Continued.

I’m going to really hate it if we actually get Sunday shopping here in Nova Scotia and I have to actually do WORK on my Sunday shifts.  I really love my ability to slack on Sundays.  I know I shouldn’t but I do it anyway.  Shhh…don’t tell.  And if you’re my boss, and you’re reading this?  Continue to not tell me—it would just be embarrassing for both of us.

 

Monday I watched the Oilers lose the Stanley cup, and B2 (hot-hot boy!) came over to watch with me.  It was nice.  We chatted a bit more, then smooched a lot.  He’s a great kisser.  And wow.  Yeah, I know that I’m out of practice, but I’m not that easy to impress. J  Sent him home around 2:30.  I’m a good girl. J

 

Wednesday night I went to swing class.  It was a riot.  I’m going to have to go by myself this Wednesday though, because Joanne’s out of town.  The following week, she’s back and I’m away, so I guess we should stay at about the same skill level.  Here’s hoping anyway! J  It’s not a class, actually, just a bunch of people that know how to swing, and like to do it who get together and have a social dance.  I love it, because they’re happy to have newbies that don’t know what they’re doing show up. J  Boys like to feel useful and learn you stuff. J

 

Did I mention that 3 days after I picked up my car and took her for a ride in it, Heidi went out and bought one identical to mine?  I know that imitation is the most sincere form of flattery and all…but sheesh.  She didn’t even shop or look around.  And last night, I picked her up to go downtown, and she was bitching about how low to the ground they are.  I told her it was a car for drivers and that I viewed that particular element as an asset.  Thinking to myself the whole time….”If you’d even test driven one, you’d have known that a hell of a lot sooner and you wouldn’t be stuck with a car you don’t like.”  But I didn’t say it.  I did get a bit condescending about the “I think that’s a selling feature—it’s really a car for people that LOVE to drive” though.  Suck it.  She also paid about 9 grand more than I did, so I guess I shouldn’t be bitter…but I am a little, and I know it’s irrational.  But I am.  So there.  I’ll get over it soon though.  In fact, everytime I think about the cash, I laugh and feel a LOT better. J 

 

So here’s the part where I make a confession.  I have been behaving slightly out of character.  But it’s been FUN.  So.  I could not tell you, but I’m going to.  Judge if you will.  Whatever. J  I don’t know if any of you would/could have done differently.  But you weren’t there. J  I was.  And I’m GLAD I was. J

 

So Wednesday after swing, I was wired.  I wanted a toasted tomato sandwich, so I went to the grocery store for tomatoes.  I did swing steps in the parking lot on the way back to the car.  I got online when I got home and had a message from Scott (B2) to call when I got home if I felt like it.  So I called him.  At 1:00 am.  Yeah.

 

Anyway, he came over to have sandwiches.  And smooch.  And smooch.  And…smooch some more.  So while nothing irrevocable happened, things were a little more heated than they probably should have been—all things considered.  He stayed until Thursday morning…which wasn’t that difficult, since we didn’t go to sleep until 6:00 am.  Yeah.  And did I mention how hot he is?  And that I don’t usually let boys stay, let alone invite them over to my house in the first place?

 

It’s amazing how much bolder I am when I have a roommate.  The last time I had a boy stay at my place was back when Kzelly and I got together—and that was because Heather was in the other room and it felt safe.

 

I could never be the party-girl that I see other of my friends being.  I have been questioning myself ever since.  Wavering alternately between ‘Why not?’ and ‘What on earth are you even considering that for?’  You see, the problem is that I judge Those Girls.  The girls that somehow don’t have a problem taking home some strange boy they met in a bar.  I judge them.  But worse than that, I worry that they will judge me.

 

I don’t REALLY judge them…well, sometimes I do.  For the most part, I admire their audacity.  I admire their self-determination and their willingness to sacrifice for their own satisfaction and enjoyment.  But you see where it is that my problem falls?  That I use the word ‘sacrifice’—like they’re giving up something valuable.  To me, they are.  I like being able to look myself in the mirror and KNOW where I’ve been, and KNOW where my partners have been.  I don’t want to be with someone just because they’re hot.  Well, I do…but I want there to be more to it.

 

I’m afraid that I don’t know how to make a relationship grow out of sex.  I can very much grow sex out of a relationship—that’s the easy stuff.  But does it ever work if it goes the other way around?  I’ve never met someone who said “Oh, Bill?  We met one night when I was hammered at the Palace and we’ve been married now for 26 years!”   More likely to hear the “I took home this really hot guy from The Palace—and he said he’d call.  But it’s been a week, and I haven’t heard from him yet.  I wonder why.”

 

I value myself and my self-esteem too much to allow those feelings to enter into my brain.  I do well enough with that crap just when I have a crush on someone!  I don’t need the grief of adding sex to the mix.

 

And yet.  Sometimes?  A girl just wants to get laid.  Crass, I know.  But there it is.  You married folks don’t realize how good you’ve got it.  Even when they’re cranky, and they drop their dirty socks on the floor, or they don’t take out the garbage even after they promised a hundred times—at least they’re there.  It’s NICE to roll over in bed and have someone’s elbow in your nose.  It’s annoyingly cozy to have someone steal the entire comforter AND the good pillow while you go to the bathroom.  It’s fun to be able to laugh naked.  Really?  That’s it for me.  The naked laughter is the best part of any relationship.

 

And there it is in a nutshell—my dilemma.  Are you a Good Girl, or do you let yourself have a Good Time? J  So I pick the middle of the road—good times, that I could still ALMOST tell my mother about, and that I can certainly tell my friends, a bunch of invisible strangers, about on the internet.

 

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