e-Fuck and Run

I’ve been on a Liz Phair bender this week.  I was one of those girls whose life was changed by her first album, and I go back to it often.  Especially when I’m feeling a little like one of those inflatable punching clowns, swaying back and forth as I try to stay vertical.  “Help Me Mary,” “Never Said,” “6’1″,” all good for cranking up the stereo when you’re feeling sucker punched.  “Flower,” I still know all the words to that one.  It’s a little anthem for me, a wish that I could be as bad as I wanted.  The album speaks to being a smart girl confused by life, a girl who enjoys sex but still gets emotionally fucked about it.

I’ve been emailing with an old high school friend for the past few months, one of those people Facebook brings back into your life.  “Dan” was a few years behind me, and we’d been out of touch since college.  We met up when we were both home for the holidays, and my stomach did a little flip at the sight of him and I found myself trying to quiet the, “Am I being an idiot?  I sound like an idiot, he must think I’m an idiot” mental soundtrack.  Which was all just weird, like the scene in a movie where the guy finally notices that the girl next door is actually a girl.  And, as I’ve been programmed by romantic comedies to recognize such moments as Important, I kept in touch with him, despite his being seriously geographically inconvenient.  I was oddly open about how I felt, he was, well, less so.  I got the feeling there was interest, but it was hampered by Lingering Issues after a breakup and a reluctance to tackle the distance problem.  These things can go either way, and I was still interested, so I kept an oar in, damn near forcibly keeping the correspondence going, adamant that I was at least going to add another smart, interesting friend to my little circle.  He must be kept chained to his desk, as he claimed work kept him from getting back to me within a week.  Or two.  Or writing at any length.  Events led me to get annoyed and stomp off, saying he wouldn’t hear from me again unless he wrote first.

A month passed with nothing from him.  I considered de-friending him on FB just to keep myself from checking that he didn’t have death as an excuse, but decided I needed to grow up, not obsess.  And, as if there was a Google alert that I was Over It, he finally wrote, all self-effacing and hoping for understanding.  I wrote back, he fell off the planet again, which I had expected.  It was like he’d tugged my string, and by responding I’d shown I was still on it, easy to find.  I have hellish insomnia at times, so when I saw he was on FB late the other night, I teased him about something he’d recently posted and reminded him how much he sucked.  Because I’m so mature, and never passive aggressive.  He pinged me on FB chat, and we ended up joking back and forth for a couple hours.  There was flirting and innuendo, just as there has always been between us, even back in high school.  I’m always happy to play screwball comedy heroine, zinging with snappy dialogue.  Dan’s a decent sparring partner that way, keeps me on my toes.

I think I had been making the most of his mistyping “not on me,” instead of “not onto me,” by postulating what I would be doing if I was on him. “I little hair pulling, a little biting, a little poetry explicating.”  Liberal arts grads, you know.  He perked up at the mention of hair pulling, “Really?”  I owned up to being that cliche, a control freak in the office who likes to be controlled in the bedroom.  And then things took a turn for the weird, and the bow chicka wow wow music started up.

I’ll draw a veil over the details of the next two hours, but suffice to say, there was biting, there was hair pulling.  Tie me up, tie me down, beg for mercy, don’t stop.  It was hot, raunchy and NSFW, which was fine for me as I was in bed.  He was at work.  Excuse me a moment while I smirk and snicker at that image.  Soon after starting Round 2, he must have remembered where he was as he said he needed to get some work done and I should get some sleep.  He joked that I should be fine for another month.  There isn’t an emoticon that reaches out and smacks someone upside his head, so I had to confine myself to “Bite me.”  The awkwardness was rising, and even as I grabbed up my wit and bailed as fast as I could, I could feel it swamping the boat.  A pitiful feint of, “So, same time next month?” led to stumbling mentions of one of us seeing someone by then.  I made one last parry, saying I’d had more fun than I would have expected, having never done anything like that before.  He said he had, once or twice, with the girl he’d been seeing off and on.  And the awkward pause reverberated across the internet as I scrambled for my virtual clothes, pulling them on without bothering with my bra in my rush to escape.

“And almost immediately I felt sorry, cause I didn’t think this would happen again.”  She sums it up so well, that blindsiding of regret, you’ve duped yourself again.  I gave in to feeling like a Girl, wanting to know what was going on, and emailed Dan to check that we were good.  Supposedly we are, whatever that means.  I don’t think it means letters and sodas, and I don’t even know if I want that.  I’m adrift in a sea of confusion, looking for some kind of marker to guide my way.

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May 16, 2010. Tags: , , . Life, the universe, and whatnot.

One Comment

  1. Laurie replied:

    I’m really angry at Dan right now. And wish I’d been there to say, “It’s HIM, not YOU!” Love that you love Liz Phair – me, too. Oh, Mockingbird. You’re too good for this rat.

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