The Butler has spent the past three days sweeping me off my proverbial feet. And, true to form, I have spent the past three days begrudgingly trying to keep my feet on the ground.
It's not that I don't think The Butler is my favorite person in the DC metro area - he for sure is (tied with Coco, that is). I'm just unaccustomed to this sort of woo-ing and I guess I'm a little rusty.
What sort of woo-ing am I accustomed to? Well, my typical repertoire would include meeting a guy on Monday, moving in with him by Wednesday, burning down the apartment by Friday, spending Saturday piss-ass-drunk, and then making Sunday THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF MY LIFE.
But The Butler isn't playing along with my little game and truth be told, I'm a little nervous.
I'm nervous because I don't just have normal emotional connections with people. I love people feverishly and intensely. I have cut people for messing with Chokolate. I have taken people the fuck out for looking at Dora the wrong way. It's just how I roll -
violently aggressive loyally.
Ignore the theatrics. My point is that when I really like somebody, they become part of my entourage. And when you lose a part of your entourage, it's INTENSE. It's 3-week drunk intense. It's call ALL My Gay Husband's at 3am intense. It's lose your mind and find it in New Mexico 8 days later, no idea how it got there intense.
In my head, I've got to keep guys at distance because
men are genetically inferior to women you never know when they're going to move to China in the middle of the night (yes, that's happened to me); or break up with you on your birthday (yes, that has also happened to me); or pull out the fiance and the baby (oh yes, that's real too).
So here's my plan (because you know I've got a plan): I'm going to let him be nice to me. I'm not going to be all bat shit crazy when he's sweet. I'm not going to google his address to see if he's married (oh wait, I already did that - oh yes, I did)
And you know what? If he ends up moving to Afghanistan in the middle of the night, then so fucking be it. I mean, what's the point of all the glorious drugs in the world if there's not any pain to numb?
Ok, in other news, THIS IS THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF MY LIFE, so I'm going to
a) start playing the mandolin again
b) go to the tanning bed
c) lose 60 pounds
d) eat a bunch of Girl Scout cookies (unrelated to c)
e) sort my life into those ingenious boxes I keep talking about
Also, I know this post is lame. I'm working on getting my mojo working again. This involves heavy weed smoking and Grateful Dead - listening.