Baby Mama Drama, Part II

A little over a year ago, you may recall that one of my old lovers thought he was going to be a daddy. Turns out since the baby was half-African American and, surprise, surprise, he's a pasty white boy, the baby was not his. Suffice to say this child did not learn his lesson from that experience. And this time, it's for real. Beyond that, he's not even dating this girl. And apparently she's a little nuts. Grand.

Top Ten Reasons Why This is Disturbing to Me
10. Children generally do not grow up to be well-adjusted when their parents hate each other.
9. Or when their parents hate them. He absolutely abhores kids.
8. He refuses to consider the completely reasonable option of abortion since he's Catholic. Apparently selling it on the black market is equally offensive.
7. He was adament about not having children ever when were together.
6. What the fuck is wrong with me?!?
5. He thinks Taco Bell is a decent dinner.
4. I repeat, what was wrong with me?!?
3. He's so meticulous and borderline obsessive-compulsive that his child will be unbelievably scarred. Also, he'll probably never change a diaper or wake up at 2 am for feedings.
2. Someone that I slept with is now procreating. That's supposedly a thing adults do. If he's an adult, then I must be too. And, oh god...I'm so not ready for that.
1. I think this little conversation demonstrates exactly how unprepared he is for fatherhood:
Me: "You know you're going to have to get rid of your Mini [Cooper], right?"
Him: "No, I'm not."
Me: "Yes, you are. No car seat is going to fit in that thing."
Him: "Whatever. It'll be fine."

Overall, I think my biggest fear is that he isn't going to be a good dad or somehow damage his child. And we all know how growing up, making commitments and life-altering decisions scare the bejesus out of me. Even if I'm not the one doing it.

Crazy Ricky from senior year also got married before New Year's Eve. He has severe emotional problems though. And now two stepsons.

Eleven, and she was gone

With so much going on recently, I've completed neglected to relay boy stories lately. They've been piling up like copies of Express on my bedroom floor. Now is probably a good time to do something with them before they become a fire hazard.

Despite the short notice, I didn't have much trouble finding a suitable replacement for The S on New Year's Eve. After a few phone calls and several drinks, The Vegan decided to ring in the New Year with me. The entire situation is curious to me because it's so on again, off again. We'll see each other one weekend, make plans for another, then cancel and not talk for weeks. There's no animosity or drama (which is a delightful change of pace), but there's also no fire to it. At least I could always count on The S for a good fuck fueled by weeks of petty fighting and emotional turmoil. But alas, with The Vegan there is neither cumming nor crying. I've never been so disinterested in someone I have so much in common with, so that's probably a factor in our non-steamy sexual escapades. My devastation over his small-ish penis also might have something to do with it. C'est la via, I suppose.

For a few weeks in December, and up until last week, I was also seeing The Peruvian. I was really hoping for a torrid Latin affair to take the edge off of winter, but again, my hopes were thwarted. The Peruvian was neither passtionate, nor exciting. And also not packing much south of the border for such a big guy. Boo. Apparently I was spoiled this summer by The S, Sweet Boy, and Boy Blue. Even though he wasn't so snazzy, I would have happily kept The Peruvian around if it weren't for our last date. We had a quiet dinner at this cute place near my house. After dinner, we walked home and fooled around. All pretty standard so far. Halfway through the sex, I put my hand down on the bed in between my knees (doggy style for you visual learners), and I swear to god I felt the condom laying on the bed. Naturally, I freaked and jerked away from him. He assured me the condom was on the whole time, accused me of blowing the situation out of proportion, and then proceeded to finish. Obviously I was displeased with this, and rightful so, I think. Within a few minutes of the money shot, I was hurrying him out the door. Should have taken my time. His watch was still laying on my nightstand when I got back to my room. I fucking hate leave-behinds.

For reasons unknown to me, I'm attracting a lot of attention lately. Last weekend, a relatively attractive guy hit on me at the bus stop for about 10 minutes. A few days later, a Greyhound bus driver thanked me for riding Greyhound "with [my] fine ass." And just the other night a normal looking fellow entertained me with "a spirtual dance" while I waited for my friend in Dupont. The dance was neither spirtual nor entertaining, so he did not get my number. It never ceases to amaze me the completely random shit boys say to try to get women to sleep with them.

Somewhere in the midst of all this action, Boy Blue resurfaced and then disappeared again. I have no doubts that he'll pop up later, it's just a matter of when. Mr. Black, a long-time lover, was also here for a mid-week adventure, but my stupid ass fell asleep about 15 minutes after he got here. Then there's resolutions.

The funny thing about resolutions is that no one really intends on keeping them, right? Well, my resolution lasted about as long as The S and I did as friends. Since I failed so miserably, I'm not saying what my resolution was. The S is already convinced that it was to not see him anymore. And it wasn't. Really. That being said, I did venture up to Harrisburg last weekend to see him. Let the judgement commence.

In the language of last year

Welcome to a new morning of a new year. I feel somewhat obliged to write a year in review, and at least pay homage to the words of days past. But with so much transpiring, and no conventional means to trap those moments, there will be no "Best and Worst of 2005" here. Instead, I shall focus on the recent past, the present, and at some juncture, decide on a resolution for 2006.

After turning down not one, but two offers to spend New Year's in New York, I found myself sitting in my living room waiting for someone who would neither show, nor come to his senses. Who would leave me waiting on New Year's Eve, you ask? I think we all know the answer to that. But we mustn't dwell. While strolling through the grocery store in search of 100% Cran Grape Juice, visions of teen queen movies played in my head--girls sitting, waiting in carefully planned ensembles for prom dates who would never arrive. Then I had a revelation: A new year provides us with more than an opportunity to get belligerently drunk sans guilt. There is no better time than a new year to leave the old behind.

As all good things must come to an end, whatever bizarre antagonism that existed between The letter S and The letter L is over. I won't labor over the details of my decision, or his complete apathy towards it. I will say, however, that there is a lot I will miss. I will miss having an equal. And as I rang in the New Year in true hussy form, I thought of him fondly. In the language of last year, his words were enough. But as the words of this year search for their voice, I no longer find comfort in empty promises.