Drunk Texting

If you shouldn’t drink and text, you really shouldn’t drink and write.  That being said, I’ve had a few.  Just so you don’t worry, I’m home and safe.  I don’t drink and drive.  I was hit by a drunk driver, it was pretty bad, I’m pretty lucky.  Some say loose lips sink ships, but I always thought loose lips made friendships.  If you skew that too far, my logic doesn’t stand, let me explain.  I always felt like I really got to know people when we had sleep overs.  That was the point a person I met at school became a real friend, when they came to stay at my house.  Was it like that for you?

As an adult, I’ve tried to examine it.  Of course there is the bit about a person seeing your home.  You bring them over, and you’re so nervous.  You’ve hidden all the things that might seem weird, and cleaned up really well.  For as long as I can remember, my home is a completely different place when company is coming.  Whether it was the home I grew up in with my parents and brother, or my apartment now, it has to be immaculate for a guest, any guest.  Let’s say I have 20 minutes notice that a friend is dropping by.  She only has 10-15 minutes, she’s just picking up a book to borrow.  I’ll spend every moment, until the doorbell rings, cleaning and organizing.  Running the vacuum is a must, and sweeping the bare floors.  Junk and clutter must be put away, the bed must be made, even though people usually don’t wander into your bedroom.  I can remember doing these things with my mother as a child.  I loved to vacuum at the age of 3.  My mother has a boat load of pictures of me vacuuming; she even bought a cheap canister vacuum that was small to help me vacuum at an early age.  The point is the anticipation phase.

I’m 28 now, and I still get childlike when I know someone is coming over.  I can probably look out the window 100 times.  The cleaning, and the cooking or snack prep, those are the things I do to kill the time until they get there.  Then there’s the hanging out and entertaining phase.  Or going out together.  Which brings me back to the main point, where I wish my friends didn’t have to leave.  It’s not that I’m needy.  It’s not that I don’t understand that people have real lives and have to get up in the morning.  I love their children, I consider their significant others friends or at least people I hope don’t die, and I appreciate that pets don’t feed themselves.

I think I just miss the way things get in the middle of the night.  The point in the night when you’ve both, or all, been awake and together so long that you can talk about anything and everything.  “Earlier, I was wondering what my brain weighed.”  These are the kinds of random thoughts you can express when you are sleep deprived, and in trusted company.  “I only just forgave my parents for missing the fact that I was skeletal, suicidal, and covered and self inflicted wounds.”  A non-sequitur at best, but honest.  Do you ever miss the honesty of laying in bed with your best friend at 3 am?  I do.  I hate that there’s no awkward free way to invite my friends to stay over and listen to music and  chat with me until our minds bend.

Which brings me to The Boy.  That is what I’ll call him for now.  I mentioned him to you last time, and I’ve seen a lot of him since.  He’s cute, with dirty blond hair, blue eyes, really cute glasses,  pouty lips, and he’s tall.  I’m 5′ 9″, and have never been out with anyone much taller.  He’s muscular, and that normally puts me off.  I’m not exactly sure why, but I think it’s a long story.  I feel small and safe though, which is new and strange.  He’s older, and makes more money, and opens the doors for me.  These are all wonderful things, and so different from what I’m used to. He draws with me, and listens to me.  He drew me a picture for that was hilarious, and I had to keep from crying at how touched I was.  He’s a gentleman, and while Mary I’m not easy either, but The Boy is driving me crazy.

He’s not the only one, but he’s the one at the front of my mind that I wish I could ask to stay over.  I just wouldn’t want it to be inappropriate, or to set his expectations improperly.  We just put on a movie, or some music, and have these long conversations about life, art, books, music, the universe, and everything.  We went ice skating, and he was terrible, and we laughed and laughed.  He’s kissed me, a few times.  Then it’s the end of the movie, the end of the night, the front door, and I don’t want him to leave.  I don’t want to sleep with him, I feel the need to make that clear.

I think I want The Boy to see the real me.  I want him to see me with the make up off.  I want him to still think I’m cute in my pajamas.  I want to hear what he thinks about when he’s sleepy and his mind wanders.  I want to see his bed head, and I kind of do want to sleep with him, literally.  I want to cuddle up next to him, until we fall asleep, because i like him.  Why has our culture put that after sex in a dating scenario?  Can you explain that one to me?  Anyway, I like The Boy.  He is very cute, and he I’m starting to think he gets me crazy, and likes it.  Writing to you has kept me from drunk texting him.  We just met 3 months ago, it’s too early for that.

However, I don’t think it’s too early for a little tongue.  If The Boy doesn’t slip me some tongue soon, and maybe get his hands moving along, I swear……………   Did I mention I’m drunk now?

Until Next Time,

Elle

Because I'm a vegetarian

 Lisa Simpson, Because I’m a vegetarian

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2 thoughts on “Drunk Texting

  1. Pingback: Reading Digest: Excited Edition | Dead Homer Society

    • Thanks, I thought my drawing was funny too. However, I usually think I’m funny. It’s other people who tend to disagree. The Boy, well he thought it was funny too, he’s got potential.

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