7 Sep

Yes, I am his girlfriend.  And I am sick of denying it, okay?   I really like him and I don’t want to break up with him for fall.   Zap.

Three days after the so-called boyfriend accident, he asked me to be his girlfriend.  It wasn’t the perfect scenario, but it was us.  And we’re not perfect.  We’re just us.  And I am learning to like that.

I’m 5’9.  He’s maybe 5’9 ½ with shoes on.  And I’m not giving up my high heel collection.  Or a top bun.   So at times we look just plain awkward together.

I’m loud, creative and social.  He’s quieter and more thoughtful.   I spend half my day being sarcastic, so now he spends half his day trying to decipher sarcasm.  I like to think my jokes are top notch; most of his jokes are only funny because he starts laughing before he finishes telling them.   After at least five prank calls to his office line, he still doesn’t know it’s me when I do it time and time again.  I’m pretty sure he pumps surfer cologne into the liquid air freshener in his car.  And he still wears crocs.  But it’s all good.

Today I was at the salon for a meeting, when I ran into the esthetician who introduced me to Dasani.  She called me over to say that she talked to him on the phone last night.  Yay, I thought to myself as she continued to talk about him.  She was supremely excited to tell me that he called her last night to tell her thank you for setting us up.

Uhhh… it has now officially been over two months since we have spoken.  Why won’t this bug get off my windshield?  I keep killing him with the wiper and he just stays splattered right there in my line of vision.

Then, she continued to tell me that he was sad to say it didn’t work out, but that we both just had too much baggage to continue on together.  I asked her if she’s secured my sequin dress back from him (she hasn’t) and then I bounced.

But I’ve been thinking about this and you know what?  I don’t have baggage anymore.  I am checking into my flight with Ru with no carry on luggage and I’m certainly not paying the $25 to check a bag.  So if everyone could please get over it and stop blaming me for being lame, then I will send my blessings from the air.

I don’t miss Clark and I don’t want him back.  In fact, I don’t want to talk about him anymore.  He’s probably off doing some hippie dippie activities in New York, like smoking out of a fake cigarette while wearing black skinny jeans.   Just kidding, he’s probably sitting at his three computer desk, googling how to not be retarded.

In fact, I ran into one of Clark’s friends last week who just confirmed what a hippie freak he really is.  So it’s done.  We’re done talking about it.  I will not bring any of my old baggage to my new relationship.

Double deuces to you, Clark, and L’chaim to my little J.


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