“You’re a lover of the wild and a joker of the heart, but are you mine? I wanna make you happy, I wanna make you feel alive.” – The Kooks
So. Being relationshippy is weird, and I had forgotten such things. Like, you choose your person and then you’re like, “Yup, you’re my person,” but then you don’t realize that, like, you have to interact with that person on multiple levels for multiple days. And that in doing so, they may see your weirdness, as much as you try to hide it.
Like the time this past week when he was over, and I had spent the day before sorta cleaning because hey! Company! and that I meant to do the dishes (read: throw them in the dishwasher) before he came over, but I got lazy and instead was like, “Kitchen? Who needs it? Not us, if we order food!” but what I didn’t plan on is forgetting to order drinks with the food.
… So not only did he search my fridge in search of a beverage and conclude that I SERIOUSLY NEEDED TO GO GROCERY SHOPPING, but then he also went in search of a glass to hold liquid and turned around to a sink full of dishes and almost died. (See? I told you he was a neat freak and that whole, “just trying to impress you” thing was NOT TRUE.) He then asked me if he could do my dishes for me, and I said, NO YOU CANNOT, and then I started laughing hysterically, because I was terrified at the prospect of someone touching any of my stuff, let alone dishes that had been there for – let’s be honest here – I HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG.
(Just so you know, there’s gonna be a lot of capital letters in this post. This is a post of complete freak outs on my part.)
Oh, and then we also had a discussion about phones. And Facebook. And how he can leave his phone completely elsewhere and doesn’t care. I can’t understand this. He doesn’t have Facebook ON HIS PHONE. This blows my mind. Like, what do you do when you’re bored, and on top of that, what do you do when you’re bored every four minutes? And even though he’s on Facebook, he doesn’t participate like a current Facebooker. There is nary a like or a comment to be seen. He’ll go along with my need to tag everyone, everywhere, to post as many pictures as my heart desires. BUT. He promises me he will never, ever post a status. He will never tag me in anything. And this just breaks my tiny little heart. So my life goal is to make sure that he’s a liar. Because I have to make sure that he will post something, eventually. I don’t know how I will do this, but I have to do it.
… Which indirectly brings us to just a couple days ago, when I tagged him in a Facebook status for the very first time (awww). He took me to this awesome arcade; he wanted to show me this game called Killer Queen, where you collect nectar and face off against another team and it was all very confusing but fun. For my part, I had no clue what the fuck I was doing, and since you’re playing with other people in a large team effort, I felt kind of bad. There was actually some dude who was screaming at me to do things but I didn’t realize for at least two whole minutes that he was screaming at me because all he kept saying was, “STRIPES YOU’RE UP TOP. STRIPES YOU’RE UP TOP!” Which means absolutely fucking nothing to me, or anyone else, anywhere.
Oh. I should also mention that I was drinking.
I should also also mention that probably an hour before I was drinking, I had had a doctor’s appointment, and had gotten 5 huge-ass vials of blood drawn.
I should also thirdly mention that I neglected to eat anything before any of this.
In case you’re not realizing, I am bolstering up my excuses for what follows.
So, there I am, two beers in, playing this game, getting yelled at, la la la, when I think to myself, “Self? You know what you should do? You should get another beer. That’s what you should do.”
That’s what I fucking did. And THEN. And then. I… went back to Paul, and was like, OH I WANNA PLAY THIS PINBALL GAME (I think it was Star Trek or something) and I was just horrible at it. Like ball kept not being hit by anything on my part and I was just like, “HAHAHA everything’s so awesome. I love you.”
And then I ran away, because I had to pee.
I remember very little after that, but oh, don’t worry. I have since been filled in by Mr. Awesome, who found this all very amusing. Apparently, I shouted random things of varying craziness at him. And then, once inside my apartment, he shoved food (takeout leftovers; I didn’t go grocery shopping, ’cause fuck that) at me, because I really, very, seriously, needed to eat something before I just about died from blood loss and alcohol. And after that, he made sure that I got to bed, and told me that while he couldn’t tell me that he loved me just yet (because he’s a smart, sensible, not-excitable-bunny human being!), he definitely could see it going that way. (See? Dexter Morgan, season 1: “… I’m very… fond… of her.”)
So, now, while he’s handled it beautifully, while I’ve shown him some of my full-force crazy (but that blood loss, tho), I’m like, “Well, Amanda, you can’t exactly take back what you said, because you said it and you felt it, and we know how you are about feelings, how you feel all the things, all the time, how the feelings, they never stop ever, at all, they just keep going…” I just feel like a stupid. Like I full-on-channeled Ted Mosby in How I Met Your Mother and Ted Mosby had a lot of groan-worthy annoying moments.
And it’s not like it’s changed our dynamic in any way, really. We’re still dating; I still find him charming, intelligent, humorous and attractive. I’m sure he still thinks I’m perfect but maybe I should eat more and drink less?
Have a good day, friends. Be kind to yourselves.