I’ve recently been informed that I have been largely remiss
in my blog posts this summer. SORRY!
Summer has been super busy. I went to
Connecticut, Chicago, New Hampshire, Nantucket and of course my favorite OBX.
I've already written about my Azerbaijani experience but there was also the huge
build up guy, great date, never called again guy. And after some stopping and starting up
again, there is something that finally might start. Now, I can write about him because I'm 99% sure
he has no idea how to find this blog and smartly, is not on Facebook. However, that doesn’t mean I’m going to
disclose his name. For my amusement and
yours we will refer to him as Mr. Big. I’m
not just ripping off SATC for the hell of it there are in fact similarities
that cannot be ignored.
- I am a poor girl – Carrie, in reality, would be poor
- I’m a struggling writer – Carrie, in reality, would be struggling with 1 column to support her
- Mr. Big in both cases is older, much wealthier, and has his shit together
- I have no shit. Nothing is together. And while I am in fact getting older, I’m not getting wiser.
The deciding moment on whether or not I want to make this
thing a “thing” will take place the last weekend in August. So needless to say, I am over thinking everything,
working myself up into a tizzy (a word my mom uses), and expecting the worst. There may already be… feelings.
GROSS!
Feelings for my paramours are not something that I usually disclose but
I woke up in a cold sweat the other night and I think it was because I am
afraid of becoming emotionally vulnerable, or not allowing myself to be and
then dying alone with my bastard cat eating my eyeballs… never knowing what
could have been. Of course the cold
sweat cold also be attributed to some questionable take-out I had.
38 year old men say how they feel, well more so than 25 year
old men. He’s not fucking around. Whereas I, minored in fucking around. Some of
the required classes were napping, taping The Maury Povich Show, eating
at 3am after drinking, paying someone else to do your laundry and
procrastination.
To be serious about something means you care if ends. So when I’m not ruminating about how to
appear loveable, sexy, cute, normal and intelligent all at the same time, I sit
back and think about what if it all works?
Could it be that I'm not actually scared of him finding out about my unwillingness to
eat white foods, obsession with dogs and bad temper? Am I really just afraid of the L word? (L-O-V-E not that show about lesbians on Showtime) I mean, usually girls grow up planning
weddings and their perfect lives and all that goes with it. I just assumed with my swarthy looks, clumsiness,
and affinity for tantrums I’d bounce around from one disaster to the next
ending up somewhere between Jane Eyre (before she returns to blind Mr.
Rochester), unrequited and tortured; or settling at 40, after years of
fruitless dates and drama. I never
thought hmm maybe after the obsessive lunatics, hurtful people, and sexual deviants
I might get someone who actually fits.
Even if this isn’t right for me, I made a conscious decision
to make a concerted effort at being an adult and am open human being. I’ll rein my craziness in but still be
myself, try not to embarrass myself, and see how it goes.
Hey, it took Carrie 10 years to get her Mr. Big… fingers
crossed
Now I better not fuck it up.
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