Monday, June 25, 2012

Abusing This Metaphor to Death

I'm sitting on the 7th floor of my office building. You should be impressed because DC has a strict building height limit and oftentimes 7 floors is as high any building around here gets. I'm thinking about the guy I'm dating currently. We've been going out for about 3 months now and I am almost certain he feels more strongly for me than I for him.

For somebody who was so deeply unhappy about being a "have-not", it seems hypocritical that I would be unhappy as a "have" as well. He cares about me and he always puts me first. I have this terrifying suspicion he scrapped a plan to move to the west coast just to stay in DC with me. In normal situtations, I would be ecstatic, and probably on photoshop right now trying to merge our two faces and see what our children will look like. Instead, I feel impotent and out of control, which I really hate.

I think he fell for me because he has no expectations when it comes to dating and I was in the right place at the right time. Meanwhile, I have enough expectations to circumscribe Jupiter's fat ass. It's not that he's not great, but I have this, perhaps artificial, preference for guys that are masculine and aggressive but also calm and gentlemanly. My baby is none of those things. I mean, his nickname is "Chipmunk," if you can imagine.

This isn't the first time I've compromised to be with somebody. In the past, I've lowered my expectations to the 4th floor, only to be subjected to the ironic humiliation that I am a 2nd floor in their building. Usually I'd have to lower my standards to basement level 3 to find a guy that was genuinely interested in me as boyfriend material.  Chipmunk is definitely above grade. And each time I think about how lonely I would be without his company, it sends me a little deeper into his arms. So maybe the only thing that matters right now is that in his building, I'm on the 7th floor.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

I Deserve More Karmic Compensation Than This

I dated a guy briefly in February. What was interesting about him was that he had an identical twin whose name was only one letter different from his own. Even more interesting was the fact that his identical twin was not gay. I didn't end up dating him for long because his twin brother's heterosexual existence was an affront to everything I learned in AP Biology. I want to believe that homosexuality is purely genetic and the way I am isn't because of some egregious mistake occuring druring my formative years (no doubt, my parents' fault). Or maybe it was something I ate.

Actually, the real reason why we stopped dating was because he wanted me to commit and I didn't want to. It was strangely ironic and perhaps poetic justice to have the tables turned on me in that way. Here I am, complaining about how I'm all alone and nobody loves me. The second somebody tries to, I'm all, "I'd rather not." I guess it was my turn to be a bitch / I can see from the perspective of the guys that never call me back now. When it's not right for one person, it's not right for either of them.

The way we broke it off was pretty comical in itself. We were both at one of his friend's party. He saw me talking to another guy and pulled me aside to tell me he couldn't stand my flagrant disrespect and didn't want to see me anymore and stormed off. I wondered if I was supposed to cry or keep drinking or stay at the party or what. Mostly I stood around wondering where my sweater was. A few minutes later he texts me, "Please do me a favor and don't sleep with ___." ___ is the guy I was talking to and I would definitely share his name but I don't even remember it. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind and ___ was kind of gross but at that point I wanted to do it just to be spiteful. *Does my best Emily Thorne impression*

Instead I found my sweater and left and never saw any of those people again.