I WANT MY PINK SHIRT BACK.

There almost always comes a time when relationships — boyfriends, lovers or something more casual — come to an end. I think only the people who meet “the one” on the first try are lucky enough to be spared of this moment. But for me, it’s not the ending that sucks the most — it’s the race to move on that’s worse. And if you aren’t the one who finds someone new first, you’re bound to hold a little bit of resentment toward your ex and the one who replaces you. While I can’t say my reasons for holding such hostile feelings are rational or reasonable, I contend that in the event of a breakup, it is only fair that some ground rules still exist. And should one choose to cross those lines, he should prepare for the wrath of woman. In my case, it all came down to me, him and a pair of sweatpants.

Right before I left Atlanta for good, I decided to spend some quality time with my former lover. I had finally gotten to a place where we were friends without benefits and could just do things that friends do. We’ve known each other for so long now that I value his opinions and know that I can be totally myself around him. On top of that, I no longer felt attracted to him like before when all I’d want to do is rip his clothes off. He tried several times to shack up, but I didn’t respond to his advances anymore. It took only 7 years to get to this place in my life, but after being in the same city for the last 2 years and spending 1 1/2 without any intimacy, I knew I had grown up and moved on. (And it may have also helped — and hurt — that I spent most of my time in Atlanta being infatuated with another guy.)

But in the last of my days down south, all my roommates had moved out and I was all alone in a very big house. I really wanted the company of my most recent fling, but he was vacationing in Florida so I resorted to my now-plutonic friend. We had a sleepover the first night that I was alone and we just watched a movie. All things were great until we went upstairs to bed. Now, we’ve had many sleepovers in these past 2 years, but only the few in the beginning ended in sex. This time, I realized it had been a very long while and I was always a fan of the saying, “go out with a bang,” so that’s exactly what I did. It was great (as I remembered it being) but none of my feelings returned and I saw it as finally passing the ultimate test. It was like step 12 of the 12-step program. We just went to bed after and parted ways after breakfast in the morning.

We would do this twice more before I left the city and he even helped me move out of my house; for which I will be always grateful because I could barely pick up any boxes. Yet it was the first time I felt like I was leaving him and completely OK with it. We still talked after my departure, but as his August birthday approached, I could see that there was a new leading lady in his life and that it was perhaps my time to let go completely.

I didn’t bring up the new girl to sound jealous because I swear wasn’t. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little annoyed that I moved to a new city and had no new prospects, and he stayed still and already had someone new. It just didn’t seem fair. After they had some public birthday activities together, I jokingly asked him if she was his new girlfriend. He (as always) said no, but he was known for saying that and then splurging on a birthday gift or going on vacation with them so I didn’t exactly believe it. I may have been under the influence when I started this conversation so it might not have gone as smoothly as I had hoped, but in the morning we laughed it off and that was that.

Well, that was until I saw a freshly posted picture of their most recent southern adventure together. I gathered that after a day of rafting down a river, he, new girl and friends decided to camp somewhere. I am not one for outdoor activities, but there is something nice about gathering around a camp fire at night. As I looked fondly at the photo, I noticed a pair of sweatpants that looked incredibly familiar. In fact, I zoomed into the picture and noticed that they were MY sweatpants in the photo even though I was not in it. And then when I looked really hard, I realized that my former lover was not wearing MY sweatpants, but his new girl was – she was wearing MY sweatpants that I unwillingly gave to my former lover as a parting gift/ because he wore them home after one of our sleepovers.

…Is he serious?

SHE’S WEARING MY FUCKING SWEATPANTS.

Maybe it’s totally irrational to be annoyed about this. But I actually really liked those sweatpants and only left them because he made such a big deal about keeping them; kept saying how he liked them and was glad I let him keep them. Maybe it’s  not even about the sweatpants, but how dare he take a gift that I GAVE HIM and lend it to ANOTHER GIRL who has probably kept them for herself because she feels like they’re his pants that she is sporting and for some reason, girls really enjoy wearing the clothes that belong to their significant other. I think it’s like some sort of label that “I’m taken” or something of that nature. I don’t know; I don’t really get it, but girls do it. And there she was, casually sitting in MY SWEATPANTS.

In reality, she probably just needed a pair of pants to wear (which in that case I don’t understand why she didn’t come prepared with them herself), but the least he could have done is give her a different pair or not posted a picture of it or known better than to have done either thing because I am woman and we notice these things. And then I just got mad. I felt like it was a blatant act of disrespect and I wanted to do nothing more than to curse him out, send him my mailing address and say, “I WANT MY GRAY SWEATPANTS BACK! (Voice escalating) I WANT MY GRAY SWEATPANTS BACK!!!”

After a temporary lapse of character and a mini-freak-out session in my room, I decided against saying anything. I figured if I said something directly to him, he would take it as I’m jealous of her. But in all honesty, I don’t care about her; I care about how much he doesn’t care. And maybe I shouldn’t care that he doesn’t care either, but seriously, who does that?! I wouldn’t give another man a T-shirt of his if he had given me one but I guess that’s one of the many differences between assholes and women. And then I thought, even if he gave me the sweatpants back, I wouldn’t even want to wear them anymore because they’d be tainted with betrayal and another woman’s lady parts.

Nobody likes an indian giver so I won’t be asking for those sweatpants back. But if he knew me as well as I thought he did, he would have thought twice about giving MY sweatpants to ANOTHER GIRL. He, new girl, and MY sweatpants can go on their merry way and I will continue to look for the man who wouldn’t regift my sweatpants. Or maybe find the man who would at least buy me a new pair.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.

Love Your Style

I think there comes a time in life where a girl has to face reality and ask herself, “what is wrong with you?”

I usually ask myself this question right after going to the mall and spending money I didn’t need to spend or maybe I just did something/someone inappropriate and I’m trying to figure out what to do next/ how to get him out of my bed and out of my house as soon as possible.

I most recently asked myself what is wrong with me after a new guy entered my life. He was great for many reasons and I had a crush on him for a while so I was so excited that things were happening. But then the night came and it must have been a full moon because shit got weird. Or at least it was weird for me. Or it was totally normal and I’m weird. I just think something is wrong with me.

School had ended in May and my time in Atlanta was coming to an end as well. A lot of the friends I made were also leaving so there were many goodbyes to say and many going away parties to enjoy. Last week, I went to a friend’s going away shabang and when I arrived, I immediately spotted my current crush sitting across the room. He and I had many mutual friends and we kissed once at a Christmas party, but somehow we never really ran into each other after that so nothing more came out of it. It didn’t take long before we gravitated toward each other at this party, though, and after some mutual flirting, I realized something more could be brewing underneath the innocent conversation.

I found him to be incredibly intriguing- tall, athletic build, nice smile – and he was a teacher so I just imagined that he was sweet and sensitive, too. Plus, from what I had heard, he was really funny and goofy, which is always a score in my book. And now that I knew he was interested, I decided to see where it could lead.

We ended up talking and dancing the whole night and pretty soon it was time to go home. I suppose we could have gone our separate ways, but we decided to keep the party going and went back to my place. (Sidebar: My intention was not necessarily to take him home. But I had a rough year and it had been months since I felt close to someone and I could give so many other reasons but honestly, women have needs, too). It was almost 4 in the morning so once the lights went down the clothes came right off. In my head, all I could think was, “My dry spell is finally over!” He, however, seemed to take a completely different angle on what was going on and uttered three words I had never heard during sex before: I love you.

…Pause for reaction.

A million things went through my head at this moment; especially because it was said like mid-thrust. I’ve heard a lot of things in the throws of sex before, but love? Not one of them. Even I love your body or even just uttering this is awesome would have been totally cool, but I love you? That’s new. I don’t think I said anything, but I did switch positions. That I was OK with.

I knew he was the relationship-type and I’m almost positive he hadn’t been intimate with many girls, so I figured it was something he was used to saying and it probably was reciprocated in the past. Then I thought maybe he didn’t even notice he said it. Sometimes people just say things and we had some drinks that night so it could have been just a drunken outcry. Then I figured, who wouldn’t want to hear that? It felt weird to me because I had never heard it in that context, but maybe most girls react positively to things like that in the bedroom. Right? Kind of? Not really?

When we finished, I was ready to sleep off some of what just happened, but he was all about that cuddling life. I didn’t want to seem cold so I snuggled up next to him and we fell asleep together.

In the morning, I figured he would have been ready to leave or maybe I just wanted him to leave a little bit, but every time I turned to see if he was up, he’d hug me and go back to sleep. Am I getting myself into a relationship or something? This is unfamiliar territory for me. I’ve always been used to pining over the “bad boy” or getting attention from somebody I didn’t want. But here he was – the perfect southern gent, doing all the right things and saying what’s probably the way to a girl’s heart and here I was rejecting it. I think I’ve gotten so used to being used by crappy people that I completely forgot what it’s like to have something healthy going on. Which brought me back to my original question – WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!

Eventually I drove homeboy and his roommate to his car and we said a simple goodbye. I wasn’t expecting to hear from him, but he texted me later that day to say how he had an awesome time with me and would love to hang out again soon.

Is this what dating is supposed to be like? A nice guy who does and says all (well, almost all) the right things? I’m not sure if it is, but I definitely like the feeling.

But let me emphasize that I LIKE the feeling; I certainly don’t LOVE it. For now, at least.

You’re So Last Summer

I’d like to begin this blog by saying I know I should have seen this coming. I mean, I said it myself — there’s no such fairy tale that ends with the cheating boyfriend and the girl on the side living happily ever after.

However, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m still bothered by the way things really ended and this post might reflect such feelings.

As I had left off, Bubble Boy and I were at the crux of the affair. It was clear that the “it was a one-time thing” excuse no longer worked for him, and despite my attempts to keep it strictly physical, I found myself contemplating the prospect of things lasting beyond the short time we had left together. Our chemistry was undeniable and it never felt inappropriate; never felt like we were doing something wrong. In fact, everything felt completely right. From the way we switched between “soft, sensual kisses,” as he called them, to more passionate, I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off moments, it all came so naturally. And I can’t stress enough how good it felt waking up next to him each morning. I felt like I could do it everyday for a very long time.

But as easily as I found myself slipping into dangerous territory, I got the rude awakening I needed when I went back home and realized that being close to my Loverboy once again did not actually mean a damn thing. I’ve read countless books and articles about it; I’ve seen it happen to friends; I saw the movie for goodness’ sake – sometimes, despite our best efforts, he’s just not that into you. And unfortunately for me, some boys are just too afraid to admit that.

While I was home, I might have had a little too much to drink and I maybe did the thing that girls shouldn’t do under that condition, but I decided to text him and see what his thoughts would be about us possibly meeting up while I was in town. I knew I was potentially setting myself up for rejection and was completely OK with that — well, drunk me was OK with that. I’m not so sure about sober me, though.

While I can’t say I remember the full extent of our exchange, I do remember some key phrases that prompted me to waste no time in deleting all of our text messages as well as his phone number and putting him on my “Assholes Who Deserve a Drink to the Face” list. So far he’s the only one technically on it, but I can definitely think of a few people I’ve met who would fit right in.

I’m sure this is obvious by now, but we did not see each other while I was home. However, from what I can recall, he actually said — and I kid you not — that his “bubble was intact” and he was going on vacation with his girlfriend in a couple of days so that was just an extra reason why we shouldn’t hang out. And then it hit me — He couldn’t have cared less about what I was feeling or what a mess he made out of my life so long as his his bubble stayed intact. Even if I got my feelings hurt, it was better my feelings than his own.

And the truth is, if he actually liked me as he so claimed, he would have been a little sympathetic in the situation. It’s not like I had hopes of ruining his relationship, I genuinely liked him and he knew that; and he used that as bait to keep me around. But in the end, he went back into his comfortable bubble like nothing happened and I simply became a casualty of love — Or should I say, lust.

I know I’m partly to blame for getting myself into this mess and there will be people who think I’m only to blame since I got in the middle of a relationship. But if you’ve ever felt anything for anyone before, you know how strong feelings can be and how hard it can be to follow your head instead of your heart sometimes. At the same time, I also know that following your heart is not to be confused with following your penis, and based on my experience, I would say Bubble Boy was following the latter.

So with that said, I guess it’s fine that the Adulterer and Home Wrecker go their separate ways. But if our paths do cross again, I’ll be sure to have that dirty martini ready in hand.

Popping Bubbles

Chapter 3: The Adulterer Has a Change of Heart/Libido

The fairy tale began with a girl who had been struck by cupid’s arrow. Obviously cupid had some trouble with his aim because the arrow ended up in a man who was already taken. The love-struck girl waited patiently in the whims until an alcoholic potion led the two into each other’s arms and their clothes (and regrets) at the door. The two would then enjoy a weekend of fantastic music with a little romance in between before they decided to part ways.

Some fairy tale, right?

After the music festival ended on Sunday, I spent a very melancholy Monday thinking of ways to keep myself from making any contact with Loverboy — or should I call him Bubble Boy since he spent so much time telling me about the “bubble” that is his rather lackluster life. I’d like to think that I brought some spice (or Spanish flavor) to his life, but he kept stressing that his bubble needed to stay afloat. So instead of bursting his bubble, I watched a marathon of Mob Wives instead and kept my phone as far away as possible.

By the next day, I was able to at least keep my phone handy while I did other things to distract myself. I went shopping and tried as much as I could not to bring up his name. You know that moment when you have a crush and you look for any excuse to bring them up? Yeah, it’s the worst. Thankfully my roommate had her siblings over so it helped keep the outbursts under control. At least that was the case until I got a text from inside the bubble.

I was minding my own business when my phone beeped. I saw his name appear and my face immediately turned red. I opened the text and couldn’t believe what it said: “Nobody’s home and I’m drinking by myself…”

I probably should have been more alarmed that he was drinking alone and using his apparent alcoholism to persuade me to come over, but instead I asked if that was an invitation. He was slightly embarrassed for being so bold, but I thought it was endearing. I showed my roommate, who rolled her eyes and said it’s obviously a booty call (which no one was denying), but I was all for it. I ran upstairs to get dolled up and I was ready to go in record time. I ran downstairs to make sure I looked OK and despite the nod of disapproval from my roomie, I left.

When I got there, he had clearly already knocked down a few. It wasn’t to a level where I thought he would pass out mid-conversation, but enough where he was talking fast and pacing the room. I finally got him to sit where we could just talk, but for once, I was at a loss for words. I wanted to justify everything that was going on but knew that there was no way to justify cheating. If anything, I wanted him to know that I wasn’t just there for a booty call. I was there because I wanted to be; because I like spending time with him and wish we could spend more time together.

He got serious after I admitted that and didn’t have much to say except that he was leaving in a week so nothing could happen beyond these last few days. It’s not exactly the response you want to hear, but I knew I couldn’t let him go without telling him how I really felt. After that, I suggested we go to bed to lighten the mood and we definitely used the bed; just not for sleep.

The next two days were a blur because we spent most of them together. We went out for an almost-final hoorah the following day after he cracked and made contact, and this time I was the one who was a little too intoxicated. For whatever reason, me and Bubble Boy did not mix when I was drinking because whenever the two were combined, I’d somehow always end up barfing. My friends would joke about it because it was like my body couldn’t handle how much I liked him that it made me sick. This was one of these nights. His roommate ended up driving me back to his place and setting up the couch and a bucket for me. When Loverboy came back, he was not fazed by the bucket or the sight of me drunk on his couch and brought me to his room. We did the usual and finished with a nice round of spooning.

The last night we had together got pretty uncomfortable. It was his last night out so he was ready to get a little loose. I know it sounds like we were drinking 90% of the time, but seriously, go big or go home. Unfortunately, he got into it a bit with one of my best friends and implied that she was ugly to her face. Now, I love men — and this man in particular had me fumbling over my own feet, but if there is one thing that men can never do is mess with my girls. I was so angry at him because in my head, if things were to ever actually go on, I would hate knowing that he didn’t get along with my friends. In fact, I don’t think I could date anyone who didn’t get the seal of approval from my girls. I ended up staying out with him, but spent the majority of the night pissed off and alone. He tried to apologize, but I wasn’t buying it and I made it a point to flirt with another guy just to piss him off. Eventually we went back to his place where we fought about it some more and eventually just went to bed without doing much of anything; even skipped the cuddling.

In the morning we kind of rolled into each other and just laid there. We started to kiss and it wasn’t long before the clothes were coming off, too. I think we knew the end was upon us and as mad as I still was, I was really upset that this was it. While he drove me home, he expressed how confused he was and how sorry he was for the way the night ended. I didn’t have much to say because I couldn’t believe he was leaving so I just listened to him talk instead. I was really going to miss him and didn’t really understand why. The whole situation was a mess and I was so tangled in it that I didn’t know how to get myself out. He asked me to tell my friend he was sorry again but I knew it meant nothing coming from me. Our final moment together was very anti-climatic. I just said, “Good Luck in New York” and got out of the car. No hug; no kiss; no chance to say anything else. We talked later that day and he decided to apologize to my friend separately, but it was all for nothing. He was leaving and that was the end. By the weekend, he was gone.

And here I am now; stuck. I’ve been in this position before — captivated by a man that I can’t have — but this time it feels worse. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to really, really like someone and knowing how great these last two weeks were makes it even harder to move on. If I’ve learned anything from this twisted love story, it’s that I’m such a fool for love. It can disappoint you; enchant you; destroy you or if you’re lucky, make you feel complete. I guess Loverboy wasn’t going to be the big love I pictured him to be for so long, but hopefully I made a little dent in his bubble. At least big enough to have left an impression on it.

Or if I’m lucky, it’ll just pop completely. I’m sure The Home Wrecker has set of tools somewhere.

The Show Must Go On

Chapter 2: The Adulterer and The Home Wrecker Go to a Music Festival

In case you’re just tuning in, I may have entered unchartered territory with the man who I’ve been pining over for almost a year. After months and months of semi-innocent flirting and close-calls, a little too much alcohol and a lot of sexual tension brought us to a morning after nobody thought would ever happen. We did it. A LOT. And he might still be in a relationship. And I might still be very into him. Ai yai yai.

We left each other that morning without a word, but he texted me later in the day to ask me not to tell anyone. All I wanted to do was tell the world that it happened, but I knew what was at stake here and agreed to keep quiet for the time being. Except I kind of told my one good friend, who was also going to be embarking on the upcoming trip to the 4-day music festival. I also figured that he’d confide in his best friend, who happened to be my friend’s boyfriend, and they both kind of witnessed the morning after so there was no sense in hiding the obvious.

All of this happened on a Tuesday and the drive to Tennessee started on that Thursday. I quickly realized that 48 hours was not enough time to digest the events that occurred and definitely not enough time to figure out how I felt about it. I mean, on one side I was so happy it finally happened because I thought it was what we both wanted. But then I started to think about how he might feel — was he angry? Relieved? Excited? Would it happen again? Could it happen again? So many thoughts ran through my mind and all I wanted to do was ask him. But he was probably more screwed up in the head than I was so I just kept it to myself.

The hours slowly passed, but soon enough it was Thursday morning. I drove over to his house, the meeting place, where I saw him for the first time since Tuesday. We awkwardly hugged and I tried to seem totally chill so that it wouldn’t be any more uncomfortable, but the elephant in the room was so big that I was practically riding it. To make matters worse/better/more uncomfortable, it turned out that plans had changed and we would now be taking two separate cars to get more camping room. We’d also have two separate tents. That meant my friend and his friend — the couple — would be together in one tent and me and Loverboy in the other. These arrangements would also be the same for the 3-hour drive. Had Tuesday not happened, I would have been super ecstatic about all these things. But without a clue of how he was feeling, I was sort of dreading everything. There was no turning back, so I took a deep breath and got in the car. (Well, we did actually have to turn back once because I forgot my bracelet to get into the venue, but after that 30 minute detour, we were off).

The ride turned out to be quite pleasant. We talked the entire time as if nothing happened and I felt like everything was going to be just fine. He had a great variety of music going and I felt really happy as we cruised along the pretty roads of the countryside. By the time we got there and set up our tents, I wasn’t even worried about the sleeping quarters because it seemed like everything worked itself out. Things only got weird when we went to our first show.

Once we found our place in the crowd, Loverboy purposely stood as far away from me as possible. I was actually surprised considering how smooth the car ride was, but maybe he felt weird in front of our friends. It’s not like anything sexual was happening, but it was more awkward that he stood away from me because whenever we were together pre-Tuesday, we were always near each other. I didn’t want to make it worse so I just stood by myself and pretended like nothing was different. Eventually we calmed our nerves recreationally and grooved to the good music instead.

When it came time to bed the first night, things got weird again. Although we had some privacy, he decided to go into the corner of the tent, away from the blowup mattress and blankets. He didn’t say a word; not even goodnight. He just turned into the corner and got quiet. I can’t even say he went to sleep because I was looking for something in the dark and he turned and started talking. When he stopped talking, I didn’t question it and just said goodnight.

The following morning we wanted to see different bands so we decided to separate after breakfast. Our friends went together to one show and I accompanied Loverboy to a show he really wanted to see. Although I didn’t particularly care about who I saw that afternoon, I was hoping to get a chance to pick his brain and see how he was handling everything. We had some time to sit before the show started, so I figured this was the perfect chance to talk. I thought about how to bring it up and settled on, “So are we gonna talk about it or just keep being weird?”

I think it caught him off guard, but he didn’t really know what to say. Obviously we couldn’t change the past, so I just focused the conversation on how we could make the best of the situation. This was an unfamiliar circumstance for him so I tried my best to be gentle with my words. In the end, we concluded that we should just act cool and worry about this at the end of the weekend. He eventually he came around and was back to his regular self. We watched the show, found our friends and everything was OK again. Things started to get better than OK as the night progressed.

I think there’s a reason that sex, drugs and rock & roll all go together because honestly, what’s better than those things? We were dancing all night and laughing hard and enjoying the festival like we should. But as the lighters came out for Radiohead’s darker side, things slowed way down — in a good way. We began to sway to the guitar rifts, our bodies close because of the amount of people, and our hands began to touch. First it was our hands grazing each other in passing and then it became a full grasp. I couldn’t let go. It was so nice; so refreshing. We didn’t look at each other or turn around to face each other. I just leaned on his chest behind me and he held on tight. When we went back that second night, he didn’t sleep in the corner. He tried to at first, but it didn’t take much convincing to get him onto the mattress. We started kiss gently and that was it. Had he not stopped I probably would have taken his pants off, but I settled for cuddling instead. The next day was the same — we didn’t go past first base, but I didn’t mind. By Sunday, we were ready to pack our things and go home.

The ride home was much more relaxed, but as we got closer to Atlanta, Loverboy said we had to have a serious talk about what happened. I should have known it was coming, but in a way I was hoping things would turn out differently. As I expected, he said this had to come to an end; it can’t happen anymore; it just makes everything complicated, etc. If he was thinking it was a mistake, he never said it, which I appreciated. But I almost wish he had so I could have been angry enough to say screw you and go on my way. He didn’t seem sure about anything he was saying so I just had to ask why it couldn’t keep happening a little bit.

We obviously had chemistry and judging by the past week we spent, there was a level of comfort with each other that I liked. He went on this rant about how he lives in a bubble and even with all this happening, he doesn’t want to break that bubble. His bubble, as he described it, was a simple life for a simple boy from Connecticut who has very little confidence so he’s OK with what he’s been dealt. If you ask me, the bubble sounds incredibly boring and just a security blanket for his insecurity of being alone. But he insisted he likes his bubble and wouldn’t know what his life would be without it. His bubble didn’t necessarily include his girlfriend in the way that you would think, it just sounded more like she was already in it when he made it so she might as well stay in it. I’m all for bubbles; in fact I like a man who thinks about his future and what he’d like to see in it. But I also like the idea of popping bubbles and creating new ones so I found his one life bubble to be very limiting. After poking fun at his bubble for a little while, I eventually agreed to let the past stay in the past and just move on in separate directions. The four of us decided to meet for one last dinner to end the weekend on a high note and after that, I was back to my car and on my way home.

I confessed everything to my roommates about what happened when I got home and they were in shock. I figured it was OK to say now because we weren’t going to see each other anymore. It was like detoxing after a long day of drinking and I just needed to start fresh with no secrets lingering in the background. Deep down I didn’t want things to end, but I was going to try my best to respect his wishes. Even if The Adulterer and The Home Wrecker ends after Chapter 2, I’ll be glad that we at least had that time together. There is still another two weeks before he officially moves out of the state, though, so it’s gonna take a lot of will power and self-control to put Loverboy in the past.

Or maybe just a lot of vodka and girls nights out will do the trick.

… Did I Do Thaaat?

Well, my Pink Fairy misguided me. I don’t know what to make of it yet, but it happened. “The Adulterer and The Home Wrecker” fairy tale has begun.

Once upon time, on a seasonably warm Tuesday afternoon, a friend invited me out to a local bar with her current fling, who also happens to be the roommate of my Loverboy. I casually agreed to go out — even though my heart was obviously ready to leap out of my chest — and spent the day getting my hair and nails done to make sure I looked absolutely amazing that night. In my defense, I would have done those things anyway because I was in dire need of a haircut and my nails were atrocious, but I guess you could say it was just good timing.

After my afternoon of pampering, I came home to some friendly teasing from my roommates – who found joy laughing at my pain – but I was confident that things were heating up. As I picked out my outfit and touched up my makeup, I felt like Cinderella dressing up for the ball; trying to look effortlessly beautiful so that my Loverboy would just fall in love with me at first sight. Unlike Cinderella, I wanted all this to last past midnight so I took the necessary precautions – hairspray and comfortable shoes – to make sure everything was perfect.

Once we arrived at the bar, which was less of a ballroom and more of a dungeon with bad karaoke, I immediately gravitated to Loverboy, who looked like his regular, awkwardly cute self. He isn’t particularly fashionable or confident and is one of the worst dancers I’ve ever seen, but something about him is just so irresistible to me. As usual, we spent most of the night dancing (and drinking) together and before we knew it, it was time to head home.

Now, I suppose the following situation could have been averted. After we walked home, I could have:

1) Called a cab home.

2) Asked someone who was sober to drive my car home.

3) Slept on the couch/extra bed/floor.

But no; my liquid courage told me to walk straight into his bedroom. I know that was a poor decision, but I guess I thought his conscious would kick in and tell me that it would never happen so I should just go. Instead, he closed the door behind him and started ranting about how bad this was, which confused me because nothing had happened… yet. Next thing I knew, he put his fist through the wall out of nowhere and continued saying that he didn’t know what to do.

By this point, I know some of you may think that I sound like a terrible person. And maybe some of you would argue that I am a terrible person, but I swear I wouldn’t have even gotten myself into that situation unless I really thought something more was there… which I guess doesn’t make anything better, but my Pink Fairy said that it made sense and I rolled with it.

We talked a little more about our feelings and at this point both of us were confused because it sounded like we knew what we wanted to happen, but we also knew how serious the repercussions could be.

There was a pause in our conversation and when I finally looked up, our eyes met. The sexual tension was at its climax and before I could stop myself, I went in for the kiss. It was a temporary lapse of judgment. I know; it was totally my fault and I did feel guilty for that part. But seconds later it happened again. And then again. And all of a sudden it was the kiss that changed everything. It all happened so fast after that – clothes were everywhere, hours had gone by and we spent every minute in the heat of a passionate love affair.

I knew it was wrong. It was just supposed to stay in my imagination, but everything about it felt so right. There had been only one other person before him who I had felt completely compatible with in the bedroom – my former lover – And here I was with Loverboy, wondering why everything felt so good when it was so, so very bad.

By the time the affair was said and done, the sun was coming up and I couldn’t wrap my head around what went on. I figured he would have wanted me to leave or go into another rant or something, but when it was time for bed, he put his arm around my waist and kissed me softly, like a gentle goodnight kiss. It was sweet; and just what my restless mind needed to fall asleep.

When I woke up and realized the error of my ways, I tried to leave and get out of the house before anyone else realized what had happened. But whenever I tried to leave, he’d pull me back down, kiss me gently, and fall back asleep with me in the nook of his arm. I loved the way it felt in his arms – it was so comfortable and effortless, like I had slept that way for years. And I don’t even like cuddling.

Before I left, we didn’t discuss the night before and kept quiet in front of our friends. But the hole in the wall and the piercing silence told a completely different story. Oh, and did I mention that we were about to embark on a 4-day trip together that upcoming weekend?

The Adulterer and The Home Wrecker: Chapter 2…

An Angel, A Devil and A Pink Fairy

Contrary to popular belief, I am a hopeless romantic. Sometimes I sound pessimistic about love, men or a functional combination of the two, but that’s only because love is a bitch and men are assholes.

Only kidding… but not really.

The truth is, I believe in love at first sight. I believe in finding “the one” who loves you for you. I believe in those butterflies that pop up in your stomach when you really, really like someone; and I believe that when the right person comes along, it always works out in the end because you are meant to be together.

Yes, I know — it’s sappy, irrational and totally unrealistic, but does it have to be that way?

If I’m being completely honest with myself, I should be the last person to believe in any of those things because all of my relationships – or lack thereof’s – have been complicated, messy and ultimately ended. Even if I look to my friends for hope, almost all of them have had at least one horrid love story and through the many fights and breakups I’ve sat through, I probably could have filled a river with all their tears.

From seeing these star-crossed romances and years of hurt feelings, it only makes sense that I would sound a little pessimistic when it comes to love, right? I mean, who am I to tell a friend that a guy cares about her when I know his actions say he doesn’t? Who am I to tell someone that they’re relationship is healthy when all signs point to an inevitable breakup (or in some cases, a lifetime of misery)? At the same time, though, who am I to judge?

We’ve all turned a blind-eye to things we knew were wrong when it was convenient or favorable for us. I don’t necessarily think it’s being selfish or greedy, but we’re humans; and there’s a “survival of the fittest” complex that exists in all of us. Sometimes our happiness comes at the expense of others and sometimes our pain is in someone else’s control, but I guess I just tell myself that it will all balance out. Well, that, or karma will rear its beautiful — or very ugly — head one day.

I currently find myself in one of those situations where my selfish desires are at war with my rational ones and I’ve completely lost sight of what I actually want. It’s as if the Devil and Angel on my shoulders have molded together into this pink fairy with a pitchfork that can justify all my irrational thoughts and turn them into only best-case scenarios. It’s hard to move forward when your moral compass is way off, but I’m hoping once I start making my way back to the righteous path, I’ll regain a sense of clarity.

So as you know, I have spent the better part of a year captivated by an unavailable man. It was easy at first because I didn’t know him at all and knew he was taken so I would let myself just fantasize about the possibility instead. But then we were introduced and we really hit it off. I wouldn’t say it was love at first sight — because that’s a little dramatic and it’s hard to call it love when he loves someone else — but there was definitely a mutual attraction and unfortunately for me, very palpable sexual tension.

He has been in a relationship with the same girl since high school — the first and only girl he’s ever kissed — which makes his relationship kind of romantic, in a 1950′s love kind of way. And if they really do end up together, it’s the type of love story you might see in one of those cheesy chick-flicks (so not judging).

But on the other side, I think of those tragic love stories where some woman has been happily dating someone for years until she meets the real love of her life and has to decide between comfort and true happiness. Does she stay with the man she knows will never leave or leave for the man who could be the greatest risk of her life?

In my head, I have concocted this dream where my real-life Loverboy is caught in this exact dilemma. I mean, it’s not entirely made-up because he has made some questionable comments to suggest he’s more comfortable than he is happy, but like I said before, who am I to judge?

He’s very loyal, obviously, if he has been with one person for all this time and has never acted on any temptations that I’m sure have come his way. He’s also funny and awkwardly charming, and did I mention that he’s tall and handsome, too? These are the times where my friends literally have to snap me out of my Loverboy trance and remind me that it’s not going to happen.

At the same time, though, he and I have had our own share of moments where I can’t help but think about the what-ifs. Even if you’re in a relationship, you can’t help being attracted to other people because you are human, after all. But usually people in happily committed relationships don’t tell other people that they’re attracted to them and would like to do inappropriate things to them. Now I don’t say this to make him sound like a bad boyfriend, because like I said, he’s kissed only ONE human being in his life. But his body language and actions sing a very different tune than his words and that’s the part that keeps me hanging on.

So here I am in limbo — torn between my carnal impulses and my desire for a good, honest love. With my Angel or Devil gone and only my Pink Fairy left to guide me, everything seems like a reasonable thought. Maybe he will leave his girlfriend so we can finally break the sexual tension; or maybe we’ll get caught in a moment where we lose sense of reality and realize we want to be with each other; or maybe she’ll dump him for someone else and when he turns to me, I will have moved on; or maybe none of the above will happen, he’ll stay with his girlfriend and we’ll always just be a “what-if.”

I mean, really, let’s think about how our love story would actually be written:

“… And The Adulterer and Home Wrecker lived happily ever after.”

Seriously, what am I thinking? Am I losing it or does that story sound completely normal? Am I a fool for still thinking anything will happen or am I just chasing the Loverboy that could change my life? Is their really such a thing as a hopeless romantic or is that just a nice way of saying you’re delusional and need to gain some real perspective?

As I said before and think I should repeat once more — love is a bitch and men are assholes. But I’d like to believe that there’s still hope for us hopeless romantics/ delusional people. Hopefully my Pink Fairy will use its pitchfork to point me in the right direction and not to create a mess of my love life.

But then again, here I am talking about having a Pink Fairy making my decisions so I might already be too far gone.

Yikes.