Flash back to my reunion with Slump Buster in September. I told him he seemed too weary for a man in his thirties.
“How old are you anyway?” I asked.
“You don’t remember?”
“I didn’t memorize every detail about you, no.” (Yes, I did. And he knew it, as evidenced by his smirking expression.) “If you told me, I must’ve blocked it out. Our relationship was so traumatic!”
He told me his age and birth date. I knew I’d remember it this time because it was the same date as my Pictures of Then peeps' Halloween show. As he and I sat there on that first day of fall, I silently fantasized about him joining me for a wild rock-and-roll birthday celebration, complete with buttercream.
Alas, shortly after this guy and I decided to be “just friends”, I had to reinstate the no-contact rule. The deal-breaker went down something like this (edited for your reading pleasure):
He texted me, per usual, at some ungodly hour. Normally, with my summer rock star schedule, I’d be awake. Now that I’m transitioning to responsible adulthood, I’m in bed before midnight. Such was the Saturday night in question. The reason for the text? He had a migraine. Misery wanted company.
Now, if parenting has taught me anything, it’s how to deal with whiners (i.e. most men under 50 years old).
I ignored the texts until...
HIM: Spirit-crushing migraines last night and nary a peep from you, eh?
ME: I was sleeping, m’dear.
HIM: Brutal migraines! Clear enough for you? No puns included.
ME: Wow. Touchy, touchy. I didn’t know you got those. Probably from thinking too much and/or texting in the dark…but nice segueway to what I’ve been overthinking lately…
HIM: What haven’t you been overthinking lately?
ME: Ha ha. Exactly. I’d much rather be DOING than thinking. That’s the problem. I don’t think this “friendship” thing is working for me. I’m not a very good friend when I have an agenda in my back pocket. And throwing myself at you to only get “meh” in response is wearing on my self-esteem. I’m deluding myself.
HIM: I’m glad to hear you’ve once again divined my role in this play all in your head. Why do you think you have all the answers in these internalized morality plays?
ME: I don’t know what that means. All I’m trying to say is that I’m pretending to be cool and do the platonic thing when inside it just hurts that something more isn’t happening. I don’t just want to be your friend. And I hate that I feel like I’m trying to convince you that I’m worthy. Ugh. Total girl moment.
HIM: Deep breaths and less total girl moment please.
ME: Deep breathing is good for some things but it’s gonna take more than that to feel ok about this pseudo friendship…
HIM: Pseudo-friendship? Is that what you think this is?
ME: That’s what it feels like. I have an agenda and you’re keeping me at a distance. Is that how friends behave?
HIM: So would you like to not be friends then?
ME: I don’t just want intermittent texts. All my other platonic guy friends make plans and hang out with me once in a while.
HIM: I’m quite busy with work and I truly don’t care what your other platonic friends do or don’t do. It seems they’re of more interest to you than me. That’s too bad.
ME: Don’t try to fucking spin this around. I am totally interested in spending time with you. Name your date.
HIM: With my current schedule, it is what it is. There are numerous people I’d like to see more often, but I am committed to being successful at work.
ME: Then why do you keep coming back into my life? Does having me as a text buddy really meet your needs? Have you ever considered that the lack of real relationships is what’s making you miserable? You need people. In the flesh. You need a family.
HIM: I needed a patient friend, not a lecture. Well-intentioned, I’m sure, but unneeded nonetheless.
ME: True friends can give each other reality checks without having to end the relationship. What is it that I needed to be patient for?
HIM: Nothing. Obviously not to be. I’m not interested in giving out reality checks, so I’ll pass on that. Sorry this was so frustrating for you. Not the intention.
ME: Whatever your intentions, the result has always been the same: hurting me and denying yourself any meaningful connection. I don’t want to play this fucked up game of yours ever again. Please do not contact me. Good luck with whatever it is you think you’re going to find with this “success” of yours…though I bet it’s gonna feel awfully empty. And no one who really cares about you is going to avoid reality checks. That’s bullshit. Grr. Bye.
So. Ahem. I hate to blow up people’s phones like that, but sometimes, a girl’s gotta speak her mind, you know? I stand by my assertion that true friends can—-and should-—be brutally honest with one another.
The other day, I had coffee with Music Mensch (with whom, I’m told, SB had shared a woman. The incestuousness of the Twin Cities rears its ugly head again. Ewww…).
“Do you have an idea of what your soul mate would look like?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I’ve learned to be open. You never know who you’re going to click with.”
“But if you had to pick someone from your past, who has come closest?”
(Insert gigantic sigh here.)
I said SB's name. “And I'd like to believe he feels the same way considering how many times he’s come back into my life. The question is, why does he keep messing with my head? What could he possibly want with me?”
“I don’t think he knows,” Music Mensch said.
Hmm. What’s a girl supposed to do with that?
Eat a ton of sugar, that's what.
The other day I had the wackiest urge to whip up a batch of Rice Krispies cupcakes...but those are boring by now, right? I wanted to make them special. Well, the only thing better than marshmallows are Marshmallow Pebbles cereal, plus more marshmallows, all welded together with melted butter. I made these super-sweet, colorful cupcakes, except, well, they turned out more like boulders. Later, as I posted the photographs on Facebook, I thought, “Jeez. Those really look like they’re for a birthday.” That’s when I remembered that SB’s b-day was coming up...and that he’s almost over the hill. Coincidence? I think not. (There’s a me-pushing-the-boulder-up-the-hill metaphor somewhere in there, but all this overanalysis has exhausted the brain cells…)
Oh well. It's his loss, especially since I kick butt on birthday gifts. Just ask EconMan, whom I surprised with a brand new bed for his 50th after we’d been dating for only six weeks. (Okay, that was somewhat selfish, as I was sleeping over at his place a lot and couldn’t tolerate his ultra plush mattress. If I could afford it, I’d buy every man I'm with a new bed.)
I'm incapable of hating my ex (in fact, if I had my way, I'd be with him right now!) so I must say: I wish you the happiest of birthdays. I hope you celebrated in style with someone very special. xoxoxxx
BELATED BIRTHDAY BOULDERS
Ingredients
4 tablespoons (½ stick) butter
1 bag mini-marshmallows
1 box Marshmallow Pebbles cereal
½ cup chocolate chips
Method
• Line muffin tins with paper cups. Coat cups with cooking spray. Set aside.
• Microwave butter in large bowl for 45 seconds or until melted.
• Add marshmallows; stir to coat. Microwave additional minute or until marshmallows are completely melted.
• Add cereal and mix gently until well coated.
• Coat hands with cooking spray to prevent stickage.
• Shape cereal mixture into “boulders” with hands. Place on sheet of waxed paper to cool.
• Microwave chocolate chips in small bowl on high 1 minute or until melted.
• Dip bottoms of “boulders” in melted chocolate and place in cupcake liners. Chill until set.
• Do a "Happy Birthday, Mr. President"esque serenade, followed by hand-feeding him boulders.
There’s too many miracles happening here
It’s the same old story, different year
Oh, I’m glad you are here
Been this way since the day you were born
The age of romance is dead and gone
Maybe a chance I’m wrong
People falling out of love
I don’t know whose side you were on
Got to call these people along
And tell them they’ve been going wrong
There’s no shame in changing and being alone
Jull pull yourself one for the road
Hasn’t it been a strange old year
Well too many miracles happening here
I’m so glad you are here
Been this way since the day you were born
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