Tequila, Thai, and Tre

All three were fleetingly present tonight.

All three were better in spirit than in reality. 

Tequila was good, but consuming it neat with a drive home following was not the way it was meant to be.

Thai was good, but the mixed order of ultra safe forgettable Pad Thai and the over-the-top spicy of the two dishes my friends ordered was a far cry from Tuk Tuk. Spicier, different, and somehow a little bit of a let down.

And Tre passed in the night, as if we didn't see each other at all. Hello, how are you, have some noodles, goodbye.

Disaster it wasn't. But it was... not memorable.

--

RJF last night was fantastic. I like her more than I did the first time I met her. I caught more subtleties. She has bouts with depression and sees me as a golden boy. She questions her place in the world and looks at my entrepreneurship as a admirable, amazing, and untenable. She feels lost often and gives herself peace by losing herself in literature, putting her head down and working hard, and cocktail or three.

She's a smart chick. I like it. I like her. I wish she knew that those things make her more attractive, not less.

Like all things in this world, I feel impatient about it. I want to mind meld and have intimacy right this minute! LOL.

But, again like all things, and especially with someone who has disappeared before, who knows. I shall call and email and text and hope for maybes. Maybe fate believes in you even if you don't believe in it.

--

Melissa is still there, one step away, one degree of separation. I got a call today from a mutual customer asking for her phone number. I wanted to ask why they think I would know it, why I would have it, how dare they?! But, of course, I quietly pulled the number up and shared it.

Bitch.

--

I don't want to be too mean... I don't want to be hateful and angry. I love her still.

But, well, I hope she wonders every day. I hope that every time her husband fails to laugh at a geeky joke, every time he forgets to admire a sunset, every time he fails to be a gentleman, every time he doesn't understand some piece of jargon she uses... I hope she winces herself.

Because, well, fuck her. Fuck them.

I hope that every time he fucks her he wonders if my cock is bigger. I hope every time that he looks at her he wonders if he can trust her. And I hope that...

Sigh. I'm lying. I don't hope any of those things. I'm just mad at her for hurting me.

God damn it.

Sometimes it sucks being a good man. It will be a long time before I realize what I've learned these past few months, and someday perhaps it will feel worthwhile. But right now, I just wish I'd looked at her without real affection. 

I wish I'd just seen her as a fuck buddy. In the end that's all I was to her... at best. 

I suppose, if I were really being honest, I feel cheap. Used. Spent. Chewed up and spit out.

Yesterday's garbage. 

It hurts a lot. I'm angry, now, and... I want to lash out. Revenge sex and hateful letters and harsh words. A scene or two. Random acts of violence. Nuclear warfare. 

Heh. Yes, I'm joking. There is so little room in my heart for hate.

She's still a bitch, though. She should have known better. Love me or don't. Fine. But don't lie to me. Or yourself. It doesn't make it less of a crime, really, just because you lacked awareness. That just makes you dumb, too.

You run over a dude in your car, even if it was an accident, and you still go to jail. You're still a felon.

Bad form, Mel. Bad play. Bad times.

The question that's going to be bothering me for the next 15 vaginas is "Should I have known better?"

Probably. But it felt so damn good...

Sigh.

--

zzzzzz. Long week.