Friendly Giants and Falling Footwear

 

I want to shake this foreboding and anticipation of the alternate piece of footwear succumbing to gravity.

Shoes drop sometimes, and so do I.

Last night I said to my bartender “This one is so close to perfect, he probably has dead hookers in his basement. I am scared and I don’t like it.”

Bartender replied “if you let the last one fuck this one up, he wins and we can’t have that.”

“Suck it up buttercup. Everyone makes mistakes.”

Bartender is also poised and ready to put me on a plane to California, he knows me. He knows a lot.

He knows I met a boy. He saw the whole thing.

T’was a few nights before Christmas when it was busy as hell at work, creatures were stirring.
He cut through the crowd, waltzed right up to me, in all of his giant, towering glory and asked me incredibly politely how much it would cost to spend an hour with me.
I looked waaaaaaaaay up at his beardiness, his wicked grin and into his smiling, navy blue eyes and just about said “Nothing, just take me out of here.”
I wasn’t drunk enough to be quite that brave. Also I was not wearing pants, occupational hazard.

For the next 60 minutes we talked about the universe and religion, life and death. He touched me exactly enough and I touched him more. Just the way I like it. It was pretty amazing. He was chivalrous and respectful, clever and kind…and he smelled nice.

I felt like a geisha. I forgot where I was and what I am supposed to be.

I wandered back to his table when time was up so I could read his palm in the low glow of the bar lights. And for the second time in a calendar year, I gave a cute boy my number at work.

Didn’t go so well the first time. As the reigning queen of Fuckittryagainland, fuck it, let’s try again.

My tenacity and penchant for living and loving might well be my downfall someday, but for now it’s my only reason to be alive, and it’s a good one. Of course I get knocked down but I get back up.
Thank you for playing, please try again. I do.

You can’t win the lottery if you do not buy a ticket.

I try so hard not to blame the ones that come for the actions of the ones that came before.

So why do I think my Friendly Giant is Jack the Ripper in disguise?

Because of the one that came before.

The one that lied as a first language.

I explained to him that I am not monogamous, but I was auditioning for the role of Primary. He acquiesced and then did the exact polar opposite of what he said he would do. I listened to his words and ignored his actions until I couldn’t anymore.

I had a date with the Friendly Giant for Christmas Day, had to skip it when he-who-shall-not-be-named (because he gave me so many different names I don’t know who he is) threw a dramatic temper tantrum of epic proportions. See if you can follow here, he lied about a girl lying about accusing him of rape. I think we finally have an answer to ‘what is worse than rape’.

I lost a day there, and a few more. I nearly lost this new one. Over a bad decision, one of my worst to date, and I have made some bad fucking decisions.

This new one, the Friendly Giant is the same one who messaged me before our first date to tell me he had been seeing someone while I was away. We talked it out, I commended his honesty and he waited until she returned from away to have ‘the talk’. We three all came up with the same ‘casual is fine’ answer.

I will be playing the role of good karma for the time being.

I don’t want to get my hopes up, but here they float, little heart-shaped helium balloons dancing on a whim. They are navy blue for the record.

He is sweet to me and says AND does all the right things.

I’ve read his future, I know he gets married, I will still be around when he meets her. He will tell me about her with his eyes shining like they do when he looks at me, like he won the lottery. He made me promise that if he ever said that about a girl who wasn’t ‘the one’ that I would just take him upstairs and fuck him until the moment passed.

I promise.