2003 was an excellent vintage for reisling.

It's days like these that make me miss Ex-Boyfriend J.

Were I still with him (and the space-time continuum could be broken) I could say "Boyfriend, I've had such a long day at work, and my back is so sore." And I can guarantee that he would have been in my apartment giving me a massage as quickly as possible.


Not to knock current Boyfriend, because I don't need, nor want, to be treated like a spoiled princess, but Boyfriend's response to my mention of a long day and sore back is simply that it's my own fault for refusing to go to a chiropractor.


Perhaps because Boyfriend makes enough money to go to whichever specialist he wants to see at the drop of a hat, he cannot properly comprehend why I don't feel like spending the remainder of my medical savings on a trip to some chiropractor who will just tell me to come in twice a week for the rest of my life. Yes, I know my back isn't straight. Yes, I know the strain is probably the cause of my back pain. Yes, I know that I need some kind of treatment.


But, surprise! I don't have that kind of money laying around. I have the kind of money laying around to cover a trip to the doctor and the subsequent prescription that I will probably have to fill.

It's not that I don't appreciate Boyfriend's encouragement to see a specialist to fix whatever ails me today, it's that I'd rather have a cup of tea when my throat is sore, and I'd rather have a little company and a backrub when I've had a bad day and sore back. It slightly bothers me that it doesn't occur to him to ever rub my back, or whatever. And, this isn't really about backrubs, either.


I suppose the real issue is that Boyfriend is pressing the cohabitation issue really hard, and it's getting harder to say no- especially as Roommates seemingly devolve before my eyes daily. He's also started poking the fertility issue a bit- a move that obviously has heavy implications. I've mentioned that I'm nearly positive that I won't get pregnant without plenty of aid from the medical community- and I would rather spend that money acquiring a child who is already breathing and hungry.


I bring it up, because I've dated a few men who are looking to get married and have babies- and so I think it's only fair to mention that I doubt that I could wiggle my way into such a plan. Boyfriend, at first, was very okay with this. He said that he didn't really want to have children, and that he doubted that he even wanted to get married.


I thought I had landed a near-perfect male. He was smart, had a sarcastic wit, enjoyed the Chicago Art and Music scene, was a musician, had a well-paying day job, was not crazy, and only wore one belt at a time. Unfortunately, I ran into a few problems along the way- turns out that those really cute long-haired mysterious musicians are really just shy guys- and his ability to relate to women was....Minimal. Our intimate life left a lot to be desired. And, it turns out, he has jumped ship on me- and now feels that he would be quite content being domestic. Oh, and I met his cat- and really, I hate her so much, all of the other unfortunate qualities seem harmless.

Anyway, valentines day is coming up- and I'm not working that day, or the day after- meaning I'll probably be with him those days, and I can look forward to more cohabitation pressure, uncomfortable amounts of orchestrated cuddling, and probably a glass of that fantastic riesling that he's hoarding for a "special occasion." I hope that riesling is worth it.

I suppose I'll just wait and see how it turns out- I hope he doesn't surprise me with anything that I don't want and can't refuse- like having actually signed the lease to that apartment we both liked. Yes, I thought the place was fantastic. But, no, I don't want to move in with him. And, if he gets the place, my guilt would ride me into the ground...I'd have to move in with him.



...Especially since he's hanging a large chunk of cash over my head that has been designated to buy all new furniture (save a couch- our most recent purchase) and essentially play house.

"i will be your dad and mother"

I just love it when he sends me a lullaby playlist because he knows I have a hard time going to sleep. It's always different- no repeats.



A special lullaby playlist, just for tonight. I love it. I love the little things.


"i will keep the bad things from you" x the damnwells
"soul meets body" x death cab for cutie
"pin your wings down" x copeland
"acoustic #10" x goo goo dolls
"lullaby" the cure.



good boy. good night.

appointments

Gah.


I signed on to my instant messenger service for a few minutes between errands, and Boyfriend said hello. I greeted him, and I was soon called away to another set of errands.


I come back to the following message:

"maybe we'll talk some time again, but sounds like I need to make an appointment first"


Good GOD! Sometimes, I'm busy. In fact, I'm busy all the time, but I usually carve out at least an hour to communicate with him daily. He does not always return the favor, but that's not a bad thing. The point is: sometimes I have things to do, and he's getting pissy when I can't be there to listen to something that probably won't interest me, anyway. I don't understand the bad attitude he's got when days like this pop up. His separation anxiety bothers me, too.

Rolling Eyes, Heads

I've gotten to my last straw with workplace: and that might be because I've found a new workplace. Either way, about 20 minutes before the end of my shift (when I planned on putting in my two weeks), I was called into the office of Employer W. Now, Employer W is a bitch in the highest degree, but I avoid her, and so she doesn't really bother me, but today, we got to butt heads.


Anyway, while I had her full attention (after being told that I'm an eye-roller) I put in my two weeks (woohoo). I think she was taken aback- she surely planned on me saying something to the effect of "yes massah, I do loves to be workin' fo' yah! please lemme keep mah job, massah, oh please."

Instead, she got a "yes, well, I'm giving you my two week notice, anyway." Her eyebrows got all high and archy, and she looked over her glasses at me.

"I didn't mean that this is a problem, we're happy to have you on the team." She gushed.

"I've already found employment elsewhere" I replied, tersely.

"Oh, I- okay. Do you mind telling me why you're leaving?" She questioned.

"This job is not satisfying any of my needs. Physically, I need to be able to cover my bills- especially in the case of illness. Emotionally, I need to work somewhere that isn't stressful. Intellectually, I need something challenging, or at least interesting. Socially, I need to be around people who aren't catty or ignorant. Workplace offers no benefits, minimal pay, loads of stress, monotonous work, and an environment that not only harbors and nurtures gossip but also hate- and I can't really take one more ignorant person telling me that homosexuals are sinful, immoral, damned, an abomination or deserve to die." I shot back.

She sat in stunned silence. I was self-satisfied. Quivering, yes; but also quite self-satisfied.


In other news, Mark wants to see the upcoming Belle and Sebastian show. Blech. But, The New Pornographers will be there- and that should be good enough to make up for B&S

Magic Vaginas

I try to never be jealous- frankly, I don't look good in green.


That's why I was consumed with raging fire when John very publicly courted and moved in his new girlfriend, Sam. She's way prettier than I could ever dream of being- so she must be a better human, right? And in all the turmoil of hating her, I hated myself for being jealouse: I broke up with him, I should be fine with him having another girlfriend. God knows, he wasn't faithful while we were together, why would I think that he would spend more than a second single after I left. Either way, that's not the point.


The point was, I hated her for having sex with John in "our" bed. I'm not sure why that really bothered me...it wasn't even really my bed. I tried not to let him know that I was jealous: I wanted to be the cool ex-girlfriend. So, he doesn't know that I hate her, or her reportedly fantastic vagina.

While sitting around at work, waiting for a timer to go off, no doubt, I was thinking about Katrina, and that little apartment, and all of the endearing things about the time we spent together being underwater: everything from "our" bed to the battleground to his mother's house to the diner. I kind of got misty, and I'm not really sure why: I have definitely moved on, I have a new and improved boyfriend (well, somewhat improved, and no longer new), I'm happier now than I ever have been, and for the love of all that is good and holy, I haven't thought about him in forever.

And then, all of a sudden, I got this really really comforting thought: "our" bed was underwater, covered in mold, and can never be used ever again.


Thank God.


I mean, he's still with the magic vagina, and that doesn't really bother me, anymore. My own vagina insecurities have been mostly resolved, and frankly, I don't care how good her bits feel to his bits. The issue is more that I have a lot of memories tied to that bed, and don't think that I mean dirty instances: I mean that we spent a lot of time just hanging out at night...talking, reading, working, etc. It was a haven, really. And I shuddered to think of her bedding down in "our" bed. Now she can't, haha. They have a new bed, and that's fine. That's their bed. Not "ours."


But all of this talk about magic vaginas and beds isn't the point. A dear friend (whom, I regret to say, has drifted from me) managed to get back to New Orleans and take pictures of a few things: mostly damaged property from our old neighborhood locales. She mentioned that she got a picture or two of my apartment building, and I was only mildly curious to see it...I really wanted to ask her if there was any way she could make it out to Chalmette and get a picture of John's place...Because, I don't care what happened to the Calhoun St. apartment: that meant nothing. But John's place...John's place was special, and I want to see the ruin myself. I want to see the grave of "our" place.

He says he'll never go back. He seems quite content in Houston. He's always wanted a good excuse to get the fuck out of Chalmette...and so I find it quite comforting that the little apartment that was the stage for so many emotionally charged moments and strong memories (or both fantastic and deplorable things) is gone, and will never play host to him. This is entirely selfish and childish: but the silver lining of that fucking hurricane is that fucking house is gone.




And while I sat during dinner, staring at this new boy, one thing kept nagging me: why did I still care? It's been a year and a half since I moved out of that shithole. I have a functioning mate. We're sitting in a diner having a wonderful meal discussing future plans. Why do I want to see the ruins of that place so badly?

willyoumoveinwithme?

Just got back from another night with Boyfriend. It was another 24 hours of "whydon'tyoumoveintwithme?whydon'tyoumoveintwithme?whydon'tyoumoveintwithme?whydon'tyoumoveintwithme?"


frankly, the thought of living with another boyfriend is...well...not my cup of tea. see, by moving in together, you essentially sign on to either have a really really messy breakup that can only occur after having the funds to move out (which i won't for a long time- and therefore might be trapped in a relationship that I dislike) OR i plan on heading toward marriage (which i don't think is right for us...at least for right now)


either way, as i was attempting to drift off to sleep last night, it dawned on me that the differences between Boyfriend and I were all quite well illustrated by his couch(es).


1. he is too quick to spend a lot of money. i usually need plenty of time to think about it, but one day, he just kind of looked at me and said "i would like a new couch." and the next day, were were couch shopping. he just wrote a check for a $2,000 couch. you know, just because he wanted a new one. i would have sat on the old sofa until it fell apart.

2. he is irritatingly picky when making purchases. we spent (and i'm not kidding) 4 hours looking through fabric swatches to figure out what would be best for his aesthetics and his apartment. wanna know the best part? there were only 3 swatches. i managed to pick out the swatch that eventually won in a matter of 10 minutes- not ten minutes of comparison to the other two swatches, but 10 minutes after entering the fabric gallery. i chose the couch that eventually won after two trial sits on each of the qualifing pieces of furniture...it took him three days of walking in and sitting on each couch that met size and shape qualifications. it mostly just started to annoy me how picky he was about really stupid details.

3. he includes me on these very important long-term purchases. if i were buying a couch, he would not go. it would be my couch for my apartment...and he would see my purchase when i had finished making the decision. BUT, we went looking for the couch together, and it was very much referenced as our couch- where it very much is his couch...but that's really just another example of how he believes that everything that is currently his will soon be ours. i still very much feel that what is mine is mine...and that won't be changing any time soon. in fact, if what is mine becomes what is ours, he might be the second half of "us."

4. he is insanely picky about what he purchases, and then treats his possessions with a much different attitude. he has a cat- a cat with all of its claws, and frankly, it ripped his previous sofa to shreds. if i had this cat, it would either have to live without its claws, or live without me. i'm not going to pay $2,000 for a new sofa that the cat will use as a scratching post, no sir. moreover, i would not let that little beast on the sofa, but, rather than enjoying his new purchase, he has it draped with an ugly blanket to protect it from cat hair. to me, it makes more sense to say "no cats on the furniture" than to say "i will sit on this ugly scratchy blanket because it makes the cat happy." fuck that cat- give it to someone who loves little beasts and get a fucking fish.

5. i sleep on the couch. Boyfriend sleeps in a twin bed- and that in and of itself really bothers me. i think all grown men who have left their dorm rooms should own at least a double bed. you're not a child anymore, stop sleeping in a child's bed. BUT, when i first started sleeping over at his apartment, i slept on the couch while he took the bed. it seems a little bitchy to even mention this, but it bothered me that he never even offered his bed. not that i would have taken his offer- but this points to the greater issue that i've noticed- that is that he is very much used to being alone...his behavior points to never having had to consider the needs or wants.




i'm also really pissed that we spent time looking at model apartments...mostly because for a while (during the model apartment time) i really wanted to move in with him...after that, i came to my senses and realized that this was not a good plan...


gah. so much pressure.

Email

The following is a quote from an email from Boy. Boy and I had plans to see each other today through Thursday (we're kind of like weekend warriors), but, I've become a bit ill, so I'm using my time off to recover, and kick the illness before I go back to work Thursday afternoon. I wrote him a quick note to tell him that I wouldn't be spending time with him, and I got the following bit back:


"Trying to be with you is becoming a very lonely experience. I worry
that my connection to you will falter. Sometimes, like right now and
for the last few days, I feel like you're only in my imagination, when I
want your real companionship and it isn't possible."


now, here's what I wrote back:

I'm sorry to hear that you feel lonely in this relationship. I know that, since we don't live close to each other, it's hard to see each other often, and that can strain our ability to maintain a good relationship. I don't want to be your imaginary girlfriend, and hopefully we can amend that situation when I'm feeling better- I plan on using my time off next week to stay with you. We can talk more about that then- not to mention create a way to juggle work schedules to make everything fit. Right now is very busy for me, and I don't want to feel like I'm edging you out- I'm just genuinely very busy and in a stressful time right now, a time that is, perhaps, not best suited to nurture a relationship. Obviously, that just means that we have to be mindful and considerate of circumstances.



what i wanted to write:

Dear Boyfriend-
I think you have a good reason to be paranoid about me ending this relationship. It makes me angry that you manipulate everything that I say about Roommates into reasons why I should move in with you. I don't like how you take me furniture shopping for your apartment- and then refer to the items purchased as "our" things. I find it irritating that you understand that I work to make ends meet, but I'm still the one paying $20 in transportation to see you- when you are the one with the flexible schedule and car. I even have a short list of reasons why I don't like you- and why I am contemplating leaving you.

1. I -hate- your cat. when you aren't looking, I flip it off. When you're in the shower, I tell it in Spanish that I want to kill it. and I do. If it weren't for the fact that I care about animal rights, I would have killed your cat by now. I refuse to move in with you for as long as your stupid beast has claws in the front paws. I also refuse to move in for as long as your cat has teeth, because it manages to destroy a piece of your property every day. You're the dumbass who decided to put a fucking barn cat in a one bedroom apartment, I'm not going to be the dumbass who lets your beast ruin my things. I've been down that road before, and it didn't end nicely.

2. You make me feel very self conscious about my body in a very bad way. And, your bones poke me. Seriously, it hurts. Eat something.

3. You take too long to get ready. This sounds even more retarded than the cat point, but for the love of god...this is ridiculous. You can call me and surprise me with any activity- from a baseball game to a white tie dinner, and I promise you that I can be ready to roll in 30 minutes or less. When we get Indian takeout, you need at least 3 hours to groom before we can get in the car, get dinner, and go back to the apartment to eat. It drives me crazy that you have to stop the car, get out, and make a special stop (or go back home!) because you see a hair out of place in your rear-view mirror. If you looked bad, I would tell you. You're fine, stop being such a girl.

4. You base your mental health on my presence. I'm really happy that your anxiety issues have all but disappeared, but it really bothers me that you claim that I am the reason these issues were resolved. It also bothers me that you think that all of your issues will return if I leave- it quadruples any guilt I already incur for attempting to dump you.

5. There is close to zero affection between us, and while I like things a little cooler, I don't like to wonder if you are not attracted to me, gay, or a fucking robot.


There are other issues, but that's for another time. The important thing for you to know is that you shouldn't give me a jump off point to dump you, because I'll do it. Because, if you feel so fucking alone, don't waste your time being faithful to me- go date whichever groupie you pick up next. God knows I've had my eye on someone for a while now. So, if it feels like you can't have my companionship in your hour of need, why don't you get in your fucking car, and make the drive to see me? when's the last time you were in my neighborhood? 5, 6 weeks ago? Roommates don't bite- and I know you feel uncomfortable staying in my room with them here, but it's not like we're having sex. Your neighbors can feed your beast, you're welcome to spend the night here when you're feeling lonely. I can't just take time off and come see you- I'll lose my job, or worse, step on the toes of Coworker.


I'm sick, I'm tired, I'm lonely (too), I'm not really happy with you, and I'm in a bad mood, now is not the right time to say that I'm not providing sufficient girlfriend service to you, especially since I mostly feel like some kind of escort who shows up for dinners with your family, time with your friends, work functions, and cultural events- but somehow shells out for the pleasure of being the smiley puppet.

I refuse to move in with you- even though you want to buy that house that we both liked, and you've been willing to completely change your lifestyle to urge me to live with you. I like Roommates, and I like my livingspace. I'm not sure that I like you- and I won't be living with you.

-Girlfriend.