I have these “friends”. “Friends” who, if they really knew me, never would have suggested I watch Grey’s Anatomy.
Tonight was date night around these parts and this means a fun dinner (usually out, but I’ve already blown that part of the month’s budget all to hell), some sort of junk food snack and a movie of Isobel’s choice. She picked Stuart Little 3. Last week was Stuart Little 2 and the week before, I’ll give you one guess.
And I was like, ok, tonight Mommy is getting some dvds, too. So I pop into the TV section, after realizing that there’s nothing new that I want to rent that Jdawg will not also want to see and there it is. Season one, discs one and two. And HO! they have a deal on three weekly movies, so I guess the choice was really made for me, wasn’t it?
And now, episodes one through five have been viewed and I’ve cried five times and it’s caused reflection. The kind of introspect that only alcohol and aloneness can be a catalyst for blogging about:
God, I want someone to fall in love with me. I mean, GOD, I want to fall in love with someone. You know those kisses? The ones where cheeks are cupped and hair swept aside and your head tilts backwards and everyone leans in together? I’ve had about three of those in my life. And only one was from someone I loved.
I am totally uncomfortable with romance. With sappiness and emotions from boys that aren’t related to anger or jealousy or lust. I’d say of the crazy amounts of horizontal (and sometimes vertical) action I’ve gotten, only a handful have been anything not resembling some sort of jackhammer maneouvre. Simply cuz, like, I don’t know what to do. Who to be. What to feel. Hell, to be completely frank, I don’t even think I’ve ever fallen in love. (I’ve loved too many to count, cuz really if I don’t dislike you, I probably love you. But if I love you, then you risk me hating you, some of the time.)
Sex and love: totally separate. Usually not even related; not conjoined. Sex, it comes so naturally to me. It’s expected of me. By myself. It’s what makes me the chick that the boys have wanted, I think – the one that will tell you off one hour and then screw you into a coma the next, and then a few hours later, and again in the morning.
And fucking Grey’s Anatomy is making me wish that it wasn’t like that.
This entry was brought to you by Sprite and Vodka and a week without sex.
On a completely different, non-sappy, non-sexually related subject, the new blog will be launching on Sunday night. I’ll be emailing everyone with the URL so please come and visit and drop some two centses and you know, even DIGG or STUMBLE the shit I’ve written. Oh and there’ll be contests. For like, free stuff. So yeah, hope I’ll see a lot of you there.
