Any regular readers of this blog know about my ongoing saga with M. The update is that M. and I have been just friends for a while now. He started dating a friend of mine recently and so I decided, to live by that high school motto: "Chicks before dicks."
Especially considering all the boy drama that happened last summer, and basically ruined my relationship with a close friend. (Don't worry--we are trying to reconcile.)
This Saturday she was out of town and I ran into him in a bar in Williamsburg. On one hand, we had a very cool conversation. I was upfront and honest about my whole two-plus-year obsession with him. I told him how insecure his hot-and-coldness made me--and how it pretty much meant I had to imbibe liquid courage to even hang out with him. I told him that it hurt my feelings when he said the time we made out was bad (too much liquid courage = no makeout skills). I even dragged my poor friend Angela into it--I introduced her to him as the person who after our one horrible date asked me, "What do you even LIKE about this guy, anyhow?"
I thought it was a pretty good opportunity to get a lot of stuff off my chest. It felt almost empowering to be able to be completely honest with him, instead of playing the too-cool-to-care game.
On the other hand--I don't know if it was all the "sharing" or just the fact that L. was out of town--it was weird because he tried to get me to come home with him. Several times. (The first time, I believe his words were, "Why don't we just leave now and get it over with?"--which, with his Southern scoundrel delivery, sounded a lot better than it reads here.)
Nevertheless, I declined.
What the hell is going on?
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