Okay, so my life centers a lot around people, and I am especially caught up in the whirlwind of romance because it is so exciting to share my boring daily routine with someone. I like taking a part of someone's daily routine, too. I guess I am cut out for marriage after all, despite what I used to think. That's what marriage is, right? The sex is another story, I think.
Okay. Joe. Joe! He is the greatest influence of my life since he has been in it for ten years. I still love him very much, even if I have absolutely no desire to get into his pants. I can still envision myself being married to him because he is such a witty, social, and great guy. I can't bring myself to watch political comedy central shows (John Stewart, Colbert Report, Bill Mahr) without that awful ache for our past. Or Conan O'Brien. We would watch all those shows and eat blue chips and cheese together. He is the most selfless and chivalric person I know, an endangered or extinct breed. I have been over not being his girlfriend anymore for quite some time. I still want him in my life because he enriches it.
Paul. Paul! He has died. I think this is the saddest relationship of all because we had this 5 years of great friendship entangled with a great sexual desire for each other. It eventually dwindled down because I was so sick of his narcassism and need to not commit to me. He says it would never work out because I was 16 years his junior. He was 43 when he passed away in November 2007. He would be 45 this year. We've shared many great stories. This was when I realized that, against all my efforts, I truly am attracted to artistic guys, specifically creative writers. I wanted to date (and maybe eventually marry) a techie and/or a scientist in the past. I think I still do. I felt that artistically inclined men were too flightly. In a way, they are. David and Paul has proven that to me - they are more important to themselves than me. Maybe they can (well, not in Paul's case) find the right woman for them one day. Why isn't it me? I don't know. Or maybe they won't. Or David won't. But Paul, we talked about a lot.
He ignited a fire of imaginary worlds for me each and every day because his escape from reality comes from that. We danced in the clouds. He used to talk on the phone every night, almost without fail, for a solid 2 years. Then it dwindled to 5 nights a week and so on. We couldn't get enough of it. He used to tell me that I "give great phone". We both came from an era pre-internet, an era that centered on malls and phone booths. He introduced me to a lot of great music and writers. He gave me Douglas Coupland, Perfume, Elvis Costello, Wilco, and the Fountains of Wayne. He gave me Daniel Johnston, Michel Gondry, David Lynch, Chris Cunningham, Pilkington, and the Office (BBC eons before the American version). He downloaded me the latest NIN months before the release. Paul was so quirky and offbeat. He was technologically savvy and infinitely creative. We walk. We walk. (I am thinking this in tune of the song from the Ting Tings, but that came out way after he died, I think, but idk). We walked all around UM all the time. We must have circled that place hundreds of times, no joke. The gem about modern society and pop culture is that it gave us a myriad of worlds to dive into, endlessly. We can talk about Britney Spears breakdown or Tom Cruise's craziness, tv shows, movies, politics, music. Any of those provide fabulous avenues for escape.
The problem with Paul, I mean, aside that he had many problems, or as he would have falsely and knowingly quoted, "I've got ninety-nine problems but a bitch ain't one", is that he not only lived in Fantasy Land, he also lived in The Past. He can't get out of regressing. We shared something in our past that brought us close together. I can still remember the first time I told him. It was over the phone and I always do so breezily, because that's the person I like to think I am - casual, nonchalant, I take things in stride, but only after locking myself up in my room and crying pitifully and ripping into myself for hours and days at a time and seriously reflecting on suicide. But after those few hours, days, and/or weeks pass, I am ready to face the world again all positive and accepting with a smile on my face and a careless twirl of my hand. When I told him, it was like I dropped the bomb. It was dead silent. Then he confessed to me. And wow, that was when I understood, but not really. I suppose it is different for a man. As a man. He never stopped being a child, which have duel merits.
He always makes me digress more than I should. I guess being dead and all. I want to try and remember everything about him. He and his "me me me"-ism, as I title it.
I said two great things to him. One was. "Paul, if you don't succeed in a relationship or marriage when you're 50, I'm more than willing to be the host of your spawns" or something roughly akin to that. He loved Alien, the movie. He watches it every day. He loves rewatching movies to a crazily inhuman extent. The second was. "You have the most symetric face in the world." Which was a lie, except, not really, because I had my glasses off. He might have not been the first one I said that to, in which case, I said so as much.
David!!! When I first met him, I hated him because he was giggly and he had the same name as our boss who I didn't like so much then. Plus, he kept on giggling throughout the meeting and at everything our boss had to say and man, our boss was creepy. David dressed like a lumberjack (blue plaid, jeans, and the ugliest, most godawful pair of black Walmart sneakers to plague the planet), but I had a double take at his features because he had Paul's nose and eyes (Paul had blue eyes, David has hazel), but they both had big, soulful eyes. Their faces were both funny shaped and they both had soft, straight hair. I immediately had to shove this out of my mind because I had to be professional and all.
Two years of being his friend and then he kisses me. It seems that I like office romances, given that I'm actually on my third one.
I"m hungry, I'll finish this later.
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