The Rock Show

I have a bit of a headache today, my ears feel clogged and I’m hoarse.  They totally rocked.

Beautiful Pain

I’ve never cut in my life, but I understand now why people do it.

Friday hit as far low as I’ve gone here at home.  I yelled at the top my lungs, I left no doubt to my feelings, I hated with every atom of my body.  I hate him.  I hate living with him.  I hate everything that has to do with him.

I went sleep sobbing, gasping for air, desperate for a way out, desperate to escape to dreams.  I’m too vain for deliberate scars, but under the privacy of the covers, I dug my sharp nails into my thigh.  Not enough to draw blood, but enough pain to take the edge off.  I felt myself calming, dragging my nail more and more, comforted by the irritated and likely bumped skin I was creating.

I lifted myself back up, yesterday and this morning.  Then I went to the airport to pick up my mother.  I have misplaced my cell phone, so I’ve been incommunicado.  Her flight status kept getting delayed each time the previous estimated delayed time came up.  I was getting worried.

I found fifty cents to use the pay phone, hoping he’d know something.  I kept calling and calling and calling, letting the phone ring three times and then hanging up because I didn’t have more change if the phone went to voicemail.  He never answered.

I got home and found out that he deliberately didn’t answer.  Didn’t recognize the number so he never answered.  When I asked him if the next time he could please answer, he said no.  He won’t answer to an unknown caller.  Even if the caller is calling incessantly.

Fucking asshole.  I didn’t think I could possibly hate him even more than I already do.

Seeing in Color

Somehow, I ended up recently joining a gym.  They have 5 locations in the city, 3 of them Women’s-Only facilities.  I’ve never been a part of a Women’s Only gym, but the one closest to my job has a pool, and I thought that was neat.

I work in an expensive area.  I never noticed my non-white features, my dark curly hair until I starting working there 4.5 years ago.  I was invisible, the odd one out every place I went.  Still, I got used to it, and in general, most people were friendly.  Maybe I make more of my hair than I should, but it’s out there…it’s wild, it’s ferocious, you can’t help but notice it.  I stopped caring a long time ago, obviously, and now I just laugh when I see my unruly mane.

I meant to go to a class today at the WO facility but I forgot my change of clothes, so I decided to just go and ask for a quick tour.

It may mean nothing to you, but even before I reached the door, I was bombarded with the slap of money, large green sums of cash in the form of well-to-do, women.  The front desk was filled with young, perfectly coiffed girls…can I tell you how uncomfortable and self-conscious I felt?  Still, the pretty blue eyed girl agreed to show me around, perhaps even a tad reluctantly.

I’m afraid I don’t own the right type of clothes for that gym.  I have gym pants from Old Navy that are about 7 years old.  I have old shirts that I declared gym-wear…shirts that are no long flattering to wear, but still in good shape.

And I remembered why I prefer working out where there are men.  Men work out.  Women gossip.

Ha.  Racist and sexist.  Still, is it just me?  Do you know how some people see color but it’s not color, it’s money?  Is it just the way you are raised?  Like the way my husband had no problem going to Saks Fifth Avenue and browsing around with Venti Java Chip Frappuccino, basketball shorts, busted up sneakers and a company t-shirt?  He never felt discomfort wondering about the Armani suits or the key chain trinkets that were minimum $195.  Me, I was mortified.

I’m not dark.  I not white.  I’m not rich.  I’m not poor.  I neither here nor there, neither this nor that.  So is the real problem that I don’t truly belong?

Hands Off

I had thought long and hard about all the things I wrote here about DT. I forced my heart to reject him, forced myself to not succumb to him and his own selfish desires.

That said, for the longest time, I let him touch me. It was getting uncomfortable…like he kept trying to touch me and it reminded me of how I felt with my abuser…trying to move away from his prying hands without escape.

He stood behind me as I typed up an email, irritated that I had to type the email at all. He began to massage my shoulders, but I don’t like them being pinched…you know, when you grab that muscle that connects your shoulders and your neck and pinch it? That hurts me, so I stopped him. So he lightly rubbed, moving down my chest to my breasts, where I stopped him. He did it again; I stopped him again.

“Oh, so where are my limits?” I put his hands on the top of my shoulders, practically on the top of my back.

“There.”

So I kept typing and he kept massaging and I kept pushing his hands away.

“DT, I’m trying to work.”

With a smirk in his voice he said “And how am I stopping you? You can still type.” And with that, he massaged away, going too far down and me stopping him.

“See, I have to keep stopping you.”

“Why?” And again he went, but this time I flung his hands off of me, irritated at having to type the email and irritated at his audacity.

“That’s why.”

I didn’t look at him, but I could sense he was offended. I didn’t care. He was disrespectful and he left, saying good bye in that cold way he does when he’s upset with me. The next day he didn’t speak to me, just as he does when he’s upset with me.

I was proud of myself. I see now that for so long I let myself be treated like shit by him…I let him use me just as my abuser did.

He got over it. Asking me to accompany him to the closest donut shop, I told him to give me 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes turned to 25 and he got up, walked past me looking straight at me, without saying a word and left on his own.

I didn’t apologize, acknowledge it, nothing. He treated me the way he does when he’s upset at me. Fuck him.

I have to admit, there is still a part of me that suffers, that hurts when she comes around, when it hits that I’m not longer a part of his life. But, damn, it feels good to piss him off.

Beauty of S

It all started strangely…a comment here, an email there and the next thing I know, I opened a Yahoo account for the sole reason of chatting with him.

The email, while immensely strange, was quite intriguing. It reminded of my friend Mark, cynical words poetic in his own right. Could he be Mark? There was such a propelling curiosity about him that I couldn’t help myself - I was hooked. Perhaps it was the intelligence resonating throughout his words…perhaps it’s the uncanny way he has of disappearing…perhaps it’s the nonchalance of his demeanor…perhaps it’s his enigmatic persona that captivates me…but most definitely it’s the way I burst with laughter.

Since his appearances are few and far between, they have become quite a drug…a high I get each time he appears, a high that leaves me craving desperately for more. For what? I don’t know…it’s like he has that sort of substance that one desires. Either way, he’s left quite an impression. My coworker knows when I’m chatting with him…he says my smile is one I cannot hide and it emits quite the glow. Imagine, he now gets his own category. For shame!

We were supposed to meet this past weekend. Although I tried to muster up courage, I knew the very night we decided to meet that I wouldn’t show. As soon as our conversation ended, I was suddenly flooded with endless insecurities. What if this or what if that? I tried to think of ways to see him without being noticed. Could I just fit in as someone else? Should I bring a friend that descriptively looks like me so as to confuse him while I look for him? What if he notices what I hate so much about myself and is repulsed by it? Not that I have any intention of doing anything with him, but the rejection is not something I can bear. The mere chance of rejection was too much of a burden…so I canceled at the 11th hour. Politely and dishonestly, of course, with a very convincing excuse.

That night, thinking of what might have been, suddenly the thought popped in…what if he looks just as horrific as I think I do! Worse, what if he’s some sort of gorgeous, murderous perv? I giggled as I fell asleep. When you analyze something to the bare bones in a semi-conscious state, well, everything does seem to have humor attached to it.

True to character, he’s nowhere to be found. Alluding me, I’m sure, because I am the center of my universe and everything revolves around me and my feelings. Just like that, there he is.

S: hello chicken, how’re the eggs today?

And so I laughed. Now exposed, I think that next time I won’t be so chicken.

The Literal LOL

As 30 approaches, I find myself looking at my face, the laugh lines, the crows feet, the tiredness under my eyes and see clearly how I took my youthful looks for granted. I don’t remember ever looking in the mirror and thinking “Wow, my face has no lines!” No. I wasn’t until I began to see that when I smile, a bit of my smile stays behind.

I smile again. I relax my muscles around my mouth, willing them away. Still there. I open my eyes wider. Hmm, if I keep a surprised look on, you don’t see the lines as much. I try to make a mental note, but of what? Should I stop smiling?

Suddenly, the angst of old age is upon me. My carefree ways of my 20’s hits me full force and I begin to envision what I will look like in another 10 years. My smile, the one feature I’ve loved so much about myself suddenly doesn’t look so great. As if I didn’t have enough insecurities about my looks, now I must deal with the inevitably noticeable onset of maturity?

I am the girl that is fairly easily amused. I remember a time when I used to laugh silently…tears would pour out my eyes but you wouldn’t here a sound. Somewhere along the way, I changed. Maybe things tickled me a bit more, but one thing is for sure; I laugh loud, without reservations. I’ve apologized for laughing out loud only to be told that it’s better that way than to hold it in. I smile frivolously, without rhyme or reason. And now I deal with the repercussions.

Yesterday I laughed so loud and hard at a conversation that my coworker told me the sound resonated throughout the building. Today, I think about what we spoke of and still laugh.

I’m not going to change a thing.

Lady in Red

Having not been a part of many weddings, I find being in a wedding is a lot of fun. I like the dressing up, the makeup, the jewelry, the dress that you’ll only wear once. I’ll be in a wedding in November, and the dress is beautiful.

I feel fabulous in it, of course, until I turn and see how it’s not flattering with my back and under my pits. BUT, I’m working on it.

I took a picture the day I tried it on in the store in New York. I couldn’t resist and sent the pic to DT the same day.

“Pretty. You have to show me in person.”

And so I did. He helped me put it on, hooking up the back, zipping it up. He held my hands out and twirled me so as to get the 360 view.

“You look beautiful.”

He pulled me towards him, and slow danced with me before he went into a waltz. We laughed, we danced, we kissed. I laid down on the bed with the dress on and he kissed me. I felt beautiful. He helped back out of the dress and put the dress back on the hanger properly.

When I got home that night, I asked Hubs if he wanted to see the dress.

“Nah. I’ll eventually see it anyway, right? Besides, didn’t I see it already in the picture?”

Right.

ps I guess I should say that this dress is from David’s Bridal, right?

Slap me to next Sunday, will ya?

It had been on my mind, how much I did NOT want to keep on the cycle of on/off, of all the bad things, of all the good things. It took a lot for me to muster the courage, and right before I left early for the day, I had to send him the IM.

me: j’ai besoin d’une faveur de vous
me: ne m’embrasse plus
Him: ok

He saw me as I was leaving. “That was sudden. Where did that come from?”

Surrounded by our co-workers, people congregating near my desk as they usually do, I knew I didn’t have the time to explain all that I needed to. I opened my mouth to say something kind but instead I snipped that it wasn’t the time or the place for a discussion of this magnitude.

Fine, no explanation needed. He walked away and I left, feeling somewhat snubbed, somewhat liberated. I cried in the car.

I could tell he was trying hard to not let me know that it bothered him, or that he was at least feeling a tad rejected. He was testy, yet trying to be nice, keeping the communication lines clear, yet blocking me off. I was being silly, saying that he needs to tell me when another co-worker is at his desk so that I don’t accidentally send him naughty messages (the other co-worker was at his desk reading it). DT said to me that he didn’t want to hear it, since I brought a stop to the kisses. Except, he came over to me to take my hand so I could feel his hard on. He called it a lapse of judgment.

I caved. I tried to explain to him what I was feeling and why I had cut things off. I explained how I hated how he saw our sexual relationship and our friendship as one package, whereas I saw them different.

” I just want to have fun. Seems like you want something more.”

He might have a point. But maybe not necessarily something more, but just to be respected, just to be a little more considerate…ok, yes, more. Just what more means, I don’t know.

He went on a mini vacation with the chic. It served as a nice break. I spent it holding back, not reaching out to him, being short when he reached out to me. If I could not think of him, not see something and want to share it with him, I’ll be on the road to recovery.

————————————————————————————-

He came back, stopping at my desk to ask for Supervisor Man. Damn, he looked good. Really good. Damn good. The next time he passed by, flashing that smile, I felt good…and…why is my heart hot and pounding?

Lesson Learned* in my head

Player is in town. Whenever he comes up, the “cool” kids hang out. He’s well liked, makes the night interesting. I was looking forward to it.

It’s funny how even now, even since DT and I have been over, he still shows some inklings of jealousy when it comes to Player. I could never really understand why at all…perhaps if he had an idea of the trysts between Player and me it would be understandable… Anyhow, DT moved a while ago and I had yet to visit his new place. Granted, I saw it the first time with him, but I hadn’t been back since he actually closed. It’s just well…he hasn’t invited me and really, I need to be careful with him. Still, since Player was staying with him, I invited myself over to hang out. Wouldn’t you know that DT was slightly bothered over that? So on and so forth…

I left my car at DT’s and we all went to the new Mexican place but there was a wait, so we put our name down and walked over to the pub for drinks. DT kept looking at me, kept flirting with me. He’s been increasingly all over me, just never allowed to go further. So he makes sure to hug me every day, close, lingering hugs. I couldn’t discern if they were romantic or friendly; I chose friendly.

After drinks, dinner, drinks, darts, drinks and more drinks, I asked DT to take me to my car. The rest of the group was staying later…me, I can’t hang like that anymore. He had gotten quiet over the night - don’t know if it’s the alcohol or other things. And so, we drove in silence.

Do you know that I’ve never cried?

No? (I knew immediately that he meant over his mother) It’ll come later.

That’s what people keep telling me. But, when?

When the time is right. Some people act different.

For instance, my cousin was crying so much but nothing from me. It makes me wonder if I loved my mother at all.

Well you know, people put themselves in your situation and think of their own mothers passing. If I were there, I’d cry as well. I’d think of how it’d be if it were my own mother.

So you’d cry thinking of yourself?

You are someone that I deeply care for and I’d feel terrible that you are in such a situation. It would be difficult to think of it another way. Funerals are for the living, not the dead.

That’s true.

He stayed quiet, looking out the windshield. Suddenly, he looked at me and in a flash he held my face and kissed me. Kiss after hungry kiss, I was shocked but my body responded. My hands found his face and there we kissed, holding each other’s face, our lips not wanting to part. He pulled away, getting back in his seat. I found the silence awkward.

Well, that was unexpected.

Pfffbt. As if you didn’t see that coming since this morning.

This morning? What did he do this morning? We got out the car.

Seriously, I didn’t. Anyway, I have to pee. You should have seen that coming.

Ha. A mile away.

In we went. Bladder emptied, he pulled me in his arms. We kissed more, his hands roaming my body, outlining my silhouette, ending again holding my face. God, how I love when he holds my face as he kisses me.

I’ve missed you.

Why does he tell me these things. It’s been hard to break from him when he’s around…as much as I might talk about how much of a jerk he is, the reality is that I’m still not completely over him. I want to tell him how much I’ve missed him too, but the words choke in my throat. As much as I don’t want to be anymore, I’m emotionally vested in him. Suddenly I understand why people stay in situations so much longer than they should.

I can’t. I give him a pained kiss. I want more, I can’t have more, I don’t want more. It’s always so rocky with him, I can’t go back to it.

I haven’t asked you for anything. So you can’t what? He corned me against the wall.

Nothing.

Ok then. He lifted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist.

Forehead to forehead, nose to nose, lips to lips, hands to face. Over and over we kiss. It’s like we can’t kiss enough.

This morning he hugs me again, close, long hug.

I had a good time last night.

He smiles at me. My heart breaks. Again.

*Lesson Learned by Alicia Keys featuring John Mayer

Desire

I want you, I still want you

He kept telling me this, his words staring at me from the screen. My thoughts went back to freshman year of high school…the best friend of my ex told me that if two people break up, the break up-ee gets to decide if he wants to get back with the break up-er…or was it the other way around? I don’t know, but why is he still after me?

I want to see you cum, if only once.

Is it an ego thing? What a shame, because while I might still miss him from time to time, while I still might indulge in his scent, I don’t want to go back to sleeping with him and feeling like shit. And really, now that his chick is a real person to me, and because I feel so sorry for her, with even more reason I don’t want anything to do with him.

It’s been easy to avoid him. His mother has been sick and he is constantly visiting her in the city she lives in. But even from there, he tries to get in my pants. I really don’t know why I can’t just flat out say, hey that’s it, it’s over and never again. I keep seeing him clearer and clearer for the fucked up person he’d always say he was…

Hubs and I took a long car ride south to visit some friends and to scope out the area. Hubs is tired of the cold Northeast. While I was there, I checked my work email to find a message from DT’s supervisor that DT’s mother has passed away. I was surprised…each time I asked how she was, he’d say ok, but I guess cancer is like that.

I immediately called him only to hear “well it was expected” and whatnot… He seemed bothered that his supervisor sent an email to everyone (we are a close, small company)…and it sort of irked me that he didn’t even call me to tell me himself. Since I was so far, I sent flowers to the funeral home but Player went to the funeral.

So how was DT?

Unphased by everything…complaining about how his father is a pussy for crying and shit.

And so it goes…his assholeness reaching new heights.