After having a full day to recover and half of my Tuesday morning coffee, I am now prepared to tell you about my weekend…which most unfortunately has to start with Friday…Part 1 as I like to call it.
Friday night, I came home from work to celebrate my friend Leah’s birthday, only to be greeted by none other than…you know him, you hear about him and I’m not entirely sure how you feel about him…the Fire Whisperer. Beer in hand, he welcomes me into my own apartment offering me a beer which automatically smoothed over my mildly ruffled feathers.
After a shower and makeup prep in front of like 6 people at our apartment, we receive another guest…the Fire Whisperer’s hott blonde roommate, because let’s face it one hott blonde in his life was just not enough. In fact, his general inclination towards hott blondes suggests I should just get one myself.
My general approach to his ever-continuing presence in my life as of late has been none other than cordial. Hello, hey there, have a good day…you get the idea. Although I have installed a “help Fire Whisperer out if he really needs you” clause into my manifesto, I still felt there was no need to tell him what I had for lunch that day, what songs I was sinking my teeth into or why a chunk of my iPhone screen is MIA.
In honor of Leah’s b’day, we all headed to the bar driven by the FW himself. I quickly purchased a beverage then headed straight for the pool tables, because FW or no FW, that is just where this petite girl belongs. After nudging my way into a game of doubles, I found myself approached by the one and only…Dean. (See Post: Who The Fuck Is In My Bed Right Now?)
Drunken Dean, in the most adorable Southern accent you have ever heard, confesses his true feelings for me. I am beautiful. I am a great writer. Again, I am beautiful. etc; Unfortunately, this has become quite uncomfortable for my doubles partner who is desperately trying to make his way towards getting my phone number.
Dean leaves me and then returns several times, each time telling me I am “degrading” myself by hanging out with these guys…which I am by the way doing nothing of the sort. My head is always in the game.
Dean: I am leaving Savannah.
Me: Okay Dean.
Dean: No really, I am leaving. I am going to go now.
Me: Okay Dean, I will see you around.
Dean: (slowly walking away) I am leaving. (whips back around and turns towards my doubles partner) You’re just another blog post to her!
Despite being hilarious, the whole dramatic thing was quite endearing and definitely held major motion picture potential. The night did not end there.
After a rough night of avoiding the FW, an awful girl from high school and my own conscience which must have been stumbling around somewhere drunkenly, I was ready to head home.
The bar closed as I stood outside with the FW’s roomie, where she said these confusing words…
“I don’t know what you’re waiting on, you should just go.”
Her drunken state and mild tone suggested there were no mean intentions, but I was like…
Fuck, she’s right.
I walked home which led to a lot of angry friends and some volume raising comments coming from the FW in my kitchen. I texted him an apology only to receive a fairly harsh text back saying how unwelcome he felt in my presence. I was like…You have stayed at my apartment several nights this week, how much more welcome can you be? I can hear your voice from my bedroom at 3 a.m., I am guessing that that’s your beer in my freezer and our alarms go off intermittently all morning until you become the first person I see after waking up…something tells me the Welcoming Committee has come and gone ya know?
Despite my general aversion towards his comments, I knew the convo was still a work in progress so the next morning I tried to explain myself.
After another fairly angry text calling me childish, I was just like…
Fuck, you’re really asking me to be mature right now?
To be honest, being cold-hearted was way more fun than I imagined and has led me to believe I have a much firmer grasp on Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, having now seen and participated in the dark side for at least 3 full days of FW attendance. While I may seem to be back at sweet and sunny, I now find myself lighting candles more often, drawing pentacles in my notebook and hanging out in cemeteries where to my knowledge no family members or friends are buried.
My courteous but not overly friendly disposition towards the FW had no cruel intentions, but were rather designed to extinguish my crush in a more permanent sense of the word. To me, this crush had become equally annoying and probably way more distracting, particularly when reading dystopian novels, watching action films and trying to study for my waste of time college coursework.
This crush just kept coming back to me like a fucking horseshoe. In fact, I was sure I would take it to the grave with me which is just fine because I’m so small my casket should have plenty of room for unrequited love, ones that got away, oh and regret…That will definitely be present, or past depending on how you look at it.
I have, however, been determined to put this crush to bed, no pun intended. Pun intended.
After playing the pity card, the FW seemed to understand the plight of a “trying to get over you” 20 something year old girl and all was maybe not forgiven/forgotten, but more than likely moved on from. Want to know what else was moved on from?
Just like that, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Although I know getting over him did not happen instantaneously, his reaction to the night extinguished my crush…for good. I realized quickly that the only thing the FW and I needed to share was our love for pizza, annoyance with stupid people and our best friend…Catman Connor.
Dying for part 2? Me 2!
After you have your morning coffee, leave me a comment and we will see where My Weekend: Part 2 takes us.