The Town Bicycle

It's been about a million years since I have written a blog.  Probably because things have been in transition for me romantically - and I have felt like if I said anything about it in my blog I would jinx it.  Kind of like how I don't like to tell my mother I am dating someone until we've been together for like a year.  Because the second I say out loud "I am seeing someone and it is going really great" is the precise moment it all goes to hell.  I am having a sneaking suspicion that in the last 24 hours things have started to go to hell anyways, so I decided to say "fuck it - let's write a blog".

The problem that I have in this relationship, as well as any relationship ever, is that I have a colorful history with men.  That is the nicest way I can say it.  But for anyone who knows me, or has any idea of how many people I have been with and what my sexual past looks like - they are the same people that know me well enough to explain that it has never been about achieving a high-score.  Or that I just love sex so much that I need to have it all the time with lots and lots of people.  My sexual history is a product of my much larger issues with insecurities and self-esteem.  It's a tale as old as time.  At least for those of us who come from a history of abuse, specifically sexually.

After years and years of getting involved with the wrong men, be it for a night, or drawn out over months of being treated poorly - you start to convince yourself that that's all you are going to get.  That that's what you deserve. And maybe it's a 'what came first the chicken or the egg' scenario - but for as long as I can remember I haven't really thought highly enough of myself to change the types of relationships I was falling in and out of.  I was just so amazed that anyone wanted to be with me, whether it be for 7-10 minutes or longer, that I put my heart into these toxic relationships, and made justifications time and time again that these guys weren't terrible.  They were fine, I was broken, and if anything they should all get gold medals for taking me on in the first place.

So I start seeing this guy, that has been described by friends and family alike as "someone I wouldn't normally date".  I can't imagine they mean physically, since he is dark and has a beard and looks like he should be in a band.  I can only assume they are referring to his temperament, the way he speaks to me, and how attentive and kind he is to me. This is the guy that showed up for our first date with a dozen white roses.  He says "thank you" for things, and opens doors and genuinely cares about my feelings.  But this isn't the type of guy that turns his cheek to a girl with a past such as mine.  The only types of men able to look past that are the ones that DON'T care, the ones I have been dating.  I am starting to feel like it will be impossible for me to be in a healthy relationship with a good man, because I have damaged myself beyond a point that any self-respecting, kind, real gentleman would ever want to be with.

We have talked pretty openly about our pasts.  He has been with far fewer people than I have, sexually and romantically.  And the thing that I find to be the most amazing/terrifying/

heartbreaking is that it isn't the shear volume of people that upsets him.  I mean, sure, he doesn't love the idea that I have shared my body with that many men.  But all he could do was ask me why I have allowed people that didn't ever treat me well to stay in my life for so long, and even more embarrassingly why I sought them out and fought tooth and nail to keep them around.  And I have no real explanation for myself more than what I have just admitted to you all here.  I don't like me very much, so it's easy to grab on to anyone that gives me the slightest bit of attention, even if it is a negative kind.  And that mentality has been fucking me up in the head for years - it doesn't just resolve itself after a few great weeks with a great guy that actually gives a shit about me.

I guess what I am learning (add it to the list of things I discover I'll have to overcome each and every day for the rest of my life) is that I can't undo a single thing that I have done.  I can't go back and tell a 14 year old me that someone, someday will love me and care about me in a real way.  I wish I could.  I wish I could, not only to avoid the relationships of the past decade of my life, but just to remind that little girl that it is worth waiting for.  And that if I could have just given it a bit more time, more time to learn who I am, what I am good at, and why people like me - that maybe that would be the determining factor of who I let into my life physically and emotionally.  Versus being here now, with the kind of person I've always wanted to be with, feeling as though I'm 10 years too late in being the person he's always wanted to be with.

The Pajama Theory

Me and my best girlfriend have an ongoing joke about our ability to pick up men in our pajamas.  Maybe it's because men see you in pajamas and correlate that with you going to bed.  And it's some sort of sexual connotation for them.  Either way, it never ceases to amaze me.  And really has me questioning the countless hours I spend on hair/makeup/outfit selection when I have amazing luck in nothing more than gym shorts and an over-sized t-shirt.  Let me explain.

Last week I was sent to Nashville by my amazing music store to attend the bi-annual NAMM convention (National Association for Music Merchants).  I have never been to Nashville.  In fact, I have never been on a business trip.  So I was elated to find I would have my own room, and once the seminars were over, and the show room closed for the day, that we would be free to gallivant around the city.  Now, I am particularly lucky because I happen to love the company of my coworkers.  So most evenings were spent sharing stories of our pasts and hopeful futures over many glasses of red wine (and to my surprise cinnamon whiskey shots).  But I am younger than my coworkers, by a bit, so when they retired for the evening - I found myself in the hotel bar waiting for wine to be purchased for me by handsome business men.

I had great success on the first night.  Meeting a very nice young man from Alabama who was in town with his family business that crafted violins, cellos, basses, and ukuleles.  We talked over some drinks and did some kissing.  But I kept it PG.  I tucked myself into bed shortly thereafter and figured I would see what I could muster up on day two. 

Night two was equally as successful, though I spent most of the evening talking to a married man - still willing to buy me a couple - and who was incredibly interesting.  I felt satisfied with that exchange.  It doesn't always have to be a hot and heavy makeout session, I told myself.  And just as I was getting ready to leave, the nice boy from night one came down to the bar, very obviously looking for me.  I debated, for a very brief moment, continuing the evening with him.  But decided against it.  I told both of my captive male audience at that point that I needed to rest, and that I would see them both on the floor tomorrow at the show.

Look at you, Keller.  Way to not be too slutty on a business trip.  I got into my room, feeling proud, and changed into my pajamas.  I determined I should smoke just one last cigarette before bed, so I went down to the front entrance of the hotel to ensure I didn't run into either boys from earlier in the trip.  I was sitting on the ground, back against the wall with headphones on.  Let me reiterate for those who aren't following - I was in blue cotton gym shorts and an oversized Oswego High School baseball shirt.  I was clearly making no effort to socialize with my headphones on, and was actively avoiding eye contact with anyone outside the hotel at what was now 1am.  At that moment a very handsome man stepped out of the backseat of a town car, and headed towards the revolving door before catching my eye.  Dammit.

I shyly pulled one of the ear-buds out of my ear to hear a warm greeting sent in my direction.  Next thing I know, handsome business man is sitting down next to me, on the concrete ground, asking me about who I am, where I work, what I am doing in town.   Most the conversation was muted by my consuming thoughts of how my face must look without any makeout, and how apparent my cellulite is in these shorts.  Handsome business man was unfazed.  Next thing I know we are kissing.  Next thing I know we discover we are both on the 3rd floor.  Next thing I know I am slammed up against a wall in the elevator.  I was in my PAJAMAS FOR CHRIST SAKE.

Now, I can still carry my less-slutty head tall and proud, for I did not sleep with handsome business man.  We fooled around a bit, he was an excellent kisser.  And eventually I was more tired than I was turned on and escorted him to the door.  We exchanged business cards, and a kiss goodnight and with that I had no intention of ever seeing or hearing from him again.

But I've been home for a few days now, and I got curious.  So I pulled out his business card and punched his name into the ol' google search.  Imagine my surprise to find this guy all over the fucking internet.  He is the CEO of a company, that I shall not name, that manufactures guitars.  His company has won an obscene amount of grant money to move forward with their products, and he has been listed in many financing magazines for top young entrepreneurs.  He is just as handsome in picture as I remember him being in person.  Oh, and did I mention he was the CEO of this ridiculously profitable company?  I think I should have slept with him. Waited it out a few months, then made a phone call claiming I was pregnant and tried to get hush money.  That’s terrible.  I don’t mean that.  I kind of don’t mean that.  I really don’t mean that.

 

What’s the point of my story here?  Is it nothing more than wanting to brag some more about my sexual prowess and ability to pick up men all over this great country of ours?  Mainly.  But it is also just as fascinating to know that my luck with men is not limited to a little black dress, stilettos, and perfectly polished hair.  CEO spent most of the night complimenting my quick wit, beautiful eyes and kissing ability anyways.  So ladies, take a hint from Chelsea and I.  Wash off the makeup, throw on your sweats, and just be comfortable.  Men are going to come and get it anyways.

 

The Goodbye Girl

It would be unfair to say I have been actively dating the past few months. In fact, I have been foolishly holding onto the broken pieces of my most previous relationship versus making any real effort to move forward. In an attempt to try and pull myself out of this romantic-funk (see what I did there?) I started clicking around the ol' dating site a bit more seriously than usual. After browsing through dozens of lackluster profiles of moderately attractive men, I found one that shined through the others. This gentleman was dark and handsome, 25 years old, gainfully employed, and interested in the same variety of music and movies as myself. What the hell, I thought. Couldn't hurt to say hello.

So I sent over a message. Something random and brief about seeing Death Cab for Cutie a few months back, and then again flying over them on the ski-lift at Summerfest last week. I closed with my number, and encouraged him to hit me back to meet, quite possibly, the coolest redhead anyone could ever know. A few minutes later I received a picture message of Death Cab playing at Summerfest on that very night I was there. Impressive, sir. Well played. After a few exchanges we had decided to get together on Sunday for a few beers.

Imagine my relief when I opened the door last night to discover a very good looking, adult male, who was both taller than me and didn't smell like hamster cages. He even had facial hair, and dark-rimmed hipster glasses. I melt all over again just thinking about it. Conversation picked up immediately as we had tons to learn about each other. He even made his move for our first kiss very shortly into our meeting. Which was ballsy, but appreciated by me, as I move quickly with things myself as well. It was a pretty perfect first date that I floated through with ease and confidence. Sounds like a sure thing, right? At least for a few more dates? Wrong. Because he moves to Boston on Wednesday.

Now lets think back to a recent blog in which I mentioned the bearded fellow I met at trivia night, the one who I hit it off with and spent a lovely evening getting to know. That guy, also pretty perfect chemistry, did call me after our initial meeting. But only to inform me that he was moving to Texas a few short days later. What in the world is going on here? Is it impossible for me to meet someone qualified to date Katie Keller that will keep residence in Illinois longer than a week after meeting me? My girlfriend asked me after explaining this date to her, "are you just men's 'goodbye'?" It certainly is starting to feel that way. As though I am one last good time before anyone I could be interested in sets out to start another life far far away.

Bearded Ben had mentioned that he wanted to stay in touch. That he was only going down there to finish up school, and he would make frequent visits back home. Which means nothing to me. We only met once. It's not like I will lock myself inside waiting for his return. I decided not to kid anyone when Boston Boy left last night. He kissed me goodnight and told me to have a good trip to Nashville this week, I responded by telling him to have a good life. Because I will do nothing but break my own heart if I even entertain the notion this kid and I will ever even see each other again, let alone be romantically involved.

Welp, such is life. I have decided after a long day of contemplation that these situations are all signs of something good. Sure it's frustrating. And it makes it really hard not to pick up the phone and beg the ex for his attention again because he is here, at least for now, and I won't have to wonder whether my heart will be broken or left for Boston. Because with him a broken heart is a sure thing. What it does prove is that I am redirecting my radar. That I have sought out, though fleeting, two really great guys. Not the kind that I just see great potential in and hope to someday recreate into something worth dating. Both of these guys are well established, intelligent, and mature. They, in the short time I spent with them, were kind and attentive. And I will go on believing in my overly optimistic mind that had either one of them been staying in the greater Chicagoland area, that they would have been incredible romances. That we would have continued to get to know one another, fall deeply and passionately in love, and when they made the big moves to Boson or Texas that I would be in the passenger seat grateful for the opportunity to start a new life.

Goodbye Boston Luke. Goodbye Bearded Ben. I enjoyed your kisses and playful banter. I even more so enjoyed the reminder that men like you are out there. You were both just on your way out, and a part of me loves being your goodbye girl. One more sweet memory to hold onto from Illinois. I hope you find everything it is you boys are looking for, and thanks again for reminding me what it is I am.

Assholes and Idiots

My father uses the phrase "I'm surrounded..." on a regular basis.  He never even needed to finish the sentence in order for us to grasp the sentiment.  "I am surrounded by idiots."  And for most of my childhood (and let's be honest, adulthood) the man has legitimately been surrounded by idiots.  As I get older, and I am subjected to a whole world of characters, my heart goes out to the man.  He is, and as I am learning I am, surrounded by idiots. Not exclusively idiots, but also assholes.  Maybe that's why he never finished the sentence out loud.  Maybe he also felt he was surrounded by idiots as well as a variety of names he couldn't say in front of his small children.

I am not by any means claiming to be perfect, or immune to being both an idiot and asshole at times.  But I am finding in more recent interactions with people, more often than not they are idiots or assholes. I would now like to share some examples of these types of people I am referring to:

1. The "Out Of Touch With Reality" Guy.
This guy (or girl) believes that things will just magically appear if you will them to do so.  They believe they will sign a record contract, tour, and become a huge rockstar without applying much more effort than creating songs on a computer in their parent's basement and then just talking openly about their musical career.  Because if you post about it in your facebook status' - you are clearly well on your way to stardom.  Or maybe you think you can just up and quit your job because "money doesn't buy happiness" and you should "follow your heart and just do what makes you happy".  Well, you know what makes me happy? Being able to make rent, or keep my electricity on.  Or not having to be codependent on everyone else to live a happy and successful life.  I would never want to gain something that I wanted without merit.  I want to work and earn everything attached to my name.  And even if I fall short every time, I at least know I gave it my all. And if my hard-work and passion leads me nowhere but my ranch-style home in Aurora, and job at the music store indefinitely, I will be okay with that knowing that I didn't try to cheat the system or waste years of my life with my head in clouds waiting for that one opportunity for lighting to strike.  If you have lofty goals, you work your ass off for them.  But you also need to understand that life isn't always rainbow and sunshine.  So buck up, shut up, and work like the rest of us.  Ya dig?

2. The "My Life is The Worst Life Ever" Guy.
This guy thinks that his troubles and concerns are the worst troubles and concerns ever experienced by mankind in all of history.  Sure, I get down a lot.  I wish and pray that things could be different, or when circumstances didn't work the way I had planned.  But keep a little perspective people.  I promise you nothing that you or I are going through is anything new from the pain and worry of a GAZILLION others before us.  And most of them survived.  The ones that didn't probably got hit by a bus or something.  And you aren't lucky enough to have that happen to you, most likely.  So deal with your shit.  My dad is going to die of cancer.  The next 5 -50 men I date will probably hurt or reject me when I really want it to work out.  I will have to find rides to work for a while until I can afford a car.  But guess what? Everyone's dad's will die.  And everyone will get their heart stomped by a love interest at some point.  And everyone will have to swallow down pride from time to time to ask for help from other people.  None of these things will kill us.  So acting as though they will, or that there is no way out, is pointless and a waste of energy.

3. The Bad Guy Who Wants Nice Things.
This is the friend who is not a great friend.  In fact, he's kind of an asshole.  He is your friend only when it is convenient for him.  When that time comes along, he will be a fun guy - but will suck out of you as much as he can before disappearing until they need something again.   I have a really bad tendency of letting these types of people in over and over again, because I so desperately want to believe that maybe this time they will be a good friend deserving of good things.  But they won't be.  Because they're an asshole.  If you are a bad person, you don't deserve nice things.

4. The "This Won't Effect Anyone But Me" Guy.
People are so careless when they make decisions.  I am all about looking out for number one.  But at the end of the day, any thing you do or say has a consequence.  It will never start and end with you and your life only.  It's a small small world, and we are all so intertwined that your actions will impact those around you whether you like it or not.  Now, if you need to do something for your benefit, be it health, career, or overall well being, do it.  Always do it.  Just don't act surprised when it has a trickle down effect on others.  But especially with stupid decisions - other people will feel the weight of that in some way shape or form, be it concern or worry - or something more intrusive like having to pick up pieces to things they never broke in the first place.  Just think about the world around you before making rash decisions, like marriage and babies.

5. The "I'm Really Cool Because I Party" Guy.
Oh man.  This guys is the coolest.  He prides himself on the amount of PBRs he drank at the bar last night.  And his ability to acquire weed at the drop of a hat.  You did how much acid last night?  Oh man, you are just so cool.  I don't understand how anyone could be having more fun that you are - all the time.  I'm 25 years old.  I am not over my partying years, I like my vino - I like to get a little crazy.  But if someone asks me what the best thing I did today was, and it is in any way shape or form connected to drugs or alcohol, I officially live a pretty pathetic life.  These substances are used to alter your mind from your actual reality, which is great.  Like a mini-vacation.  But if these are the best parts of your life, it means your reality sucks, and you are just prolonging improving your reality by never being in it. 

Idiots, am I right?  I like to think these are phases for people - that they will grow out of them.  I fear for some though it maybe a permanent life choice.  In which case I will take on the wonderful advice of my dearest friend Robyn and free myself.  Free yourself from these people, these attitudes, these delusions.  I can only be responsible for what I am doing with my life.  And since that is in a constant need of fine-tuning and readjustment - I quite frankly don't have the time to de-idiotize or de-asshole these kinds of people.  The silver lining to being surrounded though, is it makes you cherish those that seem to make an effort and play on your level.  Those people, the ones who fight the good fight and work hard to be the best they can, even just 1 of them can negate a whole world of 1 - 5s.  So love them hard. And when worst comes to worst, just shake your head and say "I'm surrounded..."

Mad Game, Bro

I have expressed time and time again how much I don't care for dating.  But it would be fair to clarify that it is internet dating that I hate.  I hate having to determine a man's worth from a dating profile or a series of exchanged texts and emails.  I hate having to sit across a table from someone I don't know any further than a survey of questions answered about romantic preferences and "dating style".  This has really been the only way I have been meeting men over the past few years, as it seems harder and harder to meet men in an organic way anymore.  I don't spend a lot of times at bars, or clubs - I don't attend any group functions or classes.  I know the same 15 men I see at work each day (some of them are datable, though I don't think they believe the same to be true about me).  Any opportunity I seem to have with finding and dating men always feels more like a job interview than spending time with someone because you met them by chance, felt something, and wanted to pursue it further.

Me and my life brommate Chelsea headed out to trivia this past Thursday night.  I have heard lots of stories about bar trivia.  People seem to love it, and I tend to hate everything people love, so I have made it a point to avoid it for the past few years.  But, get a few margaritas in me, and I forget my petty objections to socially accepted activity and am game for just about anything.  As we approached the table of Chelsea's manfriends I noticed their team name was "Zack Morris and the Brick Phones".  "Okay", I thought to myself, "we will all get along just fine".

We weren't even at the table for more than 5 minutes when Chelsea announced that the guy sitting to her right, sporting one hell of a beard, would be my romantic interest for the evening.  She was basing this strictly on the fact that he had a beard.  Apparently I have a type - and it's 20 year old boys and bearded men.  Her statement was half fact and half taken as a challenge by me.  Bearded man would be mine, if for nothing more than a hot make-out session in a bar on a Thursday night. 

I was pleasantly surprised to discover that beardface and I had a ton in common.  He is also a drummer, has a long standing history with the local Chicago music scene, loves to write, and is currently getting a PhD in Philosophy.   (That last fact has nothing to do with my interests, I just wanted to brag about the fact that he is getting a PhD.  He also drives a Cadillac.  I digress.) After many shared laughs and a couple dozen cigarettes on the patio, he leaned in for the kiss.  OH BEARDFACE!  HAPPY DAYS!  Nothing excites me more than making out with dudes, except making out with dudes who have beards.

Chelsea was also running game on a young gent in the same circle of friends.  So as the bar was closing and we were paying our tabs, I decided it wasn't necessary to end the evening so soon and invited the bros over to the Katie-cave.  Lucky bastards, indeed.  The Cadillac was cozy, and the hand-holding and stop light kissing was butterfly inducing.  When us make-shift double-daters got back to the cave, a Bayside dance party ensued followed by a Kevin Smith viewing party that lasted approximately 10 minutes before we all got too handsy and had to depart to our separate bedrooms.  In retrospect, the only thing that I would have changed was Chelsea and I exchanging high-fives in passing.  Because at this point we had run game, seduced two suitors, and were closing the deal. 

I won't go into the specifics of either of our closed door activates, but it is fair to say we both handled ourselves like dudes.  We took what we wanted, no apologies, and went to bed.  Used and abused.  And it felt good.  For once to be the taker and not the giver.  To pick up a guy at a bar, to get what I wanted, and then tuck myself into bed cuddled up next to a beard and feeling very satisfied with myself.  It's not nearly as slutty as it sounds.  I didn't sleep with the guy.  Which I am happy about.  I have a tendency of jumping into bed way too soon, and then act shocked and surprised with men don't view me as "girlfriend material".  Why buy the cow, ya know?

Chelsea and I spent the following day glowing about making out with boys, and it was a lovely reminder that outside of OkCupid and suffering through first dates with strangers - there are still genuine connections that can be made by fate or luck, or just good timing.  Beardface has my number, and who knows if he will use it.  I like to think waking up in his arms versus having him leave a very passed out me in bed in the middle of the night is a good sign.  And if he doesn't, I'm not too worried.  I have rediscovered the fact that I run some mad game, bro.  Maybe it's time I disconnect from the internet dating world for a bit and just force myself to go out more.  I have a wingman with equal amounts of game to be run, so watch out single dudes in the greater Chicagoland area.  Me and my bro are on the prowl this summer, and if Beardface is any indication, you really don't stand a chance.

No One Seems To Be Forgetting

Maybe everything I write in here will be used against me.  Maybe I am just making the already daunting task of dating that much harder on myself because any man that wants to know me can simply type my name into a search engine and discover pretty much everything about me.  They will learn my interests and hobbies, my career, about my friends and family, and my relationship history.  Hell, it's become public knowledge, at no one's fault but my own, that I have a bizarre fetish for choking.  Oh well, it's already been published.  It's out there - and people can not unread it. 

So I went out with this guy the other day.  I don't know if it would qualify as a date, as much as just "grabbing beers".  I was nervous, like I get when I go out with men and I have to try to be all charming and witty and not talk about things like ex-boyfriends or being choked out.  We were having a really nice time.  Which I was a bit surprised by, I felt like in this particular pairing I was going to be too dominate (when am I not too dominate though?).  As the evening was coming to an end, and we were evaluating where a night of drinking and banter would leave us, his analysis of the situation caught me off guard.  And not exclusively because he wasn't trying to get his hand up my shirt.

Outside of a few other minor setbacks in our relationships to one another, he had said that it was evident that I am still hung up on my exboyfriend.  I don't even know if he can be called an exboyfriend, as much as that guy I wasted a large majority of the last year on.  Is there a title for that? Oh yes, I do believe its an HSF.  Regardless, this upset me.  Because I had been extra careful not to discuss HSF any more than prompted to while we were out.  So I couldn't quite figure out what he was basing this on.  Then it occurred to me that for as long as this guy has known me he has been exposed to my blogs, my facebook, my twitter - so absolutely would it be fair for him to think that.

So am I still hung up on my ex?  Well, it was less than 2 weeks ago that he was literally inside me.  So maybe, yeah, a little.  Not to mention it has become increasingly hard to get over him with having to see his stupid sandy blonde head every time I have to put a trombone on the delivery shelf.  So after this particular gentleman left for the evening, with not so much as a good night kiss, my anger and red wine got the best of me - and I expressed to HSF that he needed to find a new job.  I am not going to miss opportunities to connect with new people because my social media profiles read me like an open book, and sends giant red flags to the universe that this is still an issue in my life.  He needs to go, or I need to stop expressing every last emotion I carry with me on the internet.  One of those things is not going to happen.  And it doesn't involve making minimum wage whilst vacuuming clarinet cases.

But with the HSF bullshit aside, I am still going to have to come to terms with what men are able to deduct about Katie Keller from the internet.  Specifically this blog.  I mean, this poor guy who shared 3 beers and half of one shot with me on a Wednesday night probably didn't know he would inspire an entire blog entry.  But he did.  And that's the risk you run when you spend time with me romantically or otherwise.  Hell, a conversation with Curtis just last week provoked a currently unfinished blog entitled "Blow Job Queen".  I write my life.  I make no apologizes for that.  But now I'm finding that it is probably hurting me more than anyone else.  Except for the guy that smelled like hamsters.  I still think I hurt him more.

HSF On The JOB

I have written the beginning of about 6 different blogs all around my birthday last week.  I was covering a variety of topics - my dry spell from sex, turning 25, finding "the one" - I had a million things I wanted to say that I just couldn't seem to carryout to completion.  But now I sit here, with really only one thing on my mind to talk about.  And it's almost embarrassing that I am back in this place to talk about it at all.  But I know as my fingers are sliding across this keyboard that I will start and finish these thoughts, because they are pulsing through me stronger than my feelings on any of the previously mentioned topics.

Let's talk about HSF for a minute.  To give a brief synopsis of where things left off, we had played the "together but not really together" game since July of last year.  And as I have very openly discussed in this blog, was challenged by being in a relationship with a complete and total lack of definition.  I played it out through the winter and into spring.  By the time he had come home for spring break, I placed down an ultimatum: I was by no means asking him to put a ring on it, but if we were going to continue spending time together and sleeping together I needed to know we were exclusive to one another.  He nodded his head, compliantly, to which I quickly learned was to ensure he would continue to get laid over the holiday break.  I had had enough at this point, told him that I deserved better - that I wanted a real committed relationship, and we ended it.

For two people that couldn't seem to stay away from or keep their hands off of one another for months, we went in completely opposite directions and I prided myself on my ability to not look back.  To not stalk his various internet profiles.  I was legitimately ready and trying, actively, to get over this kid.  9 months was already too long to invest time with someone who at the end of the day was just not willing to give me what I want.

Alright, so now that we are caught up there, let me tell you about the completely retarded decision I made when it came back to surface that HSF had applied for a job at my work.  And when we were together, this sounded like the best plan ever.  Flash forward 2 months, we aren't speaking, and I am being asked whether or not I mind if HSF takes the position.   "Of course he can still take it" I said.  "It won't matter at all" believed no one.  He was going to be coming home from school anyways, and I knew that was going to suck.  How much worse could it possibly be having to work with him 5 days a week?  Exponentially worse - in case you were wondering.

So he's been home for 3 days, has worked 2 days, and we've already slept together again once.  Nice work, Keller.  Bang up job upholding the progress you have struggled to make in getting over this kid for the past 60 days.  Straight out the window it went, along with my self-respect and enjoyment of coming into work.  I am being mildly dramatic.  But I should have known better to not poke this barely sleeping emotional beast.  I of course still care about the kid, that was the only reason there was no real hesitation when I was asked if he could still take the job.  I want him to have the job.  I know its a good job, I like the people he will be working with, and it will help him make money over the summer.  But I can't do this again.  I know that our relationship has not changed, he as a person has not changed, and by him working here I am doing nothing but creating opportunities for him to trick me into thinking any of this is a good idea.

I'm a big girl, though.  And because I am self aware enough to recognize this as a slippery slope for myself, it is my responsibility and mine only to coexist at work with him, and leave our relationship there.  I guess what stings - all strong independent Katie aside - is that this kid crushed my heart.  I really, so genuinely, gave him my heart.  I would have done anything to make a relationship with him work.  I liked him enough to play by his rules for as long as I possibly could.  When he decided that he couldn't give me what I wanted, I was fucking devastated.  Now everyday when I punch in, I have to look at the face of the boy that broke my heart, and fight with everything in me to be the bigger person and allow him to have a summer job, drama free.  Knowing that it will never be that easy for me.

Chelsea said it beautifully, that when I decided it was okay to let him work here it was that part of me that was still hoping things could be different.  Watching that reality come crashing down is almost harder than when we walked away the first time.  So - it's time for distractions bro.  Lots and lots of distractions, in the way of long nights on the couch with Curtis, comedy shows with Matt, girls nights and Grays Anatomy with Erin.  And as many ridiculous weekend long adventures Chelsea and I can pencil in between our schedules.  I am 25 years old now, I'm not looking to waste any more time than has already been lost.