Military Guy.

I took my friend’s hand as she led me through the thick, swaying crowd to the bar. “I hate waiting,” I whined a few minutes later with my head back. The bartenders, as usual, were totally slammed.

“There’s your military boyfriend.” My friend nudged me, and I turned to my left to find a young man in camo staring at me intensely. “I think I’ll go with the tequila like you suggested.”

“I knew that would be your alcohol tonight,” I said confidently.

“Excuse me, may I buy you two ladies a drink?” Military Guy made his move. It was literally the first time that had ever happened to me, but the luster quickly degraded into panic as his extraordinarily tall friend came up behind me to introduce himself to my friend. I suddenly felt cornered; trapped into the obligatory “So who/what/how are you?” line of conversation. The lights were brighter. I felt disoriented.

“I’m super panicking right now,” I whispered to my friend.

“We don’t have to do this,” she said supportively.

“I’m sorry… we have to go,” I apologized as we began pushing our way back through the crowd toward the band and second bar. I wasn’t swayed by the crestfallen look on Military Guy’s face.

We were able to get our drinks without incident inside, and found a quiet and private room to lounge in.

“Something just wasn’t right,” I told her as I sipped. “Something with his vibe.”

“He’s probably been in combat,” she said sadly.

“Aw, sad. I think they are just trying to get laid. I do not imagine meeting my next love at a bar.” I meant it, too. I loved coming to our place on the weekends. It was a moody, energetic backdrop for the stoned mind, with live music and small twinkling lights everywhere. It also happened to be a venue where I was consistently hit on, which was normally an ego-booster even though I didn’t take any of it seriously. When I was high and extra observant, the young, horny, drunken crowd felt distinctly predatory, like it did this night. I was glad for the solitude of the room, and sank into the sofa. Unfortunately, the peace did not last long. Military Guy and his giant of a friend maneuvered into the armchairs next to us. We turned to each other and made a decision to be nice. They had been to Iraq, we remembered.

OG Military Guy slid onto the sofa next to me, his leg touching mine. I tried to make conversation, but he seemed not to know how to hit the ball back. My friend turned to me quickly, and whispered, “Mine is only 19.”

Fuck that. “How old are you?” I demanded of Military Guy.

“23,” he responded.

“Aw. This,” I gestured between us, “isn’t going to happen. We can be friends though.”

He looked sad, but more interested. “Why?” he asked, leaning closer to me.

“I’m 30. It’s not going to happen.”

He looked shocked. “I thought you were my age.”

I smiled. “I get that a lot, thanks.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry…” he began. “On my nineteenth birthday, my friend invited me over and I got hammered. She said I had to stay the night because I was too drunk and I woke up in bed with her mom.”

I just looked at him. And then I asked my friend if she wanted to dance, and we made a hasty exit. They followed us to the dance floor, so we went the opposite direction and went to the pizza parlor. A homeless woman rounded out the night when she threw a pepper shaker at us, and we went home.

Being single can be so fucking weird.

Busted by the 4:20 Police.

“Oh look, it’s 4:20.” I said with a smirk. We had just pulled into a parking slot, and I was ready for a really big fresh juice. But first… “Shall we?”

My friend winked at me and withdrew the other half of our roach. We had smoked the first portion before an especially endorphin-producing session at the gym. I handed her the lighter. “You do the honors.” I leaned my head back against the headrest, the warmness of the leather sinking into my sore muscles.

“I think it’s out,” she coughed after a few passes.

“We should finish it. It would be a waste not to.” She relit it and had taken a hit when her eyes widened.

“Shit, shit.” She fanned at the smoke frantically.

“What are you doing?” I demanded as she hastily snuffed it out. “Oh.”

A police car jerked into the parking space next to us. We looked at each other, eyes reflecting twin expressions of bewilderment. “Let’s go,” she said quickly. I buckled my seatbelt as she opened her door.

“Oh… I thought you meant driving.” I laughed, unbuckled, and made a hasty exit.

The cop was right there. He was young, in his thirties, and handsome. He also had that damned air of authority going for him big time.

“Hello, girls,” he clipped. We squeaked out a greeting. “Do you smell marijuana?”

I shrugged with a look of confusion. My friend barely shook her head no. “No, Officer,” our voices chimed together, eyes widened.

I caught his eyes running down my Alice in Wonderland leggings. He knows.. He glanced at my friend, and my eyes followed his to her tattoos and wild red hair. He knows.

Without missing a beat, or removing those cop sunglasses, his only reply was, “Interesting.” And that was it. We detoured to the coffee shop as he entered my juice bar, and when we came out, he was gone. We might stop smoking in public parking lots. Maybe.

Sick Cat.

My friend recently had a baby, and she told me, “If you think you love your pets, wait until you have a kid.”

I just don’t know about that. I love my fur babies more than just about anything, so tonight, when I saw my male cat squatting outside his litterbox (100% unlike him), I began to have pretty bad anxiety. It was only worsened as I watched him strain another four times over the course of a few hours, only to yield a few droplets. Poor guy. I knew a vet visit was in order, and while a small part of me was like, he is probably fine; I can take him tomorrow… the bigger part was like OMFG I don’t care about the cost of a middle of the night ER visit; I need to take him now.

It was not fun wrapping him in a towel and stuffing him into a little cat carrier. It was even worse listening to him cry the whole car ride, and I cried too when I could hear him yowling in the exam room all the way from the hard bench in the waiting room. In the end, they gave me a 50% discount on the visit, costing me about three times less than I had anticipated. A blessing to this college student’s credit card, but I was okay with paying more if I had to.

I’m supposed to monitor him, and if he doesn’t urinate within six hours from now, I’m supposed to take him back for a much more costly and traumatic visit. I’m hoping for the best case scenario, which is I wake up, he’s peed, and my biggest struggle is giving him doses of painkillers and anti-inflammatories. Poor guy. It’s insane how much stress it makes me feel, even though I’m trying to project calmness and coolness for his sake.

Right now, he’s hiding under my bed. I feel guilty knowing it might have been the stress of me leaving him while I went out of town for my brother’s wedding a couple of weeks ago that caused this flare up in a kitty who is as high strung as I am. Poor guy :[. Or maybe it’s the stress of having my aunt visit for A MONTH.

At any rate, I’m setting my alarm and crossing my fingers my little one will have a urine-producing night and relaxing next few days. Best case scenario. Got to hold out for it.

Psychedelic Cinema.

We had only minutes to choose and consume an alcoholic beverage. We chose Budweiser, a steal at only $3, and decided to split it. The bartender was kind enough to tap two full glasses, and we paid a grand total of $2.00 each for the pleasure. It was surprisingly drinkable, and hit the perfect spot on a low tolerance.

We drove to the theatre, and waited in the parking lot until my brothers pulled up. They hopped in the back, and the older one withdrew the entheogens. I had been planning this night for weeks, and felt excited and comfortable. We didn’t have to wait long before it kicked in, and the exhilaration pumped through my mind and body. We ambled to the ticket booth, and I was impressed that we all successfully completed our transactions. Could they all be as far out as I was?, I wondered.

Buy the ticket; take the ride.

My brothers strode casually to the concession stand, but I made a beeline for the claw machine. I fed an old dollar bill in. It took two tries because it was crimped and sweaty, but soon the lights flashed and the metal began to move.

“Which one are you going to get?” My friend asked.

“That striped motherfucker right there,” I replied, my focus taut on a stuffed cat.

I tapped and rotated the claw until it was perfectly positioned, and let it drop without hesitation. It clasped about the neck of the animal, unable to manage the few ounces. Weak.

“Your turn.” I gestured her toward the controls.

“I…can’t…” She sputtered, and I was inwardly shocked.

I shrugged, and turned back to manipulate the controls.

“Are you going for the same one?”

“No. Why didn’t you want to play?”

She didn’t take her eyes off the claw. “I just feel like it’s a money pit.” Her tone was nonchalant.

I lost that one too. A dollar’s worth of my favorite entertainment. By then my brothers had returned, arms full of popcorn and soda and candy, and we gave our tickets to the cute high schooler working the booth. “I love your nail polish,” I told her, and I meant it. It was a lovely, opaque shade of ocean blue, and it reminded me of those good moments in the tropics.

The theatre was surprisingly packed for a Thursday night, and I felt a pang of anxiety as we picked through the darkened room. I chose the seat closest to the wall, and furthest from the aisle. A risky move, but I was ready. I slumped low into the chair, wishing smoking were legal indoors, remembering the good old days of my parents, and as the boy in the front began reading off the names of the upcoming films, my friend elbowed me.

“Isn’t that Kevin we went to high school with?”

I lifted my scarf so that only my eyes peeked from the top.

“Oh god. I think so.”

She laughed. “No meet and greets tonight. I don’t think I could handle that.”

The lights dimmed, and the vintage credits splashed across the screen while music from our zygotehood blasted through the speakers. What a trip. The writing was even more clever than I had remembered. I observed the actors’ nuances with mesmerization, laughing with the crowd. I felt my ego detach, and there was a heartbeat’s worth of fear. I looked at myself from the outside, and yes. This was exactly where I wanted to be. This was exactly who I wanted to be. I relaxed my back into the spasms, tightening my posture against the uncomfortable seat, and blasted off.

It was a soul elating night. I rode the waves of climax and anticlimax until the end, and as we burst through the double doors into the moonlight and fresh air, I felt happier than I had in days.

Vision Questing: An Inventory.

I started collecting media for a vision board, which I thought was a really annoying idea when my friend first suggested it a few months ago. A few weeks ago, my therapist encouraged one as well, and I told her I’d think about it.

I need to attract different things into my life. And by that, I mean different… men. It’s not like my only quest in life is to be a second half, but what am I working with right now? There’s Living Room Couch Professor, who called me twice tonight- I didn’t answer, obviously. I was with friends, but even if I weren’t, I got off that ride. There’s Cheating Ex, who rounded out the week with an Instagram friend request tonight. There’s Young Guy, with whom nothing will ever happen, because I’m not into wasting my time. He’s fun, but who isn’t at that age? Then there is Long Distance, who is so sweet and funny and smart… but like 3000 miles away. WTF am I supposed to do with that? One emotionally damaged, two emotionally and every other sort of immature, and one physically inaccessible. Rocky relationship, relationship broken beyond repair, relationship with no future, or fantasy relationship. Boo.

Something about me is inviting this. It’s the law of attraction at work, right? So I thought by making this vision board, I might not only attract the non-romantic sentiments I crave, but the right guy as well, because I have a feeling they might all come in a bundle. Ugh. Life. *shakes fist*

For now, I’m enjoying being single, and it really would take a lot for me to commit to anyone. I guess I’ve grown up a lot and realized that I take those labels pretty seriously. I’m all for enjoying life, but no longer in wasting my time with anything that doesn’t serve me longterm. At the same time, I can’t wait to meet a companion who will be on the same page as me!

I suppose that’s my vision for that person: someone who can meet me at my level, who can give what I can give, who can take care of what we have together. Someone who loves God, even more than he loves me. Someone I can love with a whole heart and vice versa, who understands me, who is responsible and loyal and good. Someone I can cook for and make our home beautiful and warm and safe and loving for. And hopefully he will be taller than me. And maybe have a beard, as long as it doesn’t scratch my face up. Haha!

I’m praying that we are being prepared for each other, future guy. I will see you when the stars line up. Until then, I’ve got other visions to fulfill. See you soon.

Drama King.

Roller coasterLiving Room Couch Professor is not the guy for me. If ever there were a drama king, he reigns.

Hot, cold, hot, cold; I have enough issues on my own to deal with without having to navigate sudden fluctuations in temperature. I have to admit that his hot pursuit was flattering, but the gas lighting, moodiness, narcissism, and instability were all just too much to deal with. He is a proverbial emotional roller coaster. An enigma I have no obligation to solve.

I had managed to keep him at a distance, even when he swore he had changed (an old tune, I know). I rejected his demands to “be his lady” too many times to count, and he finally backed off. Temporarily, I know… but I won’t be entertaining that mess again, even if I do love to have the last word.

Passion does not always equal good. That level of complexity does not equal interesting. That’s why I’m not going to go on another date with him, no matter how ardently he asks. And he will ask again. I will not be sucked in. The latest unfortunate series of events showed me what can happen if I am: namely, I get a little comfortable, my boundaries get all twisted up, and then… the confusion sets in. I cry, he turns it around on me, I feel like a POS. Give an inch, he takes miles, and I see I am too vulnerable to put myself in that position again.

Repeat after me: No more unhealthy men.

I’ve been doing a good job of holding out for the right one. There will be casualties, but my self dignity will not be among them.

Tread lightly; be gentle with yourself.