Are You a Top?

sitting on my couch doing work respectively….

“what do you think of our relationship?” the new boy says – a girl would kill for a guy to have this conversation unprompted. nevertheless my eyes go wide and i’m at a loss as to what to say.

“…the short version, please,” he says, his eyes still glued to the Red Sox four-run video.

mentally i go over all the kinds of things that may or may not send him running, “….umm, you mean ‘relationship’ like this cup has a relationship to the table it’s on?”

“…yeah.” – and now he’s successfully shut me up before i begin as i’m silently wondering if i’m the cup or the table.

And We Say Men Don’t Talk About Their Feelings…

me(10:36:08 PM): you know, id like to have like a real date with you one day

boy(10:37:39 PM): i’d like to have sex with you one day

boy (10:37:44 PM): so maybe we can work out an arrangement

To The B-Boy(s)…

…could you not be that guy in my head who judges everything I do (because I make you) and gives me a million plus one chances to get it right (because it just has to be)?

…thank you kindly.

yours….

Everything You Need to Know in Two Simple Passages

Courtesy of Acronym Man

me: “I’ve seen the movie before but this time I cried a lot; my therapist says my whole ‘who am I’ feelings is normal for women my age. But I don’t want to be the woman who cries at sappy movies on saturday nights.”
“Didn’t you figure out who you were after majoring in your own identity?”

..and courtesy of the Onion:

Leo July 23 – August 22

If there’s a drinkable liquid in the world that doesn’t cause loss of motor function, impaired judgment, slurred speech, dehydration, and eventual unconsciousness, you don’t want to know about it.

Whaaaa?

You can’t ever tell me I didn’t start young…..
It sucks that the scan doesn’t pick up the immense ash and baby powder in my rolls.

What I Miss?

I’m a little late in the contest, but clearly I’m also a little late in getting the joke that has my mother in a hyena state. I’ve asked repeatedly and neither of my folks know what the hell was so fuckin’ funny. Perhaps it was just my hairdo.

I Hope He Gets the Clap

I’m a big fat fool. Well, not so much fat anymore due to my depressive lack of appetite-tired-caffeine pills-smoking relapse-induced diet, but a big fucking fool nonetheless.

In an attempt to “be cool, man” I had the following exchange with acronym man even though I can barely talk to him without cringing:

Me in the role of The Hip-I’m your hip cool girl buddy who sleeps around and doesn’t have a soul. I’m totally cool with what happened, man, it’s not like I even had any feelings to crush. Tell me everything about your great new love life, let’s gab!-Chick Friend: “So – i think i can handle this – are u and [redacted] madly in love?”

Acronym Man in the role of The Nice Guy -who likes to think he’s the most progressive laid-back better than all other men out there by virtue of the fact that he has had more than one long-term relationship with an emotionally unstable woman and that he has a plethora of female friends he can be there for : “…Yes.”

Me: “Cool….gotta go, night!”

Oh and why the carrot? It’s his favorite snack..wait for it…get the connection yet? Gotta love metaphors!

When Your Father is a Veteran…

…this is what you get for a comforting pep talk when you have to inject yourself with a two-inch long needle:

“Ok, Dad, I think I need you on the phone while I do this ok?
“Ok”
“…Ok I’m gonna do it.”
“Ok baby, just breathe.”
“Ok.”
“..So I was talking to your mom the other–”
“One…two..three…fo-”
“What the hell? What are you doing?!”
“I’m counting, Dad, I’m about to do it.”
“What?!? Jesus, I thought you did it already. Just do it, don’t bring any damn drama to it!”
“But dad–”
“DO it, DO it, DO it, DO IT!”

…and after, “Alright, sweetie, so same time next week?”

Here’s Lookin…

So what does one do with the semi-nudey shots you tipsily took of oneself for an ex-lover who you didn’t know was an ex-lover until too late?…Tough stuff people, tough…stuff.

Like it’s at all doubtful I won’t put them all over my bathroom walls.

Rubber Sneakers Anyone?

I had an MS day today. In short, an MS day is a day after your recent diagnosis when you realize yet another aspect of your life that you took for granted is affected by this damn thing.

Today I was warned that wearing high heels was probably not best. My neck and head began to hurt immensely in class – turns out it was a muscle spasm from MS-related stress. As the very kind well-intentioned doctor massaged my neck she stared at my lovely, so comfy and fabulous Jeffrey Campbell ankle boots. Then she looked at me with that damned pity look, “I know you’re probably going through a lot right now and making all kinds of compromises you’d never thought you’d make; and you’re so young but you probably shouldn’t wear such heels anymore.”* I nodded in a conciliatory manner, took her suggestions for yet another painkiller for my neck, gathered my things, checked out…and terrified all the kids on the Harvard Yard as I tearfully walked home in my heels mumbling “FUCK” over and over.

And many of you dear readers may think I sound so ridiculous crying over high heels. So be it. You’d be surprised what little things get to you when you get diagnosed with a lifelong debilitating disease. Imagine your favorite mundane thing. Now imagine just the possibility of it gone. Sounds simple, it never is.

But in case I do need to defend myself the above wasn’t the worst part of my visit. Again as dear doctor massaged my neck she asked “Do you have a partner to do this for you at home.” Now for the UMPTEENTH time most 20-somethings are actually single. They may have roommates but perhaps not the kind to ask “Hey, roomie! You think you could put down that beer/cocktail/phone/person you’re fornicating with/ job/ life you have right now and rub my lower back/above ass area?” I have neither a significant other nor a roomie. I have friends here, yes. Would I ask them to come over at 2 am to rub my back when I can’t even blink because of the pain?…O hey, I did that and “jingle bitch screwed me over.”

While MS diagnoses occur between the ages of 20 and 40 the public image of someone with MS is definitely in his 50’s in perhaps a wheelchair. The funny thing is women are 2x as likely to get it as men and those folks with MS in their 50s probably got it in their 20s. Yet the doctor’s question has been posed to me numerous times. I’m a 20-something grad student with a disease that apparently is all the better if I weren’t single. Even the very National MS Society site has a gazillion things about partnership and intimacy and relationships.

Well what about the friggin serially single 20-something who can and wants to live alone and can’t afford massages every week (Oh yeah, I was also asked if I could work that into my 20-something budget)? When I’m in pain it’s me who has to still do the damn thing everyday; when I’m too tired to think it’s me who has to give myself a pep talk; when I can’t button my shirt because my hand just won’t cooperate it’s me who has to be patient and allow myself 20 minutes to put on a top; and when I feel hideous because I have no energy to work out anymore and the steroids have made me break out like a 15 year old boy it’s me who has to convince myself of my lasting beauty; and when I’m told that 50% of MS patients have cognitive dysfunction it’s me who has to tell myself I’ll make it through my rigorous PhD program.

I guess I should have known that being single makes you ill, too.

*MS affects your gait and balance. High heels + poor gait + Boston cobblestones….