The Lovely Cats is good at keeping promises. Wednesday, I looked at her and said "If you tell anyone I did this, I will look you in the eye and call you a liar and feel no guilt whatsoever." She has kept her mouth shut. What did I do that was so horrendous? I moved dirt. Several weeks ago, she was informed that the house would be livable (read: deleaded ~ and if you don't read the Lovely Cats' blog, just trust that her house needed deleading, it has been a fiasco, and keep reading.) Oh, but the soil was contaminated as well so they had had to remove the topsoil. It was okay, though, because she could plant a garden or something. So she called me and asked if I wanted to come down and plant flowers with her. Now, my favorite thing to do outside is find the closest door inside. I'm a city girl, through and through. In fact, I am the single most citified person I know. But...what the hell. Sometimes planting flowers is okay. And why should Spider Girl and Tai have all the fun. When I got there, it turns out that no one had yet replaced the top soil; they had simply left it in a very large pile by the driveway. We moved dirt. We spread dirt. I even got a blister. Dear Lord ~ get me back to the asphalt and pollution of the city! All that nature cannot possibly be good for a person. The only redeeming things about the day were that 1) it was for the Lovely Cats and 2) I didn't break a nail.
I think I have hurt my Dear One. Remember Yahoo Billy (formerly Yahoo Boy)? Well, when I mentioned him to my Dear One, he asked to see the profile. So I sent him Yahoo Billy's profile. My Dear One wrote back with: He looks like a member of Papa Roach. I hate them. Or a member of Smashmouth. I hate them. And body size is average MY ASS. I laughed and emailed him back telling him I hoped there was something redeemable about Yahoo Billy because I had a date with him Saturday night. I haven't heard from him since. The one time we've been online together, my Dear One ~ my talkative to the point of verbose Dear One ~ was monosyllabic. And nothing since. *sigh* I wish I could make it better but I know I can't. I can't wave my wand and be 25 again. I can't wave my wand and make him 30.
And speaking of Yahoo Billy...this could be a debacle itself. The situation could still be redeemed. We'll see how it goes. The details are a bit gory and would take a long time to write. Suffice it to say, during the week of instant messaging, it started to feel like an outcall, not a date. Now, I'm blunt and as straightforward as they come. And if all I was looking for was a guaranteed fuck, I would be all over this guy like white on rice. However, although I'm not looking to be picking out china patterns, I'm not looking to replace a blow-up doll, either. Silly me ~ I'd actually like a man to want to have sex with me because he knows me and wants me ~ and vice versa. Even just for a one night thing. Not just because we're scheduled to meet up at a bar on Saturday night. I know, I know ~ I'm a demanding, unrealistic bitch. So, I sent him an instant message that said I doubt we're going to be fucking around on Saturday, just so you know. I like actually knowing a man before I fall into bed with him. I'd still like to get together and get to know you a little bit because I see the potential for good times here. If, however, you want to bail, that's cool. Just let me know one way or the other. (Told you I was blunt and straightforward) So, we'll see what he says. Honestly ~ and if you can't be honest in your blog, where the hell can you be honest? ~ I'm okay either way. His stock goes up if he wants to get together anyway. If he doesn't, at least we haven't wasted each other's time.
(Editor's Note ~ FAEE, you might want to stop reading here!) I will never collaborate on a book again. The FAEE and I have an uncontracted-just-between-us agreement that half of the new book will be in her hands on June 15.
That's 625 words, defined and used in a sentence. My co-author is under the impression we are contracted to get them to the FAEE by then. He is in charge of defining the words. So far, I have 63 of them. And none of the definitions are ones that can go straight into the book. All of them still need work. Some of them aren't even definitions. This may just be a fun, little side thing for him but it is my livelihood and my reputation with this publishing house on the line. *sigh* Never, ever again.
Ah ~ the continuing saga!
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
6 comments:
If he wants to get laid badly enough, he'll do the reasonable thing and actually date you first. If not, he's a skank, and you don't need that for any reason.
I love gardening. Well, except for the part that involves dirt and bugs. Oh, wait...I HATE gardening. Mr. Jaded LOVES it, however, so it works out nicely.
And like I said to you before, there are certain things that come with age, no matter how mature one might be for his or her age. The response you're getting at the moment is part of that whole deal. I'm sorry that it's hard for the both of you.
(and who am I to talk about maturity. I have two initials to prove my point... JD. Period. end of sentence.)
i love you. and i still can't believe you helped me move dirt.
here's a definition for you
true friend... the pobble
:) You're a good egg, Pobble. Wanna come to Calif and move landscaping rocks out of my yard with me?
I'm sorry about your Dear One. The heart isn't always controllable...regardless of age.
Hugsss to you!
I get the dirt thing, but I do love to garden and I really love it when it grows.
You make mine grow everytime I come here!
Can't wait for the update on the DATE.
STB
This is your world and you do what you need to do....
Well the Shortman will have to do something besides pout...I can't make him do anything but you can't be what he wants you to be and he can't be what you want him to be (older). Anyways, yeah, you are in charge of your life and I love you because of that...Just remember...and billy, hehehe...that sounds so funny.
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