Out of the Woodwork

In the event of a nuclear war, two living things would survive: cockroaches and my old lovers. Both would roam the abandoned streets, pillaging what little remains of civilization they encountered. Fortunately, I've never had cockroaches, but the plague of former flames I'm cursed with more than compensates for that. No amount of Raid incapacitates them. They refuse to die complacently in the roach motels in which they inevitably live. Just when I think I'm finally rid of them, one crawls out from underneath my Mr. Coffee or pops out of a drawer when I reach for a spoon. Oh foul and cursed thing! What demon from the depths of hell created thee?

Every now and then, an old lover will reappear in my life. Bump into someone who saw you naked at CVS? Oh I did that. Receive a desperate booty call at 4 am on a Tuesday? You betcha. Even made a few of those calls myself. Fortunately, most of these run-ins have occured when I've been in a good position. Skinnier, happier, and less awkward then I previously was. It usually goes something like this:

Former Lover: "Wow, you look great! How have you been?"

My Outer Monologue: "I'm doing well. you know. How are you?"

My Inner Monologue: "I'm so much hotter than I was when I fucked you. No need to answer my question about how you've been. I don't care, and only said that to be polite. Man, you've put on weight/are losing your hair/clearly have no life. Clearly I was a high point in your life, which has even more obviously gone downhill since my departure. How sad for you. I wonder what's on Comedy Central right now?"

Recently, it seems like some kind of mass email went out, informing all my old lovers that I'm skinny and happy and sadly, still not getting laid. Slowly leaking back into my thoughts like the faucet in my bathroom, and filling my brain with regrets, contempt, disdain, and of course, temptations. This is more than the occasional, accidental run-in. They are actually seeking me out with startling perseverance. Some I haven't spoken to in weeks, other in nearly years, yet there they are--on the phone, in my inbox, instant messaging me. Here are some conversation excerpts that may or may not have been altered:

The Friend of a Friend: Are you ready to be friends again? I'm just trying to salvage our relationship.
Me: Friends again? When were we ever friends?!?
Friend of a Friend: Well, you look really good. You've lost a lot of weight. Are you seeing anybody?
Me: Okay then.

Mr. Smith: The last time I saw you, I said I'd call you and we'd hang out and I'm sorry that I didn't.
Me: These things happen.
Mr. Smith: What are you doing on Friday?

The Roommate: It'd be a bad idea for us to be in a jail cell together. We'd probably have sex.
Me: We're probably going to have sex anyway.

The Coworker: *flashing a $100 Monopoly bill* How much can I get for this?
Me: Are you drunk?

The Dry Humper: I got the speeding ticket from that night we went out. How have you been? I'm sorry if I offended you.
Me: Offended? No. Chafed? Yes.

The Sweet Boy: I'm going to be in DC for Memorial Day weekend. We're going to a game at the new stadium.
Me: That's my birthday.
The Sweet Boy: I know! Isn't that great?
Me: Well, I was going to go to Vegas with my friends for the big 25 celebration, wear a blonde wig, tell everyone my name is Cherry, and have sex with someone whose first name I never bothered to find out. But you know, spending my birthday at a Nats game with shitty, warm light beer and a man I'm not going to get to sleep with is just as good.

The only time I was actually grateful for an old lover coming back was Boy Blue. It went like this:

Boy Blue: Sorry I haven't been in touch. I've been seeing this girl for awhile.
Me: Congrats.
Boy Blue: I think about you though. You're still very arousing.
Me: Why thank you.
Boy Blue: You always seemed like you had something long-term going on. Very secretive, you are. But it worked.
Me: I don't think I was so secretive.
Boy Blue: Not secretive, I guess. It's just that we never felt the need to tell each other every detail of our lives but were still able to have great sex.
Me: I always left happy.
Boy Blue: I wouldn't have it any other way.
Me: Maybe we could get a drink sometime. That is, if you don't think it'd get you into trouble.
Boy Blue: I don't see the harm in that.

The little smile he gave at the end of that sentence told me that he did see the harm. He knew what would happen as much as I did. That little smile, shared only between us. Suddenly, there we were, back in our old ways. Forgetting conversation, pleasantries, all that shit that doesn't matter. All that mattered was what we had always known: when we were together, it was certain that we both felt exactly the same thing at exactly the same moment. Words were superfluous. And this is why Boy Blue will always be the best lover I ever had. The only cockroach I don't mind finding on my kitchen counter.

MISTAKE!

I often wish I had someone to follow me around all day and tell me when I'm about to make a huge, catastrophic mistake. Perhaps an opera singer, like on the episode of Scrubs I watched today. He could just belt out "MISTAKE!" and then I'd avoid doing or saying whatever dumbass thought it currently floating through my brain.

I screwed up at work. In fact, I've been screwing up almost the entire time I've been there. From forming inappropriate relationships with my coworkers--friends, friends with benefits, and otherwise--I've definitely fucked up my work life. And, while it took a little while to kick in, it all eventually caught up with me. Today, I should have kept my mouth shut. Today, I should have pretended that I didn't care and played nice. But I didn't. Thus my need for a MISTAKE! man.

I haven't had a day like this in awhile. Most days lately, I've felt pretty good about myself and successfully left what happened at work where it belonged, at work. One bad day rolls around, and bam, I immediately want to forgo all my hard work and head right back into my old ways. I really want to spend a few hours with my good friend Bacardi. Perhaps then, stumbling through my neighborhood, I'd pick up a loaf of sourdough bread, butter, and a whole pizza. After consuming all three items, I really want to crawl into bed with the sexiest men I can think of -- Ben and Jerry. Then I'd probably start to cry with the weight of my failure, both professionally and in terms of my diet. The next logical step is picking up the phone to half-heartedly drunk dial a boy who I should in no way have contact with. I'd wake up next to him, reeling with remorse over the entire event. From there, it's only a hop, skip and a jump to waking up in a pool of what I can only hope is my own vomit or doing things I wouldn't force on a mule, including things I forced on a mule. It would take me weeks to bounce back from such a backslide, if I could at all.

Even though I don't have a MISTAKE man, I choose a different path today. Granted, I may have taken three Xanax today and spent a good 20 minutes crying in the bathroom, but otherwise, I've kept it together. I may still feel like shit about everything that happened today, but tomorrow is a new day. Perhaps the first day that I'll hear that little voice in my head that says, "Stop and think."

Complimentary Gift

Compliments mean less when the person giving them is ugly. It's just a fact. If someone who thought that stick figures with bows to differentiate gender made a comment about the work of Jackson Pollack, their opinion would promptly be placed in the circular file of your brain. Thus someone a little dodgey on the eyes should not comment on fine art. When the Dry Humper told me I was beautiful, it meant nothing. In fact, it almost made me feel less worthy of the compliment. When The English Major said it, my stomach jumped up into my throat.

Resolutions Update: I have successfully hung my kitten picture calendar in a place of honor in my bedroom. Slightly less impressive, I also finished my 10 day fast and am now in the process of reintroducing food to my body. My mouth says, "Oh it tastes so good!!!" and my body says, "Oh my god, what the hell is that?!?!" Hilarity ensues.

A Hussy's Diary

Many dull, boring, and unimaginative people take great inspiration from movies. I am just such a dull, boring, and unimaginative person. Like every other dull, boring, and unimaginative girl in her 20's, I derive inspiration from Bridget Jones's Diary. Shut up.

New Year's Resolutions: "Resolution #1: uggg - will obviously lose 20 lbs. #2: always put last night's panties in the laundry basket. Equally important: will find nice sensible boyfriend and stop forming romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workoholics, sexaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits, or perverts."

Not bad, though wholly unoriginal (except perhaps the part about the panties). Inspired as I am, here is my list of resolutions to be promptly forgotten no later than mid-January.


1. Hang 2008 calendar. It has pictures of kittens wearing hats, and I have no idea why I bought it.

2. Finish the 10-day detox fast I have embarked upon. Currently, I am on day 5 and have lost 8 pounds. It should be noted though, while I am now the thinnest I have been in my adult life, this fast is not about being skinny. This is more about proving to myself that I can accomplish this. Losing 20 pounds is just a super bonus.

3. Obviously will lose 20 pounds. Duh.

4. Swim more

5. Learn to belly dance.

6. Go to the movies by myself.

7. Quit smoking.

8. Run a 5k, even if it's only against myself.

9. Move either to a new city or, at least, into my very own apartment where no one leaves the toilet paper off the roll, puts an empty box of aluminum foil back in the cabinet, or leaves water on the bathroom floor.

10. Pay off my credit card.

11. Have breakfast brought to me in bed.

Some are ambitious, some are not. A new year, new accomplishments to face, a new chance to do it all over again. Here's to 2008. May it be a year of health, wealth, numerous lascivious acts, and happiness. Or at the very least, may it be a year better than the last.