The Return of LipRing

3 more weeks passed by and I had given up hope of seeing LipRing again.
He hadn’t been at the last few Summer Jams, I hadn’t run into him on the street, I couldn’t even find him on Facebook (the fact I was unsure about his name probably didn’t help me in that regard.)  I wondered if perhaps he had been a sexy spirit who returned to roam the Earth one final night before disappearing forever into limbo.  Or maybe he had just left town.  Whatever the reason, I decided it was time to forget about him and move on.

Sunday had rolled around and I was debating going to the weekly instalment of Summer Jams.  Kennedy was working late and my roommate Terry and I were sitting on the couch, watching Chappelle Show and sipping beers.  I was more or less put together as Terry had initially indicated interest in attending the Sunday festivities, but was rapidly back peddling.  Anyway, the two of us decided to drive into town for more beer.  While in town, I suggested we go into the bar, just to check it out.  They weren’t charging cover yet, it might be fun to have a beer and see what’s happening.  We walked across the street to the bar, but did not make it in.  The bouncer banished me for not wearing shoes.  Also, they had already started charging cover.  Fuck that noise.

The two of us retreated home and continued to sip beer and shoot the shit.  Kennedy texted me to announce that she was almost done work and to invite me in joining her at the bar for a quick beer.  I was reluctant, but didn’t want to waste my cute ensemble so I drove back into town.  We entered the courtyard of the bar and were met with the last dying notes of the performing DJ.  We ordered beers and looked around, quickly seeing Argentina, who had become a regular sight at these Summer Jam sessions.  He came running over and gave us each a huge hug, before turning slightly to the guy trailing behind him and asking, “Have you met my friend?”
I looked into the face of his friend and immediately saw the glow of the silver lip ring.
“You!” I exclaimed.
“Right, I forgot that you two have met before…” Argentina trailed off with a smirk.  He and Kennedy began chatting.
I turned to LipRing, “I’m glad I finally ran into you, I wanted to explain why I ran off so awkwardly.”
“Yeah, what was that all about?  Such a huge disappointment for me.”
We started chatting and flirting.  He told  me how he had moved into a house no less than 5 minutes from my own.
When Kennedy reappeared she announced that she wanted to go home and offered LipRing a ride.
“Yeah, that would be great, maybe we could have a couple beers on my deck?” he asked me.
“I’m keen.”
There was no need to discuss it, we both knew exactly what would be going down.

Back at his house, the two of us were struggling to juggle a blanket, a bag of popcorn, beers, smokes and a speaker in order to continue our party out on the deck.  Just as soon as I had everything balanced precariously in my arms, he leaned over and kissed me, then kissed me again.  My arms relaxed and I dropped everything onto the floor.  He pushed me up against the wall as we continued to passionately make out.  Needless to say, we never did make it outside…
After the third time and as the sun began coming up the two of us finally fell asleep, cuddling in his single bed.
In the morning, we went at it two more times before retreating to the shower and throwing together a hasty breakfast of bread, cream cheese and ham.  I literally felt week at the knees as I walked home in the afternoon heat.

We had exchanged numbers, but I didn’t really expect to hear much from him.  A couple days later he added me on Facebook and sent me a message saying that he had written my number down wrong and couldn’t text me, but wanted to invite me to a barbecue at his house.  I begged Kennedy to accompany me for at least an hour and she begrudgingly agreed.  When we arrived, LipRing offered me a beer and wasted no time in inviting me to stay the night.  Once again, we had fun, but that night I could hardly sleep.  His bed was too cramped and his room too hot.  He was pressed right against me, big spoon style, and I was pinned against the wall.  There was no where to move and every time I tried to readjust, his arm would still end up underneath my neck.  I considered getting up and walking home to the comfort of my own bed, but knew I would inadvertently wake up his entire household in the process.
I tossed and turned and had repeated nightmares about LipRing doing terrible, douchey things towards me.  I was actually relieved when I woke to the sound of my alarm, Kennedy and I had planned to drive to a neighbouring town for the day.  He tried to convince me to stay, but I could not be swayed.

The following Sunday I was at Summer Jams, dancing up a storm with my Canadian friends.  Of course, I bumped into LipRing almost immediately.  I tried to play it cool and do my own thing, but by the end of the night we were all over each other and together we began making the long walk home.  As we walked, we talked and as we talked, I began to get a little peeved with his personality.  I hate when people try to present their opinions as facts.  Like when they tell you a song or artist you like is rubbish and then act as if their word is the final say.  I also really dislike when a man rambles on and on about himself and fails to ask even a simple question about yourself.
Regardless of these annoyances, I was on a mission to have sex, not a conversation, so we carried on back to his house.

I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing.  I was naked and sprawled across a mattress strewn on the floor.  LipRing lay beside me groaning, “Make the noise stop!  Please make it stop!”
I began rustling through scattered belongings and finally found my phone, groggily I answered.
It was my work, asking me if I could come in because it had been a really busy morning.  I knew the rational thing to do was get my ass out of bed, go into work and make an extra hundred bucks to keep me going.  But when I rolled over and looked at LipRing – his bronzed, naked body, his mess of blonde hair, the stubble that ran across his strong jaw line – I just couldn’t bring myself to leave his bed.  I made up some excuse about going somewhere for the day and then pretended to lose reception and hung up, quickly nestling back into his awaiting arms.  I had every intention of getting up and doing something with my life, but the day slipped away from me.  It was a blur of sex and breakfast and cuddles and long conversations and surf movies along with the occasional nap.  Before I knew it, it was 9:00 pm and we had barely left his bed, much less his house.  I insisted that I finally retreat home.  We said our goodbyes and once in the safety of my house, I flew into a panic:
Why did I spend the entire day with this guy?  I didn’t really even like him.  I SHOULD have gone into work and made some extra cash.
Things were feeling way too familiar, questions had been broached regarding past relationships, I did not like the direction we were headed.  I didn’t want a boyfriend and I didn’t want to waste time with someone I’m not really into, because that’s less time spent meeting new people and persuading personal interests.
I resolved to create some distance.

Another week passed without a word.  It was, yet again, Sunday.  I was standing behind the counter at work, willing the time to go by faster, when who should appear next to me? LipRing, of course.
“Hey, how’re you doing?” I asked with a big grin.
“Hi, I applied for a job here last week and was wondering if you’re hiring.”
My face fell – he actually had no idea who I was.  Granted I was wearing my glasses and had my hair straightened, but he completely did not recognize me.
I went bright red and felt lost for words.  I tried to explain that we may be hiring next week.
“I like you’re glasses,” he said, as he turned and walked away.
Did he recognize me finally?  Or was that a random compliment?  Even though I wasn’t all that into the guy, it made me feel entirely unmemorable and kinda crappy.
When I got home, I replayed the awkward scenario in my head over and over again.  Finally I messaged him, “Did you seriously not recognize me today?”
“I’ll admit, it took me a few minutes.”
He started trying to flirt with me, but I was entirely turned off.
At Summer Jams, my roommates all insisted I stay away.  After all, he barely spoke to me when I did spot him.  We all left early and I contemplated saying bye to him, he would probably persuade me to spend the night with him and I just was no longer into it.
I did receive a text at 3 am insisting I spend the night and next day with him.  Then a subsequent text the next afternoon apologizing for the booty call.

Another disappointment.  Maybe if I get desperate I’ll hit him up, otherwise it’s onto the next one.


Afraid of Happiness

What am I afraid of? Happiness?

It’s interesting how when you start a new chapter in your life, whether it be a new job, a new home, a new relationship, you begin with the best intentions.
I’m going to avoid office romances.
I’m going to keep my bedroom clean and organized.
I’m going to keep my jealousy in check.
Whatever it is, you’re determined to do it now that you have a fresh start and for the first few weeks it actually works, you’re able to stick to it! Then you get comfortable and you slack off one day, then another, then you look for excuses not to do it. Then a week has gone by and you shrug your shoulders like,
Whatever, I’ve fucked up now, my chance is gone, there’s always next time. Right?

Well, life in the surf town was no different.

I thought, Hey, once I’m living in a house, with a job, I’ll fall into a routine: eat healthy, exercise, finally learn to surf, finally have some me time. At first, I was killing it. Then the hard realization hit me: I’ve lived here one month and besides Kennedy, I don’t have any actual friends, I have a shitty job where I make no money, and I can’t afford shit. I tried to carry on, knowing things could only get better, but soon I was drinking to pass the time (whilst trying to come out of my shell).  Soon after we invested in a $50 bag of weed and within a week, had almost smoked the entire thing, which of course, lead to the consumption of an entire block of chocolate, a box of candy and a bag of chips, to name a few. I gave up on running, I gave up on trying to improve my standard of life. I gave up on myself.

I got sad, really sad and began to feel hopeless and trapped. I desperately began searching for an exit route, anxious for another new beginning.

That’s when I recognized the patterns of self-depricating behaviour and it lead me to wonder: Am I trying to sabbotoge my own happiness? Or do I have an actual mental illness? Let me elaborate…

For all of my life I’ve had high highs and very deep lows. I can be ontop of the world one minute and down in the dumps the next. Nothing really has to happen to set me off. I can create a negative possible scenario in my head and then I’m sweating, treating it like an actual REAL problem (of course, these thoughts never materialize.) I cry at the drop of a pin. I wake up sometimes thinking, “Why even bother?” and then I wont, for days, weeks, until I decide with a sudden burst of enthusiasm that its not too late to turn it all around.

I have a very addictive personality. I can’t just have one beer, it’s got to be 6, or 10, and I can’t buy a bag of weed and ration it, I’m gonna smoke the entire thing in a couple days. I can’t just have one cigarette when I’m partying, it’s gotta be the whole pack. Whether it’s sex, food, drugs, whatever, for me, it’s always in excess. Moderation doesn’t exist in my world.

My mother and aunt have both been diagnosed as bi-polar. My aunt went to rehab for alcohol and is now a member of Overeaters Anonymous as well. My uncle almost lost everything because of his drug problem. I know this is a real devastating illness that could be affecting me, but I don’t know what to do about it, mental illness is still really hard to openly discuss. I know a counsellor is probably my best bet, but they’re expensive and the last thing I want is to ever be medicated. I would perfer to talk it out, perhaps seek some spiritual guidance, but the thought of diving into my past, of divulging those memories locked deep within… it freaks me out! I guess discussing my problems with a neutral, trained professional provide great release, but the idea is so terrifying.

As scary as it is, I need to find a way to stop the self deprication. It’s frustrating, I can see myself making the same mistakes, I know exactly where I’m going wrong, but it’s like I’m stuck in this endless loop of misery, to break free would take all my strength and focus, but its as if I can’t be bothered, which brings me to my second theory:
I want to deny myself happiness. It’s as if all those feeling inside, the lack of self-worth, the insecurities instilled in me by my father, by my classmates, by my ex-boyfriends, they’re all weighing me down. All those negative words, I’ve begun to believe them and now I seek to punish myself by telling myself I don’t deserve it.

I mentioned how I tend to seek out boyfriends and then fancy myself as stuck and just wallow in self pity and hope for a change.
Well in coming to New Zealand, I did the same thing. Kennedy and I share a room, we share a van, we share a life. I’ve begun to feel a little stir-crazy, my mind is pacing, desperately seeking an emergency exit.
Don’t get me wrong, I love NZ, I love Kennedy, I want to spend the year here. But things have gone off track and I’m desperately seeking another fresh start, I know I can’t run from myself and that’s the sad truth. I don’t want to lose sight of who I am again. I just found myself, I can’t lose her.

The rational part of myself is chiding me for never sticking with anything or following through. I have a lot of changes I need to make to escape these repetitious behaviours. It’s not going to be easy, but I think in order to be sane, I need to quit smoking weed. I don’t want to quit smoking weed, I love it and the way it makes me feel numb and let’s me zone out for a while. But after 2 months of not smoking, I can see how badly it slows me down, makes me unmotivated. I can’t smoke even a little without getting paranoid and insecure. I’ve tried making weed a “sometimes thing” but its no use. If I’ve got it I’ll smoke it, once I’m out I’ll seek out more by any means necessary. It’s going to be extremely difficult to quit, but sitting down and wiriting it out is a good way to deal with my emotions.

I guess we’ll see if I can’t turn this life around.