As Connor and I were discussing our love lives…and by “our love lives,” I mean my love life, Connor teased me about all the perks I was getting from what he refers to as my “boyfriends,” a subset of guy friends that I spend time with on a friend level. Sure they help me move, bring me lunch, and even help me study, but I said, “Connor I just want kisses!” as I dramatically tossed aside the curtain in his doorframe. At our apartment, we have an “open door policy.” In other words, our apartment has no doors. He laughed hysterically as I walked out but then I was like, No really. I just fucking want kisses.
So fuck throwback Thursday (of course the one time you actually requested it), but I have much more pressing news. The girl you know and love (me) has a crush. I’m talking about butterflies in my tummy, weak in the knees, and fantasizing about us banging on the kitchen counter kind of crush. Who is this crush you ask? None other than my ex-boyfriend, the fire whisperer, you know….the one I denied having feelings for in my very first blog post. I lied.
Although I have drunkenly called him almost every night the past few weekends, I still woke up soberly convincing myself that I did not like him…like that. But, just like the inner hypochondriac in all of us that convinces ourselves we have cancer or an STD, me convincing myself I did not like him…like that…was not true in any way, shape, or form. Although I’d pretended that sober me and drunk me were two very separate people, they still have one word in common. Me. Despite his sometimes greasy hair, skeleton resembling body, and god-awful singing voice to accompany his guitar strumming, I just sort of like him. He is extremely annoying and peppy, but fuck…I like that too.
It’s time I passed this torch I’ve been carrying to the next Olympian, because the fire whisperer is my ex-boyfriend, Connor’s best friend (my roommate), and when it comes down to it; one of my best friends. Not to mention, he too, is carrying his very own torch…just not for me. His flames of love burn for a thin blonde with long legs and a name that’s difficult to spell/pronounce. Bitch has my crush on lock and this blogger does not have the key. All lock and key metaphors aside, the fire whisperer actually has a key to our apartment now and has become what I like to call a “not roommate roommate.” In other words, a roommate who does not pay rent. Don’t worry, I’ll take eye candy over rent any day of the week…I’m not talking to you Connor, I need your half at least fuck.
I told my roommate Connor about my school girl crush and he just laughed (shocker?) saying, “I saw that comin’ miles away.” Sadly, so did I. I practically busted out my winter wardrobe just so I could wear my heart on those long long sleeves of mine. While sitting on his floor embarrassed to admit my feelings, he said I should post a Craigslist ad…Wanted: Kisses Here and There.
Truth be told, I am perfectly okay with having my little crush. It is as fun and harmless as a mosquito bite (assuming you are not overseas in which case you should be concerned about West Nile etc;). Just because I remember the past does not mean I am living in it. While I may seem sad escaping my ex-boyfriend inhabited apartment to go play pool by myself at the local pub, I am actually incredibly happy. Having a crush is fun, even when it’s headed in my favorite direction…absolutely nowhere. So….kisses here and there…kisses are nowhere. Although my brilliant niche for algebra made me extremely capable of finding my “x,” I was not prepared to ask “y,” how, or when. The past had walked into the bar (the bar is a metaphor for my life), but I was still ready for my future…well…sort of ready. Look out world, I have an inexperienced, under-qualified resume coming your way!
My skeeze of the day goes to the fire whisperer for fucking bringing me coffee, getting me gifts when you are out of town, telling me I look pretty, helping me with dishes (near the kitchen counter where I fantasize about you), and just fucking being fucking nice you fucker! STOP FLIRTING WITH ME! No, don’t.
Oh, and to the fire whisperer if you’re reading this which fuck…you probably are. Don’t act all surprised since I’ve been drunk calling/texting you for weeks. I’m not sure what I said, but if I had to guess, it probably included but was not limited to words like miss, feelings, and you. Someone really should take my phone away, but then again…Where’s the fun in that?