Out of Order

"Out of Order"

Whenever we see or hear that phrase, it can mean a lot of things. It could refer to something that is broken and not currently functioning. It could mean that things are in disarray; out of order from the neat and proper way that they are supposed to be kept, out of place. Or, perhaps one of the most infamous ways this phrase has ever been uttered, from the movie "A Few Good Men": "You're out of order"! - inappropriate, stepping over the lines of decency. I've definitely applied all of those definitions to different aspects of my life within the past few weeks and they are really starting to take their toll on me. My whole universe is currently "out of order".

........

It all started with a boy, as most things in my life tend to start with. I met a boy who was nice and kind and sweet. I really liked him, I really did. But, I am so broken and out of order. There's just too much baggage in my life, skeletons banging to get out of my closets, that I could never expect someone like him to be able to handle that. He would never be able to carry all my baggage. And so, I let things go to the wayside.

And then, I met another boy. The only problem was: Boy #2 was Boy #1's roommate.

Because I'm not enough of a martyr. Because I apparently can't handle enough chaos in my life that I just need to keep piling it on and getting myself into situations that are unhealthy and probably going to end in (ok, always destined to end in) disaster, I moved things forward with Boy #2. (Apparently, they conferred about this situation - aka Me - first and Boy #1 gave reluctant approval for Boy #2 to ask me out.)

And I really liked Boy #2. He was basically like, the boy version of me. (Except, clearly, I'm way cooler and more attractive. /sarcasm) We became "partners in awesomeness". He thought I was clever and funny and beautiful (all true things, obviously) and I thought he was handsome and smart and brilliant. I admired and adored him. I loved joking and laughing and smiling and plotting with him.

Yet, despite all those awesome feelings and fun times, I kept defaulting to my stupid thing that I do with boys where I keep them at arms length and pretend I don't have feelings because I don't want to get hurt and try to keep everything as casual as possible and pretend like I don't care.

Only problem is: I started to care. And it scared the shit out of me.

"Hmm, I think I might kind of like you...", I once told him, half joking, half serious. 

I kept trying to tell myself things to psych myself out of it, like "Well, I'm never going to love him like I love Emmett. He's never going to be as good as Emmett." or "Oh, I'm not trying to put down roots in Philadelphia. I'm leaving soon. I can't get into anything serious." My friend and I even resorted to making Pro & Con lists about him. (I know we all remember that episode of FRIENDS where Ross makes the Julie & Rachel pro/con list - and we saw how well that turned out at the time. "She's not Ratchum!??!")

But I started feeling like maybe this could be something serious, like maybe I could really fall for this person, like maybe Philadelphia wasn't so bad after all as long as I had someone to share it with. I got butterflies when I was with him and I got sad when we were apart. I always wanted to be around him; sharing kisses and creativity and scotch and calamari. That, my friends, sent me into the panic of the century. I started having anxiety attacks, worrying that I was going to get trapped here in Philadelphia - in a job I hate, in a sub-par relationship with someone who was not the soul mate I envisioned for myself. So of course, I went into self-sabotage mode.

Anything good in my life will always turn to shit. And its 99.9% always my fault.

The whole version of events as to how we met was something that we joked about a lot. It was unavoidable - literally. I mean, I was dating someone who had a roommate who I also went on a date with once. And there were playful jokes about well, maybe I should just go on over to Boy #1's room sometime and try and seduce him - or whatever. Totally and completely not serious, but wheels kept turning in my head. I kept having these "What if?" moments.

What if I had just dated Boy #1 instead? It wasn't that I didn't like him; we had a lot of common interests. What if I could date Boy #1 Mondays, Wednesdays & Fridays and Boy #2 Sundays, Tuesdays & Thursdays and then they could alternate Saturdays? What if I could really get these guys into a polyamorous relationship and have them be totally cool with it? I mean, in the Millenium trilogy, Berger is able to have her husband for one part of her life to fulfill certain needs, and Blomkvist as her lover and for everything else. Why could I have that too?

So, I got fucking greedy is what fucking happened.

I had already started being aloof with Boy #2 and downplaying things and acting like I didn't care. Rubbing it in his face that I'd applied to 2 jobs back home one week and how my boss had asked if he would come with me and I'd recoiled in disgust like, "GOD NO! I mean, it's not THAT serious!" How I couldn't wait to get the fuck out of Philadelphia and leave this shit stink of a town behind - and presumably him as well.

And then, one night, I did the unthinkable: I, while under the influence of several beers and shots of Patron, messaged Boy #1 and asked him to come over.

I mean, I wasn't even really being serious. I wasn't home at the time. I wasn't expecting him to actually come over. I knew he was out drunk too so I don't even know how he'd even get to my house (that I wasn't at). And even if he had shown up, I probably would have slammed the door in his face and laughed.

And then Boy #1 told Boy #2 and he was pissed.

I don't know why I expected him not to be. I don't know why I thought "I was really drunk" was going to be an excuse and he was going to forgive me for it. (Maybe because I once blatantly tried to shove my hands down the pants of a friend of a guy that I was dating - and not really into - right in front of him while shitfaced?) That's an excuse you use when you're 18, not when you're 28. And so I don't really know why I was shocked when he broke up with me.

At first, I was pissed and angry. Like, HOW DARE HE! Like I didn't cause this; that this was somehow his fault. And so I sat around being really pissy and angry for a week and hating Boy #1 and Boy #2 for getting me into this situation. Like somehow this all could have been prevented from Day 1 if we just had some kind of weird threesome and then let everything work itself out. To have eased the tension of avoiding Boy #1 every time I came to their apartment. To have stopped thinking about how I was flaunting this relationship with his roommate in his face.

Point is: I hurt people's feelings. And that's what's really fucking out of order.

My behavior was out of order and what I did isn't really forgivable. Shit, I wouldn't forgive me. But that's because I don't forgive anyone easily. (Must run in my family because my Mom is really good at holding grudges for decades.) But I wish I could be forgiven. I wish this albatross wasn't hanging from my neck day in and day out. I wish I could just go back and erase everything that happened - but I can't. I have felt guilt about what I've done, this pit in my stomach that won't go away. I hate myself. I deserve this shitty feeling of feeling like a shitty person because I am one.

And I want to apologize. 

I've really started to like it in Philadelphia, and it was because of you. And now, I feel like I can't even go certain places because they remind me of you or things that we could be doing together. I sit there and I think, "Oh, he would really love this or that." Or, I'll see something that would be perfect for you or have an idea or a joke. And I can't even tell you about it because you hate me.

You inspired me to be something better than I was. The girl just biding my time til I got the hell up out of dodge; you made me want to do more, be more, dream bigger. The cupcake business, marketing ideas, freelancing - you awakened these dreams inside me to help me make my time here so much more enjoyable - and now, I just feel empty again and uninspired. I admired the way you dreamed big - the things that you wanted to create and I wish that I could be by your side supporting you and seeing you through it, seeing your genius reach the light. I wish I could be your partner again. I adored listening to how passionate you were about everything - and I won't lie, that's what I found sexiest about you - your creativity and intelligence. I was like a moth to a flame just wanting to feed off your energy and have that kind of dream for myself too.

I know you hate me right now. And you have every right to. I betrayed you. It was wrong and stupid and I want you to know how truly sorry I am. I am begging you please, if you could just listen with your heart when I tell you that, I know you can't forgive me right now - but I'm going to do everything in my power to make it up to you. No matter what happens. No matter what you decide to do. I hope we can at least be friends again one day.

I'm Sorry, Ricky.

Boys, Boys, Boys

As a member of the female species, at some point in your life you start to garner attention from members of the opposite sex, some good, some bad, some warranted, some completely disgusting. Growing up I was the “Ugly Duckling”, a victim of bad genes that caused me to go through a sophomore year sporting both braces and glasses. Then, eventually, as I ventured into adulthood, I began to take control of my sexuality. It had its advantages and disadvantages. With the inception of social networking sites, I got to throw it in the faces of tons of guys who had ignored me in High School as I pressed the “DENIED” button on their Myspace friend request and deleted their “Whoa! You got HOT!” messages. I also got to use my God-given gifts to wrap a modest slew of guys around my finger to get what I wanted, when I wanted: rides, drinks, free meals, purses, and random money. (Not a gold digging amount by any means, but more like the ‘Can you lend me $100?’ which I never have to pay you back –type.) But, beauty was a gift and a curse.

I found myself with a series of stalkers in the past. One such nuisance in particular being my asshole, life ruining ex-boyfriend, who I can’t decide if it’s simply desperation on his part or a secret sense of satisfaction knowing that every time he calls or messages and I don’t answer that he is raining on my happy parade. Almost two and a half years since we ended our relationship and he persists to try to get me to communicate with him in some way, shape or form. It starts out nice and needy: “I need to talk to you. Please call me sometime this week.” And then, like someone flipped a switch, his Mr. Hyde side comes out and the threats and nonsense talk begin. (Usually some babble about how much of a cold hearted bitch I am – that’s his favorite term for me.) I refuse to give into these pathetic and childish little games he likes to play and it’s rather unfortunate that he has nothing better going on in his life that he still feels the need to try and get in touch with me or to try and push my buttons.

Stalker #2 is much tamer. I met him through Craigslist (big mistake) when I moved to Philly because I was trying to find friends. We exchanged emails back and forth for a bit and finally met up one night, both drunk and out with our friends, for about 5 minutes. To make up for this, we decided to hang out the next day and go shopping. I couldn’t decide if he was really hungover, really dull, or both. But I honestly got tired of having to lead the conversation with him and so decided to avoid hanging out with him again. Until Thanksgiving weekend. I was bored and home and he wanted to go out for drinks, so I decided to join and figured I probably wouldn’t have to pull my wallet out all night. I was right. We drank until last call then got burritos and went back to his house to watch some TV. Well, we always know where that leads. One second we’re watching pawn selling on TLC, the next, we’re making out and headed towards his bedroom.

There was no sex involved but lots of hot and heavy followed by intense cuddling. I mean, really intense. Like, this guy seriously wrapped himself around me all night and caressed every inch of my body lovingly and kissed me all over. It was really, really bizarre. The weirdest part of all is that he looked like the low-rent version of my Stalker ex. Both tall, built, Italian, dark hair, blue eyes. They could have been Fraternal twins. Except stalker #2 had NO personality – something confirmed by our drinking time in the bar that night. (Although he did loosen up a bit after a few Jack & Cokes.) In the morning I finally managed to break free from his Bear hug so I could go home and get ready for my date with another guy that night.

A few weeks later, I made the mistake of getting ridiculously drunk at my office’s holiday party and went home and decided to let my stalker come over and hang out. Big mistake. First off, I showed up at my front door wearing red lace lingerie under a fleece Rubber Ducky bathrobe and wearing a Captain’s hat. I figured that would scare him off. It didn’t. When he came into my room, we sat on my bed and I drunk rambled and almost started crying. That didn’t scare him off either. He hugged me to make me feel better, then we made out and got naked. And then again, all night with the Bear hugging. Only, it had started snowing out overnight so the heat kicked on full blast. My room already reached sauna-like temperatures, so that combined with his hot, large naked body pressed against mine plus my dried out wine hangover, I thought I was going to die. As I woke up in the morning, still suffocating, a heavy snow had begun to fall outside overnight and was accumulating rapidly and I still had this guy in my bed. So what do you do when you want to get someone out of your house? Why, you do what any normal person does: Have sex with them so that they leave. And that’s just what I did. And I haven’t seen my stalker since, even though he persists to text me randomly every weekend to see what I am doing or to invite me over to just hang out and cuddle. Fuck. That. Shit.

I’m gonna backtrack a little bit to that date I had the night after my hibernation session with Stalker #2. I went out one night with some gay friends and I persuaded one of them to take me to the “Straight Bar” so I could try and get some. Well, when you walk into a bar full of White, Straight people with a big, Black, Straight-acting Gay man, things don’t really go so well. He sensed this and left me there by myself. I went and sat at the bar to drown my pathetic-ness in some beers since the Straight bar was pretty much dead for almost Midnight on a Saturday and I clearly was going home alone. Then, a guy came to the bar to get a drink and began chatting me up, asking me why I looked so sad. I told him that I was new to the area and all my friends were Gay and abandoned me there. So he offered to buy me a drink and invited me to hang out with him and his group of friends. I happily obliged and we went to another bar after, then back to one of his friend’s apartments. We talked and had a good time and then it got to be about time that I left so I headed out to go catch a cab. This guy was such a gentleman! He walked with me and took the cab ride with me, (Turned out he was staying at a friend’s place a little ways past my apartment.) and even PAID! Plus, he asked for my number – I gave it to him, figuring he wouldn’t call. But sure enough, following the “Swingers” code, he called me that Tuesday to ask me out for the weekend. I said yes and was very excited. I had a real date!

We went to a very nice French bistro in Philadelphia’s fancy Rittenhouse Square. Wow – This was just about the nicest date I’d ever been on! Usually I get taken to TGIFridays or something! We had 2 bottles of wine, escargots, crème brulee, and a meal in between. Then he took me home and I invited him in to watch some episodes of “Always Sunny in Philadelphia”, which he’d never seen before. Then, of course, we made out. But that was as far as it went. I wanted to keep it classy. He left and called again for a 2nd date again on Tuesday. This time we were going to a nice Thai BYOB near my house. He bought 2 bottles of wine but we only drank one and headed to a local bar afterwards. But at the bar, things got a little weird. After drinking and talking and having what I thought was a good time, he tells me “Oh I can’t always be paying for things.” And I was like, um… ok? Then don’t take me to expensive restaurants? I said “Oh sure, that’s fine. I understand.” We finished up our drinks and left to get our car from the parking garage. However, that is the last thing I remember: I woke up in bed naked next to him in the morning not remembering what happened. When I told him this, he seemed a little nervous and uneasy. He told me we had apparently had sex, and what I sure was jokingly, that we did it twice and that I said he was the best I’d ever had. I felt bad and wanted to get him out of my house, so I went to my drawer, got a condom, and had sex with him so he could leave.

Skip to the post-Stalker date: We went to TGIFridays (!) and then to a house party (double !). I got to meet his friends who seemed cool. We watched movies, had some drinks. Then we got onto the conversation of the sex-I-didn’t-remember. Well, apparently he hadn’t used a “rainjacket” because he didn’t have any. (Seriously? Who calls a condom a rainjacket?) And we both had an “Oh Shit.” Moment and decided it would be best if he took me home. Again, I woke up naked in bed next to him – this time in the middle of the night and even more “OH SHIT!” The next morning, with condom wrapper on my dresser this time, I didn’t even bother. I rolled over to tried to give him the hint that he should GTFO and finally he said he had to leave. I kissed him goodbye and then prayed to god for the next few weeks that I got my period. It came and I breathed a sigh of relief. I also didn’t hear from him again until shortly before Christmas when he sent me a text message asking if “Anything happened regarding what we talked about last time we hung out.” I texted him back and told him not to worry about it and I never heard from him again. And that’s my date rape story!

It’s really hard to date in this world. Guys are hit or miss. Forrest Gump was right: Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.