The Continuous Woe of Being in Love with Two Men

The main problem, I think, is that I feel guilty.  Not because I’ve really done anything wrong…but what I mean is…how many times did I tell him I would be there for him forever?  That I would wait for him until he came to the realization that he was supposed to be with me?  Now granted, when I said these things, it was with the mind that I was never going to fall in love again.  That ended up being a fiction.  The fact remains that, when he finally reached that realization, I was no longer waiting.  He was too late.

Another fact is that I do happen to be in love with two people at the same time, and that is what makes this so difficult.  I repeat that I will not screw up what I have with The Mormon.  Our relationship is perfect.  He would never, ever hurt me, and I could never hurt him.  I love him.  I always will.  But I will always love Milo, too, and I still believe that.  That’s what love is!  If I stopped believing that, then how could I believe in love at all?  If I shifted my entire perception of what love is, then I could never be sure I was in love with Milo at all, or that I’ve ever fallen in love with The Mormon.  I would know nothing.

But that simply is not true.  I know certain things; I have the experience to know them.  In order to be in love with The Mormon, I have to also be in love with Milo.  I am not questioning this; I am merely stating it so that what I believe will be clear.

Why does this make me feel so guilty?  I’m not sure, but it does.  I can’t say it to anybody.  I’ve tried to talk about it with a number of people, to explain exactly why I’m feeling so…uneasy…but I always feel like such a terrible person, I can’t even say what the real problem is.  Why would I even feel slightly bad about this when I already have something so precious in The Mormon?  I wish there was somebody I could talk to.  I wish I could talk to Cortney and Nicole, or just…somebody.


On Pushing Milo Away, Or The Misfortune Of Being In Love With Two Guys

I finally saw Milo yesterday.  Here, to the best of my memory, is how it went.

We got smoothies and then went to UNF to find my classes.  When we arrived at the school, I said, “You realize there is a potentially very awkward subject that needs to be broached, right?”

“Oh, I know,” he said.  “I know.”

Then we went to the museum where he works, and then later to his apartment, and then we were walking around his neighborhood, and after a brief break in conversation, he said, “I’m trying to figure out how to broach an awkward subject.”

“I figured that’s what you were doing.”

Another awkward silence.

I said, “An awkward silence is usually the best way to begin.”

We laughed, which was followed by another awkward silence, until finally Milo said, “I hate to relate this to a television show, but last night I was watching That ’70s Show, and Eric came back and told Donna that he’d finally realized he was a dumbass, like Red’s always telling him.  And well…I finally realized that I am a dumbass.”

“Yeah, I agree,” I said.

“Yeah, I know.”

He mentioned an exchange of e-mails between him and me and him and Cortney a couple years ago, when we were planning to all move to L.A. together, and said that he’d thought about that, among other things, and was really just realizing he’s a complete dumbass.

He said a jumble of different things about pushing people away and ended with, “This isn’t really making sense, is it?”

“No,” I said honestly, because it was not, and I couldn’t leave this conversation, four years in the making, with something that I didn’t understand.  I needed more.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve been pushing you away, Ginny, and I’ve realized that, and I’m really sorry for it.  …I’ve been with four or five different girls since I met you, Ginny, and they’ve all ended up stupid or psychotic, and…I was never able to connect with any of them.  Not the way I can connect with you.  In fact, you’re the only girl I’ve ever been able to connect with this way.”

“Yeah,” I said, agreeing.  I know it’s true.  I wasn’t saying much at this point, not to make him more uncomfortable than he already was, but because I really had no clue what to say.  It was all so delicate, and I found it a lot harder than I expected going in.  Suddenly I wasn’t certain anymore, I was completely vulnerable, and I had to trust the part of myself that, before going in, knew I wanted to be with Dean, and I had to totally base my responses on that, but at the same time, for honesty’s sake, I would deny none of the feelings that I had and still have for Milo.

After a long pause, I said, “Well…I guess we’re just going to have to live with the fact that you’re a dumbass.”

He laughed nervously, and I continued.  Please assume that there are long pauses between every sentence.

“I’ve been waiting for this.  Honestly, I knew you would have to realize it someday.”  And I did.  I always knew that one day it would dawn on him.  That wasn’t wishful thinking or anything–I knew he would have to.  “I will always believe that we would have worked…but it’s just too late now.”  (The pause here was so long I thought I would mention it.)  “You know what you are to me, Milo?  For years, I thought you were the only one for me…but what I’ve come to realize is that you…you’re my Lana Lang.”

This is absolutely true.  Everything here is absolutely true, but I meant this exactly as it sounds.  I believed he was the only one for me, the only love I would ever have.  I believed this for years, even after I’d accepted that we just weren’t going to be together and I had to move on.  I knew I would never fall in love again.  But I was wrong.  I was wrong.  That isn’t something I particularly care to admit, but I’ll say it one more time:  I was wrong.  I am in love again, which means that Milo, as several people have pointed out to me over the years, is not my only love after all, but only my first love.  In fact, he can’t even be the love of my life, because Dean is the one who will be with me for life…not Milo.  I made that choice yesterday and I will not back off of it.  As long as I remember this as my goal, it will be easier.

He didn’t say anything, so I said, “I don’t know if that makes sense–”

“No, it makes perfect sense.  I can see what you mean by it.”

I didn’t tell him this–I meant to, but got distracted and never went back to it–but back in 11th grade, when I was watching Smallville, the Clark/Lana situation always reminded me of him and me.  It’s so obvious.  And I used to wish we could just change history and make Lana stay with Clark forever.  It was never to be.  I couldn’t accept the fiction, and I couldn’t accept the facts.

“I can’t believe I’m telling you that it’s too late,” I said.

“Yeah, it is pretty surreal, isn’t it?”


A long silence.

“Well,” I began, “I hate to say I told you so–”

“Oh, you do not, Virginia Jones, you love to say I told you so!” he said in his familiar, overdramatic Milo voice.  I laughed, and he laughed.

“You’re right; I do love to say it.”

Another silence.  Then Milo picked up the cue.

“After I sent that message and I thought about it, I felt like a real idiot.  I mean, I know you’re happy with Dean–that’s what you’ve told me–and I shouldn’t be trying to screw that up.  And I don’t want to.  But…how serious are you two?”

This was even harder.  “Dean…is forever,” I said.  “We’re very serious.  We talk about marriage and the future all the time.”

There were several awkward silences all in a row, with no interruption.  And then Milo started talking again.

“You’ve always been a really good friend to me, Ginny, and I was never able to think about the…physical side of things, with you and me.”

“Psh–I thought about it all the time.”

“I know.”  A nervous smile and a pause.  “I’ve only seen you and Dean together once or twice, and you’re so affectionate together.”

“Yeah,” I said.  This is something else that I knew would get to him, and a reason I wanted him to be around us more often in the beginning, when I still had an agenda.  I knew we were affectionate, and I knew it would get to Milo, because one of the main problems was that he was never able to see me that way.  I wanted him to see me that way, to realize that if he was with me, I wouldn’t be stagnant or dull–that I loved him, so of course I would be all over him.  And it did finally dawn on him–too late.

At one point, after another pause, I said, “May I just point out….”

“Oh, of course, by all means!  Point away.”

“I would just like to point out that you had more opportunities than anybody is ever given.”

“Oh, I know,” he said.  “Believe me…I know.”

“And you wasted them all.”

“I know.”

“Just thought I’d mention it.”

He asked if I am really happy with Dean, and I told him I am, and he said, “And he’s good to you?”

“He is,” I said.


He never said the words, “Ginny, I’m in love with you”.  I don’t know if he is or not.  Half of me did want him to say it, because…well…just because.  But the other half of me that is not selfish was afraid that he would, because I don’t want him to be there.  I know all too well what it is like to be in love with someone that you can’t have, and I don’t want that for him.

As I said, it was harder than I expected–a lot harder.  In fact, for a short time later, as I was lying in Dean’s arms (I went to his house immediately after leaving UNF) I was even wondering if I had made the right choice.  It has never been so apparent that I am in love with two guys at the same time.  How did I wind up in this predicament?  But as I said, I will remember that Dean is the right choice, and let that guide all of my decisions.

When we got back to UNF, Milo got out and said, “Let me give you a hug.”  We usually hug when we see each other because it is a long-established thing, and we don’t see each other too often these days.  And my face accidentally brushed against his, and for a moment I thought, Oh, don’t kiss him and wondered if he might try it.  He didn’t.  I knew he was considering it, though.  And then I was startled to find that my hand was somewhat awkwardly in his.  Like, not the way Dean and I hold hands, just…my fingers were kind of folded on top of his.  And I wasn’t sure how they’d gotten that way.  I wasn’t aware of ever taking his hand.  And then we broke apart, and he said, “We’re still friends, right?”  Of all the times this situation has been reversed, and I’ve wondered if he would still bother to be my friend, there was no way I was going to tell him we couldn’t be friends.  No way.

“We’ll have to hang out again soon,” he said.

“Yes, on a day when there is no awkward subject to be discussed.”  I smiled.  He did, too.

And then I went to The Mormon’s house and told him the story, and that I’d wanted to wait until I had handled it before I told him, so he wouldn’t worry.

“I will admit to a tiny twinge of jealousy,” he said.  “I’ve realized it’s just human nature.  But I am also partially adult, and I trust you.  So don’t worry about it–I won’t go out of my way to be a jerk to him.  Like, if the three of us are ever hanging out, I’m not going to be cold and cruel to him or anything like that.  But I’ll still feel a tiny twinge.”

I smiled at him and said that was exactly how I imagined he would take this, and that I love him.  And I do.  God, I love my Mormon.

I will admit to a couple of moments of almost tears while talking to Milo, because it was so much harder than expected.  There were a few actual tears afterward as I considered the fact that I am so happy to have someone so good that I actually can push Milo away.

A Stressful Day with a Pleasant Ending

Brother went to court this morning, but they told him to come back at a later date.  Until then, he’s under house arrest.  They’re going to be calling here randomly every day to make sure he’s actually here, which means we have to be psychotic about answering the phone immediately when it rings.

Good old Psychobrat expressed her wish that he receive the harshest punishment they can contrive.

Everyone (except Psychobrat), obviously, is under a lot of stress.  Therefore, I didn’t get pissed off when my dad told me to move my car today.

See, we have only so much room in our driveway.  There’s the old blue van which we will never drive and never sell; it exists now solely to take up space in our driveway.  There’s my mom’s van, my dad’s car, Psychobrat’s car, and mine.  For certain reasons, namely:  1) I don’t want to get blocked in by Psychobrat’s car and not be able to go to work; 2) I’m the last one to leave every day and don’t want to block anyone else in, and 3) there simply isn’t room…I park on the street.  This is against the rules of the neighborhood Association.  My dad said today that he didn’t want to get a ticket or have a car towed, so I’d better move it into the driveway.

When I came back inside, completely calmly and rationally (it was, too, because I wasn’t pissed off at all–that was all him), I asked him if maybe he could tell Psychobrat to park her car on the road, since she’s the first one to leave every morning, and that just makes sense.

He snapped sarcastically back, “Yeah, you can’t talk to your sister, can you?”  What he meant by this, spoken in the nasty, evil tone that he used, was that all of the problems between her and me going back almost two decades are a result of my incompetence, and that she, the evil one, is completely blameless.  I know this is what he meant by it, because this is what he always means.  For some reason, my father favors my evil brat sister.

But today, I chose to play dumb, like I didn’t know he was giving me all credit for the rift.  I said, “No, I can’t.”

He said, “Yeah.  That’s part of the problem, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, it is.”

He’s just like Psychobrat.  He can never allow anyone the last word, so it gets ridiculous sometimes.

“Yeah.  That’s always been part of the problem, hasnt it.”

“Yeah, it has.”

“Yeah.  That’s always been a big part of the problem, hasn’t it.”

It was time to clarify that I was playing dumb, that I thought he was putting the blame on her.  “Yeah–nobody can talk to her,” I said casually, stalking out of the room as he chuckled, “That isn’t true,” in the same nasty voice, as though I am the only one who can’t talk to Psychobrat.

I went into my room and cried silent tears for several minutes.  I’m under stress, too, and the last thing I needed was to be reminded that he likes her better than me and always has and probably always will.

When he finally went back to work, I emerged from my room, saw Brother sitting in the living room, and started bitching at him about how it just wasn’t fair, why should he favor Psychobrat, yada yada yada, and Brother, the one who should be under more stress than anyone, calmly told me that that isn’t true (it is; even Mom has confirmed that when I flat-out asked her; but how sweet of him to try and tell me otherwise) and that it wasn’t all that bad.  I love my brother to pieces, even when he’s been totally stupid.

Then I got the story out of him.  He wore the same jeans two days in a row, and the second day (yesterday) forgot that his pocket knife was still in them from the previous afternoon.  Not wanting to be caught at school with it, he took it out and hid it under the bus seat to be retrieved after school.  Unfortunately, a few kids saw this and snitched, which led to a search of his locker.  Another knife was found in his locker, because it was part of his Boy Scouts stuff, and all of that was together in a backpack in the locker.  The marijuana pipe does not belong to him, but because he was stupid enough to allow dozens of untrustworthy people access to his locker combination, he has no idea whose it is.

Then he told me that Psychobrat has decided to leave MarioKart at Spidermonkey’s until I apologize for calling her Psychobrat.  That’s a lot of bullshit, first of all, because she was planning to leave it there anyway.  And second, why would she tell him this, not me?

But it doesn’t matter, because I’ve decided to just buy my own.  Then she can’t get it.

We had steak night at work today.  Normally this doesn’t really bother me, but as I was already in a pissy mood today, it kind of stressed me out more.  Steak night always draws larger crowds.

While I was at work, however, The Mormon left roses, black licorice, and a card for me at my front door.  Then he came over for like two hours to be with me and just make sure I was feeling better.  He’s so completely fantastic.

Jail and Jealousy

Bad news today, I’m afraid.

My totally awesome little brother whom I love was arrested after a knife and a marijuana pipe were retrieved from his locker.  He’s going to court tomorrow at 10:00.  Fun stuff, eh?  I don’t like this phase that he’s in.

Here’s something else noteworthy:  Milo is jealous of The Mormon.  How freaking great is that?  I told Michelle, Adrianna, and Dennis today, and while the girls laughed, Dennis high-fived me and said, “Way to go, Ginny, finally; it’s only been, what, two years now?”

“Five,” I corrected him.

“Even better!”

I fully intend to confront him about it.  I’ve been waiting to do it since I found out, but he has been conveniently unavailable.

Signs and Omens

I just called Ryan.

What was I thinking!?  Of course he still has a girlfriend!

Well, at least it didn’t really feel awkward.  I mean, I did half expect that response, so I was set for it, and he’s such an easygoing guy.

Here’s how it went:

He actually answered, first of all, which I didn’t expect.  He was always really difficult to get hold of by phone.

I said, “Hey, this is Ginny…from the cafeteria.”

“Hey, what’s up?”  It was a surprised, friendly sort of tone.  Not a “OMG, why are you calling me!?” sort.

I said I still had his number on my phone, so I figured I would call to see what was up.  I then asked him how he was doing (good, but very busy) and he asked how I was doing (also good, not so busy) and then he said, “My phone broke yesterday, so I actually had no idea who was calling.”

I said, “My car broke yesterday.”

He sort of laughed and said, “Well, I guess you win!”

I laughed, too, then said, “I was wondering if you’d wanna get together sometime, hang out again.”

And then he said, “Oh…I actually have a girlfriend now.”

I thought, DAMN IT!  Then I said, as though I was completely surprised and had had no idea in the world, “Oh…I’m sorry!”

“No, it’s okay.  We can still hang out if you want to, catch a movie or something.”

“As friends, of course,” I had to throw in, to show that I understood.

“Yeah, give me a call and we’ll set something up,” he said.  “I’m about to go into class, though.”

So, should I do it?  I said I would.  He is a great guy; I certainly don’t mind being friends with him.  But should I?  Would that be weird?  Because we were never friends before; we just went on a date last year.  So it wouldn’t be like going back to how it used to be before a hiatus—because there is no “how it used to be”.

In other news, yesterday I walked into my room and happened to glance at the clock—it was 3:34.  This sounds completely normal, I realize, but it wasn’t.  See, the last three times I had stepped into my room before leaving work and happened to glance at the clock, it was 3:33.  Three times in a row this happened.  I mean, that’s a strange number to just happen upon, if you think about it, because of all the times it could show, there are only ten chances each day for it to read three digits exactly the same.  (Twelve if you want to count 11:11.)  Twelve minutes out of twenty-four hours.

Anyway, so being as how I would have had to wait eleven hours and fifty-nine minutes for it to actually say “3:33” again, and I’d been only one minute too late…I somehow took this as a bad omen.  I said so to myself.  It’s because I need things to be even.  It’s that OCD coming through.  I felt off and had no way to fix it because I had missed the same time I’d happened across those past three times by one minute.  Does this make any sense at all?

So I’m heading out of my room, thinking, “Bad omen….”  Or a sign, or something.  And what good are signs if you don’t know how to read them?  And of course, the only thing I can think is that something bad was going to happen on my way to work, like my car breaking down.

And then I got a flat tire.  I’m not really superstitious, though, about most things, so I am merely pointing this out as a very strange coincidence, and a possible example of my occasional clairvoyance.

The prof had me read my “Richard Cory” paper aloud to the class today, because he was so impressed with it.  In fact, the other day when he was reading it during our little one-on-one time, he read the thesis…stopped…and went back to read it again, before saying, “Wow…that is a really good thesis.  Did you really write that?”

“No, I bought it online,” I said.

“Wow, how much did you pay for that?”


“For a thesis that good, I’d have paid $29.99.”

I think I now have the highest grade in both my creative writing and English classes.  Kick arse.

Anyway, got work now, and as I missed it yesterday and am leaving early today, it’d be good to be on time.

Man Issues Ahoy

Milo is moving out in about a week.  I still stand by what I said before—I’m happy for him, it’s going to be very convenient (for him) and all that.  But it is upsetting.  I knew this day would eventually come, but still.  It’s going to feel awfully lonesome around here.  Not much chance of seeing him at all once he’s practically next-door to his girlfriend.

I had a date with a really nice guy last night.  Ryan.  We had a lot of fun.  At one point he even stole my line:  “This reminds me of that one episode of Seinfeld.”  Heh.  And he taught me how to use chopsticks!  I finally understand!  He’s moving away soon, though, at least for the summer.  To Illinois.  I’m not likely to see him anymore.

I told Milo tonight that we had gotten our movie tickets, and by the way he reacted (I know his reactions; he doesn’t have to say anything for me to know exactly what he’s thinking), I knew he was wishing we’d asked him to come and get his at the same time.  (I actually knew that when I found out we were going to pick them up.)  And I feel bad because there’s one of those things where it’s me pushing him away by intentionally not asking, so he’s going to go and do it with his girlfriend instead.  But I had to avoid the impossible situation of asking him to come and telling him, “I’m sorry; you can’t invite your girlfriend.”  It’s either hang with him and his girlfriend, or just let them be alone together.  I don’t like it either way (anything that involves him and a girlfriend of any sort just sucks), but what can I do?  I don’t want to watch it.

Anyway…that’s that.

Happy New Year!

Let’s talk about last night.

Psychobrat was planning to spend the night at a friend’s house and then go shopping today for Spidermonkey’s Christmas present (he’s been out of town).  At 8, she came out of her room demanding that my mom take her to the bank so that she can cash her check.  She had some money already, but her reasoning was that, even though she didn’t intend to spend her entire check on Spidermonkey, and even though she still intended to save some of it and not spend it all on herself, either, she has to have all of her money together, with her, so that she knows how much she has and how much she can spend.  She can’t do it on a sheet of paper.

My mom didn’t want to go to the bank, so Psychobrat started screeching.

My dad heard the mating call of the yellow-bellied sapsucker and came out of his room to investigate.  He immediately sided with Psychobrat, saying that even if my mom didn’t want to go to the bank, she could at least give Psychobrat all of her money.  So he started fishing in his pockets and then told my mom to go to her purse and take out everything she had until, together, they had $140 for Psychobrat.  Psychobrat went into her room, complaining that they had only given her $90 so far.  She emerged a bit later, and Mom had decided she’d rather just go to the bank.  Psychobrat gave all the money back and Mom went to the bank to cash her check.

The only time I bothered to make any comment at all through all of this was when I said, “It’s not good to carry that much money around with you at one time, anyway.”  Dad immediately turned around and looked at me and said, “It’s HER money; she can do whatever she likes with it!  GOD, Ginny!  What do you think she’s going to do, lose it!?”  So I just kept my mouth shut for the rest of that shit-show.

Milo walked in the door right after all of this.  We were supposed to hang out and get a little tipsy.  I went to tell him what was going on and asked if he wanted to go for a walk.

He said, “Uhh…no…I was kind of planning to go to Moe’s.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.  I said, “Oh…well, okay, then.  Have fun.”

I went to my room and started getting a headache.  I came out to grab some cold water and Tylenol to make myself feel better.  That didn’t work out.

The first thing I saw when I walked out of my room was the dog peeing on the carpet.  I immediately started yelling, “FALKOR!  YOU STUPID DOG!”

My dad came out of their room and yelled, “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT HERE!?”  So I yelled back, “HE JUST PEED ON THE CARPET!”

My dad laughed.

He looked at my mom, who had just come out of their room, also, and said, “You see now why I don’t want to get a new carpet?”  He says this all the time, as though we don’t know.  And then he started yelling about the carpet like it’s news, and he said to me, “And you don’t understand why I get this way…” as though he pities me for being so stupid.  (Hahaha, you stupid girl, you don’t know what angry is.)


He laughed, and then he paused.  The question had actually stumped him–only for a second, but he was at a loss for words.  That never happens.  I took that second before he immediately started yelling something again at my mom to go into my room, grab my coat, and walk out the front door.

I walked around the neighborhood for an hour and 15 minutes before my mom found me in the car.  But I insisted that I did not wish to go back to the house yet, so she finally went back home.  My goal was to stay out until after midnight, to make some sort of point, although I don’t know what it was.  It was 10:00 when I set out, which meant I’d have to walk around with a headache for two hours.  I was so freaking tired.  And when I only had five minutes left, I thought, ‘Wow, I can’t believe I made it!’

That instant, I felt like I was going to throw up.

I didn’t want to throw up on the street, so I decided to head home immediately.  And after all that…all the times I told myself I could just keep going, just another 45 minutes…just one more half-hour…I walked in the door at exactly 11:59.  What a fucking waste.

I didn’t throw up, but as I thought I’d be sick if I moved, I just went to bed.  And that was my New Year’s.

The worst part of all was that I had so wanted to get drunk…and I slept through the champagne.  I didn’t even have a glass of wine earlier because I was waiting on the damned champagne.