This one's getting long, so I'm breaking it down into 2 parts. Enjoy!
I really didn't want to write this blog. I kept waiting to start it, hoping you would do something to redeem yourself. Then I could write a nice blog about you. But such is not the case I'm afraid. Prepare yourself for my wrath.
Ladies, may the Gods of Karma forgive me for this one as well.
The dreaded holidays were approaching, and I was doing my absolute best to ignore this fact. It hit me really hard when I was volunteering at my normal gig called Coffee and Conversation. It's held at an apartment building in the city that houses a lot of people in pretty dire circumstances. Be it addiction, mental illness, chronic homelessness, or severe depression, these guys don't have a lot of positive things going on in their lives. So my job is to come in once a week to talk, listen, and feed. The week before Christmas we threw them a party with muffins and cookies and hot cider and Christmas movies... and it just simply broke my heart.
These poor people have no one, nothing. The highlight of their holidays is strangers bringing them food. They will go to bed alone on Christmas Eve, and wake up on Christmas Day the same way.
Oh snap.
Take the knife, stick it in and twist hard. That's me this year.
"Ouch" doesn't even begin to describe it. I couldn't breathe. The tears came, and I couldn't stop them. I had to get outta there.
I hadn't made a single plan for Christmas Eve or Christmas Day in my effort to ignore their existence completely. After spending some time (foolishly) trying to convince myself that none of my amazing friends were going to have time for a charity case like me, plans started popping up left and right, including a "progressive holiday party" thrown by a group of people I call The Law School Kids.
Oh how I love parties. Especially parties thrown by The Law School Kids. They just really know how to throw a good party. And it's one of the only groups of friends that I have that are a good mix of singles and couples. Only two problems:
1. The Ex will also be attending this party, and
2. I was feeling extremely fat and unattractive at that precise moment.
Ugh.
So, ladies, what's the best remedy for such negative feelings? A dress, of course!!!!! I woke up the morning of the party, and I don't know what came over me, but I went straight from bed to the closet and pulled out a dress that I hadn't been able to wear in years. Kristen, you know this dress, you bought it for me because you wanted me to have it so bad. I looked at it with desperation, for I was taking a bit of a risk here. If the dress didn't fit I would feel even worse. But I had to try.
Ok, not to toot my own horn here, but DAAAAMMMMMNNN!!! I look good. In fact, I'm kind of a hottie. I had to stand there for quite a while in order to wrap my head around this sensation. The dress doesn't just fit, it looks good. It hugs in all the right places, and with a pair of heels my legs look actually kind of sexy. I'd forgotten what it felt like to look at myself in the mirror and like what I see. Holy god, it feels amazing.
Bring on the paarrrttaaayyyy!!!!!!
But first, shopping! I must accessorize!
It's amazing what a little bit of confidence will do. I walked into that party feeling like a million bucks. I received many compliments from my awesome friends. The Ex arrived with a panic-stricken look on his face, which returned every time I said a word to him. I'm just speculating here, but perhaps he was for the first time seeing what he's missing?
I flirted. A lot. It felt awesome.
We drank. We ate. We sang Christmas Carols (against my better judgement) as we walked from house to house. And then, at the last house, we danced. And we didn't just dance, we had a genuine 80's dance party with lots of Madonna and bike lights for strobes. It was simply lovely. Of the two boys who's house it was, one was particularly interesting to me. His name was (for this blog's purpose) Hans, and he was quite attractive despite having gone over his bike's handle bars landing him with a black eye and swollen cheek.
As per my tendency, I was quite tipsy by this point, so things are slightly fuzzy. But I'll jot down to the best of my ability the rest of the nights events:
Everybody left but me. I don't really remember this part, but I know it happened, cause I looked around at one point and everyone was gone but Hans, his roommate Francis, and me.
My shoes came off. I'm not sure if this happened before or after everyone left. Bear with me here, I was drunky-girl!
I sat on the couch with the boys, and I'm sure we talked about something ridiculous.
I got a foot massage. From Hans. Ladies. A muther effing FOOT massage. And not just one foot. Both feet. Why? Because they were cold, and he wanted to warm them up. He massaged both of my feet till they warmed up. Do you have any idea how long that takes?!?!?!? I'm still reeling just thinking about it. To a girl in my line of business, a foot massage is as good if not better than sex. Just sayin.
So where was I? Sorry got a little sidetracked there (Whew! Breathe, MA.) Oh yeah. So next thing I know, we're in Hans's room, sitting on his bed, and analyzing a really cool piece of art he created. Not only is this guy a law student, he's also an artist. Good God. Shoot me now.
I'm sure you ladies can all guess where we ended up next. I won't go into the nitty gritty. I will simply say that it was oh so nice, if not a little frustrating as I decided it wouldn't be a good idea to actually sleep with the guy. Me and my damn morals! So we alternated the rest of the night between talking, groping and sleeping, though we got very little of the latter. I can't tell you how unbelievable it felt just to be touched again, kissed again, to have a body pressed against mine again.
I don't have any regrets about that night. The only regret I have is a decision I made the next morning. I decided that I really liked this guy. We exchanged numbers, and he said he'd call soon. I smiled, said that would be really nice, and walked away.
Hans, I'm going to choose to believe that you had the best intentions, but we need to talk...
No comments:
Post a Comment