Wrapping up ‘08

It’s 2009, and my inconsistent blogging habits are coming back to bite me in the asscheeks.  See, I’ve been meaning to write to you.  I really have.  But in the days following the Great Turkey Pigout, and my admission that I wanted to be The Kid’s girlfriend, things changed… rapidly.

But first, let’s recap this like an episode of The Hills.

I, Aubrey, began dating The Kid in late August 2008.  It wasn’t anything spectacular, but by October, we were meeting up every week, having sleepovers, and banging on a dately basis.  If I had to rank his skills, I’d have to say he falls significantly lower than what I’d like, but it’s not always about sex…right?  So, one day in November, I pop out with a sentence like, oh, so I want to be your girlfriend.

Hm.

That didn’t go over too well, though he replied with “Okay, we’ll work on that.”  Following this, I made my decision to date around a bit more.  Well, the thing is… I decided to see how my ex, The Rebel was doing.  After all, he had been calling recently, asking to hang out.  So, after I watched the not-as-awesome-as-the-novel version of Twilight, I drove over to hang out with The Rebel.  It turns out that there’s still a little spark there, and the memory of our A+ sex life quickly moved us from catching up, to making out, to doing the horizonal tango.  (And I kid you not, we are still hot in bed together — maybe better than I remembered).

It was after this date bang that I went back to The Kid to discuss where we really stood.  He admitted to seeing other people, and I admitted to seeing other people.  (What?  The Rebel counts.)  He then told me, “But you’re the closest thing I have to a relationship right now.”

I took some comfort in knowing that, because as much fun as I had with my ex, I don’t want to fall in love with my ex all over again.  The Kid told me, “You know, even if we were in a committed relationship, if I wasn’t satisfying you sexually, I’d still be okay with you finding it elsewhere.” What?

I told my still-love-interest The Saint about this conversation, and he — being the gentlemanly Knight in Shining Armor that he is — immediately advised me to drop him, stating that despite the Kid’s liberal nature, the statement didn’t show me any respect or demonstrated any integrity.

Not long later, I found out by the Internet’s #1 Stalker’s Source (i.e. Facebook), just who the other girl is.  Now, mind you, I didn’t go looking for her.  She called her own ass out when she waved a big ass flag saying, “Here I am” when she left him a comment, using an endearment.  Before you go rolling your eyes and telling me I’m overreacting, let me explain.

I have no problem with endearments.  I do, however, have a problem with publicly laying claim on someone when there is no — at least, to my knowledge — commitment in existence.

But this was just the first offense.  I let it slide.  After all, I sometimes call my male friends, “Babe”… Actually, wait.  No.  No, I don’t.

Offense #2 came two days later when she used the endearment once MORE when she left him a comment.  At this point, I had grown widely suspicious and had stopped calling and texting the Kid.  If he wanted to talk to me, he knew where he could find me.  I bid my time.

That weekend, pictures of the two of them at a Disneyland popped up.  “Are we the cutest, or are we the cutest?” the Kid remarked on one of their couple-y photos.

That did it.  I was done.  It’s not that I can’t share; it’s that I don’t want it in my face.  Nevermind that rationale ought to dictate that Facebook isn’t exactly public.  It’s public enough for me, and I called him to let him know it’s been fun, but I couldn’t do this the way he wanted to.  Except, he didn’t answer and I didn’t leave a message.

That was a month ago, and I haven’t heard a peep from him since.

In the time that’s elapsed, however, I’ve managed to reconnect with my ex, the Rebel.  A week after we had our date bang session, he called me asking if he could come over and spend the night (since he has to travel far the next day, and I live closer… this is reasonable.  This is practical.)  He came by, planted a couple ardent kisses on me, took a shower, and came to me in my room with particular purpose.

He looked at me as if he hadn’t seen me in years (which, well… up until the week before, he hadn’t).  He told me I was so cute and he leaned in to kiss me, but he stopped himself.

“I have to tell you something,” he said.  His face was very serious.  I shifted uncomfortably.  No one likes conversations that begin this way.  “I have to tell you the truth, and I don’t want to, but I have to.”

“Okay…”

“I’m bisexual, and I’ve been sleeping with a man.”

……….

Whaaaaatttt?!??!??!?!!

The ball, presumably, was now in my court.

-A.