I came to the realization that I haven't really been blogging much. And when I have blogged, it's been mostly photos. Which, is cool and all, but as Mare said to me on Saturday, "I like your writing."
Partly, I've been just busy and boring, not having anything too exciting or earth-shattering to write about. The regular holiday bustle, running to and fro getting ready for my last semester in school (!), helping my brother out, and your general winter blahs.
On the other hand, I've been censoring myself. Because there is something going on in my life, but I'm unsure about how to share it or if I should. I've made coy hints, which most of my friends in real life were able to decipher and guess at, despite how subtle I thought I was being. For the first time, I've become hyper-aware of certain readers and possible readers and I'm trying my best to balance it all and figure out what I want to divulge to who.
It's stupid, because the whole reason I started this thing was to write and share and be uninhibited and I sort of hate that I now dread coming here to write things because I have to leave huge chunks out or I'm left with very little to write about and then I feel like I'm cheating all of you readers and doing cop-out posts, but on the other hand it's my damn blog and I can write or not write about whatever the fuck I want to and when I damn well please, and clearly I am a woman with Issues Already so leave me alone.
So. Deep Breath.
There is a Boy. I shall henceforth refer to him as Brisket, for no good reason other than I like the sound of it, and also I think it's funny that I'm referring to him as a piece of meat. OK, it's not that funny. WHATEVER, PEOPLE. My blog, my nicknames. Shut up.
Brisket is not my boyfriend. This is an important fact, and I want to be very clear about it. I have not the time nor the emotional space for a serious boyfriend. I get annoyed whenever Gary refers to Brisket as my boyfriend or "beau." Beau especially, because seriously What The Fuck? It's not 1909, nor are we sipping mint juleps on the veranda, and I've always hated that word. It's stupid.
I've come to the conclusion that Brisket and I are more than just dicking around, though. Originally, I thought that it was going to be a quick fling, a couple of weeks of fun and then we'd part ways. Or he'd get sick of me or meet someone hotter or whatever. But it's been some months now, so obviously we get along and like each other and it's fun. There's no good term for what we're doing. I don't have a definition. I'm OK with not having one. For simplicity, when he's come up in conversation, I've referred to him as This Guy I've Been Seeing, which might well be his Indian name.
Brisket, a.k.a. This Guy I've Been Seeing, is cute, practically too cute for me. Brisket is also a huge dork, which may explain why we get along so well. I chatted him up with some sexy sci-fi talk. He bought me a Battlestar Galactica DVD for Christmas, and he starts sentences out by saying things like, "In this dimension..." Make outs and swoons, people.
I feel good, we laugh a lot, and I'm having a lot of fun. Those are the things you need to know. And as long-time readers of this blog can attest, IT WAS ABOUT FREAKIN TIME, because I was well on my way to Homely Spinsterville and now I feel like I've made a nice detour to GettinItOn Datestown or wherever.
I feel so much better having cleared the air. Let's never keep secrets again, Internet.
Partly, I've been just busy and boring, not having anything too exciting or earth-shattering to write about. The regular holiday bustle, running to and fro getting ready for my last semester in school (!), helping my brother out, and your general winter blahs.
On the other hand, I've been censoring myself. Because there is something going on in my life, but I'm unsure about how to share it or if I should. I've made coy hints, which most of my friends in real life were able to decipher and guess at, despite how subtle I thought I was being. For the first time, I've become hyper-aware of certain readers and possible readers and I'm trying my best to balance it all and figure out what I want to divulge to who.
It's stupid, because the whole reason I started this thing was to write and share and be uninhibited and I sort of hate that I now dread coming here to write things because I have to leave huge chunks out or I'm left with very little to write about and then I feel like I'm cheating all of you readers and doing cop-out posts, but on the other hand it's my damn blog and I can write or not write about whatever the fuck I want to and when I damn well please, and clearly I am a woman with Issues Already so leave me alone.
So. Deep Breath.
There is a Boy. I shall henceforth refer to him as Brisket, for no good reason other than I like the sound of it, and also I think it's funny that I'm referring to him as a piece of meat. OK, it's not that funny. WHATEVER, PEOPLE. My blog, my nicknames. Shut up.
Brisket is not my boyfriend. This is an important fact, and I want to be very clear about it. I have not the time nor the emotional space for a serious boyfriend. I get annoyed whenever Gary refers to Brisket as my boyfriend or "beau." Beau especially, because seriously What The Fuck? It's not 1909, nor are we sipping mint juleps on the veranda, and I've always hated that word. It's stupid.
I've come to the conclusion that Brisket and I are more than just dicking around, though. Originally, I thought that it was going to be a quick fling, a couple of weeks of fun and then we'd part ways. Or he'd get sick of me or meet someone hotter or whatever. But it's been some months now, so obviously we get along and like each other and it's fun. There's no good term for what we're doing. I don't have a definition. I'm OK with not having one. For simplicity, when he's come up in conversation, I've referred to him as This Guy I've Been Seeing, which might well be his Indian name.
Brisket, a.k.a. This Guy I've Been Seeing, is cute, practically too cute for me. Brisket is also a huge dork, which may explain why we get along so well. I chatted him up with some sexy sci-fi talk. He bought me a Battlestar Galactica DVD for Christmas, and he starts sentences out by saying things like, "In this dimension..." Make outs and swoons, people.
I feel good, we laugh a lot, and I'm having a lot of fun. Those are the things you need to know. And as long-time readers of this blog can attest, IT WAS ABOUT FREAKIN TIME, because I was well on my way to Homely Spinsterville and now I feel like I've made a nice detour to GettinItOn Datestown or wherever.
I feel so much better having cleared the air. Let's never keep secrets again, Internet.
Labels: Catch-up, Girlie behavior, Romance
7 Comments:
I just want to know: Why AREN'T we drinking mint juleps on the veranda?!?
It seems like a terrible oversight on our parts.
Because right now, it's -11°F on the veranda.
Come summer we will drink mint juleps and flirt idly with Brent and Stuart Tarleton and say things like, "Fiddle-Dee-Dee! If I hear one more word about this pesky old war, I shall go inside and not speak to you tomorrow at the Wilkes' barbecue at Twelve Oaks!"
You know I'm always game for some flirting at Twelve Oaks. But you, Katie Scarlet, you not knowing liquor, you need to pace yourself.
Don't forget. Halfway through the day, all us ladies must take our naps.
Oh so awesome ! Thanks for spilling the beans.
miss you...
Oh Mike D., we miss you too. A LOT. It's lonely now, and we have no one to tempt with cookies.
All good points, and plans to look forward to once sunshine returns to our lives.
In the meantime, I plan to flirt idly with you indoors over wine and Doctor Who on Saturday.
Don't you DARE say "practically too cute for me." Don't you DARE! That is bullshit! Stop selling yourself short, missy.
Post a Comment
<< Home