tired.

I just keep splintering off pieces, you know? Hurling myself into the next romantic adventure because I can't get out of my head that tiny flicker of hope that one of these times it's going to click and there will be a chemical reaction, a massive explosion, and when the smoke clears, it will be me and one of these men, slightly singed, but upright and together on the scorched earth. 

I just keep doing it. Whether is lasts a minute or an evening or a few weeks or longer, I just take a big swig of air and dive in to the gaping gash of all things unsure and unsteady. 

And maybe I'm a little reckless with my heart, but I've had to live through the repercussions time and again, so I know what I'm in for. I do it anyway. I'm open and I do it anyway. 

But you know what? I'm weary. I feel fragmented. Bent. I'm tired of being the brave one. Just once, I'd like to know what it feels like to be touched in a way that the other person's caress is an answer instead of a question. "Yes." It will say. "Yes. I get it. It's you, it's you." Not, "What if? What if there is someone better? This feels good right now, but is this what I want? Is this what you want? Do you really want me? Is this what we both want? What if there is something better?" 

I demand to be the 'something better' in the narrative of my own life. I've got enough questions of my own, I want some answers. 

And maybe it's me, you know. Maybe I need to step back and take a few calm breaths instead of one harrowing gasp between endeavors. I bounce from hurt to hurt like I'm unaffected, but I feel it building something and I don't want to be a broken person that takes a leap because it's just another way of going through the motions. 

God.

Because this shouldn't feel like going through the motions, I don't think. Maybe for some people, but not for me. 

I'm just tired, you know? Tired of everything sort of falling into place and then I look around and realize how much hasn't really fallen into place. I don't really expect it to, but how do I take steps in the right direction? I'm tired of sex being a way to hurt your friends or strangers or anyone who gives a damn. And I'm just really over holding my head high and pretending I don't care who is having sex with whom and who is actually fucking me over. I don't want to be the bigger person. I want to throw a public fit in the middle a crowded area. But I won't. I don't think I have it in me. There's only so much peace I can disturb.

And it's a good life, but god damn. My heart hurts. For no one in particular, and I think that's the problem. If it was one person, I could get a hold on it. Harness energy from it. Use it to fuel something inside me that burns and strives and moves forward. I'm so good when I've got something on which to focus. But it's not one person, not this time. It's this whirlwind of leaves that's surrounded me and I'm spinning around and around and there's no hope in catching any of them, of gaining any semblance of control. 

But I'm tired of spinning. I'm done with it for now.

On "Gone for Good."

I'm really the queen of leaving people hanging, huh? Yeesh.

 

I guess I should elaborate on what happened with Gone for Good guy.

 

So, he WASN'T gone for good!!!

 

However, he DID lie that night when he said he was too sick for company. Which is awesome because then I found out about it really awkwardly and didn't know how to deal with it- Because since I wasn't hanging out with him as planned, I decided to return the lawn furniture I had borrowed from some dear friends. They weren't home when I got there, so I called to let them know their stuff was back in their garage. And they invited me for a beer! At the brewery! So, I'm bummy and hemming and hawwing about it because I got canceled on and I could really use a beer so I start to lean toward going, but then I foolishly say, 'Who all is there?"

 

AND GUESS WHO WAS THERE WITH THEM?! Yes. That guy. Missoula is a small town, you guys. So much for the 'Self-imposed exile because I'm such horrible company right now."

Anyway. I get a sick feeling in my stomach and I DO NOT GO. Because I feel a tad bit hurt from this and I really don't want a confrontation and also our apparently mutual friends don't know we're kind of seeing one another, so I don't want to make anyone feel weird.
 

So.

I don't say anything to him. For two days. Because I honestly have never had anything like this happen to me before. Either people just don't lie to me or I never catch them. But, I OF FUCKING COURSE run into him at the brewery that Friday when I'm there with my ya-ya sisterhood of roommates. The girls spot him, so I get all anxious and try to avoid him.

 

Anyway, that plan fails. He comes up from behind when I'm alone standing at the bar for a beer, and taps me on the shoulder. I stiffen immediately because of course I just KNOW this is happening and turn to see that, yes, my worst nightmare has come true. I now have to have a fucking conversation with this ASSHOLE liar. In public. So I turn and nonchalantly say "You're looking healthy." Because I couldn't think of anything else to say. To which he looks slightly confused, because he's still obviously pretty sick judging from his sickly ass appearance. But I'm not even concerned with his health at this point.

 

So anyway, I make a few niceties with him and kind of abruptly say "I'm going to find my friends."

And walk away.

Which I do find my friends and we're hanging out and having a good time. And then I see him standing around by himself looking lonely and start to feel kind of bad. I have NO IDEA WHY, because who goes to a fucking brewery by themselves? But whatever. I go back over and start talking to him and eventually invite him to join me at another bar, all the while making pithy bullshit comments like "I'm not going to force you to hang out with me."

 

blah blah blah other stuff happens that isn't exciting.

 

Okay guys, here's the part where I FINALLY confront him about being a lying jerk!:

 

I'm sitting on my bike, about to ride next to him to another bar. And I stop. And I sit there. And I'm like, "I'm only going to say this once. But I fucking know you lied and I hate having to bring this up because it makes me feel like a creepy stalker, because I'm not a creepy stalker! And if you don't want hang out with me, just tell me! OKAY? And also, what the fuck is wrong with you, why did you lie?"

 

To which he's very apologetic and says he's sorry that he's an asshole and he knew that I knew and didn't know how to bring it up. Blahdy blah, cry me a river, give me another chance, etc etc.

SO I'm like. "Alright dude, you just blew your freebie really early on. That's all you get. Let's never speak of this again. Like, never."

 

Which he seems pretty grateful about and I'm really grateful too because being confrontational is exhausting.

 

So we get to the bar and of course my friend C points at him from across the room and hollers "I'm going to killlllll youuuuuuuuuu."

 

But she doesn't. And thus begins the next three weeks of him making me meals, being really thoughtful, not cringing when he sees me in sweatpants and glasses, and sleeping over at my house/me sleeping at his.

So I start to get kind of comfortable and start to actually like/care about this person.

 

Until he informs me he's not over this ex girlfriend.

 

And he's gone.

 

Gone for good.

thwarted!

Okay dudes. I'm at office hours right now because I foolishly scheduled two additional hours to be chained to campus after my last class on wednesday. Dear future self: Don't do this again. 

I won't do it again. 

But basically here I am with another hour left and the hallway is practically deserted. Like, zero high heel click walk-bys in the last 20 or so minutes. Maybe one or two soft hippie shoe walk-bys. That's not enough walk-bys to keep me occupado with people watching. 

I just took a break to put on pandora and I gotta say, I know there's cooler internet music players out now, but I'm old school. Except that I really wanted to listen to Coldplay the other day, you know, for nostalgia's sake, but they kept playing the WORST Coldplay songs. The worst. And then it was like an orgy of Maroon five and The Fray, and then, cherry-on-top, U FUCKING 2. So I gave up and switched the station. I guess the only Coldplay I'll be listening to is on itunes. 

I have such a miserable life. I know. Give me five minutes and I can complain about anything. Even free music. 

Just kidding. I seriously don't complain much in real life anymore. My life is fucking sweet. 

Also, I just want to say that this summer was really the season of getting rather chubby for me, so IMAGINE MY RELIEF when I FINALLY found a perfect pair of dark wash skinny stretch jeans last night and they were only like 45 dollars. That's unheard of for me. I mean, when I'm not eating carbs and bacon like they're going out of style and drinking beer like it's the only beverage option, it's fine. But when I get chubby, outfitting this booty is a serious project. So that was a bright spot. 

Now onto new business. Boy business. Because obviously that's muy importante compared to my actual career that takes up the majority of my waking hours. 

So last Thursday this boy texted me to see if I was going out that night. To which i was delighted and probs grinned like a crazy person, because he's pretty cute, and I've been nonchalantly lusting for a hot minute. Anyway, I try to be all cool and reply 'Probably, you?' to which he's like 'Lookin' like it.'

Which is infinitely annoying, because come on and ask me to meet you already, Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, dude. Plus I really wasn't planning on going out. AT ALL. I'm a grad student, I have shit to do. I have responsibilities. But you know, I'm also highly susceptible to distraction. And nice beards.

Anyway, we kind of go back and forth, but not really to my satisfaction and so I'm finally like, 'Think Sara. You know where he is going to end up, just round up some friends and be there having a killer time without him when he gets there and stop checking your GD phone for a text that isn't coming." Entrapment, it's all the rage right now.

So, conveniently, two of my friends were at said bar, having a beer. I stop by and what do you fucking know, 15 minutes in it goes down like a brilliantly executed plan. He comes up and taps me on the shoulder and away we go. 

Anyway, what happened is a different story for another time, but it was a better than decent time. Dude is chaperoning a field trip in the woods for the weekend and I've got a life, so I don't think about it tooooooooo much for a next two days, until Sunday when I get 'I'm just going to be honest and direct and say I'd like to see you again.' via text. Which obviously, I prefer phone calls because I'm an adult female, but you know, still:

ZING!! 

Super zing, you guys. 

So then on Monday we make plans to hang out tonight. Two days in advance? Wow, that's almost like a date. But you know, I'm not being pushy. It's just my nature, you know. BAHAHA. RIght. So I'm trying to go against my character completely and just play it by ear. Which is easy for me any time except when it involves a male that I'm starting to like and I don't know if he likes me back.

So I'm pretty psyched. And maybeeeee letting myself like this guy a little. 

BUT THEN TODAY. Disaster strikes!

I get a text saying he's ridiculously sick. 

Now. I'm not trying to be dramatic, but DAMN IT TO HELL. MAN UP MAN, I WOULD. Right? RIGHT? I don't know, maybe he's really ill and I'm being a total bitch, which isn't even outside the realm of possibility. Or probability. 

So what do you think? Is this guy legit sick or has he realized I'm actually a neurotic weirdo? And if so, why is that such a problem?

In case you were wondering, which I hope you were, I offered to deliver soup. Like a caretaker. Like a wholesome, caring, human being. 

He declined. 

What do you think, is he gone for good? 

Okay. It's almost time, I'm escaping the walls of academia for another night. BYEEEEEE. 

what it's like when you're the romantic of your friend group.

When you're the romantic one in your friend group, the people you love most, your best friends, will roll their eyes at you a lot.

Maybe you're not the most rational, or you're always watching sappy movies just for the happy endings. You send beautiful quotes to people at random times to lift spirits or just because the words touched you. Words are always touching you. The way the light is moving can touch you. The way the leaves move in autumn has made you tear up, inexplicably. The way two people, completely unaware of you, look at each other can make you weep. You want to map star charts of potential soul mates.  You're constantly preoccupied with one person or multiple people at the same time, on a constant loop of awareness of their existence and how amazing they are. And then, almost instantly, you're caught, snagged, on someone else. When you're the romantic of the group, sometimes you even give yourself emotional whiplash. 

Your friends will shoot each other glances as you beg them to drive by that guy's house one more time, just to see if he's home, not that you really care. (You do) They will sometimes, affectionately, think you are legitimately crazy, but they will also count on you to give their dip-shit partners one more chance many, many times because you are the one person who still believes there is hope for them yet. And really, isn't everyone a dip shit, sometimes? You believe in second chances, that given the chance, people can and do change. You believe in the light inside, in the chemistry that overcomes. You believe in the ability to reform and the power of love. You believe in, if not the perfect one for all of us, then at least the right one. 

You're eager to take in the late-night stories of past heartbreak and what it taught. You believe that heartbreak is meant to teach, and even when you're hurting, you take some strange and sometimes sick comfort in learning. You'll poke at the pain like a half healed scab you can't stop ripping off. You dwell, oh my, do you dwell. When someone hurts you, you'll write at them for years and years and you won't be able to stop yourself from being reminded. Someday you'll get better at being reminded quietly, you hate to burden your friends. You'll dream of them less and less, and though sort of relieved, you'll miss them even more in their absence from even your subconscious. 

When you're the romantic in your group of friends, you believe in the integrity of souls and in minimum compromise with maximum returns when the moment is finally right. 

You believe that yes, someday, the time will finally be right. When you're the romantic, you believe in timing and love at first sight.

When you are the romantic in your friend group, you might smoke a lot of cigarettes and drink a lot of beer/wine/gin and on the back porch, worrying constantly about the state of your friends' hearts. Sometimes listening, sometimes alone. You can't help it, you feel like your heart is sick with some disease whenever love takes a sharp turn. It's a personal affront upon you, although it doesn't do either of you one bit of good to feel that way. 

You wait. You find yourself waiting a lot, with baited breath. Waiting for the right one. For the golden hour, when the light is just right and the crash is riddled with explosions, with fireworks. You set scenes and believe in the power of dialogue. You know you don't feel love in your heart, you feel it in your guts.

When you're the romantic, it is up to you to keep the faith, to believe. You know what I mean. You'll be sitting around with your friends, maybe having a few cocktails and all of the sudden it's an assault on love. It's all, "There are no good ones." And "Love isn't real." Or at least, "It will never last." Lasting love is a figment, a myth, a disney story. And you're the one who speaks up in love's defense. You're the one who is vehement in her honor and insists against all evidence. That. Love. Can. Last.

When you're the romantic of the group, you don't always realize that groups even need romantics because sometimes, sometimes, in that rare moment of doubt, your belief will waver slightly. And in those moments, you can count on the rest of your friends to remind you. That love is real and you're a crucial part in the chemistry of the group. And that maybe you feel like your head is in the clouds at times, but really, you're a warrior. And believing in love, being a romantic, means never losing sight of that. 

quality over quantity?

I've been meeting a lot of men lately. Really, like everywhere I go, I'm meeting men and talking to men and flirting with men and getting asked out by men. It's been great for my confidence level. I even met a man at the community bike shop yesterday when I stopped by to have someone help me fix a wobbly wheel. I ended up staying there through two torrential downpours, multiple cups of coffee, and several repairs. Just talking to him and letting him help me fix my bike. Slash he pretty much fixed it because it turns out I'm not as savvy as I though. Afterward, I invited him to my house for a beer and he, surprisingly enough, took me up on the offer. But then things got weird. Because said man, we'll call him Bike Doctor, overstayed his welcome and then proceeded to barrage me with several phone calls and drunken voice messages for the remainder of the evening. Now I wish he didn't know my phone number, much less where I live. 

Which leads me to wonder. Are we all just scraping ourselves together enough to hide the crazy for a minimal period of time until the other person is reasonably invested? I don't personally think I do this, but maybe I do. Maybe I put out a facade to hook a person and then upon further review I'm a total whack-job.  Shit. What if I'm that person that people wish didn't know where they live? No. I'm reasonably sure I'm not. 

I mean, come the fuck on though. I've had enough witty banter to fill a season of Gilmore Girls this summer. Real life doesn't have NEARLY as much clever banter, and yet here I am getting served puns and returning with perfectly-inflected come-backs. And as nice as it is, I'm no closer to finding a man who is actually quality. Apparently banter doesn't equal quality. As much as I love banter. Part of it, I'm sure, is because I'm not really looking for a man. However, it would be nice to know that if I was, some quality ones would be out there. And yeah, The Professor was quality in many ways, but he was also self-absorbed and aloof. So maybe those just aren't qualities for me. 

I don't really know where this is going. Honestly, school started back up this week, and as excited as I am to get started again, I've got a pretty bad attitude about summer being over. But I guess better it be over before it has a chance to go sour. Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length, right? 

I mean, it's still hot as the dickens and the days are still long, but real life has managed to wrap her sticky fingers around my ankles and drag me back into reality's arms. Really, it's good. I knew it was coming. I'm back to blow drying my hair every day and actually taking care with my outfits instead of just doing a sniff check/shrug combo with whatever is closest to me on the floor. Part of me is grateful to rinse off the crusty layer of summer carelessness and put my professional adult layer back on. 

Did I mention that I am the teaching assistant for my department this year?

Yeah. 

But really, this post is about quality over quantity. Summer was a time of quantity for meeting men. But now I'm busy and harried and no longer going to be satisfied with quantity. I'm gearing up for a dry spell. Quality, here I come. Maybe?

goodbye summer, goodbye professor. how i hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.

from the belly of the draft pile.

Sometimes I think we can't help ourselves. We're not equipped for it. Not all the time. Maybe not ever.

We're in this bag of fluid and solid sloshing together and the only thing that keeps us moving is a piece of flesh behind our eyes. It's not enough. Reason escapes. We strive to be rational. To not hurt those we love. To not love those who hurt us. But we're not set up to be that way all the time.

We fail.

And it's gorgeous when we fail.

It hurts like hell, but it's lovely.

I'm impulsive. This is no surprise to anyone who has ever met me. I do these things I do on a moment to moment basis and I work with the margins and errors when they come up.

But this also means I have to be calculating. There's a certain math that goes into being a free spirit or a leaf in the wind or a person on the edge. I have all these things, these people, this career, this life, that I need to keep and hold onto. Finding a balance between my nature and a way to sustain my life and relationships is nothing short of ridiculous.

That's not what I mean.

I mean. Some nights we can't help ourselves. We don't have the strength to fight the magnetism.


So let's keep doing this because right now. I want to continue to be swept over with confusion. I want it to lap over my fingers and toes and up to the roots in my hair follicles. I'm soaking in it, bathing. Confusion isn't a period at the end of a sentence, it's the dot dot dot. I'm not really into finality right this minute. I'm not really into finality...

I think I see myself as bossy because I'm impatient. I think I see myself as impatient because I have no impulse control.

But that's not important right now.

I don't know how this happened, but it did. I'm falling falling falling falling for you. I'll deny it to the death. I'll fight it to the death.

I just like the feeling of being out of control. It's out of my hands. I'm just letting myself go in any direction, every direction. And you're not stopping me. You're not doing anything to help this, to discourage me. And really, I'm in no place. And really, when is there a better place? Show me steadier footing and I'll laugh in your face. Give me your hand and I'll take it.

You know. You know, you might not actually know. It's nothing drastic, not yet. Not like the way I get with others when my mind gets stuck on a one track loop and it's constant. It's not constant. I just want you to touch me with your mouth. I just want a sign.

But we can keep doing this, really. The anticipation is almost as enjoyable to me as the impact.

Let's fall in love, even if it's impractical. Lets not worry about the logistics of it, or the timing. Let's not worry who might care that we're together. Let's just do it. Let's fall in love.

I might already love you, you know that? I might already be arriving at the station, hanging off the train with one hand, waving vigorously with the other. Probably, I already love you a little. But I think I want to love you a lot. And I want you to love me a lot too.

It's summer, you know. It's the perfect time to collide into something exhilarating. It's the best season to scrape your knees and bruise your heart. Winter is for licking your wounds. Summer is for losing your mind.

Let's be reckless. How about if we fall headlong into something vast and never mourn when it's over? I would like it if we spun until we were all so dizzy that we fell down.

Down down down down.


We won't be young forever, so why would we slow down now? I can be so logical when it comes to the tick tock of the clock, the inevitable turning of the pages. I want to us to squeeze every last drop of living out of each instant, and then pluck the next one clear out of the sky. We can stretch so far when we work together.

Let's change so constantly that we look like fluid. Let's be mermaids one moment and mountain lions the next. I can't commit to any one form. I won't. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. To eat and drink like a queen but live like a pauper.


I think we should collide hard and never look back when we part ways. Just because something is fleeting doesn't make it any less powerful. Maybe the short length of its stay helps it pack an extra punch. What if tomorrow comes and I never see you again. Let's let each moment pack a momentous punch. Let us both throw blows and each of them to say love me love me love me love me even if it's only for the length of the impact.

more of this scandinavian nonsense.

I guess I could finish/continue to tell the story about the Scandinavian now.

 

Where did I leave off? Oh yeah, I show up monstrously hungover and late to the WRONG PLACE with a friend in tow to a first date. Really setting myself up for a second date on this one.

 

The Scandinavian walks up with his adorable dog and the sun is shining too damn brightly and I am nursing an iced coffee at a picnic table, probably drooling all over myself and one-eyeing it. He is looking SIGNIFICANTLY less worse for the wear. In fact, he had a drum lesson prior to our 10 am coffee date. As in, he was taking the lesson. And he even teaches drums! It boggles the mind, you guys, people pursuing a lifetime of learning.

 

Anyway, I know I'm gushing over this guy and stuff, but I just want to come out and say that I fully know he will probs have a dipshit side. They all have dipshit sides, which is what makes life interesting. BUT right now I see no dipshit side- so there's that. I'm gonna ride the rose-colored glasses ship all the way to the bottom of the sea.

 

The rest of this post is basically going to be me praising the man for being witty, interesting, engaging, and just plain involved in life. Which is good.

 

He grabs himself a cup of coffee and grabs me (and Brigit) to-go containers for our coffee and we decide to take a walk on the trail that runs next to the river. It's kind of a lazy get-to-know-you conversation. Which is strange, because in the bars that I've been talking to men in all summer, that part of the conversation is usually frenzied and shouted over loud music. Or just drunk. It was pretty nice to not have to fit myself into a thirty second drunken sales pitch. After about a half hour of walking, we've looped back kind of to where Brigit and I parked, so she decides to split off and head home. 

 

I can handle this on my own, I am an adult. I can fully handle this. Honestly, it was pretty nice to have her there for the first thirty minutes, though. Get me settled in and stuff. 

 

The Scandinavian and I continue walking and it's kind of like a real date. You know, he actually compliments my glasses and jokingly messes with me a bit and asks me semi-important questions, like why I want to become a therapist. With follow-up questions. FOLLOW UP QUESTIONS. You know, when a person cares about what you're saying and pays attention to the answers enough to ask more questions. INSANITY! Plus we're walking side by side which kind of takes the pressure off of weird forced eye contact and stuff. I don't know, when I'm hungover I can barely function, so having a solid activity, like walking, it was good for me.

I feel like I should be drawing less attention to how hungover I was, because it makes me look like a fucking loser, but seriously, it was bad. Just not enough sleep and too many G&T's. I had no business being in public.  Every now and then, ya gotta cut loose. I just choose Tuesday nights. Whatever.

 

Did I mention that this man is also tall? I'm a sucker for height, you guys. I'm a tall gal, if you count 5' 9'' as tall, which I do. I'm sick of these short straws impeding on my shoe choices and RUINING my dreams of having to look UP into the face I'm smooching- like in the movies. I DESERVE THAT AT LEAST, IT'S WHAT I WAS PROMISED BY DISNEY. IT IS MY AMERICAN RIGHT.

Whew.

 

Anyway, we end up walking so long that lunch and music in the park is happening (I know, Missoula is the coolest city ever, we have music and food trucks at the park every Wednesday lunch time in the summer.) So we go sit and listen to the music for a while and we also go sit by the river and wade and let his dog swim and just generally end up hanging out for like three hours. It's amazing you guys, I didn't even feel awkward. Plus, he found a way to compliment my hips without sounding like a creep. Not an easy task. I think our sense of humors just kind of clicked because it was very easy to be around him.

 

Basically, the Scandinavian is a really interesting person and he actually LIVES HERE and he's actually in my age and maturity bracket, which if you know me, you know I've struggled with in the past. I'm just saying, it's really hard not to get excited about this one.

 

Potential red flags? This guy runs marathons. I leisurely stroll up mountainsides. This guy mountain bikes. I am barely coordinated enough to ride my bike around town. So the fact that he probably DEFINITELY has a better body than I do also makes me a tad bit nervous. But whatever. I'm awesome and I'd totally make up for it in charm. Except he also owns his own business and home while I'm over here spending my last four dollars on PBR.... so our priorities may not be the same. I'm just gonna go with it. I mean, I'm in grad school, I kind of have my shit together, right?

 

At the end of our walk, we hugged goodbye and he reminded me that he'd be out of town for two weeks, but that I'd definitely be hearing from him when he got back. And that's all of the deets I'm going to share from this date. Just know, the conversation was good and I'm glad I didn't blow him off.

 

And then I did something I NEVER do, which is that I texted him that night, thanking him for a great time and that I was looking forward to hearing from him when he got back. I don't usually do the follow-up (EVER) but I guess I actually like this guy, so I did. Plus the sobriety factor of our date pretty much secured that he was definitely going to remember who I was, so I figured that was safe.  And I felt like an idiot when I hit send, but he was all "I had a great time too! I look forward to doing it again when I get back!" skdjfl;aksjdf;laksudf;ksjdfklajsdfklajsdlkfjasd;flkjal;ksjdf zomg you guys.

 

THIS IS NOT REAL LIFE.

 

I mean, it is real life, but I've been out of the dating pool so long that I don't even know the rules anymore. 

 

Anyway, I heard from him intermittently while he was gone, mostly sending funny pictures and wittisisms. I think this coming Wednesday would be two weeks, but he texted me last night to see what I was doing this week.

 

Sooooooooooooooo. I guess he's back in town and he didn't forget about me? That's cool. He wants me to come over and swim in the pool at the house he's watching for friends and play kickball with he and his friends in their league. Isn't that preposterous? ACTIVITIES. FRIENDS. BAZINGA! He's mostly likely a robot. Or bad in bed. Or both. Right?

 

SO I'm just going to lay back and wait for the other shoe to drop. But I mean, really.

Did I mention that he's a musician?

Fuck. I am in trouble.