Confessions, redux

(Editor’s Note: Oy — what they didn’t tell us when we started celebrating anniversaries of our 29th birthday is that mornings after alcohol consumption, well, suck. Even if that consumption only amounted to one or two Yuenglings. Jeebus.)

I was just lying in bed with my head throbbing, thinking about the conversation that inspired this entry.

And while I’d never be a bad girl — OK, let me rephrase that: While I’d never kiss and tell (that’s better) — and reveal details, I will admit that I asked said counterpart, “Do you think they discuss us the same way?” And she’d said, “Is there any doubt?”

And it occurred to me that I’d be pretty damn bummed if we weren’t the topic of their conversations, at least once in awhile. I’d rather be discussed (in a good way, thanks) than to go completely unnoticed. I mean, I don’t go to any lengths to attract anyone, but I wouldn’t mind if (generally speaking) they appreciated the lengths I go to for me.

I was chatting with one of the girls at work about bad dates in general — we were kind of outdoing each other with the horrific memories that just won’t go away. I remembered a long time ago, in high school, a bunch of us were tooling around with “The Book of Questions” and one asked whether you’d want to be the smarter person in a relationship. I’d said yes given that I wasn’t a slouch academically and that I’d be intimidated by someone smarter.

Enter the “Feed Him or Fuck Him Guy.” Like, dress him up (or undress. Whatever.) and make sure he always has a busy mouth to prevent him from TALKING. These guys are great if you’re not into, um, intellectual stimulation. (And if he doesn’t go on a smoke break with two of your exes at the same party and they are appalled that that is what you moved on to, but I digress.)

With the FHOFH Guy, you’re clearly the one making the money and, while he’s a great “hobby” to have, he’s not a long-term prospect, especially if you’re like me and just couldn’t bear having a stupid kid with him (and, ultimately, used about seven birth control methods — CONCURRENTLY).

I already have a slow-witted cat — here she is picking a fight with my old vacuum cleaner:

Boo! Hiss! You suck!

Anyway, enough with the kids-who-ate-paste crowd. I need someone to talk to who will respond with something that will teach me something and inspire me to think more about the subject. Of course, he would also need to know that a brilliant way to shut me up and pull me out of my cerebral coccoon is to throw me up against the nearest wall and. …

Sorry — guess who just woke up from a sex dream? 😉

And who got interrupted from said dream by psycho kitteh pictured above? 🙁


The point I think I wanted to make earlier is that no matter whether we’re single, attached or downright ball-and-chained, we all hope someone, somewhere out there is thinking of us in a pleasant way. Like we might be doing about them. But are any of us ever brave enough to admit it? Or are things like this better left unsaid?

On iTunes: Zero 7, “You Can’t Turn Me Away”

3 Responses to Confessions, redux

  1. Pratt :

    I love that photo.

  2. groovebunny :

    LOL I love the pic of your cat. I had a cat who is a bit on the dense side as well. She picks fights with the automated litter box.

  3. Caterwauling :

    […] Anyway, Matthew McConaughey’s “Tripp” reminded me of one of those boys from my leaving-Pittsburgh era, the one I recall fondly as FHOFM Guy. He was quite snug as a bug in a rug at home, too, but we hung out at MY place as opposed to me ever setting foot into the parental palace. (Although his dad and I talked on the phone all the time. Dad was WAY more articulate and interesting anyway.) […]