Do I have an “opt out” button where my clit should be?
Sk8 dude, aka Andy is apparently opting out. I knew shit was too good to last.
He doesn’t like being “the other guy”. But no one is the “other” guy. But I get it.
We are going to be friends. And I hope that we can actually be friends. But I’ll want to jump on him for a while. Maybe a long while. But being friends is good. Getting to know someone is easier when their dick isn’t in your mouth. Maybe not as fun, but converations are certainly easier. And he is really funny and sweet and smart and I will be super happy to be actual friends and get to know each other with our clothes on.
And supposedly Benamonk is open to being friends, but that will remain to be seen. I can’t make that move. The Iron curtain is closed and I’m gonna have to wait and see if he actually wants to get to know me without his dick in my mouth. Time will tell. Maybe time will heal my delusional level of connection to someone who clearly isn’t/wasn’t that interested.
So now I am down to Ed Norton. Who’s dating other people. Which is totally fine. Even though I don’t always feel totally fine, it is indeed, of course, actually fine.
I do like him. A lot. I want to get to know him more too. I am pretty sure he likes me. Yes, likes likes me. But he’s not rushing into anything, which is good because I don’t want to rush into anything. But I hope I’m cool enough to stay on his mind as he dates other women. Am I cooler than snapchat chick? I’m pretty great. Cute. Sexy, for a hag. Funny. Creative. Smart, when I’m being not totally stupid. And pretty weird, which is better than boring. And pretty confident. And also full of insecurities that can plague me.
And he’s fucking rad. He’s cute, sexy, funny, creative, smart as fuck and weird in my favorite kind of way. He’s not gonna have trouble finding cool ass chicks who are into him. He’s Ed fucking Norton, dude.
I guess I can’t really know what will happen. Which I hate. I read so fast because I want to know what happens. But my life isn’t a fucking novel. And I know I have very little control over much outside of myself. I don’t even want to control things. The pressure of that is terrifying. There is a part of me that is always hoping that someone, someone trusted and wise, will tell me what to do when I’m lost. My mom sometimes helped me figure out what to do. I have friends who help me figure out what to do, when I’m lost, when I’m drowning. But I have to figure out what to do. I have to wait and let things unfold. I know, gag, that word has gotten so Gwyneth Paltrowed out, gross, namastay-away. But it’s true. Shit will evolve, I can’t really do much other than be present, observe, respond, enjoy, reflect. Be as open as I can. Be as honest as I can but not the TMI emotional vomit kind of honest. Just grown up appropriate honest.
Great. Grown up and appropriate. Totally my fucking wheelhouse.
And for fuck’s sake, please can I not push anymore dudes into fucking celibacy?