After seeing him last night, I have decided against two separate bedrooms.
It's funny how just one night can change your entire outlook, and it felt unbelievably nice to feel my body go light after so long.
I'm also very happy to say that I think my "obsession" with Rick has faded with help from those topped off Smirnoff juices from last night. Okay, the drinking had nothing to do with me changing my mind, but it certainly didn't hurt. Plus, I wanted to celebrate with my boys...including Toby.
Just being near him was enough for me to feel "better". Just looking at him made me smile, and not that bullshit i-want-to-do-you smile, but one of those genuine, you-make-me-light-up smiles. And while the lust was there (and always will be in some sense), it wasn't overpowering
I think I just want to express how happy I felt last night, and I don't want that feeling to go away, and quite honestly, I haven't been this happy since...well...since the last time he was here.
Thanks, Toby. Maybe I'm not being facetious when I say that a piece of me leaves when you're gone. I'm still waiting for you to come home.
Sunday, May 17
Saturday, April 11
Who Do You Think We'll End Up With?
I’ll end up living with Toby in a 2-bedroom apartment. He’ll have one room and I’ll have the other. I won’t ever go to his room, but he’ll frequent mine for sex (note to Toby: you should have never slept with me that morning, now I hold all the power, and my ego is not only inflated but beyond repair). We’ll foster kids and most likely adopt. We’ll be the ultimate power couple, except not married and people will just think we’re together, but we’re just living and sleeping together.
Toby and I will be doing one of two things. We’ll both be social service icons serving the likes of the under privileged and under served or he’ll be a big shot engineer and I’ll be doing entertainment PR. Our 2-bedroom apartment is one that I bought in Chelsea. He’ll move in after his MBA. We’ll have sick New Year’s Eve parties with all our friends invited. My friends’ kids aren’t allowed at my house. Toby may not mind, but it’s my house. We’ll never leave NYC because our jobs wouldn’t allow us to and Boston sucks.
We’ll always have oranges in our kitchen, and I’ll always make sure the apartment smells girly before I head out in the morning. Be careful when you come over though, we’ll probably have sex on the island in the kitchen, and I hate scrubbing down. He might though, remember he’s still friends with Wayne (who is a cleaning freak).
We won’t have any pets because I only like cats and he’s allergic, although, come to think of it, he has one now, so maybe Scandal will live with us. He’ll have a car that I’ll despise because I take the subway everywhere, unless I’m in entertainment in which case I’ll take a cab. When we go out, I’ll show him off like a trophy husband, but only my closest friends will know that we sleep in separate bedrooms.
Toby and I will be doing one of two things. We’ll both be social service icons serving the likes of the under privileged and under served or he’ll be a big shot engineer and I’ll be doing entertainment PR. Our 2-bedroom apartment is one that I bought in Chelsea. He’ll move in after his MBA. We’ll have sick New Year’s Eve parties with all our friends invited. My friends’ kids aren’t allowed at my house. Toby may not mind, but it’s my house. We’ll never leave NYC because our jobs wouldn’t allow us to and Boston sucks.
We’ll always have oranges in our kitchen, and I’ll always make sure the apartment smells girly before I head out in the morning. Be careful when you come over though, we’ll probably have sex on the island in the kitchen, and I hate scrubbing down. He might though, remember he’s still friends with Wayne (who is a cleaning freak).
We won’t have any pets because I only like cats and he’s allergic, although, come to think of it, he has one now, so maybe Scandal will live with us. He’ll have a car that I’ll despise because I take the subway everywhere, unless I’m in entertainment in which case I’ll take a cab. When we go out, I’ll show him off like a trophy husband, but only my closest friends will know that we sleep in separate bedrooms.
Thursday, March 26
Fantasy Bites
The other night, I was pleasuring myself and was going to turn my thoughts over to my current obsession (see last post). Then I realized fantasizing is for quitters. I’ve done this a million and a half times; dreaming and painting this beautiful picture on a canvas that is my mind. And when the paintbrush thoughts are put away on their shelves, I sit back and admire my picture. It needs to stop.
A picture is a picture is a picture. Nine times out of ten, fantasies don’t come true. Okay, I made that up, but think about it. When was the last time one of your fantasies came true?
I realized that I could keep how I feel locked up inside and dream about the boy I want in my bed. I could secretly wish for those Christian Audigier shoes (they are hot though). I could yearn for the chance to pursue something creatively stimulating in a cutthroat field, a cutthroat world, a cutthroat life.
Average life span is around 80 some odd years. Why dream about what I want as opposed to going out and getting it. I refuse to wait till the next lifetime to get what I want out of this lifetime. Maybe it’s living in New York that’s giving me this “take what you want” attitude, but it’s all clear. Life is too short to dilly dally and dream. Dying is easy; living is hard. Forget the skeletons in your closet and show off your live bodies. Are those last two lines morbid? My bad.
A picture is a picture is a picture. Nine times out of ten, fantasies don’t come true. Okay, I made that up, but think about it. When was the last time one of your fantasies came true?
I realized that I could keep how I feel locked up inside and dream about the boy I want in my bed. I could secretly wish for those Christian Audigier shoes (they are hot though). I could yearn for the chance to pursue something creatively stimulating in a cutthroat field, a cutthroat world, a cutthroat life.
Average life span is around 80 some odd years. Why dream about what I want as opposed to going out and getting it. I refuse to wait till the next lifetime to get what I want out of this lifetime. Maybe it’s living in New York that’s giving me this “take what you want” attitude, but it’s all clear. Life is too short to dilly dally and dream. Dying is easy; living is hard. Forget the skeletons in your closet and show off your live bodies. Are those last two lines morbid? My bad.
Saturday, March 21
Common - I Want You
I don’t think I’ve been hit this hard in a really long time (and I just sat here reflecting for five minutes to see when the last time was). That’s not to say that I haven’t been hit this way before, I’m sure I have. It’s just been awhile.
His name is Rick, and don’t pretend like you didn’t know this story was going to be about a boy. He is currently (soon to be recent history) the single most object of my affection and the most charming man I’ve ever met. I won’t get into logistics on how we know each other, but I know him well enough to know that he is my Mother Theresa counterpart.
It was two years ago when we first met. It wasn’t anything out of a fairy tale, just another guy at the center. Of course I thought he was cute, but I was flaky and didn’t pursue. Besides, what would I say to him? My confidence hadn’t peaked till last year and I only saw him in passing. Fast forward to now.
It must have been the serious lack of rejection in my recent history that led me to the sea of disappoint that I’m wading in. Despite all my friends telling me that he didn’t really reject me (“unfortunately” he has a girlfriend). I pretend to read into the “unfortunately”, that maybe I have a chance, but lucky for me I’m smart enough to know better.
I find the need to express the way I feel about him here in hopes that the gods of the Internet will bring us together. He’s the one I’d go straight for. Nix the ring in my nose, the scarf on my head, the fingerless gloves. Delete all the celebrities and pretty boys from my life and let my hair grow long. Move out to east Harlem and let him make me his Maria. I’d be his ride or die chick. Yeah, it’s that serious.
His name is Rick, and don’t pretend like you didn’t know this story was going to be about a boy. He is currently (soon to be recent history) the single most object of my affection and the most charming man I’ve ever met. I won’t get into logistics on how we know each other, but I know him well enough to know that he is my Mother Theresa counterpart.
It was two years ago when we first met. It wasn’t anything out of a fairy tale, just another guy at the center. Of course I thought he was cute, but I was flaky and didn’t pursue. Besides, what would I say to him? My confidence hadn’t peaked till last year and I only saw him in passing. Fast forward to now.
It must have been the serious lack of rejection in my recent history that led me to the sea of disappoint that I’m wading in. Despite all my friends telling me that he didn’t really reject me (“unfortunately” he has a girlfriend). I pretend to read into the “unfortunately”, that maybe I have a chance, but lucky for me I’m smart enough to know better.
I find the need to express the way I feel about him here in hopes that the gods of the Internet will bring us together. He’s the one I’d go straight for. Nix the ring in my nose, the scarf on my head, the fingerless gloves. Delete all the celebrities and pretty boys from my life and let my hair grow long. Move out to east Harlem and let him make me his Maria. I’d be his ride or die chick. Yeah, it’s that serious.
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