Being Stupid

The Mormon is back in town, and he is getting up unusually early for a Sunday (for him) so that we can spend a few hours in the morning together before I go to work.  I’m so excited.

But meanwhile, I had to find other things to do this weekend (as I did not feel like doing my homework).  Today I went to lunch at Seven Bridges with my friend Andrew.  I’d never been there before.  Their blackened mahi-mahi sandwich is amazing!

Then we went to the mall and, while we were walking around, Andrew had the novel idea that we should go up the down escalator.  So of course we had to.  We waited until it was clear and then started running.  He was right in front of me, and I couldn’t see anything but the stairs I was on, so I had no idea how close to the top I was until he tripped on the stable ground.  And I was still running hard, wondering how many people were waiting, and then I tripped and was suddenly at the top, and this girl said in an extremely rude voice, “Excuse you.”  I laughed right in her face.  We both started laughing and then walking, which was difficult for a moment, because it just was, and he was headed in the direction of a cop who’d probably been standing there watching us the entire time, and I grabbed him and said, “No, not that way, there’s a cop that way,” and we walked the other way, still laughing.

A couple minutes later, he said loudly, “Geez, can you believe those people who were running up the down escalator?  I mean, what assholes!”

Screw rude people who don’t know how to have fun.  It was very liberating.  If you’re going to try it, just make sure you don’t walk into a cop right afterward.


Being Selfish

I am so losing my drive.

I was doing so well with my homework, every single night, I’d come home, do it, and go to sleep.  That’s how every day went—wake up, get ready to go, go to class, go to work, do my homework, go to bed, start over.  I’m still doing that, but I screw around with my homework more and more now.  I keep thinking, Oh, I can just do that tomorrow, and then do.

Last week I couldn’t even concentrate in class.  I just sat through all my classes, for all those hours and fifteen minutes, staring off into space, thinking about goodness knows what.

Tomorrow I have to know what I’m going to be writing my five-page essay on for my Makings of Memory class.  I’ve had a week to figure this out.  I still have no clue.

I’d been kind of working on a rewards system—I kill myself every day of every week and then the weekend comes and everything is wonderful for two days, and now I just found out that I will only have one weekend with The Mormon for this entire month.  (And let me reiterate–weekends are the only times that I see him at all.)  So now I’m doing all of this work and there is nothing at all to get me through it or console me.  Just the promise of a weekend where I’m stuck at home with my angry father and with nothing to do.  I am so depressed.  Why does being so busy make me depressed?  It’s always like this.  Nobody else gets like this.  Other people are just like, yeah, I’m busy, whatever, life goes on.  It doesn’t work that way for me.

I’m being so selfish.  I’m always so selfish.  Why am I so selfish?  Fuck.

This entry is completely depressing.

Saturday nights are just so sad because I know the week is starting again the next day.  I am literally so busy these days that this is the first opportunity I have had to update this thing since a week ago.  And it isn’t bad being busy really; but being too busy has always made me depressed.  I can’t decide if I’m too busy or not; I don’t have any free time during the day, but my weekends are not completely used up, either.  If they were, then I would certainly be too busy.  No, what is really depressing is that I am so busy during the week and it isn’t physically possible for me to even see The Mormon any day except Friday and Saturday.  And even that is only for part of the day.  He has class until 2:30 on Fridays, and today I only got to see him between 5:30 and 9:30, and that was it.  Next weekend I will not see him because he will be out of town with the debate team that he joined for the sole purpose of getting grant money.  (He found out today that he will not be getting the $2000 grant money because he still lives with his parents, but he’s going to see this thing through to the end because he isn’t a quitter.)  If I knew that I could see him at night when I wanted to, it would make everything better.  But I can’t.  I hardly have time to talk to him at night.  So every Saturday when I say good-bye, I feel like crying because I feel so suffocated and the weekend is so miserably short.  It’s exactly like in Proust (which I detest, so I can’t believe I’m making this comparison) when Marcel lies in bed at night and waits for his mother to come and kiss him good-night, and it is the highlight of his day, but as it’s happening, he feels depressed because he knows in just a moment it will be over again.  There’s that burden on Saturday night that it will so quickly be over and then it will again be six days before I will see him.

So next weekend he’ll be out of town, and then the following weekend, I have to be at school from 7:30 to 9:30 for a horrendous long piano recital which I will not be able to escape from mentally because it is required that I pay attention.  I’m going to be so depressed for the next couple of weeks.  I hate this.  I just hate being too busy to spend time with him.  That is too busy.

The piano recital:  It’s a performance of Morton Feldman’s “Triadic Memories”.  It actually does last for two hours, and it has no melody the entire time.  The point is that you will not remember what you hear, so that, twenty minutes later, when he plays something nearly identical except for perhaps one note, you suddenly remember that you have heard it before, because now it is slightly different.  If that wasn’t enough to drive me insane, I’m going to be sitting there the entire two hours freaking out because of course my mind will be wandering, and it will inevitably wander again and again to the fact that this is what I am wasting one of the two days I get to see him doing.  It’s almost like we have a long-distance relationship.  It’s so depressing.  And it’s really getting to me.  Obviously.  I’ve now written three paragraphs about it.

There’s been a lot of stuff during the week I’ve felt like writing about, but because I have honestly not had the chance, it’s too much now to attempt to sort out, so…I guess I’ll just close this thing.  By now I feel like I’m wasting my precious time.  Not that I have any other ideas of what to do, but…yeah.


Magic Tricks, R.O.U.S.s, and Happy Marriages

The Mormon and I went to the museum (where, incidentally, Milo works) to laugh at the R.O.U.S.s.  They’ve got a display of them eating a triceratops.  Their actual name is “therapsid”, but the ones the museum has created look very R.O.U.S.

We were standing outside on a bridge looking at the pond beneath, and I waved my hand over it–I can’t recall why, now–and suddenly there were all these ripples.  I said, “It looked like I did that, didn’t it?”

“It did,” The Mormon said.

So I waved my hand again and said, “Lucius!”  (A reference to a time when Cortney, Nicole, and I were being lazy and trying to make something happen with magic so we wouldn’t have to get up, but none of our spells were working so we just started calling out random things until “Lucius” finally worked.)

“Did you just say ‘Lucius’?” The Mormon said.

“I did.”  And I did it again, and again and again, because it seemed to be working.  And The Mormon pulled me away and said, “Okay, we’re going inside now.”  I tried to Lucius the pond a few more times as I was being dragged away, but I don’t think the fish could see my shadow anymore to react to it.

Then we went to FSCJ’s Deerwood Campus, because I really wanted to know what a shopping-mall-turned-college-campus looked like on the inside.  (It looks like a shopping mall.  It even has escalators.)

It was so cute–he wouldn’t tell me where we were going, just how to get there.  He wanted to surprise me.  It was very cute.

We then met up with my old friend Wendy and her husband for sushi.  I wrote an entry about them some months ago, though I can’t remember where it is, in which I was stressing because I had this belief that marriage never works out.  They were going through problems at the time.  But they appear to have worked out their issues, and now, even though they’ve been married for six years, they’re still every bit as affectionate as The Mormon and me.  That makes me feel really good, because I think that’s how we are going to be.  It just shows that it can last, and I think we can make it last.

It was also nice to, for once, be hanging out with another couple who wouldn’t bitch at us for kissing in public because they were too busy kissing, themselves.

Classes are going okay.  I keep up with my homework every night, at least thus far.  I’ve really got to raise my GPA, because I don’t know what it is anymore, but I know it isn’t high enough.

Cortney Graduates and Costume Updates

Being now finished with as much homework as I can conceivably do tonight, I shall take these next few moments as I wait on my laundry to write about my Mormon.  He and Nicole and I went down to Orlando for Cortney’s graduation–yes, Cortney has actually finished with school, and much congratulations to her!–and we were able to sleep in the same bed together all night long for what could quite possibly be the only time for the next two years, which is when I hope to move out and he has to move out.

I actually finished my homework today.  It’s amazing; I’d been behind since Monday.  An entire week.  And tomorrow there will be more again–but from now on I’m doing the day’s homework that day no matter what, and I will not fall behind.

So the costumes are coming along.  My Aunt Dianne is making The Mormon’s shirt and vest, and Adrianna’s roommate Jen only has a few more things to do on the fabric-y parts of mine, and Michelle and I have a couple more items to buy, and then she can get to work.  Everything is in motion.  It’s very exciting; I look forward to seeing how they will come out.

Even now, months later, I still have new stories about The Bad Date.

This is just unbelievable.  Remember The Bad Date?  So Monica and Lisa went back to the Jax Alehouse the other night to meet up with Wesley, the cute waiter (which didn’t work out)–and The Bad Date, of course, was there.  Now, I was not there, so I got this story second-hand; therefore, if there are any mistakes or discrepancies in it, I blame them on that.  But I will try to be as accurate as possible.

At first, Monica and our friend Michael, who used to be friends with The Bad Date (he isn’t after this most recent incident; although I have trouble figuring out how he still managed to remain friends with him after hearing about the date to begin with) were playing some DeerHunter video game thing.  The Bad Date came in and stood behind them and made comments about ways Monica could improve her playing (because she admittedly was not doing very well).  When the thing came up for her to put her initials in, she somehow put in, “CCM” instead of her actual initials, and The Bad Date commented eloquently, “That looks like ‘cum’.”

Cum?” Monica repeated, disgusted.

“Oh, I love the way you say that,” he said.  Does this guy not just get more and more unbelievable the more you hear about him?

Later, he went to the bathroom, and then Michael followed a minute later (this was uncoordinated; apparently guys don’t operate in the same sly ways as females).  They did, however, walk out together, and Michael reported the conversation thusly:

The Bad Date commented that Monica was really hot.  He said she was kind of short, but he could work with that.  He then asked whether Michael thought he should give Monica his phone number.  Michael replied that it would not be a good idea because Monica only likes Filipino guys.  (This is a blatant lie; in fact, Monica, despite being Filipino herself, prefers white guys.)

But The Bad Date, of course, paid no heed, and went to his table, grabbed a napkin, and started writing on it.

“What the hell is he doing?” Lisa said.

“I don’t know,” Monica said.

They found out a moment later when The Bad Date moved over to their table and slid the napkin (which read something along the lines of, “Hey, call me sometime” and his number) over to Monica.

Monica pretended not to see and slid a bit further away.

The Bad Date pushed the napkin closer to Monica still.

Monica, still pretending not to see, planted her elbow right on top of it and continued talking to somebody in the other direction.

The Bad Date got up, came over to Monica, tapped her on the elbow, and handed her the napkin.

“Yeah, I got it, thanks,” she said coldly (or at least, so it came out when she was telling me the story–I hope that’s how she said it to him, because it was funny).

He then asked her if she ever went to Ruby Tuesday.

“I used to go all the time, but I haven’t been in over a year,” (for obvious reasons), she told him.

“Did you ever go in there with two girls?” he said.

Monica exchanged a meaningful glance at Lisa and said, “I’m sure I did.”

“Was one of them a girl named Ginny with glasses?”

She said truthfully, “I don’t have a friend named Ginny who wears glasses.”  And I do, in fact, wear contacts now.

“Oh,” he said, “it must have been somebody else.  You just reminded me of someone.”

Now keep in mind, I was there about two weeks ago, and he definitely saw me more than once with them, and he kept staring at us.  He definitely knows.  He’s known all along.  But he won’t come right out and say it.

The Bad Date then took Michael to the pool tables to point out his fuckbuddy, who seemed to want nothing to do with him and even flirted with Michael right in front of him.  The Bad Date then poured out his entire sexual history to Michael (this was not extensive, as I cannot imagine there are many girls out there who would actually want to have sex with him).

As they were leaving, he kept trying to say good-bye to Monica, who kept trying not to say good-bye to him.  So finally he flicked her hair playfully (*shudder*) and walked away.

I told The Mormon I am never returning to the Alehouse unless he is there with me.

“I can do that, babe,” he said.  “I will be there to kiss you right in front of him.”

“Good,” I said.

“Maybe not an open-mouthed kiss….”

“It had better be an open-mouthed kiss!”

He laughed.  “Well, then an open-mouthed kiss.”

So I’ll go back if he is with me.  I wonder if The Bad Date would approach us.  I played this whole scene out in my head where he tried to approach us and inform The Mormon that I was cheating on him with Gary–that he saw us (my gay friend who was pretending to be my boyfriend because The Mormon couldn’t go with us that day).  I could see him doing something really dickish like that.  I don’t know that he would be afraid to come up to us; after this latest incident, I think if he saw me again, with or without a guy, he would try something.

I told my mom this latest story, leaving out the most sexually perverse details, and she said, “Poor guy.”  My mom’s thinking baffles me sometimes.  How she can feel sorry for the freakiest of freaks…I guess it’s sweet, but still.  She always takes the side of people who have been harassing/stalking me instead of mine, and it’s kind of hurtful, to be honest.

Who knows where this could lead?

Trying To Calm Down

So I’ve calmed down a great deal since my last update.  I can’t say I won’t be driven nearly to tears in the parking lot each morning, but I’m feeling better.  First of all, the school owes me like $1300 something, so that’s awesome.  The Mormon will be able to come with us this weekend so I don’t have to worry about not seeing him again for another entire week–even better.  I think I’m actually going to like all of my classes.  I applied for the school paper, which I know I don’t have time for, but…well, I can set aside some homework.  I’ll be okay with a slightly lower grade if I can be on the paper and getting experience in the field I’m headed for.

When I called The Mormon yesterday, I was kind of telling him about my day, and then I threw in, “Oh, and I joined a sorority.”

There was a pause.  And then, “What!?” he said.

“No, I’m just kidding.  I would never do that; I just thought your reaction would be funny.  But I did apply for the school paper.”

Last night when we were talking during our nightly…like twenty minutes, because I’m still swamped with homework…I was telling him that the costume is coming along, but because we are encountering more difficulties than expected, it will be more like the essence of Slave Leia.  And he replied:

“That’s okay.  I am sure it will be hot; anyone that says different can answer to my Wookiee.”

I laughed very hard and said that was going in the blog, and he said, “Some nights I come up with these great lines.  Other times, people must read your blog and think that I’m some sort of unwitty troglodite.”

I love my Mormon.