The Virginity Monologues

I'm sad as I make my way home. I'm sad because I've been talking about you. I've been referring to you as The Love of My Life, which is still true.

I looked at your picture tonight. The one of you and me on my birthday a few years ago. We are happy and smiling and I remember how ecstatic I was to have you there. My friend looks at your picture and deems you 'beautiful', and I remember being in awe of your physical perfection, but knowing that the person underneath is even more beautiful. Beautifully sweet and sensitive, with a heart of gold.

I miss your friendship and our dirty, flirty text messages. I miss being in your presence and finding silly reasons to touch each other. I miss the overhwelming need I felt to take care of you, to want to do anything in my power just to make you happy. I miss the anticipation of seeing you and what part of each experience would linger in my memory, that I would later re-live in intricate detail over and over in my mind. I don't crave the underwhelming passion of the final culmination of our 2 year trajectory. But I miss loving you and all the heartache that came with it.

Labels: Marc

How To Insult Me Grievously: Take me on a date, to an expensive Italian restaurant. Then, while I am telling a story of how my half-panamanian/half-white roommate in a drunken stupor got on my case one night about being the 'pretty, innocent white girl', make a shushing motion with your hand at me, then give an apologetic smile/nod to the distinguished black couple at the table next to us, as if to say, "Excuse my racist date."

Let me make a few points here
A. I am 29 years and have, surprisingly, learned a few things about behaving in polite society. I know how to keep my voice at an appropriate level. I do not need instructions in this arena.

B. It was a story about me getting shit about being white by my PANAMANIAN roommate/one of my very best friends. I doubt that the couple of a race that I am not even remotely discussing is going to be offended by this. Well, no more offended then they may have been after your story about the drug dealer and the escort at your apartment.

How to Embarrass Me: Answer the phone when I call you. Proceed to have a long conversation with me regarding business stuff that we are involved in together, talk to me about my date that night at length, then advise me to not get so drunk I end up going home and getting freaky with some random guy over the weekend. THEN, at the end of the conversation, tell me that AT THAT VERY MOMENT, you are with Marc, thus telling me that he has just heard your side of our entire conversation. Granted, you don't know about my history with Marc, you think we're 'just friends', so you don't know how awkward I will feel about him listening to you advise me on not being a slut.

Today's Title from: Better Off Alone by Katherine McPhee

Labels: Marc, Patrick

Dear Marc-

2 months ago, we created more memories for me to forget. It was an interesting night. Not at all like I expected. I didn't expect you to be so cold. And I didn't expect for it to hurt so much when I never heard from you again.

I wasn't expecting regular sex-fests. But I also wasn't expecting deafening silence.

Everytime I get a text message, a little part of me still hopes that it'll be from you. I don't even necessarily hope for another invitation to your place in the wee hours of the morning. I just hope for the slightest indication that you are reaching out to me, and letting me know that we're still friends, and that you don't hate me.

So seriously, what can I do to put this whole sex-debacle behind us? Is the first communication going to have to be from me? Cause quite honestly, that terrifies me! But I don't want to play The Silent Treatment game anymore. I don't imagine that there will ever be a time when I'm in your presence when I won't remember that I've seen you naked or what it felt like to have your dick in my mouth, but that doesn't mean that we have to avoid each other like the plague for the rest of our natural born lives. Does it?

Today's Title from: Spoon by Dave Matthews Band

Labels: Marc

I am coming to a interesting realization. The men in my life, really don't go away.

Case(s) in point:

Mr. Wrong: I never talk about him anymore, because I hate him. I haven't answered his calls or hung out with him in over 5 months. I'm not playing a game here. I genuinely don't ever want to see/speak to him ever again. He still calls. He called on Friday night at 3:30 in the morning. At least he has stopped calling 5-10 times in one night. It absolutely stuns me that he is still holding on when not getting even an ounce of encouragement from me.

Scott: Despite not speaking for over a month. I got an email, a text and a phone call from him on Friday. He'd like to start over and take me out on a date. I'm sorry, WTF?

Cam: We still fight, almost daily about the status of our relationship, despite my repeated attempts at telling him that there is NO relationship. It's really starting to irritate me. I may have had very strong feelings for him at one point, but I gotta tell you, all the fighting has really killed all that. He is driving me absolutely insane. I could happily never talk to him again and now that I've blocked him on IM, I hopefully never will.

The one that has disappeared though, is the one that I least wanted to.

Marc.

Not a word from him in the last month. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss him.

Life just isn't ever fair is it?

Today's Title from: Open Your Eyes by Snow Patrol

Labels: Cam, Marc, Mr. Wrong, Scott

I didn't write on Friday, because something happened on Thursday night that I wasn't ready to talk about yet.

I still don't know if I'm ready to talk about it.

Marc must have sensed that I was maligning him and calling him a pussy and decided to finally step up to the plate and be a man.

Thursday night around 12 am, I got a text. A request to come over.

1:05 am, I walked up the stairs to his front door.

2:00 am, over a year's worth of anticipation and build-up FINALLY, finally was satisfied.

It was weird. And I was nervous. Really nervous. There's not a chance in hell that my skills in bed were fully displayed, as my mind was going about 100 miles an hour and I couldn't so much as moan without thinking about it first. And the thing that makes me really great in bed, is my ability to get totally lost in the moment. This did not happen.

Lines were drawn. Very clearly drawn. This was a booty call. I got that LOUD and CLEAR.

The weekend was full of good things. A trip to DC with Karen to visit my sister who was in town for the weekend, boys at a rental car office who liked us so much they upgraded us all the way to a Jeep, a shopping expedition which resulted in My Greatest Find Ever- a pair of black, suede, peep-toe, mary-jane strap, 4-inch Kate Spade heels for $80 and cheesecake in a hotel with the best friend I've ever had- but my mind was always only half on the events at hand. The other half was always lost.

Lost in his hands- roving all over while I was on top, his mouth- whispering dirty things in my ear from behind, and his eyes- locking on mine, in the moment where we changed everything forever.

Then I remember how we fell asleep as far apart on the bed as people can, even though he'd asked me to stay. And the next morning, how as I'd left, I'd woken him up to ask him if he needed the alarm reset and he'd barely even acknowledged me.

And how, as I rode home in a cab, all I felt was relief, and disappointment.

My night of 1000 fantasies was anything but.

Today's Title from: Say Goodbye by Dave Matthews Band

Labels: Marc

Last night was potentially one of my best Valentine's Days- ever. Truth to be told, it was an interesting day altogether.

The reason it was so great, was because I made dinner for my roommates and we spent the evening together- happy just to be with each other.

Dinner consisted of:
Parmesan crusted chicken- with lemon mustard sauce
Garlic Mashed Potatoes
Fresh Green Beans

And the grand finale- Molten Chocolate Cakes.

I am officially a GODDESS in the kitchen.

I hadn't expected to hear from any of the miscreants who call themselves men in my life at all yesterday. I figured if there's any day of the year when men avoid women they aren't interested in committing to and treating with respect, that Valentine's Day would be that day. Not so, in my unfortunate case.

I got an email from Cam. Telling me that he had called me the night before, wanting to say hi, and that he missed me. I never saw the missed call (I was in the subway for an extended length of time though, after drinks with Spatch) and the fucker didn't leave a message. So, whatever. If that's his idea of fighting for me, then it's probably best that this relationship is over.

I got a comment on my myspace page from Scott- just telling me Happy Valentine's Day. Way to put your back into it, champ!

Then, I got a text from Marc- around 4ish. It read 'Happy Valentine's Day'. I figured it was a mass text to a bunch of women in his phone book and didn't respond. At 8ish, I got another one, it said the same thing. As if to say, 'Hello?! I'm wishing you a Happy Valentine's Day! Respond, bitch!'

Here's the rundown of text-messaging that followed:
Marc: Happy Valentine's Day!
Me: Did you mean to send that to me twice.
Marc: Some people need more love than others.
Me: What are you up to? I'm making a huge dinner for me the girls, you're welcome to come over if you want.
Marc: Awwww. Thanks for the invite. But I just came home from the gym. I'm in for the night.
Me: You're missing out. Dessert is chocolate molten cakes.
Marc: Sounds good.

Pause in texting while we eat our insanely delicious dinner.

Me: Karen and my taste buds just had an orgasm.
Marc: I should have been there to have a taste bud orgy!
Me: You were invited.... We're going to start shedding clothes here soon....
Marc: Yeah right. Come shed over here. We have the whole house to run rampant. Everybody is gone!!!
Me: Please. You're all talk.
Marc: If you say so... My sex buds are hungry.
Me: You could have gotten fed over here.... My mouth is just as good as my hands.
Marc: LOL. Chicken.
Me: Don't push me. You won't know what to do when I call your bluff.
Marc: Yeah, yeah.
Me: If you really want me to come over, all you have to do is ask. (I only said this because I knew there was absolutely no follow-through in him).

Pause.

Me: That's what I thought. You can't ever call me a tease again.....

End text messaging.

Is it just me, or is he a TOTAL pussy.

Today's Title from: Only in Dreams by Weezer

Labels: Cam, Marc, Scott, Spatch

I just had one of the best weekends, ever.

Friday night, after a movie with Karen and some quality time in the ER for her mushed up finger, I met up with Scott and we went back to his place and had great sex. And I do mean great sex. He does this thing now, where he puts a pillow under my hips and it creates the perfect angle, for both of us. ROWR. I dig it.

The next morning, I was running late to meet Email Boy for brunch, because Scott was trying to make me multi-orgasmic. Luckily, he's a lazy slob and postponed brunch by an hour. Then we we finally met up, all he did was yell at me for fucking Scott again. But he's just jealous, because he's on a self-imposed 3 month hiatus and he hasn't had good sex in a long, long time. I still love him though.

After brunch, still wearing the same clothes I had worn to work the previous day because I hadn't had time to go home and change, I went down to Chelsea for a hair cut. A fabulous, fabulous hair cut. No one has really noticed, because not a lot of the length is gone, but now I have beautiful, shiny layers that make me dance with joy. Plus, after stuffing myself with yummy brunch food, then getting a fabulous head massage by the Hair Washer Guy, I felt as if I had actually reached Nirvana.

After the haircut, I finally went home to change my clothes. And once I got there, I realized that there would be no party for me that night. We were all unreasonably tired. So Karen, Shannon and I went to dinner, then picked up some junk food and a movie, then hied ourselves home and crashed. And I do mean- crashed. 20 minutes into the movie and I was OUT.

Right before I went to bed, I checked my phone. Text message from Marc. Interesting. Here's how it went.

Marc: Where's the party at?
Me: Don't know, I kept it pretty chill tonight. (Like I'm going to admit that I had just fallen asleep in front of the TV on a Saturday night)
Marc: Oh really! How's the new roomies.
Me: Fantastic. Although I got a fabulous new haircut today, so they're suffering from Hair Envy.
Marc: LOL! Send me a picture when you get a chance, I'm curious.
Me: Well, it looks bad right now, so you're going to have to wait on that one.
Marc: Cool. Well have a goodnight!

Seriously. WHAT THE FUCK?

If he was looking to booty call me- why didn't he just come out and say it? Is anyone else completely confused by this man's behavior? What did he want? Did our whole entire conversation about gettin jiggy from earlier last week completely escape his memory?

Sunday was a seriously alcohol filled brunch at my good friend, George's apartment. Then I spent the rest of the day back at my apartment just lounging around with my roommates, making our place more and more of a home everyday.

Today's Title from: Mama Said Knock You Out, by LL Cool J

Labels: Marc, Scott

Since I just pulled a hair out of my head, where the end had split at least 6 times, I would wager that the haircut that I'm getting tomorrow is LONG overdue. I'm very excited/nervous. I'm going to someone new (which all women understand is a BIG deal) and I'm considering cutting some of the length off. It's very long now. The longest it's ever been in my whole life. To-my-bra-strap long. I love it. But it's hard to deal with, and on the days that I don't wash it, there's a ZERO percent chance that it will look good, and I have limits on how many days a week I can pull it back into a bun at the nape of my neck.

After a veritable FLURRY of texting on Tuesday, where I was under the impression that we had FINALLY made a solid decision to stop being pussies and have sex already, I haven't heard another word from Marc. Par for the course I suppose. I hate having to teach myself to stop expecting things from people. It's not any fun becoming disillusioned. I guess my Great Regret will just have to remain that way. Sigh.

The weekend holds promise. Two brunches that I am very much looking forward, The Haircut, and a possible outing with my new friend, Spatch. I'd write about how I'm super excited at the possibility of hanging out with her again, but then she'd know that I have a little bit of a Girl Crush on her and all my credibility would be ruined. :)

Today's Title from: Ghetto Pop Life by Danger Mouse and Jemini

Labels: Marc, Spatch

I could write about how Cam asked me to reconsider. How he wanted more time. In almost the same breath where he told me that he can't give me 100%. I said no. And I haven't spoken to him since.

I could write about how on Tuesday, Marc propositioned me with a 'Friends with Benefits' type of relationship. I'm not ready to talk about it yet. And since I haven't heard from him since Tuesday, I'm guessing that he doesn't have the cojones to go through with it anyway.

I could write about the break that I want to go on. How I feel absolutely no desire whatsoever for maybe the first time in my life to not date at all. I don't want to expect. I don't want to hope. I don't want butterflies. I just don't want to hurt.

Mostly, I want to write about Spatch. Her and I met for drinks at the most fabulous wine bar last night. She ordered the Tapas and I enjoyed it immensely. We both worried that it might be weird- two bloggers meeting for the first time after reading all of the details of each others lives has that potential. It was definitely NOT weird. It was more as if I had known her for years. She was everything I expected her to be and more. She understands the concept of doing something stupid, something you know is wrong for you- but you can't stop yourself from doing it just the same. 2 hours of great conversation, food and wine went by and I can't wait until we hang out again.

You should all be so lucky.

Labels: Cam, Marc, Spatch

AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I've got a whole lot of pent up anger and frustration right now and I'm sorry, but y'all are going to have to hear about it.

Marc- The Love of My Fucking Life Marc- is dating someone. That's right- the man that I have been patiently waiting for to grow the fuck up already and realize that I am the woman of his dreams, is dating someone.

Which means that the problem was NEVER that Marc wasn't ready, the problem was the I JUST WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH.

GOD-DAMN MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A BITCH.

Then, on Saturday night, as we arrived home, drunk off our asses, Abby starts talking to me about Email Boy, and all the truths that she's never told me before come out. She tells me that she would give anything for her boyfriend to look at her the way Email Boy looks at me when I walk into the room; that she's never seen 2 people more perfect for each other and that she's never had, with anyone what him and I have.

These things might be true. But why don't people get it?!?!? He's NEVER going to date me!!!! He only dates women who weigh 130 pounds. I will never, in my whole life, weigh 130 pounds. I will wholeheartedly acknowledge that him and I have someone special, something that you don't find every day. But, for the love of all that is holy, PLEASE do not allow me to have hope for our dating future! It's not going to happen.

Also, what's with people asking me why I don't have a boyfriend? Don't they realize that if I knew the answer to that, I could probably do something about it? Besides, who's going to admit that the reason for their lack of companionship is because they are a total and complete freak show with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I DON'T KNOW why I don't have a boyfriend! It may be because I don't like to let people get close to me and tend to use nasty sarcasm as a defense mechanism. It may be because I'm hideously unattractive. It may be that men may not find my penchant for brutal honesty endearing. Maybe I'm too forward. Maybe I'm not forward enough. Maybe it's because I like sex too damn much and men think that I'm means I'm a dirty slut.

Whatever it is, I can't quite put my fucking finger on it, so stop fucking asking already.

Just to add to my present I-Feel-Like-the-Worlds-Biggest-Loser mood, my mom told me about the annual family camping trip scheduled for next summer last night and suggested how great it would be if I brought a boyfriend with me.

That's just fucking awesome.

Labels: Email Boy, Marc

I don't know that I've ever been more glad to see the end of a weekend.

Friday afternoon, I took the afternoon off work to decorate for Kevin's birthday party at the bar he had rented out for the evening. Karen and I spent all afternoon running around, gathering supplies and dancing to the songs coming from the jukebox. I had just barely enough time to run home, get changed and run back to the restaurant where we were having dinner. I was feeling okay about my ability to deal with the Marc Situation considering that Scott had called me the day before and wanted me to come over that night (choosing Friday specifically, so I didn't have to leave to go to work early the next morning). Scott could not have chosen a better time to want to see me.

Dinner was still tortuous. Marc seated himself directly to the side of me and spent the entire dinner harrassing me in some way. He ran his fingers through my hair, commenting on my hair cut (VERY few people noticed). At one point, he leaned over, wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close, nuzzling my cheek and neck with his nose. Later he asked me how my food was multiple times and when I told him that he had already asked me that, he responded that he had just wanted to talk to me again. It was very apparent that this man still wants me.

After dinner, we moved to the bar a few blocks away. Marc didn't show up and I stayed about an hour dancing and drinking before leaving for Scott's house. I heard that Marc showed up shortly after I left, and asked where I was. When Karen informed him that I 'had other things to do', he asked her if I had left to go hook up with another guy and she just shrugged off the question, leaving it open. Apparently, he didn't stay long.

Scott was an absolute god-send that night. When I got there, he sat me down and took off my shoes and rubbed my feet. I was tired and after commenting on my beautiful hair-cut and how gorgeous I looked, he wrapped me up in his arms and let me just lay there. I can only lay in his arms so long though, and before not too long, he was kissing me in that fabulous way that he does and then he went down on me (every time!) and I was in HEAVEN. I LOVE being with this man. I sometimes think I am here on earth JUST to experience having sex with him. Because I can't imagine that anything in life is ever going to be better than this. After we had sex, he wrapped me up in his arms again and we just laid there and talked, with him occasionally dropping kisses on my shoulder, my arms, my cheeks, my neck, and I don't know that I've ever felt safer or more comfortable with anyone. Like always, there was Round 2. And just like always, it was life-altering sex. Its hard to believe, but it gets better every time. After I had an orgasm that was so damn powerful that I'm pretty sure it altered my genetic makup, we were still going (me on top) and he pulled me down close to him and started whispering in my ear how sexy he thinks I am and all kinds of stuff that girls absolutely die to hear and before I knew it, I was coming again. I'm officially multi-orgasmic! Shortly thereafter he woke everyone in a 50 mile radius up with his climax and due to the pools of sweat we created, a shower was necessary. He scrubbed my back, I scrubbed his and I laughed as he sang to me.

We toweled off and went back into his room to FINALLY go to sleep. But then we started arguing about music and to prove something to me, he turned on his music, and then started dancing me around the room. As he held me tight, singing along to the music, his eyes staring directly into mine as we swayed to the music (both still in our towels), I don't know that I've ever felt more complete than I did in that moment. Ever.

I had to leave early-ish the next morning. Scott didn't want me to go. He wanted me to stay the whole weekend, he didn't ever want to get out of bed. But I had to bake 3 batches of cookies for the barbeque that night and make about 30-40 chicken kabobs. I was meeting Karen at 1, so as much as I was aching to stay in that bed all day long, The Birthday Barbeque had to take precedence.

After spending all day baking and skewering kabobs, I had to, again, rush home and get ready, and turn around and rush back. I was running a little late, but since it was a BBQ, I didn't think it was a big deal. As I neared Kevin's apartment building (the bbq was taking place in the courtyard), my phone dinged with a text message. It read:

Marc: Yo, where are you?
Me: I'm just pulling up in a cab. I'm right out front.
Marc: What's the hold up? Get yer ass here.
Me: I'm coming! Keep your pants on!

Why is he ordering me around? After I arrived he pulled me tightly to him to tell me how glad he was that I was there. For the rest of the evening, I made the rounds talking to people and deliberately avoiding him. Every time we talked, he sought me out and not the other way around. He left early, but I didn't even know he was gone until he sent me a text message telling me that he had eaten too many cookies (which I made) and that he had gone home. Later his roomate came up to me and asked me where Marc was. This was interesting for 2 reasons.

1. Why does his roomate assume that I know where Marc is? Shouldn't he be the one to know those things?
2. I actually knew the answer to the question and when I told Adam that Marc had gone home, he asked what I had done to him. I don't think that "Fuck off" was the answer he was looking for.

I'M SO TIRED OF THIS SHIT.

Be with me or don't be with me. End of story. STOP FUCKING WITH MY HEAD!

Labels: Marc, Scott

An Open Letter to Marc:

Do you remember when we were in your kitchen, I was at the sink doing the dishes and you came over and leaned your back up against me as you were fooling around on your phone. Remember that hip movement that I did to get you off me that left you virtually speechless?

That was only the tip of the iceberg, pal.

The things I wanted to do to you. I wanted to sit on your lap and kiss you until we both couldn't breath. I wanted to kiss along your collarbone and run my hands, endlessly over your chest and your ridiculously large arms. I wanted to never let go of your perfectly squeezable ass. I wanted to feel the weight of you on top of me, my nails digging into your back with you saying my name in my ear. Then I wanted to flip you over and show my favorite place to be, a place where you can see all the magic that these hips can work. Then I wanted to fall asleep in those arms, only to wake you up and do it all over again a few hours later.

I wanted to love you with infinite abandon.

I've known all along that we weren't in the same place. I haven't ever slept with you because I've been hoping that you would eventually see me as more than just a girl to nail, that I would be enough for you to not want to sleep around anymore.

Kevin (your good friend and mine) had a little talk with me last night. He called me a big dummy and told me to start reading the writing on the wall. You aren't going to come around anytime soon. Your playing days have just begun and I will never be more than ass to you.

I always knew this. Coming from Kevin made it that much more real and practically tangible.

I know that you want to fuck me. But I also know that I'm in control. I choose whether or not it happens. And IF it ever does, and that's a big if, it will be on MY terms. Not yours.

It's Kevin's big birthday party this weekend. Since Karen and I are his unofficial party planners and chefs for the barbeque, I will be at all the events, which means we will probably be seeing a lot of each other. I pray every day for the strength to treat you with the same indifference that you have shown me and to keep this big weekend drama-free for Kevin's sake.

Because, really, when everything is said and done, I don't want to be your friend anymore.

Sincerely,
Chloe

Labels: Marc

Here are the new shoes that I bought this weekend, with plans to knock off socks while in Montreal and then at The Great Birthday Party Extravaganza the following weekend. Incidentally, I know there are readers who live in/near Montreal, so if you have any suggestions of places that I should go, or would like to meet up, please don't hesistate to email, at the email address so thoughtfully provided on my profile.

Because he is a 'friend' and he posted a bulletin about it on myspace, I know that Marc had a rather large birthday party at Lotus. Neither Karen nor I were invited. Thus, reinforcing the conclusion that he is, in fact, as ass-hat. If he were standing in front of me, I'd stick my tongue out at him.

As I'm sure you've noticed, I've been a little melancholy lately. I blame it all on that fucker, Marc. From here on out I promise to be more upbeat and less slit-my-wrists depressing. I'll start with a story that has kept me laughing for the last 48 hours.

Friday night, 3:30 am. My phone rings. I register that its Mr. Wrong before I answer, but am not coherent enough to stop myself from flipping the damn phone open. He is fairly drunk and I am super amused. He begs me to let him come over and I don't even have to think about it, the answer is no. I laugh at him as he attempts to navigate Harlem, trying desperately to remember where I live and failing miserably. He orders me to stop laughing at him, which only makes me laugh harder. I tell him that he has been to my apartment on multiple previous occasions. If he can't remember where it is, he doesn't deserve to come over anyway. More begging. I remain stalwart in my refusal. He finally grows weary of my laughter and hangs up on me. Only to call back 5 minutes later and beg some more. Thanks to Mr. Magic-Dick Scott, I'm not even interested in Mr. Wrong's drunken, half-ass attempts.

Call Will, I tell him and hang up.

Laugh a little more to myself, then fall back asleep.

Thank God for actually learning something from my bad experiences.

Labels: Marc, Mr. Wrong

So, did everybody notice the profile picture? That's really me!

So, I have officially deleted everything Marc related out of my phone. Including a few texts that I was holding onto because I'm sentimental like that (key part of that word- being MENTAL). Here's the rundown of the text messaging that drove me to the point of no return:

Me: Happy Birthday! (on his actual birthday, just bein' friendly!)
Marc: Thanks homie (I swear I am NOT making this up)
Me: Homie? You do realize that I'm white, I'm from an insignificant-only-2-electoral-votes state on the west coast (I actually named the state), and I'm a female?
Marc: Yes, but you say 'yo' so much what do you expect? (This is actually true, I do overuse the word 'yo', but no one else have ever commented on it before and most people generally see fit to tell me when something about me bothers them)
Me: So, I'm just one of the guys now?
Marc: You're cool

Now, I recognize that this exchange isn't grotesquely horrific, but it says something in bright, bold letters to me- HE IS PLAYING ME. Hot and cold has been his game from day one and I'm really fucking sick of it. I spent so much time and money on this man's birthday and then in not so many words, he relegates ME to arms-length-I-only-want-nail-you status.

Well, FUCK HIM (well, not literally, that would defeat the purpose of deleting his number and text messages!)

I don't need his manipulative ass anyway. Here's why:

A. Mr. I'm-Phenomenal-in-the-Sack Scott
B. Mr. I-Treat-You-Great-Buy-You-Flowers-and-Call-You-From-Europe Dave

Not that I really need any of them, I'm working really hard these days on being perfectly content in my solitude and boyfriends are really nothing but trouble anyway. Always having to make plans together and feel bad about flirting with other guys. Who needs that bullshit?

As my parting comment for the day, I'd like to share with all of you the joy that I have experienced over the last day as I have listened to this voicemail approximately 586 times. Here it is, in text format, the voicemail left for me last night by Dave, who is currently in Europe:

"Hey you, what's up. It's me giving you a buzz from Europe. Hope you're doing well, just wanted to say what's up. Got your message from last night, so thank you very much and I guess we'll talk soon. It's kind of late here and I need to prepare for tomorrow. So, hugs and kisses, baby. Talk to you later. "

Everybody say it with me- Awwwwwww.

Labels: Marc

I am BONE tired. I've had a bagel, a hot chocolate liberally laced with coffee and 2 Aleve and I am still not functioning at normal levels. And I'm fairly sick to my stomach, but I think that can be traced back directly to the Doritos that I ate right before I went to bed last night.

The tiredness could be the direct result of enormous amounts of stress at work, coupled with a weekend that never seemed to stop going.

It's Marc's birthday today. So Karen and I agreed to make him and some friends dinner on Saturday. Friday night, we went shopping and did some early preparation. As an added bonus to the evening, I got an unexpected call while wandering the aisles at Pathmark. Dave was on his way to Europe for 2 weeks for business and called me from the airport to say goodbye. We talked until Karen forced me off the phone so I could concentrate on how much cheese to buy. He really is quite adorable. I'm very taken with him.

Saturday morning, Karen and I made our usual trek to the beach and then upon arriving back home, went about 90 miles an hour for the next 5-6 hours cooking for a large group of people and then cleaning up afterwards. I spent most of the evening in the kitchen, swatting at hands to stop eating my freshly cut up mangoes and trying to decode Marc's behavior. Touch was frequent and persistent. Whenever he needed me to move for any reason, he showed me by placing his hands on my hips and gently moving me to the side. Anything needed to be said was communicated by coming up very close behind me and speaking closely in my ear. As I stood at the sink, up to my elbows in dirty dishes, he came up to me, wrapped his arms around me and kissed me soundly on the cheek.

"What was that for?" I asked

"Just being you," he replied.

He treated me differently than any other female there. He paid more attention to me than anyone else. Dirty comments were thrown right and left. There were a couple of minor wrestling bouts and one insanely amusing conversation.

Me: Marc, come here for a second
Marc (moving in closely behind me): yeah?
Me: Who was that guy, standing on the stairs with Adam (his roommate) last night? Bald head? Two earrings?
Marc (a little pissy): I don't know. I don't know who that was.
Me: Cause Karen thought he was hot, so next time he's over you should give her a holler.
Marc: Oh, Don?

As I was preparing to leave, around 3 am, he kept hugging me and saying good night. And as a large group of us stood at the door, he came and stood next to me, his hand touching mine until I left.

One more big squeeze at the gate. Quietly calling me 'sexy' in my ear.

And I'm more confused than ever.

I love what we have. The comraderie. The comfort of a friend and the sizzle of the sexual tension.

But it can't stay this way.

We either need to act on what's brewing between us or stop the shenanigans.

Labels: Marc

I knew, when I saw the random chicken strutting his stuff up Lexington Ave, that the night was going to be an interesting one.

I had seen Marc the night before, as Karen and I sat on her stoop, enjoying the perfect weather and attempting to plan out our evening. He came outside bearing trash and stopped to talk to us. He acted guilty and made constant attempts to get my attention. When I could finally face him, I was mean. Karen's roommate, who had no knowledge of the history there, commented later that he had been walking on eggshells, not his normal self at all. Karen and I giggled at her apt description of his behavior. He invited us to dinner at his place the next night, making sure that I knew that I was included in that invitation.

And so, I walked into his house with trepidation last night. Unsure of what the night would bring.

As we all sat at the table, talking and laughing, I relaxed, settled into myself. Only tensing up again when he would reach over and put a hand on my thigh.

After dinner, he came up behind me and starting rubbing my shoulders, remarking on how tense I was. Then he asked to see The Tattoo, so I took off my jacket and pulled the straps of my cami and bra aside to show him the orchid on my right shoulder blade. He ran his finger over the tattoo, then slid it underneath my bra strap and ran his finger down the length of the strap, snapping it back into place. Everyone else had gone into the other room at this point, and as I turned around to face him, he cornered me.

Marc: Why were you so mean to me yesterday?
Me: Because you treated me like a cheap floozy.
Marc: What are you talking about?
Me: The text messages?!?!?
Marc: I only sent you one and you never wrote back.
Me: No. You didn't. Would you like to see the text message that I have from you?

I whip out my phone and show him. He says he didn't write it. He says he had a friend over that night and the friend must have been messing around with his phone while Marc was upstairs. He keeps my phone though takes the opportunity to read through other text messages in my phone book. He finds the text message that he wrote to me last December that I still have in there.

Marc: I didn't write this!
Me: Yes you did, you big dummy! Last December!

Understanding dawns on Marc's face and he looks at me confused. I've been caught with a 10 month old text message in my phone from him. I'm embarrassed.

Me: I'm out of here!

I grab my phone back, grab my purse and head out the front door. Unfortunately it's difficult to make a dramatic exit when the gate at the front of their apartment is locked and you have to be let out. Marc had followed me out and is standing at the top of the stairs, asking me to come back.

"Please let me out," I said.

"Please come back," he said.

I trudge back up the stairs. He puts his arms around me and asks me if we're okay.

"You didn't write those text messages?" I ask him.

"No," he said.

"Good, now I don't have to hate you anymore, " I said and I walked back inside. Not sure if I really believe him.

We watch TV, his hand resting on my arm. He asks me if I've ever seen the upstairs and when I answer to the negative, he offers me a tour, showing me his bedroom last. But when I jump on his bed, testing it's softness, he stands in the doorway just watching me. Later, as I'm on their computer, he comes over and starts wrestling around with me. His hand lingering a little too long, holding mine. He orders me to add him as a friend on myspace.

As I get up from the computer and walk away, he comes up behind me, putting his arms around me.

Marc: So, where's the boyfriend?
Me: Which one?

Marc holds up 2 fingers with a questioning look on his face. I nod.

Marc: Do you love them?
Me: No.
Marc: Do they love you?
Me: I doubt it. It's too early.
Marc: So, you're a player.
Me: I can't help it if men fall in love with me like crazy! Besides, neither one is really my boyfriend. I'm not dating anyone exclusively and I'm not choosing one over the other because I don't have to.
Marc: So, technically you're single.
Me: Yes
Marc: Me too

We talk as he cleans up his kitchen. Our old rapport established. The magic still there.

Everyone else in the house converges on the kitchen, its late and its time to go. We're gathering our stuff together in the living room and I poke my head into the kitchen to say goodnight to Marc.

"Goodnight," he says and I head out the door.

As I'm walking away, I hear from the kitchen- "Chloe!"

I turn around and head back.

He yells it louder this time, "CHLOE!!!!"

Me: WHAT?
Marc: We'll finish this conversation later, right?
Me: Sure. Anytime.

He steps in so he's super close to me. Invading all my personal space.

Marc: Okay then, later...

I kiss him on the cheek, dangerously close to his lips and leave.

Labels: Marc

Dear Marc-

I think of you all the time. I think of you everytime I hear "The Whistle Song" because of that night at your house when we spent hours messing around with your music and I laughed until I peed my pants at your "Seduce Me" playlist, which you still won't take credit for. Kanye West makes me think of you because I know how much you love his music and because of that time that I was shaking my ass to "Gold Digger" and your roommate asked me if I had learned about his music through you, which told me that you had been talking to your roommate about me. Chocolate chip cookies almost always make me wish I had some freshly baked so I could call you up and we could sit on the stoop and talk about nothing for hours, like we used to. John Madden Football reminds me of the night we played at your house and I could barely sit still at the utter excitement at just being with you.

At random times, I'll remember your hand in my hair, on my back or holding mine. I'll think back with regret about that night, when I was so scared to follow you into your house, and I chickened out and went home. I think often of how I wish I would have done that night differently. And how I cried and cried the next day about having potentially ruined everything with you. And then you called and talked about how you didn't want to ruin our friendship and I believed you.

It gives me warm fuzzies to remember how you text messaged me on Thanksgiving because you wanted to see me and called me the second you got back in town. Then came to meet me at Kevin's house, which was full of people, and you were text messaging me, even though you were just across the room.

I still have the text message that you sent to me on Christmas, where you called me "sweetheart" and I read it frequently because it makes me feel closer to you, or to what we once had anyway.

I pull these memories out from their box in my head frequently and I run my fingers over them as if they were my most cherised possessions. They put me to sleep at night and get me through rough days. I don't ever want to forget the intensity of what I felt for you, it reminds me of the abandon with which I can give my heart in times when I worry that I've got it locked up tight forever.

I've missed you these recent months. Everytime I go over to Karen's, I hope to run into you. To see your face, to refresh my fading memories. And when I run into your roommate instead, I hope that he'll tell you how hot I looked. But I understand where you are in your life and we never talked about what was going on between us, so I don't have the right to expect anything of you. I've been as lax in communicating with you as you have been with me.

But I always assumed that our friendship was still there. That I still meant something, or at least more than nothing.

I will probably always love you.

But I don't know if I like you anymore.

Sincerely-
Chloe

Labels: Marc

I wish I could tell you that I am making this story up, but unfortunately, I am not.

Throughout the last year, as jerk after jerk has left their mark on my life and my heart, there was always one guy that I looked to as The Good Guy (besides Email Boy, obviously). Marc had earned himself a spot on a pedestal in my life, as a friend and as a guy who seemed to genuinely always want to do the right thing. There was a night when we let the sexual tension at a party get the better of us and we almost ruined our friendship irrevocably, but I stopped things before they went too far and he apologized the next day for disrespecting me and our friendship.

Communication and interaction has been few and far between in the last few months, well, excluding the drama rama chronicled here, here, here, and here, but he has always been in the back of my mind, as the one that I would choose above all others. The one who- when other guys were jerks, it was okay, because I knew that as long as he was still out there, that good guys still existed.

So, I was pleasantly surprised to get the following text message from him last night:

'Hey cutie, what have you been up to?'

And having recently heard that he was asking Karen about me (they live next door to each other), I responded:

'Hey hot stuff, I heard you've been missing me something fierce.'

The response from him that sent me into a full-out FREAK out:

'Oh, yes. Want to come over to my place tonight so I can show you?'

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ALL ABOUT? Why is he treating me like some floozy in his little black book?

I spent some quality time shaking madly, pacing around my house and calling Karen frantically before I could respond.

Me: What are you going to show me?
Marc: Come over and see!
Me: Are we going to play John Madden?
Marc: No.

There is no way that I can go over there. Despite being physically indisposed (read: definitely not pregnant), I've had quality Dave and Scott time in the last week and even I have limits.

Me: Well, your timing is not so great. I can come over and I'd love to see you, but some things are off limits at this time.

And because I still have some small-town left in me and I want to believe the best in everyone, especially him, I hope that he responds and tells me to come over anyway.

No response at all.

And my heart breaks because I have just lost My Good Guy.

Labels: Marc

So, I'm working on moving past Scott, talking to my best friend about taking a break from all men, blah, blah, blah and actively avoiding checking two things- myspace and my phone.

I can only go so long without checking my phone and I check it briefly when I get back from lunch. A text message. In my heart I want it to be Scott, in my head I'm thinking it's my nutso friend, Cammy, who it always ends up being everytime I'm hoping for some communicado from my dark-skinned amour.

Wrong on both counts.

"Hello sweetheart."

From: Marc

Did I mention that I saw him recently? He had a party at his house. I went, I shook my ass and had a phenomenal time. I met an interesting guy (said he would call, OF COURSE he didn't) who walked me to the corner and stayed with me until I caught a cab. As we were leaving, we passed Marc, who grabbed me and kissed my cheeks until I had to push him away. He smacked me on the arm everytime he passed me and got a little freaky with me once when I was dancing.

I'm not reading anything into anything here. It's just interesting, his... timing.

Labels: Marc

Last night, Marc and I learned that maybe we did have the ability to communicate.

I was at Karen's. It had been a LONG, crazy weekend with insane amounts of alcohol and then subsequent vomiting. I was still sickish and exhausted and recuperating by conking out on Karen's couch during Gray's Anatomy. Another friend was over and a little hyper-sensitive. Her and Karen got into a fight, Friend had to leave, Karen had to let her out, there was a little more yelling at the gate that involved the word, "BITCH!".

Marc heard all this, since he lives directly next door to Karen and came out to see what all the commotion was about. They started talking, and Karen yelled up to me to take the cookies out of the oven and when I poked my head out the window, Marc said, "HEY!". I was so shocked at seeing him I didn't even respond. I just pulled my head back in the window and shut it. Then I realized that I was a being a big baby and this was a chance to set things straight. So I went down there.

As Karen and I were discussing the situation and he was listening, I could feel his eyes, searching my face. What was he looking for? What was he remembering? Karen then went upstairs. We talked.

At first, we pretended like nothing had happened at all. As if we just hadn't seen each for 3 months and there hadn't been any relationship altering text messages or emails. We talked about work and life and my tattoo (which he totally dug) and his plans for this coming year and everything except for the elephant between us.

Talk was winding down and he had dinner waiting inside for him. And then he brought it up. He was sorry, he said. He hadn't meant for me to take his text messages the way that I did. And then he said, "Why don't you ever come over anymore? When are you going to come and play Madden football again?"

Me: I don't know, I'm pretty crazy busy these days.
Marc: Will I see you again... soon?
Me: I don't know.

You'd think I could have come up with a more creative answer then the incessant 'I don't know'. But I was confused and I was afraid of showing too much emotion about anything.

I realized while we were talking that I couldn't look him in the eye. I couldn't let him see. I didn't want him to know that after all this time and all the tears and all the miscommunications, I was still in love with him.

Labels: Marc