Lost Tiara

Dirty Thirty

ellablue — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 21:09:56 +0000

Diesel are toying with me. They turn 30 the same year I do. They make special edition jeans and sell them for as many bucks as their years. And they don’t give me enough warning so I can loose these damn extra pounds before the only one day they are doing this.

That’s just not right, Diesel. Just… not right.

If you booty-call me, have the decency to follow-up accordingly

ellablue — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 15:50:38 +0000

There are many reasons why I should never even consider touching Big Nose ever again. So many. And I keep forgetting them all from time to time. The list keeps growing, too, and still I forget.

Back when we were sleeping together and then broke it off, I told him about my men issues. I told him about Dad and how I believe him leaving when I was so young created some serious emotional blockage for me, why it makes me fall for men who aren’t really going to stick around, why I place such meaning to winning their affection, why it hurts so much when I realize I can’t. Three years later he asks me over to his place and he asks me, as a “friend”, “so how’s your Dad?”. I filled him in on the latter developments about Dad’s messed up life, and saw him grimmace a little at the similarities between Dad’s breaking-up-and-getting-back-together-and-then-breaking-up-again debacle and his own. But really, why did he ask? Why, since he knows I rarely even see Dad? Why was he putting his finger there? Is he much more purposeful and manipulative than I ever wanted to believe him to be?

That night, three years later we stopped sleeping with each other, was filled with questions and suppositions that shouldn’t have been. “How many guys have you dated since me?”, “I don’t feel guilty about us because you were the one going after me”, “I don’t want a relationship right now, but some sex would be nice”. Fuck you, Big Nose. Just fuck you. You’re too much of a wimp to proposition a sexual arranjement to me, so you try to get me to say it for you, so you can allow yourself not to feel guilty about it.

And yet I manage to forget about this and fervourously wish to be in his bed. Not for another try at winning him over – so I keep telling myself – but because the sex was so unbelievably intense. Jesus fuck, good sex makes me dumb.

Straight Flush

ellablue — Sat, 04 Oct 2008 23:10:37 +0000

Last night, poker at Cool Geek’s place. Now, I don’t play poker – or anything which calls for being intrinsically lucky – so I drank beer and latched on to The Professor, whom I hadn’t seen in about a month, since his kid was born. Cool Geek didn’t tell me The Professor was going to be there. He deliberately didn’t tell me, and I could feel him glance at me when I went in the room and said “you‘re here?! I didn’t know you were coming.”

For the sake of clarity, this being my first post and all: Both Cool Geek and The Professor were in my high school class. We all graduated together – along with more people who are still quite close to me – in… what was it? 1995? Anyway, we’re 30 now. Cool Geek has always had a crush on me he cannot shake, a really nice creative job, a wonderful and likable personality, a great character, and he is my absolute why-oh-why-can’t-I-just-love-him-back guy. If I did, life would be sweet. But, sad thing, I don’t. The Professor is now – you’ve guessed it – a Professor. In Arts. He’s just fucking brilliant, too. Since I’ve gone back to college for my second degree, The Professor, who was formerly my class mate, became my Professor. Funny, yes? He is completely unattractive, completely out-of-the-question, completely married to a great girl and now completely the dad of a one month-old baby boy. Of couse, there’s a catch. If there ever was someone I was mentally attracted to, that is The Professor. And then, it goes both ways. We have a weird and interesting relationship. “I have something to tell you,” he started, as he gave me the not-so-surprising news his wife was pregnant, “and it’s really weird. You see, I’m going to be a Father. Which is weird, because you are not the Mother.” Weird and interesting, I tell you.

(to be continued)