So, my internet went wonky for a while and I couldn’t post anything – or read anything from any of you fine people. Please don’t take it personally. I know you’ve missed me so badly that you felt betrayed by my absence. Shhh. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.
Internet’s fixed. Glory, hallelujah – I can now search for videos of how to solve my infuriating miniature Rubik’s Cube. I keep getting one side done and then flying into a rage about the other five.
So, while I was away, I was losing my mind. In case you wondered. Did you know that I have some serious issues with being attracted to unavailable men? What is that? I’m not attracted to the married ones. Not even a little bit, though three such men have professed their “love” to me (to zero interest on my behalf). No, I’m just attracted to the ones who can’t make up their minds. Seriously, I have a history. Jack. This other ten-year thing before him with a guy named Ryan. And now… now it’s Javier.
Well, not really.
Javier is very nice and fairly attractive. He lives in the neighborhood. He’s smart and he has an accent on account of he’s from Colombia. He loves his mother and sleeps on his own couch when she comes to visit for a month because his brother has lived with him for four years without paying any rent and Javi doesn’t have the heart to kick him out, so when his mom comes from Colombia, Javier gives her his own bedroom. He’s a gentleman and took the blame when I broke a glass at our friend’s house Saturday night. He loves wine and it’s his fault that I had a raging headache for most of Sunday. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that I kept swallowing the wine and champagne he was pouring into my glasses at two people’s houses between the hours of 8pm and (oh, dear) 4am.
Fortunately, one of those houses was mine.
Javi, however, has a girlfriend. A girlfriend he never brings to anything. She shows up occasionally, but not often. I think I’ve met her twice. He also has a very close female friend, Adhira, who has a serious boyfriend for whom she’s moving to South America in 3.5 years. Allegedly.
South America’s a big place. I don’t know exactly where down there she’s going.
Not the point. Point is: Javi is unavailable and is rather Jack-like and Ryan-like in his way of having a girlfriend he never talks about and close female friends he may or may not have a more-than-friendly connection with and I kind of have a crush on him. Also he got me drunk.
Totally his fault except for the part about me drinking what he poured so many times.
To his credit (and this is what I tend to do, by the way: give guys gold stars for behaving the way they should behave, as though they’ve done something epic and amazing), at 4am when most of the people who had come to my house after the first part of the evening were leaving, and I had scurried about putting sheets on extra beds for those who couldn’t manage to walk the block or two to their own homes (oh yeah – I throw a good after-party), and, when I (think I) told him he could either sleep in the basement or go home, he chose to go home.
I say I think I told him he could sleep in the basement because in my head, that’s where he was going to sleep if he stayed. I had just put the sheets on that bed. But at the door when we were sort of awkwardly exchanging “what do you think you want to do?” phrases after cleaning up, there seemed to be some uncertainty. But I’m pretty sure I pointed at the basement and the door to indicate that those were his options.
Anyway, he went home. Which is totally good, because I wanted him to kiss me, but that was all. Mouth to mouth with hands held firmly away from flesh. Truly. I lay in my bed afterward, having somehow absented my contact lenses from my eyes and wondering if the people in the other bedroom were having any kind of really silent sex in there, thinking about how much I did not want anyone else in my bed because that would be a really bad idea right now in my world. Especially if he were emotionally unavailable. I’ve had enough of that particular variety.
Sure, sure, one can avoid that brand of attachment if one doesn’t have anyone in one’s bed other than one’s partner in marriage. Alas, that horse has left the proverbial barn. I’m 36 years old. Sorry, Mom and Jesus. Couldn’t wait.
Jesus was dead by 33, anyway.
Aaaaaand I’m going to hell. For that last comment if not for the sex.
Wow, do I lack focus in this post.
Alright, so the problem that’s gelling in my head (one day away from my reunion with my shrinakpist, Ali Velshi, who I thought I was going to see last Tuesday, but alas, I had gotten the appointment date wrong, which I only realized after I had walked into his office, signed in and presented my new insurance information to the receptionist) is that I have a pattern, and that pattern is that I fall for unavailable men. Why? I’ve scoured my brain for Daddy Issues and, on a relative scale, find none. I developed this tendency when I was 15. No kidding. Twenty-one years later I’m still stuck in it. Anybody who’s been the slightest bit available has failed to stick to the relationship longer than a year.
Pretty sure I’m broken, you guys.
Unlike my internet and my Rubik’s Cube.