You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘relationships’ category.

On Monday, happenstance occurred. Happenstance, I say, because I’m not sure I believe in fate or destiny, puzzle pieces fitting together just so. I see a yellow sticky note on my office floor. I leave it there for several hours. I have things to do. In the mid-afternoon, I pick up the note and take a look-see. I’m jolted to see it. His email, the asshole, who ruined the name Steve for me, although I never liked it anyway. The one with no affection for me. His email, who I’d finally forgotten. His email, written down a year and a half ago just in case we ever started communicating again, still waiting to be typed in my compose box.

He’s not much to me, not even painful to think about. He’s nothing. He’s an asshole. He is Steve.

He facebooked me a few months ago and I told him to never contact me again.

I’m not sure why I can’t bring myself to throw the sticky note away.

A good date is always a bad date for a writer. I get a rush of delight when I realize things have gone horribly awry and I’m stuck in a situation that I will be forced to endure for another 53 minutes. It’s sweet, the taste of the meat of him, the reassuring thought that I own this story now. I can twist and spin and create a reality of terror and delight for myself and, hopefully, my readers.

I had a date yesterday. It was very awkward until we started making out. He had squinty eyes and was a bad kisser. He wore a pimp ring on his finger. I admit to liking it.

I met him at the Waffle House, which was even cooler than saying
I met him on the internet
He was cute
though for a moment as I was walking up
I wasn’t sure
He had stunning blue eyes
usually I go for brown
but he was all smiles and there was little awkwardness
I think I’d finally found my stride
not thinking twice about the fact I remembered nothing from his profile
He wore a sports jacket while I wore a slinky top
encouraging him to check out my rack—he did several times
I felt a rush of adrenaline
He kept smiling

I’ve never met this guy and I never will. He offends me to the core. Repusively country. When a dating service asks you what your interests are, they mean what interests do you have that you can share with your future beloved. They do not mean, do you like to go muddin and huntin and fishin with your children/friends. They mean, you are looking for a date, right? One is supposed to announce that one loves movies, games, have a drink here and there, art, watching martial arts. When a dating service asks you to introduce yourself, they do not mean tell us about how you’re a laid-back guy, looking for a nice woman, who likes, for the record, muddin and huntin and fishin. They do not mean for you to repeat your interests in two different sections of your profile. They do not mean that you need to announce that describing yourself is hard to do but you’ll give it a try. One is supposed to say that one is funny, has a great sense of humor, is responsible, and would like a woman that is the same. I’ve never met this guy and I never will. For all his profile transgressions, there is one I can never ever forgive: his height at 5’4. No need to comment on my stuck-up-ness. I’m mean.

Being a fag doesn’t seem that hard
what’s discrimination to you
what’s civil rights to you
don’t you care too much about your red vests and purple stripes
the gel in your hair, the lotion on your skin
walking in high heels
like sissy boys
queerflies
the unnatural
the unwanted
the disembowed
the goddamned

Group think equals group fabulousness?

Fags of the worse sort
striking down as they are stricken down
Try fighting slurs that the gays fling about
carelessly
hag as if insulting good friends
girlfriends
isn’t the same thing
as the jocks, the Christians, the Muslims, the Red Texans shouting
fag
fucking fag
goddamned fag
fucking die fag

  •         He says he needs soup and a good woman to take care of him. Aw.
  •         He says raw emotion is lame. Double aw.
  •         Sweet is good, he says.
  •         Sarcastic is good, he says.
  •         He shrugs his shoulders when called Pookie.
  •         He says we walk into his jokes like a blind man walking into an invisible tree, which makes us laugh but try not to analyze it too much because it gets confused.
  •         He’s not Hitler.
  •         He just needs to reflect a little.
  •         He’s willing to soul search. Awwwwwwww!
  •         He’s selling us in the most fun way, we adore his technique.
  •         He is diligently trying to decide whether to drive his truck or his car to meet us next week.  He asked what our preference was.
  •         He’s in the motherfucking AIR FORCE!

Inbox says (1) new message
Just then (2) new messages
My God, could it be.
Usually not
Usually naught
Unusually knot
My love in a Sir Mix-a-Lot basket
Spare the spearhead
the spearmint
the spirit man
Inbox says nothing
I wait on the porch, old school.

he did what he did
but I still think of him fondly
when I opened the door
I took his breath away
something most unexpected
something so surprising
even to him

to the both of us

To: My Dearest
From: Medicated Lady
Re: Evaluation

There is compelling evidence that you do not feel you have made an error in judgment concerning me. This is disappointing as I had not terminated you; I had only put you on probation. I fully expected for you to come through a reassessment with no problems. However, it has come to my attention that you are refusing to return to your senses. Weeks gone by and now it seems you’ve redirected adoration toward another.

All possible scenarios have dwindled to a singular ray pointed at the Exit sign. It appears the fire alarm has been going off for some time now, everyone has left the building except me. It is strictly against company policy to leave me behind.

Since your resignation, I have considered your tenure with me. I contemplated what might be said if you were to realize your mistake.
– How dare you come back around after saying you were not ready for a relationship?
– How could you tell me you didn’t want to have sex with me anymore because you wanted to look around? How could you not see I was a good thing, right in front of you? There was nothing to look around for.
– I hate you.
– I love you.
– Let’s take things slow.
– Let’s fuck.

It is as this point that I have to express my disappointment with your finagling with wig shopkeepers. I would be remiss if I did not mention that your deception in this matter has not improved your performance evaluation.

As you know, company policy states that evaluations are given regardless of manner of discharge: resignation or termination. In this case, you resigned before I was able to terminate you. This gives me pause. Since I cannot give your evaluation to you, I give it to the world. It is not favorable. I would hope that, though you are not officially required to do so, you would not shirk your responsibilities and give me the opportunity to say I never want to see you again. Should you do this, your performance rating would dramatically increase.

I hope that you will be able to reconsider your position and come back to me in the future. If only so I can fire you.

This whole time, I was thinking I had only recently licked my wounds from the ex of 2008. Then I remembered that last November I was developing a solid relationship with a guy who would 3 months later leave to go to Japan for a couple of years (aka the guy who left the country without telling me; I technically knew he was leaving but fuck him, he’s my story to tell now). Remember that? What fun. I called this man an asshole and he was but I still like to talk to him sometimes. I mean, he has that funny Wisconsin accent. Then the guy with the facial tic. Then that guy who diagnosed my knee problem, which would have gotten him a second date (I’m a hypochondriac) except he used “golly gee” and “holy smokes” during the conversation and I couldn’t live with that. No one could. Then there was the one I liked but it didn’t work out. Rapid fire dating. Airforce John. Oh, and remember the one who shaved his arms and had the smoothest arm skin I’ve ever seen. I’m sorry, but he was too short. 5’8 is too short for me and I know this but then I tell myself, “well maybe…” and then I remember that the height specifications I’ve set are important as soon as I meet the guy…I swear I feel as though we’re eye to eye even though he’s 9 inches above me. Aside from Gary Stubble of yesteryear, I’ve never been attracted to a short guy.

They fade quickly into mythology, don’t they?

There might be another shot at an Air Force man (too soon to tell). Mainly, it’s slow-going because I am so over putting out effort at the moment (as such, I’m ruminating over all of my lost loves, most of whom I didn’t mind losing). Ebb and flow, friends.

SOB with me

Blog Stats

  • 32,433 hits

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 49 other followers

EMAIL ME

at MedicatedLady@yahoo.com, loria29@gmail.com Or Facebook Me: www.facebook.com/loriataylor3

CopyScape

Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape
%d bloggers like this: