Either this shit just kicked in, or your face is actually on fire.

Mark as Unread | Print  

Words to the wizened: Do not date your coworkers. Lucky me. I don't have to take my own advice as I am as dumb as a can of paint. What color, you ask. well, red of course. Bloody and violent flame-retardant red.

All these moons have dragged themselves across our mutual sky and i have been myself. the whole. time. He has seen me sick, he has seen me pissed, he has seen me on the verge of tears over some guy. We have examined porn together after work, have discussed blow jobs.

He has seen the stunning array of cutie pies and losers I have drunkenly made out with in various booths around the restaurant. I have waited on girls he has fucked, or at least wanted to fuck. I know he likes his girls petite. with big boobs. DTF. He knows i like my guys older. Arrogant. Pretty. Collared shirts and all that. he knows I am sly about putting out, preferring commitment and all that boring bullshit guys will put up with to bed me. I know he thinks that is stupid, that i am a prick tease.

We were not friends for a long time. I liked him in a "Huh, we have a lot in common and every one's my friend here in Minneapolicity! You should be too! Plus I am dating your friend! We spend so much time together!" He seemed to tolerate me, but not really like me per sey.  I broke it off with his friend, and voila, we had little to no reason to even speak to each other.

I didn't care too much. sure he was hot and smart, but then, so were the next 20 guys I went out with, so I did not feel any particular loss. Until I got drunk after work and he was there. I developed a little mini work-crush. no big deal. Made the mistake of telling people who fanned the fire, though, and then felt cheated because what the fuck was wrong with this guy?! I was a catch, god damn it! So what if I wasn't petite, I was thin, with big boobs. So what if he knew I wouldn't put out for months, it would totally be worth it (as this thought process took place many months ago, that turned out to be true, sort of), I loved comics, and books, and music, and movies, just the same as he did. So what if I was never single and he was seeing some chick who told me I was disgusting for eating meat? So what? So what indeed. 

So nothing. Months passed. I made him cartoons, asked him inane questions, bought pot from him for my loser boyfriend, got through winter, a few more men. When the weather turned nice. I fell in lust with a bipolar bartender and had my personality erased for me in favor of being a good girl who gets slapped during sex and never complains about anything. never talks about anything negative. never talks, full stop. During this semi dark, semi depressing, totally strange groundhog-opposite day time, I found solace in my friends, Benji and, well, said coworker.

Suddenly, we had so much to talk about. books, movies, the girl he was seeing, writing, school, the stupid girl he was seeing,  evil bartenders that I kept getting back together with, the usual. Not ever being okay with letting sleeping dogs, cats birds, lie, I got drunk and confronted him in a very juvenile-immigrant sort of way. "Why you no wanna be wit' me for? I hot. Happy ending?" He let me down gently, kindly, the day of his actual birthday. I went home with the bartender. Happy Birthday, friend.

The next day was horrible. I did not get down with the dreaded That Guy, but I couldn't go home. The absinthe from the previous evening rolled around in my empty, squishy brain, making me dizzy. So instead of sobering up, I planted myself on the couch and started writing So Much Slower while bartender ignored me in favor of his headphones. Passed out yet again and caught a ride home very early the next day without saying goodbye. had not really said hello, so it all seemed very appropriate. Gulped down my pride and asked coworker birthday friend to go to the beach with me thursday. he said yes, so everyone was being their perfect selves.
Thursday came around. can't say i was nervous. I am always more comfortable in a bathing suit, underwear, whatever. Nudity is a great equalizer. silly almost. all that flesh you can look at but not touch. Cracking open a couple of ciders, lighting smokes, the conversation went around and around in a lazy, appealing way that I associate with him, us now. I thought, not for the first time, how much more there would be to say if I was allowed to touch his on-display flesh.

Hours slipped by, the sun changed it's outlook on the world, and we left, making plans to be bound to the bar within the hour.

I showed up in a short skirt and heels. Not fucking around this time, I knew for a fact that it was tonight or never ever. My ability to see him as anything other than as a friend was quickly leaving me. Time is kryptonite in these for instances.

The night ended the way it was suppose to. Making out, making toasts, making my clothes, our clothes run for cover under the sofa. 

I woke up the next day, looking uncertainly at the only guy who had ever bedded me without so much as a date between us, and asked him if he still wanted to do this. He replied that we would try it out.

So, that day he also became the first guy I was ever friends with first.

And where are they now? Still getting to know each other. I am a bit guarded. though i talk sometimes without pausing to inhale or exhale, I can afford to be generous with words, tales. They will always make more. Feelings, commitment, now those are a bit more rare for me to part with. Jewels. Big League Chew, you know, hard to come by.

Forever and ever, I am optimistic. And you, he, answers me thoughtfully every time I ask him to tell me something good.