Pseu Pseu Pseudio

Pseudo love . . . I want to (dun dun) run away, I want to (dun dun) run away from the (something something something . . . ).
Eddie came over last night, and all was good in the neighborhood. I tell ya, we spend more time cuddling and talking and being cute now than anything (not to mention the earth shattering badabing). Unfortunately his nephew was locked out of their place so he had to leave at 3am. Today I cleaned and sorted and packed with Snow White. Last night I went to Target where I ran into a friend from high school that I'd not seen in like 6 or 7 years (and became saddened when we could summarize our lives in about 30 seconds), then went to Aftershocks' for INCREDIBLE applecrisp that he insisted on making me and to get boxes (he had none of them unpacked and ready for me) but I had some mediocre badabing anyways. I think that's the last time I'll do that. Between his annoying me and no boxes, and suddenly bad breath, I can't do it, not now at least and I'm kinda floating after my night with Eddie a little more than usual, what's up with that? Might I like this one? Nah, can't be true, and certainly not a possibility! Better shake off that thought.

When It Rains?

I entered this day sweating and screaming from a nightmare and figured it would be a rainy crappy series of hours. After fighting the on line e-filing system of the IRS, I game out as the conqueror of the taxes, meaning I finally completed them. Just the fundage I'll need to move and get my checkbook back in the black. And when I'd resigned to think that I was going to have another boring Saturday night, Eddie called. Being sweet and romantic and wanting to spend time with me. And Aftershock already asked if he could cook for me tomorrow, we'll see. The GI from Iraq surfaced after a couple of months reaffirming his desire to be with me when he returns in March. Oh, and Patrick's in town, according to my trustworthy bird friend, Jinx. I'll try to work the situation so that I can see him, although who really knows what a face to face confrontation will bring with that cat. Who woulda thought that a rainy/snowy day in the mid-west would have brought all of that! Off to the bookstore with one of my gals to take in the aroma.

Apocalypse Now

I'm pretty sure the end of the world is near when The Player has a steady boyfriend and The Romantic is dancing on the border of playing. Let it be known that playing is not my choice, it's sometimes an accident and only done if romance is not available. It's called pseudo-loving. A false representation of love that I can intentionally misconstrue and try to make appear to be love when in reality, it's so far from it. I dabble in pseudo-love with full understanding that it is not what I want it to be. Strangely enough, it still hurts me sometimes. This is why The Romantic sucks at playing!! She dips her toe in it and then nearly cries about it later when it didn't turn out to be what she really wanted in her heart. Bah, I should boycott pseudo-love, but when it's all one's got, it's something. Always better than nothing. On the bright side, The Player is elated, on some foreign cloud and talking in a language I understand but never thought she spoke. Three cheers for elation!

Conversation Hearts

Another single Valentine's Day that didn't devastate me. I went out for a few drinks after work with a few gals to protest the cursed day . . . actually it was just an excuse to drink beer and because we were all dressed up, it seemed appropriate. After about 64 ounces too many, I went home to retire and to return phone calls from Aftershock and Eddie sweetly wishing me a good holiday. I fought with Eddie about whether or not he was coming over and I eventually won. I went to bed alone and loved it. After all, what is this holiday really about? Finding the one day out of the year to go overboard on pink and red sweets and nasty tasting chocolates, including chocolate covered cherries which I am convinced was one person's way of insulting the tastebuds of the civilized world. Oh right, it's really about finding something cheap and sparkly to put on the wrist of the gal that you love, and cuddling up to her like you care so that tomorrow you can go back to being the jerk you've been all week. Right? Ha. I know it means more to people than that, I just wish they'd define it for themselves instead of falling victim to the commercialized version of what's expected of them. Do something original out there guys, something that matters to her, not to the larger female gender.

Dwindling Lists

Where have all the cowboys gone? The New Yorker pops on from time to time as sweet as can be, but not exactly enough time in his crazy schedule to persue the likes of me, lol. We have good conversations actually and he's probably a really great guy, just busy working, which is good, of course. Chief is a prick (after he just stopped calling because he was seeing some other gal but wasn't respectful enough to give me the heads up), Sam is stringing me along without knowing it, Aussie is gone/MIA (probably in Yemen with Hunter), heck, even the GI from Iraq disappeared. It's a conspiracy.