I don't mean to sound as though my life is this exciting adventure and men are knocking down my door to (as my Clooney so eloquently put it) "get in [my] blog"... That's not the case at all. Of course I have men. All single women do. Because that's what happens. They come out of the woodwork. It's strange. When I was dating the Ex, there was no way another man could catch my attention other than just appreciating certain qualities they may exhibit. I couldn't stomach the idea of ever being intimate with another man. I was in love. And love is a hell of a drug, isn't it? Yet, the idea of other men no longer nauseates me. It excites me. But the best part of it all is--- I can be picky. I love that. Am I a bombshell? Ha. Absofrigginlutely not. I'm a plain jane, average height, average build, brown haired, brown eyed, 32 year old single mom. I clean up well, but even at my best, I don't think I'm one that turns heads. (I've always said, in regards to how beautiful my friends all are, that I will not likely be the one whose looks will bring a guy to our table in a bar... however, my personality would keep him there.) But the thing is, I know what I want. Whether it's from a genuine relationship or something a little... ummmm... less conventional.
I don't sleep with random men. That's never been my style and I don't intend to start. I'm a huge flirt and I love attention from the opposite sex. I won't deny that. But I don't "give it up" so easily. I guess I'm somewhat of a tease... But I think that's okay. I don't really see much wrong with that. What'd Rizzo say? "...there are worse things I could do... than go with a boy... or two..." ;) I like that Rizzo. Skank as she may be- I like her. She's real. I'm getting off track. What I want. I miss having a sexual relationship. Everything about it. But I really don't want to just sleep with the first guy who comes along and pushes me against his truck (although... damn.). I also don't want a boyfriend. I don't need someone coming over to my house every day. Someone getting all butt hurt when I want to go hang out with my girl friends. Someone to insist on being a part of Taco Tuesday when that's clearly not *our thing* (boys are not allowed on Taco Tuesday. That's why it's called TACO Tuesday. TACOS ONLY... get it??? Okay. That's not at all what that means, but it made me laugh and sounded plausible enough for me). I don't want someone to come in and turn my world upside down. I want someone to enhance my life. Not flip it around and turn my life into his. I want someone with his own dreams and ambitions because I've got my own things I'm working on. I want someone who will go away for DAYS at a time. Long days that make me miss him like crazy. And while he's gone I want dirty pictures and videos and text messages telling me exactly what he wants when he comes home... Then I want him to make it all a reality when he finally is here... Then I want him to leave again so I can get back to my life. But then I want him to come back. And then leave. And then come back again. And then leave again. And it's okay if he loves me because if he can handle all of that, I might be all "right back atcha, kiddo" But I have these walls now, you see. And even if I think that I can trust someone and believe what they say- I never TRULY trust. It's kind of a sad situation if you take time to think about it. I would love to be able to trust people. Someone. But everything is temporary. It's kind of funny. I said that to my ex when we first started dating.
"Everything is temporary. Nothing really lasts forever."
He was drinking a few nights later and brought it up. Said that it bothered him because everything didn't have to be temporary; that we really could be forever. Hell or high water, we said. No matter what.
And I'm getting over that. I am. But I say that to say this- I believed in forever. I believed in permanence and it took my world, shook it up, and turned it upside down like a 10,000 piece puzzle. And I'm starting to get it put back together. I have the corners done... I'm connecting them... the frame is almost complete. But I think that there were a few pieces left in that box that I wont get back. I'm afraid that I won't believe in forever again. So I believe in now. I look for today. Tomorrow. As far as next week. But that's as far as I want to look. I don't want to put my faith in anyone... because there are Mr. Whites out there who will (literally) charm the pants off of you, then leave you high and dry.
That's not what he did, Mr. White. At least, I don't think he did. I told you he was going to Spain so I didn't really expect to hear too much out of him. I guess I also have a bit of a problem now with wanting to be chased. If you don't text me- I'm not going out of my way to text you. I have a feeling Mr. White is the same way. But he seemed so confident last week. Perhaps it's the distance and nothing more. I'm not sure. We really haven't spoken.
Honestly, I haven't had a lot of time to think about why Mr. White and I haven't spoken. I've spent more time than I care to admit sexting my Clooney. Wait. Did I type sexting? I meant texting. HA! Nope. Definitely meant sexting. This man has the ability to completely overpower any amount of self control that I thought I had. I want him. This man. I want him in every way that a woman can want a man. Somehow there's undeniable chemistry, even through the phone. The way he speaks... just everything about him makes me want to experience everything else. He consumes my mind and with that, sets my body on fire. The things that man can do with just his words sends my mind in to overdrive thinking about what he will do when there isn't anything between us aside from two thin layers of clothing...
No. My life is very much like every other working single mom's life. Only when I come home at the end of my work day, I do all of the normal every day things, in my pajamas... while reading from Mr. Clooney precisely what he's going to do to me once he's home....
Monday, August 31, 2015
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Game Recognizes Game
My Charlotte... she knew Mr. White well.
"How well?" I asked.
"Very well."
"Very well? Wait. That well?"
"That well."
On one hand, I was disappointed... I mean, there's girl code and all of that, right? However, her "pseudo relationship" with him had been several years prior and it never really escalated to anything too serious. But there was a reason for that.
"He's really fun," she assured me. "And he's a super sweet guy. He'll take you on trips. You'll have a great time with him. But... you have to know..."
"Know what?" ...but I already knew. I did. The moment I heard her tone change, my mind replayed the day's events and I instantly knew.
...sitting behind the wall.
...him going to the bathroom when we were leaving and having me just meet him outside.
...the fact that he parked around the back of the restaurant where there were no other vehicles.
"He's married," she told me.
"No. He told me he was single. He's been single the same amount of time that I've been." I was trying to convince myself that he wasn't lying. Look- I don't trust men anyway. They'll get away with whatever you'll let them get away with. I once fell in love with a man and dated him for SEVERAL months before finding out that he had a wife. I've been the cheater, the cheatee, the cheated... None of them are good feelings. I don't want to be that person. I have very strong feelings about it, considering what happened with my relationship with the Ex. No one wins and the pain that is inflicted is never worth the temporary whatever that you get from sneaking around on someone that loves you. I digress.
It's not that I wanted a relationship with Mr. White. I wasn't in a relationship frame of mind at all. But I won't be "the other woman".
"Well, maybe he is single. Are you sure he's divorced? I mean, he could be telling the truth..."
"...No. It's all adding up... Let me call you back." I hung up the phone and opened iMessage.
...so I'm thinking... when you return from Spain-
when we see each other again- maybe we should
go on a trip out of town for a few days.
Oh yeah? Where were you thinking?
Oh I don't know. Just somewhere private... Some
place where we don't have to sit in the back of a
restaurant and you won't have to worry about
parking around back or being seen with me and
your wife finding out.
He knew he was busted.
What?
Come on. Let's just be honest here. Are you or are
you not married?
I have been honest.
Are you married, Mr. White?
I am. But we haven't lived together for some
time. I never lied to you.
Let me just stop right there for a minute. I don't consider Mr. White to be a liar. I don't think of him as a bad person. Is he separated? Is his wife aware of this fact if he is? I don't know. I won't lie- I'm typically the girl who would find out. Do some research. Ask around. Learn who his wife is and straight up ask her. Woman to Woman. However, I've found that usually just makes me look crazy. (Kayla side bar: since when does being up front and real and honest with people make you crazy?? I guess people have just become so accustomed to lies and they prefer to live in their own little fake happy bubble than to know the truth. Not this one. Hit me with the truth no matter how badly you know I don't want to hear it.)
I didn't stop talking to him. My initial thought was to cease all communication. But what if he was telling the truth? If my history with men is indicative of the way the majority of them lie- I absolutely should not trust that his marriage is over... but I wanted to believe him. Not because of anything more than the fact that my head was still spinning over being pinned between his truck and... whatever was in those designer jeans he was wearing.
You have to start trusting sometime, Kayla, I told myself. It was just convenient for me to choose this moment to attempt such a feat. Trust. It's never been my strong suit. I trusted the Ex. Even when I shouldn't have. It bit me in the ass. This is why the whole "do what I want, no relationship" thing appealed to me so much. I didn't have to worry about whether or not someone was telling me the truth because they would owe me nothing.
Okay. I believe you.
Good.
I can't wait.
Surely you can.... ;)
No. I can't wait to bend you over and
spank your ass and pull your hair.
And there he was. I forgot about the "issue" at hand.
The next morning, I took the five year old to school and went to my office to begin my work day. When my phone chimed, I smiled knowing immediately who it would be.
I was wrong.
"Men all over the county find themselves thinking on a daily basis... 'How can I make Kayla's blog?'"
This guy. Sexy. So sexy. Outdoorsy. Intelligent. Seemingly the eternal bachelor. He's in his 30s and has never been married nor does he have any children. I mean, I suppose that wouldn't seem abnormal in the least if you were anywhere other than South Georgia where most have at least 2 children before their 25th birthday. But not him. He reminded me of a combination of George Clooney and a young Harrison Ford. Rugged at times, yet the man could wear a suit like no one I'd ever seen before. And he knew it. Harrison Clooney. That's him. My Clooney. Granted, he wasn't mine yet, but he would be. He didn't know it- but he would be. Hell, I didn't even know it yet...
I laughed. "Oh, you read the blog?" I asked.
"I look forward to it," he told me. I was kind of surprised. My best friend's husband reads the blog.... but I figured it was more of a "show my wife's best friend some support" thing than him actually being entertained by it. Or even a "let me see what this crazy bia is gonna say now..." because he knows me and knows that I'm bound to write anything (as you all have probably learned by now, as well) "It's refreshing," he says, "to hear from a chick who's a little dirty, yet practices restraint. I dig it. I'm a faithful follower." Faithful. Sorry- just that word coming out of a man's mouth is enough to turn me on.
He tells me about himself. His likes and dislikes. The fact that he actually enjoys being single. We have a lot in common.
I go into this knowing that it can't turn into anything. Hours later as I'm texting my Clooney Goodnight I realize that I haven't text Mr. White in hours. Many hours. His flight left early that morning, but he was sure to text me when he arrived at his destination. I responded, but I was more distracted by another conversation that had recently begun...
We may have been bitten, my dear.
We have a problem.
Maybe we can help one another solve it...
I really can't wait. Seriously.
I'm glad you feel the same way.
This could go down in flames.
But if it does- it'll
be fun in the mean time.
...I'd been Clooney'd. Some how he had gotten to me. The walls... the "hardness"... I was starting to forget my own rules. I told myself again This CAN NOT go anywhere...
...or can it?
"How well?" I asked.
"Very well."
"Very well? Wait. That well?"
"That well."
On one hand, I was disappointed... I mean, there's girl code and all of that, right? However, her "pseudo relationship" with him had been several years prior and it never really escalated to anything too serious. But there was a reason for that.
"He's really fun," she assured me. "And he's a super sweet guy. He'll take you on trips. You'll have a great time with him. But... you have to know..."
"Know what?" ...but I already knew. I did. The moment I heard her tone change, my mind replayed the day's events and I instantly knew.
...sitting behind the wall.
...him going to the bathroom when we were leaving and having me just meet him outside.
...the fact that he parked around the back of the restaurant where there were no other vehicles.
"He's married," she told me.
"No. He told me he was single. He's been single the same amount of time that I've been." I was trying to convince myself that he wasn't lying. Look- I don't trust men anyway. They'll get away with whatever you'll let them get away with. I once fell in love with a man and dated him for SEVERAL months before finding out that he had a wife. I've been the cheater, the cheatee, the cheated... None of them are good feelings. I don't want to be that person. I have very strong feelings about it, considering what happened with my relationship with the Ex. No one wins and the pain that is inflicted is never worth the temporary whatever that you get from sneaking around on someone that loves you. I digress.
It's not that I wanted a relationship with Mr. White. I wasn't in a relationship frame of mind at all. But I won't be "the other woman".
"Well, maybe he is single. Are you sure he's divorced? I mean, he could be telling the truth..."
"...No. It's all adding up... Let me call you back." I hung up the phone and opened iMessage.
...so I'm thinking... when you return from Spain-
when we see each other again- maybe we should
go on a trip out of town for a few days.
Oh yeah? Where were you thinking?
Oh I don't know. Just somewhere private... Some
place where we don't have to sit in the back of a
restaurant and you won't have to worry about
parking around back or being seen with me and
your wife finding out.
He knew he was busted.
What?
Come on. Let's just be honest here. Are you or are
you not married?
I have been honest.
Are you married, Mr. White?
I am. But we haven't lived together for some
time. I never lied to you.
Let me just stop right there for a minute. I don't consider Mr. White to be a liar. I don't think of him as a bad person. Is he separated? Is his wife aware of this fact if he is? I don't know. I won't lie- I'm typically the girl who would find out. Do some research. Ask around. Learn who his wife is and straight up ask her. Woman to Woman. However, I've found that usually just makes me look crazy. (Kayla side bar: since when does being up front and real and honest with people make you crazy?? I guess people have just become so accustomed to lies and they prefer to live in their own little fake happy bubble than to know the truth. Not this one. Hit me with the truth no matter how badly you know I don't want to hear it.)
I didn't stop talking to him. My initial thought was to cease all communication. But what if he was telling the truth? If my history with men is indicative of the way the majority of them lie- I absolutely should not trust that his marriage is over... but I wanted to believe him. Not because of anything more than the fact that my head was still spinning over being pinned between his truck and... whatever was in those designer jeans he was wearing.
You have to start trusting sometime, Kayla, I told myself. It was just convenient for me to choose this moment to attempt such a feat. Trust. It's never been my strong suit. I trusted the Ex. Even when I shouldn't have. It bit me in the ass. This is why the whole "do what I want, no relationship" thing appealed to me so much. I didn't have to worry about whether or not someone was telling me the truth because they would owe me nothing.
Okay. I believe you.
Good.
I can't wait.
Surely you can.... ;)
No. I can't wait to bend you over and
spank your ass and pull your hair.
And there he was. I forgot about the "issue" at hand.
The next morning, I took the five year old to school and went to my office to begin my work day. When my phone chimed, I smiled knowing immediately who it would be.
I was wrong.
"Men all over the county find themselves thinking on a daily basis... 'How can I make Kayla's blog?'"
This guy. Sexy. So sexy. Outdoorsy. Intelligent. Seemingly the eternal bachelor. He's in his 30s and has never been married nor does he have any children. I mean, I suppose that wouldn't seem abnormal in the least if you were anywhere other than South Georgia where most have at least 2 children before their 25th birthday. But not him. He reminded me of a combination of George Clooney and a young Harrison Ford. Rugged at times, yet the man could wear a suit like no one I'd ever seen before. And he knew it. Harrison Clooney. That's him. My Clooney. Granted, he wasn't mine yet, but he would be. He didn't know it- but he would be. Hell, I didn't even know it yet...
I laughed. "Oh, you read the blog?" I asked.
"I look forward to it," he told me. I was kind of surprised. My best friend's husband reads the blog.... but I figured it was more of a "show my wife's best friend some support" thing than him actually being entertained by it. Or even a "let me see what this crazy bia is gonna say now..." because he knows me and knows that I'm bound to write anything (as you all have probably learned by now, as well) "It's refreshing," he says, "to hear from a chick who's a little dirty, yet practices restraint. I dig it. I'm a faithful follower." Faithful. Sorry- just that word coming out of a man's mouth is enough to turn me on.
He tells me about himself. His likes and dislikes. The fact that he actually enjoys being single. We have a lot in common.
I go into this knowing that it can't turn into anything. Hours later as I'm texting my Clooney Goodnight I realize that I haven't text Mr. White in hours. Many hours. His flight left early that morning, but he was sure to text me when he arrived at his destination. I responded, but I was more distracted by another conversation that had recently begun...
We may have been bitten, my dear.
We have a problem.
Maybe we can help one another solve it...
I really can't wait. Seriously.
I'm glad you feel the same way.
This could go down in flames.
But if it does- it'll
be fun in the mean time.
...I'd been Clooney'd. Some how he had gotten to me. The walls... the "hardness"... I was starting to forget my own rules. I told myself again This CAN NOT go anywhere...
...or can it?
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Mr. White Will See You Now...
"I'll be sitting in the back... Look to your right"
I didn't see him when I first walked in to the restaurant we were to meet at for lunch. I'm not going to lie. My initial thought was that I had been Catfish'd. I asked him what he was wearing.
"I'm behind the wall".
Okay. So apparently one of my favorite local restaurants has a "private area". Okay. That's fine. I like privacy.
Lunch was great. It was kind of effortless, actually. He was tall. I liked that. He hugged me when I first arrived. Had an amazing smile. One of those instant attraction sort of things. We ordered. We ate. He would be leaving for Spain soon. For a little while. We talked about that. He was funny. I liked that. And, again- that smile. I was careful to not to bite my lip.
I could see myself actually liking this guy. I shut that down. I can't. I don't want a relationship. I really don't. Neither of us want that and we've actually discussed it. But, in a different time and place, I think I could really like him. And I'm fairly confident I could make him like me, as well.
As we get up to leave, he tells me that he has to go to the bathroom, but that he has parked around the back of the restaurant. I should meet him there. So I do.
I make my way out of the restaurant and to his vehicle on the opposite side of the parking lot from where my probably 13 years older, same model vehicle is parked. The first thing I notice when he meets me outside is his pants. His jeans. Look- we're in South Georgia. Men don't wear nice jeans. They just don't. They wear Levis. (Side note: I have nothing against Levis... but there's something about a nice pair of jeans on a good lookin' man....)
We, again, make small talk. Spain. I want to know if he wants to do something when he returns. He'll be gone for a while. He tells me that he would like that... if I want to.
I do.
I'm nervous. I'm trying so hard to not bite my lip. I don't want to make it so obvious what I want. My keys are twirling around my finger as I nervously try to think of something (anything!) else to say. Do I just leave? Tell him to have a safe trip and hug him goodbye? That seems mighty pathetic after all the shit I talked yesterday. (Hey- I acknowledge that I was talking shit. I told you I'm much better over the phone than in the bedroom)
But I did it. I bit my lip with my head lowered, and looked up at him with my dark brown eyes...
"What did I tell you about biting your lip?" he asked me as he moved toward me. The look in his eyes told me that he was serious. He put his hand behind my head and grabbed a fistful of my hair and forcefully pulled my head back.
He was serious. "I told you not to bite your lip" he said, as he took that very same lip between his own two teeth.
I was in trouble.
I knew it immediately.
He pulled me toward him and I could feel every inch of him pressed against my leg. My imagination couldn't help but wonder what would be had we not been in such a public place.
But were we?? Were we really that public? I looked around. No one was there. His body was pressed tightly against my own.
I didn't want him to stop. I don't think I would have made him stop. Yet, somehow it stopped.
Dry humping in a parking lot like we were 15 years old. I didn't hate it. In fact, I wanted more.
I was already craving him in a way that I couldn't explain. Yet, I walked away.
"Have fun in Spain. Call me when you get back." I told him.
He assured me that he would.
I walked across the parking lot and climbed into my older version of the very same vehicle that my body was just pressed up against. I sat there for a moment to collect myself.
I wanted him. This man that I barely knew. I wanted him.
I text a friend. The "Charlotte" of my friends. She begged to know his true identity. Thinking there was no way she would know who he was, I told her.
She knew him.
She knew him very well.
Turns out... Mr. White has a secret...
And I know what it is.
I didn't see him when I first walked in to the restaurant we were to meet at for lunch. I'm not going to lie. My initial thought was that I had been Catfish'd. I asked him what he was wearing.
"I'm behind the wall".
Okay. So apparently one of my favorite local restaurants has a "private area". Okay. That's fine. I like privacy.
Lunch was great. It was kind of effortless, actually. He was tall. I liked that. He hugged me when I first arrived. Had an amazing smile. One of those instant attraction sort of things. We ordered. We ate. He would be leaving for Spain soon. For a little while. We talked about that. He was funny. I liked that. And, again- that smile. I was careful to not to bite my lip.
I could see myself actually liking this guy. I shut that down. I can't. I don't want a relationship. I really don't. Neither of us want that and we've actually discussed it. But, in a different time and place, I think I could really like him. And I'm fairly confident I could make him like me, as well.
As we get up to leave, he tells me that he has to go to the bathroom, but that he has parked around the back of the restaurant. I should meet him there. So I do.
I make my way out of the restaurant and to his vehicle on the opposite side of the parking lot from where my probably 13 years older, same model vehicle is parked. The first thing I notice when he meets me outside is his pants. His jeans. Look- we're in South Georgia. Men don't wear nice jeans. They just don't. They wear Levis. (Side note: I have nothing against Levis... but there's something about a nice pair of jeans on a good lookin' man....)
We, again, make small talk. Spain. I want to know if he wants to do something when he returns. He'll be gone for a while. He tells me that he would like that... if I want to.
I do.
I'm nervous. I'm trying so hard to not bite my lip. I don't want to make it so obvious what I want. My keys are twirling around my finger as I nervously try to think of something (anything!) else to say. Do I just leave? Tell him to have a safe trip and hug him goodbye? That seems mighty pathetic after all the shit I talked yesterday. (Hey- I acknowledge that I was talking shit. I told you I'm much better over the phone than in the bedroom)
But I did it. I bit my lip with my head lowered, and looked up at him with my dark brown eyes...
"What did I tell you about biting your lip?" he asked me as he moved toward me. The look in his eyes told me that he was serious. He put his hand behind my head and grabbed a fistful of my hair and forcefully pulled my head back.
He was serious. "I told you not to bite your lip" he said, as he took that very same lip between his own two teeth.
I was in trouble.
I knew it immediately.
He pulled me toward him and I could feel every inch of him pressed against my leg. My imagination couldn't help but wonder what would be had we not been in such a public place.
But were we?? Were we really that public? I looked around. No one was there. His body was pressed tightly against my own.
I didn't want him to stop. I don't think I would have made him stop. Yet, somehow it stopped.
Dry humping in a parking lot like we were 15 years old. I didn't hate it. In fact, I wanted more.
I was already craving him in a way that I couldn't explain. Yet, I walked away.
"Have fun in Spain. Call me when you get back." I told him.
He assured me that he would.
I walked across the parking lot and climbed into my older version of the very same vehicle that my body was just pressed up against. I sat there for a moment to collect myself.
I wanted him. This man that I barely knew. I wanted him.
I text a friend. The "Charlotte" of my friends. She begged to know his true identity. Thinking there was no way she would know who he was, I told her.
She knew him.
She knew him very well.
Turns out... Mr. White has a secret...
And I know what it is.
My Best Friend's Girl
He was never my type- the ex's friend. I mean, I don't suppose I really have a "type" as much as I just tend to know fairly early on if I'm in to someone or not. And this person I was not "in to". Many times he (the Ex Formerly Known As the Sir) would ask me which of his friends I would hook up with if given the opportunity. There were the brothers... they were hot, but I didn't really know either of them enough to be genuinely attracted to either. And then there was this other one. Kind of nerdy, but only just nerdy enough. There was the one who had the absolute best personality of them all. The one that was definitely marriage material, yet was usually the only single one of the bunch. He has a lot of friends. Married. Engaged. Dating. Single. Local. Out of State. Out of town. Maybe a sober one or two thrown in there, but for the most part his friends enjoyed the same "extracurricular activities" that the Ex himself liked to partake in. They're good guys. Misguided at times. Overgrown boys much of the time, but they fake being adults very well from Monday at 8 am until Friday at 5 pm.
Saturdays they "go hard"... You don't want to catch them on a Sunday. (This in no way applies to them all... I don't know them all well enough to comment on what their weekends look like... but for the ones I do know, Sunday is not their best day). They're usually recovering from Saturday and they're firm believers in "the Hair of the Dog". So they're just as drunk and not quite as functional. It's obnoxious, really, because that would leave me to babysit.
I'm getting off track here.
The friend. He was cute. Most of his friends are. Which one was he, you ask? The nerdy one? One of the brothers? The sweet one? The out-of-state one? The ridiculously hot one? One of the obnoxiously drunk ones? The sober one? Eh. I can't tell you that. Look- I'm an open book for the most part, but I'm not evil. Conniving... vindictive... jealous... female... yes. Evil? Nah. So, I won't tell you anything else about him... except what happened next.
The Ex had not been the Ex for very long at all. I was nowhere near over him. (I believe it has been well-established that, while I'm getting better, one does not simply "get over" the love of her life in a month.... So I'm working on it. STILL.) It had been a rough weekend. I had not spoken to the Ex in a week. It had been two weeks since he asked me if I wanted him to leave me alone and I (regrettably) said that I did. I don't want to call it so much a "moment of weakness", because I don't think that's really what it was. I had just found out that my past was now another woman's present. And she was younger than me by somewhere around 5 years. And was nothing like anything that I had ever known to be his type. (even though, admittedly, she seems like she's probably a really great girl... I can't even hate her. I mean, I do... Of course I do. But I can't. But, again- to be clear, I do.) I was mad. Not even just hurt. I think I tucked the "hurt" away for a couple of weeks later. But I was angry. I had this "F him. F this. F the entire past year and a half. F staying faithful to him and crying over him and waiting for him."
He had a motto. "The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else", yet always joked that it didn't apply to me. I mean, he wasn't joking, but we laughed about it. I've never been the one to get under someone to get over someone. Too emotional. Too much of a girl.
Not this time.
"What are you doing?" I asked the friend.
"Heading to my house. Why?" I know it caught him off guard because we don't speak regularly.
I told him I was coming over. Then I told him why.
He didn't protest.
Once I arrived, I sat on his couch... he reached over to hold my hand.
Awkward. I couldn't like it. 'Is he going to kiss me?' I wondered. I thought about going all Julia Roberts a la Pretty Woman and telling him that kissing was off limits. Then I remembered that I wasn't a prostitute. Whew. That was close. But still- the kissing seemed too intimate. The hand holding?? WAY too intimate. (side bar: is that backward? Should sex be more intimate than hand-holding and kissing? Am I off?) I made it clear what I was there for and at this point, I was tired and just ready to go home. But I was still mad. And he was right there. It was the ultimate "F you". The Ex would never find out. I knew that. Old "Friend Boy" wouldn't tell. I wouldn't tell. (well. I kind of am. But if you think you know who it is- you're wrong, so stop trying to figure it out. I'll throw some lies mixed in with the truth just to throw you off. You won't know the difference) I didn't care to get off. Truthfully, I didn't even care if he did. I mean- he did. Of course he did. But, still. It wouldn't have kept me up at night had he not. I didn't care about pleasing him. I didn't care for him to please me. He served one purpose and one purpose only.
Once my hand was freed and 7 and a half minutes passed, I put my clothes on and walked out the door. Shot him a random text probably two weeks later about nothing at all. We never spoke of it. I don't think it was great for him. It probably wasn't. I didn't care. Still don't.
Did it make me feel better? Nope.
Was I less mad at the Ex? Not at all.
Did I feel justified and like I had gotten a little bit of vengeance and maybe a teensy bit proud? Can't lie. That, I did.
Did I smirk a little when I told my own personal "Samantha" about it over my birthday lunch the next week? Oh I smirked a lot. That's the one time I did feel proud.
How does he feel?? Oh probably terrified. I have a blog. I'm friends with most of them on facebook. They have a group message that will probably be abuzz with trying to figure out which one of them it is... But they'll never figure it out either. Only one of them knows and I can guarantee... He'll never tell ;)
Saturdays they "go hard"... You don't want to catch them on a Sunday. (This in no way applies to them all... I don't know them all well enough to comment on what their weekends look like... but for the ones I do know, Sunday is not their best day). They're usually recovering from Saturday and they're firm believers in "the Hair of the Dog". So they're just as drunk and not quite as functional. It's obnoxious, really, because that would leave me to babysit.
I'm getting off track here.
The friend. He was cute. Most of his friends are. Which one was he, you ask? The nerdy one? One of the brothers? The sweet one? The out-of-state one? The ridiculously hot one? One of the obnoxiously drunk ones? The sober one? Eh. I can't tell you that. Look- I'm an open book for the most part, but I'm not evil. Conniving... vindictive... jealous... female... yes. Evil? Nah. So, I won't tell you anything else about him... except what happened next.
The Ex had not been the Ex for very long at all. I was nowhere near over him. (I believe it has been well-established that, while I'm getting better, one does not simply "get over" the love of her life in a month.... So I'm working on it. STILL.) It had been a rough weekend. I had not spoken to the Ex in a week. It had been two weeks since he asked me if I wanted him to leave me alone and I (regrettably) said that I did. I don't want to call it so much a "moment of weakness", because I don't think that's really what it was. I had just found out that my past was now another woman's present. And she was younger than me by somewhere around 5 years. And was nothing like anything that I had ever known to be his type. (even though, admittedly, she seems like she's probably a really great girl... I can't even hate her. I mean, I do... Of course I do. But I can't. But, again- to be clear, I do.) I was mad. Not even just hurt. I think I tucked the "hurt" away for a couple of weeks later. But I was angry. I had this "F him. F this. F the entire past year and a half. F staying faithful to him and crying over him and waiting for him."
He had a motto. "The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else", yet always joked that it didn't apply to me. I mean, he wasn't joking, but we laughed about it. I've never been the one to get under someone to get over someone. Too emotional. Too much of a girl.
Not this time.
"What are you doing?" I asked the friend.
"Heading to my house. Why?" I know it caught him off guard because we don't speak regularly.
I told him I was coming over. Then I told him why.
He didn't protest.
Once I arrived, I sat on his couch... he reached over to hold my hand.
Awkward. I couldn't like it. 'Is he going to kiss me?' I wondered. I thought about going all Julia Roberts a la Pretty Woman and telling him that kissing was off limits. Then I remembered that I wasn't a prostitute. Whew. That was close. But still- the kissing seemed too intimate. The hand holding?? WAY too intimate. (side bar: is that backward? Should sex be more intimate than hand-holding and kissing? Am I off?) I made it clear what I was there for and at this point, I was tired and just ready to go home. But I was still mad. And he was right there. It was the ultimate "F you". The Ex would never find out. I knew that. Old "Friend Boy" wouldn't tell. I wouldn't tell. (well. I kind of am. But if you think you know who it is- you're wrong, so stop trying to figure it out. I'll throw some lies mixed in with the truth just to throw you off. You won't know the difference) I didn't care to get off. Truthfully, I didn't even care if he did. I mean- he did. Of course he did. But, still. It wouldn't have kept me up at night had he not. I didn't care about pleasing him. I didn't care for him to please me. He served one purpose and one purpose only.
Once my hand was freed and 7 and a half minutes passed, I put my clothes on and walked out the door. Shot him a random text probably two weeks later about nothing at all. We never spoke of it. I don't think it was great for him. It probably wasn't. I didn't care. Still don't.
Did it make me feel better? Nope.
Was I less mad at the Ex? Not at all.
Did I feel justified and like I had gotten a little bit of vengeance and maybe a teensy bit proud? Can't lie. That, I did.
Did I smirk a little when I told my own personal "Samantha" about it over my birthday lunch the next week? Oh I smirked a lot. That's the one time I did feel proud.
How does he feel?? Oh probably terrified. I have a blog. I'm friends with most of them on facebook. They have a group message that will probably be abuzz with trying to figure out which one of them it is... But they'll never figure it out either. Only one of them knows and I can guarantee... He'll never tell ;)
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
the not-quite Christian Grey...
Role playing. We've all done it. Haven't we? (if this is one of those situations where you can hear crickets chirping in the background because this is just a "me" thing and not a "we" thing, then lets just disregard this entire post... moving along)
I don't necessarily mean Naughty Nurse and patient or teacher and principal or even Princess Leia and whoever it was she was giving it to in that space man movie (wasn't that her brother? I could be totally wrong. I've obviously never seen it.). I'm talking about pretending to be something that you aren't for the sake of fun. Grown up fun. You know- just something to spice things up a little. For me, that means stepping out of my comfort zone. Doing or saying things that "relationship me" typically wouldn't.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm an open book. I'm loud. I'm obnoxious. I can be highly inappropriate at times, and I lack that filter that should tell my mouth to not say everything that enters my brain. I'm fun. I talk a lot. The same can not be said for my "behind closed doors" personality. I think that I'm perfectly boring. I'm self conscious. There's no "talk dirty to me". At all. (the Ex used to ask for it all the time. Once, after a couple of drinks, I finally gave in and tried. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I do remember him laughing and telling me to stop. I get an A for effort, though, right?) I don't go so far as to say that all the lights have to be on or insist on keeping my shirt on or anything like that, but I'm simple and boring. Quite the opposite of my every day persona. Definitely not what one would expect.
But when someone is texting me... that's a different ballgame altogether. My proverbial balls get as big as any you've ever seen. Here's the thing- with a man you foresee a future with, you don't want to do or say anything you can't keep up with long-term, right? If you start out swingin' from ceiling fans, how do you go up from there? What do you even do on special occasions? But with a "special grown up friend" that will not likely ever be more than that- anything goes. (Sorry, long-term guys. Maybe on your birthday...)
So I say allllllllll of that to say this: there's a guy. No, I'm not dating anyone. Didn't I tell you guys already that I wasn't interested in anything like that? (possibly ever again) But we all like our distractions (again- maybe that's just me... if so, just nod & smile...)
I digress. This guy. Attractive. Successful. Confident. All three things that I like. Has a great face. A nice smile. I'm thinking 'I can work with this'... We can't quite figure out how we know one another, yet he's quick to point out to me his favorite photo of me that he's found while perusing my facebook profile. (Because that's this life, ladies and gentlemen.) The particular photo is one of me biting my lip while anxiously awaiting the anesthesia for my wisdom tooth removal last week. Did I do it knowing it was sexy? Psh. Abso-friggin-lutely. Do I act as though I have no idea and that's my genuinely nervous face? You bet I do. "That drives me crazy", he tells me. So what do I do? Naturally, I go through my entire camera roll to find every photo I have of me biting my lip from the past couple of months. There are, surprisingly, more than I realized. Man, I do that a lot. Maybe that's my thing. Maybe I'm that girl that nervously bites her lip and everyone thinks it's so cute and "soooo her". Nah. I'm the one that snorts when I laugh. And I make a rat face. My nose gets all scrunchied up and I look like a rat. Regardless- me biting my lip drives him crazy, so I send him more of it.
In the most Christian Grey-esque way possible, this man (we will call him Mr. White) asks "Why are you doing this to me?" I innocently act as though I have no idea what he means (role play... I'm not stupid. Of course I know what he's getting at. Dude wants to bite that lip for me.) I told him that I'm a big girl and I do what I want. "You have a smart mouth, don't you?... Lip biting and a smart mouth. Dangerous. Don't bite your lip." Well, what do you think I'm gonna do at that point? Send a photo of me biting my lip. And this is where it gets good. The tone changes. "This really makes me want to turn your ass cheeks red", he tells me. He acts as though he's never heard of Mr. Grey. I'm not buying it. Of course, I act as though I believe every word he says. Look- there's no future with Mr. White. None whatsoever. But right now, it's fun. This is the first guy I've talked to since the Ex who was blatantly honest up front and told me that he didn't want anything out of this. Every other man wants to marry me. And I don't say that to sound like I'm something special. I'm not. (Okay, I am.) But this guy doesn't want that. He doesn't know me well enough to want that. (neither did the others...) But he's REAL. He doesn't want a relationship. He's been single the same amount of time that I have. He has the same number of children that I have (almost the same ages) and we pull for the same college football team. Now that would be enough to have "relationship me" thinking "oh this is just meant to be". But no. She's gone. Or at least in a coma. Possibly a permanent one. So Mr. White wants to turn my ass cheeks red for biting my lip, yet denies ever having read or watched 50 Shades of Grey. Okay. I'll play along. So I give him a little back story on Christian and Ana... "I've been referred to as this person before," he tells me. (Yeah, I'm sure. You probably know all about Charlie Tango and the red room, but that's okay... Again, I'll play along).
"You're quite the enigma, Mr. White," I tell him.
"Maybe we should do something about this"
I tell him this could be good for my blog.
"You blog?" he asks. He sounds afraid.
He should be.
Of course, he doesn't realize it yet; but he really should be
"I'll change your name," I assure him
He likes his privacy. He asks that I respect that. I've already told him about the blog. He's been warned. I offer no lies of respect.
He asks about hard limits. I give him mine. Seemingly, we agree on these things.
He's asked me to lunch tomorrow.
xx
I don't necessarily mean Naughty Nurse and patient or teacher and principal or even Princess Leia and whoever it was she was giving it to in that space man movie (wasn't that her brother? I could be totally wrong. I've obviously never seen it.). I'm talking about pretending to be something that you aren't for the sake of fun. Grown up fun. You know- just something to spice things up a little. For me, that means stepping out of my comfort zone. Doing or saying things that "relationship me" typically wouldn't.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm an open book. I'm loud. I'm obnoxious. I can be highly inappropriate at times, and I lack that filter that should tell my mouth to not say everything that enters my brain. I'm fun. I talk a lot. The same can not be said for my "behind closed doors" personality. I think that I'm perfectly boring. I'm self conscious. There's no "talk dirty to me". At all. (the Ex used to ask for it all the time. Once, after a couple of drinks, I finally gave in and tried. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I do remember him laughing and telling me to stop. I get an A for effort, though, right?) I don't go so far as to say that all the lights have to be on or insist on keeping my shirt on or anything like that, but I'm simple and boring. Quite the opposite of my every day persona. Definitely not what one would expect.
But when someone is texting me... that's a different ballgame altogether. My proverbial balls get as big as any you've ever seen. Here's the thing- with a man you foresee a future with, you don't want to do or say anything you can't keep up with long-term, right? If you start out swingin' from ceiling fans, how do you go up from there? What do you even do on special occasions? But with a "special grown up friend" that will not likely ever be more than that- anything goes. (Sorry, long-term guys. Maybe on your birthday...)
So I say allllllllll of that to say this: there's a guy. No, I'm not dating anyone. Didn't I tell you guys already that I wasn't interested in anything like that? (possibly ever again) But we all like our distractions (again- maybe that's just me... if so, just nod & smile...)
I digress. This guy. Attractive. Successful. Confident. All three things that I like. Has a great face. A nice smile. I'm thinking 'I can work with this'... We can't quite figure out how we know one another, yet he's quick to point out to me his favorite photo of me that he's found while perusing my facebook profile. (Because that's this life, ladies and gentlemen.) The particular photo is one of me biting my lip while anxiously awaiting the anesthesia for my wisdom tooth removal last week. Did I do it knowing it was sexy? Psh. Abso-friggin-lutely. Do I act as though I have no idea and that's my genuinely nervous face? You bet I do. "That drives me crazy", he tells me. So what do I do? Naturally, I go through my entire camera roll to find every photo I have of me biting my lip from the past couple of months. There are, surprisingly, more than I realized. Man, I do that a lot. Maybe that's my thing. Maybe I'm that girl that nervously bites her lip and everyone thinks it's so cute and "soooo her". Nah. I'm the one that snorts when I laugh. And I make a rat face. My nose gets all scrunchied up and I look like a rat. Regardless- me biting my lip drives him crazy, so I send him more of it.
In the most Christian Grey-esque way possible, this man (we will call him Mr. White) asks "Why are you doing this to me?" I innocently act as though I have no idea what he means (role play... I'm not stupid. Of course I know what he's getting at. Dude wants to bite that lip for me.) I told him that I'm a big girl and I do what I want. "You have a smart mouth, don't you?... Lip biting and a smart mouth. Dangerous. Don't bite your lip." Well, what do you think I'm gonna do at that point? Send a photo of me biting my lip. And this is where it gets good. The tone changes. "This really makes me want to turn your ass cheeks red", he tells me. He acts as though he's never heard of Mr. Grey. I'm not buying it. Of course, I act as though I believe every word he says. Look- there's no future with Mr. White. None whatsoever. But right now, it's fun. This is the first guy I've talked to since the Ex who was blatantly honest up front and told me that he didn't want anything out of this. Every other man wants to marry me. And I don't say that to sound like I'm something special. I'm not. (Okay, I am.) But this guy doesn't want that. He doesn't know me well enough to want that. (neither did the others...) But he's REAL. He doesn't want a relationship. He's been single the same amount of time that I have. He has the same number of children that I have (almost the same ages) and we pull for the same college football team. Now that would be enough to have "relationship me" thinking "oh this is just meant to be". But no. She's gone. Or at least in a coma. Possibly a permanent one. So Mr. White wants to turn my ass cheeks red for biting my lip, yet denies ever having read or watched 50 Shades of Grey. Okay. I'll play along. So I give him a little back story on Christian and Ana... "I've been referred to as this person before," he tells me. (Yeah, I'm sure. You probably know all about Charlie Tango and the red room, but that's okay... Again, I'll play along).
"You're quite the enigma, Mr. White," I tell him.
"Maybe we should do something about this"
I tell him this could be good for my blog.
"You blog?" he asks. He sounds afraid.
He should be.
Of course, he doesn't realize it yet; but he really should be
"I'll change your name," I assure him
He likes his privacy. He asks that I respect that. I've already told him about the blog. He's been warned. I offer no lies of respect.
He asks about hard limits. I give him mine. Seemingly, we agree on these things.
He's asked me to lunch tomorrow.
xx
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
the back story
I'm Kayla. Not to be confused with Carrie. I don't live in a luxury high rise with a to-die-for closet and a group of close-knit besties and a designer wardrobe with a wealthy, well-endowed boyfriend living in the big city. Nope. Not this girl. I'm in my 30s (early 30s, I'll add). A single mom in a 2 bedroom apartment in the southernmost part of Georgia. It's as south Georgia as you can get without being in Florida. And my closet consists primarily of Orange and Blue "game day" gear from local boutiques (Go Gators!). I work a typical 8-5 office job and come home to an almost 5 year old that I affectionately call "the Baby". I have an ex that I'm still not over... we'll call him The Ex Formerly Known As The Sir. Or just The Ex. But you get it. No other Ex is even relevant at this stage. This one is the most recent and, quite honestly, the most distressing. But I'll get to all of that later.
I'm not sitting at a well-lit desk, sipping a glass of wine or a cosmo while writing about my latest sexual exploits. The truth is- the whole "sexual" part of my recent "exploits" is nonexistent. The last person I was "with" is far too scandalous to be mentioned (even on the blog... maybe one day I'll get brave), but I just haven't reached "that level" with another man since The Ex. I've dated. Well- I've tried. I've gone on dates. I've even gotten a "boyfriend"... but I'm not ready. I realized that today
See- one thing about the Ex... he pops back in. We've been doing this for a year and a half now, so I kind of know his games. I know them even better than he does, probably. And, likewise, he knows mine. This is probably a huge part of why we didn't work. Oh, and my incessant need to broadcast my life on social media/ in a blog/ to my best friend. Whatever. I digress. He popped back in this morning completely out of nowhere. Basically, he was busted creeping on my Facebook when he had previously blocked me. Do I think it was intentional? No. Not really. Do I think it was necessary? Yeah. Actually. Because it made me realize that I'm really NOT ready. I'm not over him. There's still so much hurt.... it's still a fresh wound. It's only been one month since we went our separate ways (exactly one month today, strangely enough). A month ago we were talking about our future. Today we don't speak at all. It's a strange dynamic- our relationship is. Someone once told me that we were the most functional of any dysfunctional couple she had ever met. And we were. We fought. There were a hundred reasons why we just didn't work. But we loved one another. Probably the deepest love that either of us had ever felt. It was intense. The lows were low, but man the highs were the highest you could get. And those highs--- that's what keep me up at night. Just remembering the nights dancing to Johnny Cash... him spinning me around like the goofball that he is.... sunsets in Fernandina... so much.
There was bad, though. Boy was there bad. And that's the stuff that I tend to not think about. I can't compete with a bottle or other women. And those were two things that he just couldn't give up. At least not for me. And I started becoming someone that I wasn't. I wasn't the girl that he fell in love with anymore. And I think that only a part of that was a result of that relationship. Part of it was probably just inevitable because of who I am as a person. I was bound to break at some point. Maybe it was timing. Hell, I don't know.
Doesn't matter now, I don't suppose. It's over. He's moved on. And my life is actually good. I'm as happy as I can be right now. He just got into my head this morning (I'm tellin' ya.... the man knows what he's doing).
But now that you know the back story, we can start getting to the good stuff....
Maybe I'll actually have some good stuff to write about. ;)
xx
I'm not sitting at a well-lit desk, sipping a glass of wine or a cosmo while writing about my latest sexual exploits. The truth is- the whole "sexual" part of my recent "exploits" is nonexistent. The last person I was "with" is far too scandalous to be mentioned (even on the blog... maybe one day I'll get brave), but I just haven't reached "that level" with another man since The Ex. I've dated. Well- I've tried. I've gone on dates. I've even gotten a "boyfriend"... but I'm not ready. I realized that today
See- one thing about the Ex... he pops back in. We've been doing this for a year and a half now, so I kind of know his games. I know them even better than he does, probably. And, likewise, he knows mine. This is probably a huge part of why we didn't work. Oh, and my incessant need to broadcast my life on social media/ in a blog/ to my best friend. Whatever. I digress. He popped back in this morning completely out of nowhere. Basically, he was busted creeping on my Facebook when he had previously blocked me. Do I think it was intentional? No. Not really. Do I think it was necessary? Yeah. Actually. Because it made me realize that I'm really NOT ready. I'm not over him. There's still so much hurt.... it's still a fresh wound. It's only been one month since we went our separate ways (exactly one month today, strangely enough). A month ago we were talking about our future. Today we don't speak at all. It's a strange dynamic- our relationship is. Someone once told me that we were the most functional of any dysfunctional couple she had ever met. And we were. We fought. There were a hundred reasons why we just didn't work. But we loved one another. Probably the deepest love that either of us had ever felt. It was intense. The lows were low, but man the highs were the highest you could get. And those highs--- that's what keep me up at night. Just remembering the nights dancing to Johnny Cash... him spinning me around like the goofball that he is.... sunsets in Fernandina... so much.
There was bad, though. Boy was there bad. And that's the stuff that I tend to not think about. I can't compete with a bottle or other women. And those were two things that he just couldn't give up. At least not for me. And I started becoming someone that I wasn't. I wasn't the girl that he fell in love with anymore. And I think that only a part of that was a result of that relationship. Part of it was probably just inevitable because of who I am as a person. I was bound to break at some point. Maybe it was timing. Hell, I don't know.
Doesn't matter now, I don't suppose. It's over. He's moved on. And my life is actually good. I'm as happy as I can be right now. He just got into my head this morning (I'm tellin' ya.... the man knows what he's doing).
But now that you know the back story, we can start getting to the good stuff....
Maybe I'll actually have some good stuff to write about. ;)
xx
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