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I went out with this guy once who ended up blocking me from his phone. He was very tall and good looking and ended up saying he didn’t know how to block people from his phone so it was weird that I was blocked. I just said whatev and let it go because the distance was too far anyway but he was a nice guy basically (aside from blocking me). Anyway, we’ve remained the closest of FB friends. Or at least we’re Facebook friends. Which means we acknowledge each other to some degree. This is a guy who went through a nasty divorce and he said it would be hard for him to get married again. He moved to NW Arkansas in June and had a world wind romance and next thing I know, his Facebook status is Married. I’m happy for him and terribly jealous that I myself have not had a world wind romance that resulted in a manic-induced marriage to someone I barely knew. I mean, it sounds like something that would happen to me but hasn’t. Yet. I have hope, dear readers.
The Boy and I are officially just friends now. Platonic friends. Which I think means we will never see each other again. Truthfully, I’m okay with it.
I don’t know why I feel optimistic but dammit, I feel sure I’m going to find me a good man and be in a happy relationship soon.
An environmentalist
college professor that he was
told me
It’s called climate change, not global warming
Some places get colder
I’m getting colder
My seas are rising
and my summers are shortening
The end of summer came a month earlier each year, 2008-2010
August -> July -> June
2008 -> 2009 -> 2010
Next year, there might not be a summer at all
[begin transcript]
me: How’s work tonight?
him: pretty slow
him: what u doing up
[it’s 2:02 am on a Sunday]
me: Good question. I keep waking up.
me: Are we gonna still see each other or…?
him: Yah I have to you about that but don’t want to do it over text
me: ok, not a conversation I’m looking forward to but I get what you’re saying.
him: sorry I’ve been so distant
me: I’m good at reading the writing on the wall. Let’s just leave it at that for now.
[end transcript]
[end relationship]
The punchline wasn’t the real punchline
Or at least it wasn’t funny
She wept.
Like most things
It’s what comes after the punchline that matters most
She wept.
For him.
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.
*Him being a clueless male and not my faithful dear readers.
- Say okay to cuddling, as in his definition of cuddling, not yours.
- Say alright to things you’d rather not do.
- Send a defaced Hallmark card. (Specifically, if you are sending said card to a Straight Man, be sure to include “fuck”; otherwise, he will not understand. He will ask you if you’re on your period.)
- Take off your pants.
- Say, “excuse me, sir, would you mind giving a little girl a good, hard [insert appropriate word/phrase here].
- Ignore him. Nothings says “I love you” to a man like pretending he doesn’t exist. Do NOT tell him you care.
- Smile.
- Laugh at not-funny jokes.
- Stack your limited cookbooks in plain sight so he thinks he’s going to be the one who changes you into a Domesticated Delight.
- Call him [insert name], but add that you like that about him.
- Give him a private pet name. Try to forget any references to human pets.
- Get sassy.
- Put on your sexy lipgloss.
- Send him a suggestive electronic message. (“What are you wearing?” works usually although I did text that as a joke to my ex-boyfriend and his daughter read it and he had to give her some excuse about how I bought him a shirt for his birthday and that I wanted to know if he was wearing it. Still, don’t feel sorry for him because he was an asshole.).
- Don’t use more than 3 words in a sentence. It’s best to keep it simple.
- Shake out your luminous hair.
A Relationship Death Poem
because in times of stress
one has to fall back on what one knows
and everyone could use a little death
now and again.
A Relationship Death Poem
that’s not really a poem at all
but an exercise in self-soothing behavior.
A Relationship Death Poem
because I like it dark
and all this damned light is giving me a headache
and besides a shelf life is preferable to eternity.
A Relationship Death Poem
that’s not really about death or relationships at all
but proof I am still who I am.
It was not guilt or compassion or passion or curiosity
that drove him
It was happenstance
that he saw me on the interstate
He thought of me
only because I came into his line of vision
Have I told you* lately how much I like excuses? Especially ones involving elderly parents and work? Have I told you how classy it is for you to invite me to hit you up if I get bored at ***-***-**** without your knowing or asking for my name? I suppose I could call myself “you know, that girl.”
If I haven’t told you, it’s because I love you. I love your excuses, your elderly parent, hitting you up at ***-***-****, and your not knowing my name. I love that you are interested in my being an astronaut, but missing the humor in my saying that. You sound sincere. You like history, though, and you read war stories (although for the life of me I do not know what FAC means in reference to Vietnam}. You might be eternally interesting or boring.
Would you leave me to go live in another country without telling me? Would you tell me you have no affection for me? Or would you come up with something truly original, something that causes me pause and grand crying spells that make people uncomfortable (and that Bryan will gracefully explain away: “MedicatedLady crazy” or “She forgot her medicine” or “ML is in her dark place right now”)?
These questions will have to wait as I feel fat. I don’t want to lose you, but I feel that meeting up is eminent or imminent and of course, that is not an option when one is fat. Or maybe I’ll convince myself it is an option as I enjoy self-injurious behavior and your judgment would be no less than what I deserve.
Love always, so long as you make it hurt**,
ML
*You as in the composite of a couple menfolk. You as in plural menfolk. Understand?
**”Make it hurt” is a Bryan-patented phrase that I use daily because it’s a great line. Understand? This post is password-protected but I still encourage you go to poeticgrin.com for your own enjoyment.
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
Your Sympathies: