OK, so it's been a while since the last time I wrote. I've been thinking about some things and had some things pointed out to me.
I'm a lonely, bitchy little girl. Tough shit. If you don't like it, move along sailor!
However, there comes a time in a girl's life when having a little companionship might be nice. I'm 22 and a late bloomer. Yes, my clock started ticking. Boys are finally getting over that whole cootie epidemic. Oh wait...that's just me. Regardless, I'm starting to take a passing interest in the opposite gender. That 'interest' consisting of my acquiescence to the fact that some of them aren't completely mentally deficient. Some of them still have brains the consistency of saw dust, but society evolved some how, and those that enabled that evolution are the ones I'm talking about now. I've come to the realization that I'm just going to have to lower my standards if I'm going to continue to live on the planet earth.
What made me realize this? I have no fucking idea. Let's just say that the Powers that Be licked their fingers and zapped my ghetto ass with a lightening bolt of 'DER' and showed me the error of my ways. OK, so maybe it wasn't anything as grandiose as a bolt of 'der'....maybe it was that I'm sick and tired of being everyone's third wheel. You know....all couples have a third wheel....that one individual they love to drag along behind them and find 'someone for them.' I've been many peoples' third wheel. I'm the third wheel shaped like a square....covered in razor blades...surrounded by sharks....with guns.
I'M THE RAMBO THIRD WHEEL!!!!
No seriously, I go out and everyone around me is always buddied up somehow. I'm tired of being the third wheel. I wanna be the big wheel! I went on Spring Break and guess what? I was the third wheel to a couple of Lesbians. How weird is that?
Dating is still elusive to me though. Maybe I need to go to a seminar and learn to date. I missed that day in class obviously. For serious! I’m of the opinion that I don’t want to give up my life. I don’t want to stay in Kentucky and I don’t want to give up my friends or social life for the man of the hour. I’m not about to say “Gee, I can’t make it to rugby practice because ‘boy’ has plans to night. Sorry. I’ve been part of rugby for too long to give it up.
“Boy wants me to go home to meet his parents this weekend.” Uh Uh…Saturday is a Rugby Day, Sunday you crazies are going to church, we’ve only been together a week, and I am NOT going home to meet Momma.
OK, so maybe my timeline is off, maybe I think things move too fast. But the way I see it, and the track record others have, I’m TERRIFIED to end up with the crazy dude.
Lets see, what else makes me think I’m tired of being lonely…..
Oh Yeah!
So, a week ago I’d have bitch slapped someone for walking into my zip code because it would have raised the relative air temperature.
Welcome to Kentucky.
Last night, temperatures dropped into the twenties after being in the eighties the day before. Nights like this put being lonesomeful (my blog, my words, bitches!) into perspective. Last night was one of those nights when it would be so wonderful to curl up under the covers with someone....just so you can stick the ice cubes you've got for feet up on their leg to get warmed up. It takes a lot of work to warm up the blankets at night. Yes, I’m lazy. I’m also into instant gratification. I’m hungry, I eat. I’m dirty, I take a bath. I’m tired, I sleep. See the trend? I’m cold, time to warm up. I don’t want to wait for my feet to begin to feel more like feet again and less like aluminum canoes.
I had it pointed out to me that I spend too much time taking care of everyone else. At the latest rugby tournament (at which your Eastern Kentucky University Women’s Rugby team beat the crap out of Michigan) I had to sober up to take some of the girls back to the hotel because they were being tightwads and wouldn’t call a cab. They had to go back to the hotel to get a.) more liquor b.) a car for the sober driver to drive everyone back in because, low and behold, no one on the girls team knows how to drive a stick, except for me and my car was the only one left at the field because I STAYED at the field.
I return, without a buzz and with warm beer, to find some of my rookies, and some of my alum, showing EVERYONE at the tournament their boobs. “Oy Vey” does not begin to describe my reaction to that. Shotgunning two beers on the other hand was the beginning of a very good start to obtaining a reaction to that.
So I go to the bar with some friends from another school. One of them, drunk, asks why I’m the way I am. Why I won’t just cut loose and enjoy myself. I didn’t have very many good answers except that I have a reputation that I feel I have to uphold. Then I decided to get a little honest and made a big step on the road to honesty and realization.
I’m afraid of getting hurt.
No seriously! I really am. I’m afraid of commitment (le gasp) and I’m afraid of growing up. I like being the ‘responsible one’, but I also like being able to cut loose every once in a great while. If I’m the responsible one all the time, then I can’t escape that role, which is what happens on the rugby team when I’m around the other girls. Get me away from them and I’m very different. Maybe it’s just because I don’t want to catch all the crap from them about who I talk to and what I do with them.
Ah, the joys of being in elementary school……
Yeah, I don’t take getting picked on well either.
So. Basically we came to the conclusion that I set up a barrier for myself because I’m afraid people might see me have a good time. I’m afraid that they’ll think negatively of me, and I’m afraid of getting heart. Fantastic. I need to see a whole team of therapists.
I don’t sleep well next to people. I’ve known this forever. I was four years old and gave my mom and dad huge welts because I sleep like a dying fish. I flop around like I’m doing the cockroach in my sleep. I had the flu and the parental units wanted to make sure I didn’t die in mysleep. After bitch slapping Mom the first night, she made dad do it the second night. After kicking dad repeatedly (and getting very close to the family jewels) they decided that if I died, it was a sacrifice they were just going to have to make since they had a Mexican Jumping Bean for a daughter. I still have Mexican Jumping Bean Sleeping syndrome. Sleeping between two girls at Nash Bash, I slept in the coffin position and tried not to move. It was the least restful night of sleep I’ve gotten in forever. I slept in the coffin position face down and on my back and could not get comfy to save me. Of course, Cupcake’s repeated attempts to get me to spoon with her might have had something to do with that……. The second night, when I was crashed on the floor beside someone, I still had a restless night because I was afraid of kicking them. And their arm wasn’t very comfy as a pillow. And none of us had showered so we were both kind of stinky.
Have you ever had the sleepy farts? Dude! How embarrassing would that be to just rip the monster of all farts next to someone while you’re passed out? I know I do it…I’m massively guilty of the sleeping farts. It’s because I try not to fart when I’m around people and when I sleep is about the only time I relax enough that my body can expel the gas. If I could just learn to belch, I could probably fix that, but my body would seem to have gravity reactive plumbing so that’s just not going to happen. Seriously though…it’s just one of those weird quirks I have. If I don’t beat the hell out of someone I’m sleeping near, I’m either going to end up drooling on them, or farting on them. Your God cursed me with a fucked up system! Damn it!
What about morning breath? Bleh. Let’s not even go there, kujo.
That’s it…I need to get a dog. One that isn’t going to complain about my sleepy farts, care about my morning breath, and is going to put up with my cold assed feet at night.
Crisis averted.
