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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.
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.
Oh, I hope he responds. It’s true. I’m anticipating a fight. I’m anticipating starting and fanning the flames of a fight. It’s entertainment. Plus, he’s just some guy. I have been used in most of my relationships with men (not all), so why shouldn’t I use some guy who wants me to be someone I’m not?
Oh, cynicism. When people call me cynical, I say thank you. It’s quite the compliment.
(Go ahead, say it. I’ll be beaming. You’ll make me a happy girl. Don’t you want me to be a happy girl?)
Now, I do feel as though the above comment is slightly sexual in nature and I don’t know you like that (as my sugar daddy, dear reader) so I really should take it down a notch.
What I’m saying is I find it frustrating when a man is stubborn about not wanting to argue with me. Hmmm. I know I can find a soft spot to poke; I just have to think. Think!
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
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