Raise the curtain.
You guys...seriously.
For long stretches of time, my life will be so boring and calm except for the retarded fantasies and dumb ideas that pop up in my brain from time to time. And then, suddenly, the whole goddamn thing gets smashed into tiny bits and my peace is ruined.
The last two days have served to blast everything to hell.
Friday night I went out and got wasted with a co-worker. Not THE Co-worker discussed in previous posts. This is a different one who is a close friend of THE Co-worker. Let's dub them CW1 and CW2. (This is starting to sound like some sort of robot love story, or maybe a chemical equation.)
So CW2 and I ran into each other at a club. As things were shutting down, CW2 suggested that my sister and I come over to his house, where a few friends would be gathering for nightcaps. I thought this was an excellent idea, though I knew that something was afoot. He was being just a little too nice to me.
At CW2's place, we drank some wine and babbled away over the squeals of naked girls in the hot tub and the grunts of lumbering, leering drunken dudes. It was all very...Playboy Mansion. But CW2 seemed not to notice the mini-bacchanal swirling in his house. Instead, he sat at a table and chatted with my sister and me.
Things began winding down around 3. Sis suddenly remembered that she had to work at 9 that morning. Since neither of us were in any condition to drive, I suggested that she hitch a ride in a taxi with one of our fellow partiers. I would sleep at CW2's place and bring our car home in the morning. I stuffed a wad of cash in her hand and she was on her way. The stage was set.
Ended up on CW2's tiny living room couch (the Abbreviated Couch, as it's affectionately known), snuggled under a downy comforter. Bit by bit we inched together. It's amazing how alcohol, which is supposed to depress the central nervous system, makes the sensations of touch and warmth even stronger and more tingly. For me, anyway.
So we started making out. He was an awful kisser. His main technique was to smash his mouth against mine and jam his tongue wherever it would go. But drunk and affection-starved as I was, I didn't mind too much. Eventually we moved to the bedroom, where we laid in his bed and talked. He gave me a backrub and a foot massage. I fell asleep (fully clothed, mind you) in his arms, with him stroking my hair.
In the morning we made out some more. He had an appointment to interview a band, so I gave him a ride. He kissed me goodbye and said he'd be in touch.
He called later that night. I was in a situation, though, and couldn't really talk. He made me promise to call him later or at least tomorrow (now today).
I feel all squishy. I don't know what's going on. This all happened so fast. I guess I'll call him later.
***
See up there where I said I was "in a situation?" Guess what that "situation" was? Guess, oh guess; please, please do.
OK, I'll tell you: CW1, THE Co-worker, the boy I've been crushing on for months but couldn't have because he had a serious girlfriend, got DUMPED by said girlfriend yesterday afternoon.
And who did he call for comfort? Me. Me me me me me. Granted, all of his close guy-friends were out of town on a ski trip, but still. Me.
He said that he didn't want to be alone drinking in his apartment, and wondered if he could come over and talk. We went to the bar in the downstairs of my building and discussed. His eyes welled up at regular intervals as he told me the sad story. Apparently his girlfriend felt that the magic was gone and wanted to move out. She said she felt suffocated and that he took her for granted.
He didn't see it coming, but he said that, in hindsight, he agrees with most of her complaints. There was an elephant in the room, as he put it.
So we talked for a while and played some pool to take his mind off things. I went to the bathroom at one point, and when I came back I found him staring into his beer with tears rolling down his cheeks as fucking Simon and Garfunkel's "The Boxer" played on the jukebox. That set us back at square one.
Ten beers (for him) later, his mood was much improved. Well, he was kind of manic. Anyway, we parted with a long hug.
I feel terrible for him. So terrible that I don't even want to jump his bones. Yet.
Commence the cuntastic dramarama.
For long stretches of time, my life will be so boring and calm except for the retarded fantasies and dumb ideas that pop up in my brain from time to time. And then, suddenly, the whole goddamn thing gets smashed into tiny bits and my peace is ruined.
The last two days have served to blast everything to hell.
Friday night I went out and got wasted with a co-worker. Not THE Co-worker discussed in previous posts. This is a different one who is a close friend of THE Co-worker. Let's dub them CW1 and CW2. (This is starting to sound like some sort of robot love story, or maybe a chemical equation.)
So CW2 and I ran into each other at a club. As things were shutting down, CW2 suggested that my sister and I come over to his house, where a few friends would be gathering for nightcaps. I thought this was an excellent idea, though I knew that something was afoot. He was being just a little too nice to me.
At CW2's place, we drank some wine and babbled away over the squeals of naked girls in the hot tub and the grunts of lumbering, leering drunken dudes. It was all very...Playboy Mansion. But CW2 seemed not to notice the mini-bacchanal swirling in his house. Instead, he sat at a table and chatted with my sister and me.
Things began winding down around 3. Sis suddenly remembered that she had to work at 9 that morning. Since neither of us were in any condition to drive, I suggested that she hitch a ride in a taxi with one of our fellow partiers. I would sleep at CW2's place and bring our car home in the morning. I stuffed a wad of cash in her hand and she was on her way. The stage was set.
Ended up on CW2's tiny living room couch (the Abbreviated Couch, as it's affectionately known), snuggled under a downy comforter. Bit by bit we inched together. It's amazing how alcohol, which is supposed to depress the central nervous system, makes the sensations of touch and warmth even stronger and more tingly. For me, anyway.
So we started making out. He was an awful kisser. His main technique was to smash his mouth against mine and jam his tongue wherever it would go. But drunk and affection-starved as I was, I didn't mind too much. Eventually we moved to the bedroom, where we laid in his bed and talked. He gave me a backrub and a foot massage. I fell asleep (fully clothed, mind you) in his arms, with him stroking my hair.
In the morning we made out some more. He had an appointment to interview a band, so I gave him a ride. He kissed me goodbye and said he'd be in touch.
He called later that night. I was in a situation, though, and couldn't really talk. He made me promise to call him later or at least tomorrow (now today).
I feel all squishy. I don't know what's going on. This all happened so fast. I guess I'll call him later.
***
See up there where I said I was "in a situation?" Guess what that "situation" was? Guess, oh guess; please, please do.
OK, I'll tell you: CW1, THE Co-worker, the boy I've been crushing on for months but couldn't have because he had a serious girlfriend, got DUMPED by said girlfriend yesterday afternoon.
And who did he call for comfort? Me. Me me me me me. Granted, all of his close guy-friends were out of town on a ski trip, but still. Me.
He said that he didn't want to be alone drinking in his apartment, and wondered if he could come over and talk. We went to the bar in the downstairs of my building and discussed. His eyes welled up at regular intervals as he told me the sad story. Apparently his girlfriend felt that the magic was gone and wanted to move out. She said she felt suffocated and that he took her for granted.
He didn't see it coming, but he said that, in hindsight, he agrees with most of her complaints. There was an elephant in the room, as he put it.
So we talked for a while and played some pool to take his mind off things. I went to the bathroom at one point, and when I came back I found him staring into his beer with tears rolling down his cheeks as fucking Simon and Garfunkel's "The Boxer" played on the jukebox. That set us back at square one.
Ten beers (for him) later, his mood was much improved. Well, he was kind of manic. Anyway, we parted with a long hug.
I feel terrible for him. So terrible that I don't even want to jump his bones. Yet.
Commence the cuntastic dramarama.
posted by Kathleen | 4:10 pm
I feel all squishy.
I'd recommend you steer clear of co-workers. I did tell you the first time, after all... I've been intertwined in these crappy situations, and they're not worth the anguish!
you know...you're absolutely right. *sigh*