost as dark and depressed as I have been lately, because no more than 5 minutes after I hit post, I received a text message from the infamous Erik.  If you don’t know who Erik is, then who even are you, and how did you find this tiny little blog in the most random corner of the internet?  Now, hearing from Erik is nothing new.  In fact, I’ve been hearing from him here and there a lot since Kevin and I split.  We’ve only seen each other in person a few times, but every few weeks I get a text from him, just him saying hello, or telling me something he knows I’d find interesting or funny, like a couple months ago, when a former football player I used to enjoy was working on a production he was involved with.  Our interactions have been very friendly, and while I am always painfully aware of our past whenever I see him or hear from him, overall I think we have made it to this place beyond the awkward where we can maybe actually be friends. With or without the benefits.

Last night he could tell I was down.  And no matter what the motivation to message me was, he was the only person who reached out to ask if I was ok.  He saw through the sarcasm of my post, and could tell that things maybe weren’t as lighthearted and humorous as I was trying to make it seem.  He took what could have been an awful night for me, and made it into a really fun night by doing something not many people in my life can do for me right now – he was just there.  All we did was text, but we chatted about everything from old Simpsons episodes to the thought of having kids one day to him telling me I should audition for a production sometime.  We even cleared the air about what happened between us.  He told me he still feels guilty that he couldn’t give me all the things I wanted with us, and I told him that it’s nothing to feel guilty about, that you can’t force yourself to love someone when you simply don’t.  We talked for almost 4 straight hours, and it was probably the first time since we met over 10 years ago that we actually opened up to each other like that.  Regardless of how I’m feeling today about it (slightly confused, and mad at myself that my heart still skips a tiny bit when I see his name appear on my phone) I’m so glad that it happened.  I’m glad someone, even the most unlikely person was there for me when I just needed to talk to someone.

So judge away.  I know I’m judging me.  And I know I’ll never learn.  But at least with me not learning, it gives me a reason once every 6 months at least to come back and work my shit out here.  Thanks for sticking around a little while longer with me.

Olivia

Nobody But Me

A few weeks ago, as I was thinking of writing this, I was sitting on a beach near Lakeview, looking out at a handful of little kids, who were making sand castles, splashing in the water and having fun as only children can on the last weekend of summer vacation. It was bright and warm like summer days should be, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The days leading up to this one were almost unbearably hot (you know, for Canada anyways) but this day it was a touch cooler, as if it was a subtle reminder of summer’s finality and the weather that is just around the corner waiting for us. This actually suited me quite well, because even though I enjoy a hot summer day as much as the next person, a cool day at the beach meant that I could relax in the sun without sweat pooling in my ass crack. 

If that paragraph sounds at all familiar, then clearly you have been to this blog before as you may recognize it from my last post from almost three months ago. I will often plagiarize myself when I’m finding it difficult to come up with new things to write. I would just repost what I wrote three months ago, but thankfully, things have changed just enough that I can rewrite the rest. 

See, this time around, a good few months since I wrote the first bit, as I was sitting on that same beach my mind not once wandered to anything Kevin related like it had before. I looked out at the people on their floaties and only thought of how much fun it would be to have a pizza shaped one like one of the teenagers out there had. When I was in the (fucking freezing) cold water and saw the boats out in the distance drive by I thought only of how cold I was going to be in a moment when the waves that those boats created hit me and splashed up over my tits, whose nipples already had the ability to cut glass. And when I looked at the yacht club, I still thought of how fucking ridiculous it is for there to be a yacht club at this beach, but I also thought about how nice it would be to own one of the pontoon boats (or as the fancy people here like to call them, yachts) that was parked in the marina. But not even once did my brain think of these things in relation to Kevin.

This is probably because this time, sitting next to me on my beach blanket was a beautiful, kind hearted, sweet, caring, funny, intelligent man who for whatever reason had decided he liked me enough to call me his girlfriend. I’m still a little fuzzy on why he likes me; he seems to not care so much about the baggage that I have definitely brought with me into this relationship, and in fact, he seems perfectly ok with helping me carry this baggage. So there I sat, on my beach blanket, in the warm sun with a cool breeze, next to this half naked man whose dark chocolate skin glistened with sweat and lake water in the sun rays. We talked, he told me about his family back home, we swam, I froze, we snacked and relaxed and he even got mistaken for a football player (because apparently, in Lakeview, if you are black, you of course are a football player, so between this and the ridiculous “Yacht Club”, I see how cartoonish the place I live in is). 

We met at the beginning of August. It wasn’t in anyway an earth shattering exchange really. He messaged me online, and seemed far more normal than most guys that had been lately. Our first date was simple, we met at a Boston Pizza, which for those of you who are unfamiliar, is the sit-down restaurant equivalent of a McDonald’s in that there are no less than three of these restaurants in any given city, at least in my province anyways. We chatted, got to know one another, and then said our goodbyes and that was it. We met up a few more times, and had been seeing eachother every couple of days before we decided to be exclusive, and that seems to be that. 

It’s not that this new boyfriend has made me forget or not care about the past. I would never naively believe that that would ever be the case. I still think about Kevin from time to time, against my best attempts not to. And I still absentmindedly bring him up in conversation, in a “well when Kevin and I lived together…” or “when Kevin and I were booking our trip to Cuba…” kind of way. He was a huge part of my life for a while there, so while I try to do my best to suppress the Kevin-ing, it tends to raise its ugly head from time to time.

Things are thankfully getting better. I’m glad I found this new man, and hope things will work between us. So far our biggest issue is that we want to spend more time together and are finding it hard to balance our lives in a way that we can see each other several times a week, so I’m taking that to be a good sign. 
I guess only time will tell. All I can do is hope the best, work for what I want and bundle the fuck up, because that summer beach day has long since gone, the leaves are already half off the trees here, and winter is definitely closer than I’d like to believe it is. Fuck. Wish me luck. On all those things.

Olivia

Locked Away

As I’m writing this, I’m sitting on a beach near Lakeview, looking out at a bunch of little kids, making sand castles, splashing in the water and having fun as only children can in the summer. The weather isn’t even very nice. It was hot and mostly sunny out about an hour and a half ago when we first arrived, but then the clouds rolled up, covering the once nice bright shining day, turning it overcast and cool. This actually suits me quite well, because even though I enjoy a hot summer day as much as the next person, a cool day at the beach means I can relax and read a really great book without sweat pooling in my ass crack. 

I sit and look out on the water, and I try very hard to prevent my brain from wandering into the memory banks where the now distant memories of me and Kevin at this particular lake live. I’m failing at this by way, and not even just a little bit. I see people on a gigantic 6 person inflatable party barge, and it reminds me of when Kevin and I lounged on his party barge the first summer we were together. I see boats in the distance, people fishing or skiing, and my brain is back on Kevin’s best friend’s boat, and we are catching fish early in the morning because that’s when fishing here is the best. I see the yacht club and think, “why in the fuck do we have a yacht club here? You live here. You ain’t fancy. These aren’t even yachts, they are boats. Small ones in fact.” And then I remember last summer when Kevin and I took a drive out to the beach, just for something to do on a lazy Sunday and we went for a nice walk. As we walked past the “yacht club” I made a similar joke about how ridiculous it is to try to be fancy in this neck of the woods. It was one of the last days we spent just the two of us, just enjoying each other’s company. 

I’m trying (and failing) to move on in general. Sure, I’ve had the Maxes and Marks, and the Eriks and the Shamuses, and they have all been fun. Snapchatting, Tindering, and Tweeting have filled my time, and given me brief moments of flirty entertainment, but they have all been a distraction from the fact that I am so unbelievably miserable with my life. Sure, on the surface I seem fine. I crack the jokes, I smile a lot, and my selfie game is on point, but I’m fucking miserable. And I have been since October. 

And it’s not just the loneliness. Well, it’s mostly about that, but not all about that. I’ll also spare you the lengthy essay about my depression over being 31, single and childless. To say that that record has been overplayed would be the understatement of the century. 

I’m in a rut. A big one. My life feels just like I’m going through the motions, no ebbs or flows, just steady monotony. I have far too much free time to think and overanalyze every detail of my life, and unfortunately because of this, Kevin continues to live rent free in my brain. We’ve been apart for 9 months (has it really been that long already?!) and yet I still haven’t moved on like I wish I would have by now. I have never had such a hard time getting over someone. Mind you, I’ve never loved anyone like I loved Kevin, so I guess that makes sense. I just want this to be done. I want the fact that he unfriended me on Facebook to not bother me. I want to not constantly wonder if he’s got a new girlfriend (pretty sure he does) and wonder what she’s like, and if he loves her yet; if he can see the future with her that he couldn’t see with me. I know I said a few months ago that I wouldn’t undo all that Kevin and I had for the world, but after 9 months with this soul consuming, gut wrenching pain, I want it gone. All of it. All of the good and every last shred of the bad. 

They say it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? I call bullshit on that. Maybe this is only true when you are old and on your death bed and have spent your entire life madly in love with your soulmate, only to be taken away from them by the fate of death that plagues us all. But if you have your heart smashed into a million pieces by the one you love when you felt like you had your whole life ahead of you with this person, fuck that. It’s better to not have loved at all. Life shouldn’t be about pain. Love shouldn’t be about pain. Love is supposed to make your life better, not indescribably worse. 

I feel sorry for the guy who wants to be my next love. He’s going to have so many walls to climb over or knock down. I’ve put these all up to protect my heart, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it be that easy to get to it again. Hell, forget getting to my heart, he’s going to have a bitch of time just getting me to go for coffee with him in the first place. As it is, I’ve only met one new guy since I broke up with Mark a month and a half ago. I even deleted my dating profile, although I still have Tinder. I guess a small piece of the pre-Kevin Olivia still lives on, even if post-Kevin Olivia would prefer to go live in a cave somewhere. 

My brain keeps telling me that all this will pass. One day I will wake up and feel like my old self, and I won’t give a single fuck what Kevin is doing. My heart however is like the weather. Some days it’s warm and sunny, but in a moment’s notice it turns dark and cold. 

One day I’ll be better. 

But today is not that day. 

Olivia

Drop in the Ocean

I think I’m dating wrong.  I have been in the dating sea for years, a good decade or so, and have yet to find the elusive ship of relations.  (FYI, this post might be full of bad nautical puns – you’ve been warned) I have just been floating along on my life raft of loneliness, sometimes getting nibbles of whatever I can get my hands on to give me sustenance for a little while longer so I don’t have to resort to throwing myself overboard and just calling it quits.  Now, I have been rescued before.  The S.S. Kevin saved me for a while, till there was a mutiny on the ship, and I was forced to walk the plank. Years before that I took a very short trip on the S.S. Dave #4, which sank shortly thereafter (as did the first 3 S.S. Daves; you’d think I would have learnt my lesson and bought a ticket with a different ship name).  But here I still am, floating on my life raft of loneliness, fast approaching my 31st year on this planet, and wondering if I should keep sailing to find that ship of mine, or if I should just come to terms with the fact that there may not actually be a ship out there for me, and that I might be better off to find land on my own, and forge a new path by myself.

All of this is just a super long winded way of saying that my love life has become rather stagnant lately.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been chatting with a handful of prospects, and a couple of them have been better than others, but nothing worth really writing about lately.  I met one guy that I liked a little over a month ago but he didn’t feel the same way about me, so that was close to something.  But, as it always is with me, it went nowhere.  There is a new guy I have been hanging out with this past week who I like (the one I’ve tweeted about for the 2 of you who read this and follow me on Twitter) but I’m not really sure if I actually like him.  He’s a great guy, we have a ton in common, but I don’t feel excited or nervous to see him.  I feel like I’m just going through the motions of dating.  Is there actually such a thing as having a spark with someone? I know I’ve had it with guys in the past, but was I just reacting to something else?  Or is the fact that I don’t feel the “spark” or whatever a sign that I’m not really into him, so I probably shouldn’t lead him on?

I think part of the problem with me is that I can’t seem to shake all these other guys, mostly ones from my past, which keeps coming back into my life.  These guys pop out of nowhere, like a popup book from hell just to fuck with my brain and prevent me from making rational, sane decisions.

The first in a 4 part gong show: Erik.  Of course Erik rears his head in a time like this.  I think I mentioned a post or two ago that he was back in the picture, texting and snap chatting me on occasion.  We had even had that random dinner date when I was still seeing Max.  But Erik always has and always will come and go in and out of my life as he pleases.  I know this.  And I let him, against my better judgement.  But I have to admit that I like the attention.  I like hanging out with him once in awhile, because we honestly do have fun together.  And he is good for a quick (albeit not great quality) lay once in awhile too.  So that’s the purpose of Erik.  To use me as much as I use him.

The second part in this gong show is Shamus.  Remember him?  I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t; he disappeared out of my life shortly after I moved from Riverview to Lakeview.  I’ve heard from him maybe three times since I moved and for a moment that first year I was here, I thought maybe we’d get together to hook up, but it never happened.  But all of a sudden, out of the blue about 2 weeks ago or so, I started hearing from him again.  Since then every few days he texts me.  The conversations never last long, but I find it both weird and awesome that he’s contacting me again.  Out of all the guys I dated back in Riverview, he was that one guy that I regretted not sleeping with when I had the chance.  There was so much potential there.  He would be the perfect Random Hook-Up Guy if he lived here.  Oh well.

The third part in the gong show is Married Twatwaffle, previously known as Soccer Boy.  This is a story and a half really, but I will try to make it as short and sweet as possible.  We met, hooked up a couple times, it went nowhere, we moved on.  I met Kevin, and during that time, Soccer Boy got married and got his wife pregnant.  But, that didn’t stop SB from messaging me on Facebook messenger periodically, trying to flirt with me.  Each time I heard from him, I had to tell him that flirting with me was not ok, because I had a boyfriend that I loved, and he was fricken married.  After that I would go another 6 – 10 months without hearing from him.  So it’s no surprise that after Kevin and I broke up, that I started to hear from him again.  At first his messages were friendly (which is why I gave him my cell number so we didn’t have to Facebook message) but then, they continued to get more and more inappropriate. So this is the conversation I eventually had to have with him.

   

  

 

 So needless to say after all that that he is a total dick bag.  I mean really, what does he think would happen if he and his wife split up and I started dating him? Does he think that I’d ever trust him when I know full well how he treated his WIFE?  Fuck that.  I know better.  And I was never interested in him enough even 3 years ago to overlook that glaring evidence of sheer douchebaggery.

The fourth and final part is Scooter.  He and I never did end up meeting, because not long after we started talking I met Kevin, and the rest as they say is history, but we have kept fairly decent contact since.  We followed each other on Twitter, in the meantime, but there was no actual contact during the Kevin of it all.  After Kevin though, our tweets back and forth became fairly regular, and eventually turned into DM chatting which has now evolved into the Snapchat game.  But we still haven’t met.  Partly because I don’t actually think he’s interested in me like that, and also because I’m too much of a chicken shit to actually tell him, “Hey, it’s been 2 fucking years.  It’s time we meet and figure this out one way or another.”  So for now I will just do the snap chat thing and hope that one day one of the two of us grows the balls to suggest meeting.

It looks like I am forever doomed to be floating on the life raft loneliness.  Because if the links to those posts have taught any of us anything, it’s that I haven’t learnt a fucking thing in the last 3 years.

Olivia

 

 

Another One Bites the Dust

“Knowing my luck in this department, I will be all kinds of alone again by Valentine’s Day.”

 

I am such a wise woman.  Or maybe I’m a psychic and I don’t even know it.  Or maybe I’m a pessimistic asshole who will always give herself depressing self-fulfilling prophecies.  Or maybe, just maybe, I know myself and the state of my dating life too well.

In any case, the truth of the matter is that Max and I are done.  We didn’t really have much to begin with, but he served a purpose.  At the very least he served as a good distraction, a reason to get dolled up, my ass off the couch, and out the door.  At the very most he was a reminder to me that Kevin is not the only guy out there who will ever be interested in me.  At the heart of it, Max was exactly what I needed him to be in the moment: a rebound.

Of course, that didn’t save me from being hurt just a little bit when a couple of weeks ago he had “the talk” with me.  He finally brought it up, which in a lot of ways was a relief, although I knew immediately that I was ultimately not going to be so thrilled with the outcome of the discussion.  He told me that he did really like me, that I was really awesome, and that he really liked how calm and non-crazy I seemed to be about everything (proof that he never read this blog).  He said he thinks I am a super cool girl, and that we have amazing chemistry, both sexually and otherwise.  However, with all the awesome that he thinks I am (which I am fucking awesome) he said that he doesn’t often think about me when we aren’t together, that he isn’t ever dying to see me, and at the end of the day, he doesn’t think that we should be in a relationship together (womp, womp).  So, there in his house, we sat on his couch, and agreed that for now we keep things as is.  Status quo and whatnot.  Which in the moment, there on his couch, I was fine with.

After all, I still was messed up over Kevin, I didn’t know what the fuck was going on with Erik, and I was still talking to a few other guys online.  Was I really in the position to get back into a relationship with someone?  No.  I didn’t think so.  So I did what any girl in my position would do.  I agreed to continue with this same dating scenario, had great sex with him, then went on my merry way.

But when I left his house, I felt different.  I didn’t have the euphoria that I usually felt when leaving his place after one of our dates.  I felt, I don’t know, empty I guess.  I felt like while he said he wanted nothing to change, I felt as if everything had.  He had essentially just friends with benefits zoned me.  Another guy that I liked had told me to my face that he didn’t like me enough to be my boyfriend.  I think I would have cried in the moment had I really realized what had happened.  In the moment I think my brain was instinctively protecting my already broken heart, kindly shutting off that part of my brain that would register what was actually happening.

After that I tried to be ok with the status quo.  But after that night, I barely heard from Max, and within a week, I hadn’t heard from him at all.  This radio silence meant one of three things: 1) He was dead.  2) He was in a coma.  Or the most likely one, 3) Having “the talk” and telling me that he liked me but doesn’t want to be my boyfriend and then ghosting the fuck out on me was his way of letting me down as gently as he could, while trying not to come off as an asshole.

Guys, let me tell you something: IT’S OKAY TO LOOK LIKE AN ASSHOLE FROM TIME TO TIME.  You fuckers telling us some bullshit about how you still want to spend time with us and then ghosting out on us doesn’t make you any less of an asshole. In fact, we think you are even bigger assholes, and we also think you are fucking cowards for not telling us the truth.   If Max would have just told me that he didn’t want to hang out anymore, would that have sucked? Yes.  But would I at least respect him a little more for telling me the truth, not leaving me wonder what the fuck happened, because he decided to have a pair of fucking balls? Absolutely.

So, I did the only thing I could.  I sent him a simple text saying that I have a feeling he isn’t interested anymore, so I’m giving him his space.  I told him that if he ever wanted to see me or talk to me again, that he knew where to find me, and I told him to take care.  That was a week ago, and I haven’t heard a single peep since.  Oh well.  C’est la vie I guess.  I wasn’t expecting him to be the one, I just liked him.  But looking back he served his purpose.  He helped me see the light after the darkness with Kevin, and for that I will always be thankful.

I was not however thankful for the absolute fuck show that last Wednesday turned into.  After I sent that message to Max, I got a text from Kevin.  Kevin it seems has a delightful knack of contacting me when I least expect it, and knocking me on my fucking ass.  By this time it was already 9pm, and to be honest, I had been an emotional basket case the whole day, because of the stuff with Max.  So when Kevin messaged me, at first just to chat, but then soon turned into him telling me he misses me, and wanted to see me, I was past the point of basket case.  At that point I was fucked right up.  Against my better judgment, I agreed to see him.  He came to pick me up and we went for a drive to talk.  This talk ended up just making me more confused.  Kevin cares for me, and some days he wants me back, other days he thinks that us being apart is the right thing.  And here I am in the middle of it all, not knowing what the fuck to think, how to feel, what to do. It’s been a week since that happened, and I still don’t know.

All I know is that I have to keep going.  I have to keep living any way I can, I have to keep dating, I have to keep kissing all these fucking frogs, hoping to find my prince.

I just wish it wasn’t such an incredible fuck show to find him.

Olivia