LOVER BOY

I really don’t care that you always roll up your pants, even when they’re not skinny jeans, because you want to show off your shoes. I don’t care that your mind races and you sometimes can’t articulately say exactly what you’re thinking. I don’t even care that you’re probably religious, your parents are divorced and you’re an RA in a freshman dorm. In fact, I love all these things about you, Lover Boy, because they make you you. And over this summer, I have fallen in love with you. I’ve fallen for your sun-kissed skin, your bright blue eyes and the hundreds of freckles that cover your face. I’ve fallen for your passionate spirit, your work ethic and your maturity. I get excited just thinking about seeing you throughout the day. I get nervous that I’m going to say the wrong thing around you, and I probably do. And my body really does get weak when we touch, whether it’s an accident or not. But unfortunately my feelings must stay hidden deep in my soul because of our blossoming friendship, and also because you’ve had a girlfriend for the past 4 years.

I hope our paths cross again, Lover Boy. You mean the world to me, but I would never let you know how I truly feel. It’s not the right time.

Blue Baller

I apologize to whoever reads my blog because I suck at remembering to write stuff down. But I have a juicy story that will hopefully regain your confidence in me:

So let me start by saying I’ve been seeing someone fairly regularly. In fact it’s the same boy, Chanel, who was mentioned in my last (and very outdated) post. Except we haven’t been seeing each other very “regularly” at all because for the entire summer we are living in separate cities. But before summer began, we spent about a month getting to know each other and things were looking pretty positive before our summer separation. However we decided that we wouldn’t start anything serious due to our distance this summer. We both said “we’ll see what happens when we both come back into town” because you never know who you’re going to meet.

And meet someone I did……

I’ve always told myself that I would never go after a football player. They are all the same – they text you ridiculous 3 word messages anytime after 2am, basically all leading to the same conclusion: they just want to bone. But I thought Blue Baller was different. I even advocated for his intelligence and gentlemen qualities. HA stupid me.

So just a short back story: I have a summer internship with an amazing company in the Pacific NW. There are about 100+ other interns as well, and we tend to do a lot of intern events. That’s where I met him; the flawless, incredibly sexy black football player who played me better than he plays his own damn sport.

At first I wasn’t interested. I was actually interested in a different intern before I learned that he had a girlfriend (so that ship quickly sailed). But the more I learned about Blue Baller the more I thought he might be different from the stereotypical football-playing, womanizing asshole. He was intelligent, well-spoken, stylish and friendly with a smile that could light up the darkest of caves and eyes the color of the world’s sweetest chocolate. Although he walked like he constantly had a stick up his ass (I’m assuming because he was always sore from working out), he would always wear tight shirts that defined every single muscle in his chest, stomach and arms. Every time our paths would cross I would have to try so hard not to touch him.

I was very proud of myself the first night we hung out – I did not pursue, HE DID. He was the one who kissed me first, and by complete surprise I might add. He was the one who said “I’ve been interested in you since day one.” He was the one who said “I want you to come watch me play football and wear my jersey in the stands.” He was the one who said “you’re nothing like the girls back home.” He was the one who took initiative for us to hang out in the first place. And of course, me being me, I loved the fact that I for once wasn’t the pursuer. That one night was perfect. We went dancing, got drinks, donuts and walked around downtown until the wee hours of the morning. I felt like I was living a dream.

After that night I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I was confused, because I had Chanel and cared about him so much, and yet I couldn’t stop thinking about Blue Baller. From what seemed to be a flawless night of fun between us opened so many doors to a fun-filled summer. But apparently boys change their minds over night….

The following weekend we made plans to go out again. Only this time, Blue Baller was acting funny. He wasn’t showing nearly as much interest as the first night, almost as if everything he had said had come from a completely different person. Our kisses weren’t nearly as passionate and real, his touch wasn’t as caring and exciting. Unfortunately alcohol got the better of me that night and I made a huge mistake. I somehow found myself back at his apartment late at night with a belly full of tequila and my mind on one thing. And clearly that’s all he wanted. But that’s not all I wanted – I wanted something more, something real. So why did I go through with it? Why did I decide to let some hot, sweet-talking football player take me on a “magic carpet ride?” And how did that make me feel afterwards? Like shit. Especially since all I could think about afterwards was Chanel.

And of course Blue Baller and I haven’t talked since. It’s only been a few days, and I’m sure our first at-work encounter will be nothing less than the most awkward thing ever.

So my advice to you, readers. Go with your gut. Never trust football players, no matter how smart and sweet they may seem. In fact it’s the smarter ones you need to watch out for – they know how to play the game. And if you have a good thing going with a boy, don’t potentially mess it up by drunkenly sleeping with some hot coworker. I may not be in a relationship with Chanel, but I feel so guilty for what I did.

And it also hurt. A lot. What they say about black guys is true.

#FRESH2DEATH

I know ya’ll want to hear more about Caliswag, which is completely understandable. But I need to vent on a current situation because I’m frustrated and in denial.

About three months ago, I began to hang out with the Fresh Prince of my college town. At the time, I only saw Freshy-Fresh as a friend, while his somewhat romantic feelings for me were obvious. Despite this minor detail, we still were able to maintain a friendship. However, I am a stupid girl and I went a messed with his feelings (NOT ON PURPOSE), which put a slight dent in the friendship. And of course, Mr. #FreshToDeath is probably one of the most well-known, popular guys at my college. Really, EVERYONE knows him. And EVERYONE respects him. Like he’s the guy who walks into a bar and the bartenders offer him free drinks just because he’s there. He is also so ridiculously fly you would think he had wings. He’s not your typical tall, dark and handsome stud muffin, but he has presence and charisma and this undeniable swagger that makes all the girls flock towards him. Anyway, of course now Freshy is playing games – he says he’s “over it” or “I’m just trying to do me” (whatever that means). And I’m over here like “FUCK I LIKE YOU NOW. Can I have another chance?”

It drives me nuts because Freshy-Fresh and I are literally the same person, just different genders. We’re both stubborn beyond belief and will not let our guard down, no matter how much we may want to. He will go and tell my best friend that he’s crazy about me, but then ignore me in class or at the bars because he knows it gets under my skin. And I’ll go and do the exact same thing, because I know it has the same effect on him. We both always want to be in control, we both always want to have our way and to win. It’s a never-ending battle. What’s even more frustrating is when I actually try to hang out with him or tell him the truth about my feelings, he says he’s busy or has other plans already, which makes me wonder why I try in the first place. But then there are other times when we’re together, usually slightly intoxicated, and the rest of the world doesn’t matter because we’re on cloud nine.

Truth is, I can’t stop thinking about him. I don’t know if that is because I want something that I can’t have (which really doesn’t make much sense because if I REALLY wanted him, I could probably have him… that’s where I need to do some life evaluating), or if it’s because it just took me a while to realize what an incredible power couple we would be if we gave us a shot. But like I just said, I need to evaluate my life because I don’t necessarily want a boyfriend, not with my life about to take a complete 180 (meaning graduating from college, moving to a new city, new job, etc). I just desperately want to be that special girl to him. A “BAE” as the ratchets may call it. He has SOOOO many friends, many of them being girls, and I don’t want to fall by the wayside and become just another girl. He means a lot to me, and as easy as it is for me to write that down and tell a bunch of anonymous people, that is so difficult for me to say to him. I don’t know what to do. I feel I missed out on something that could have been so wonderful and powerful. We could have been like Jay-Z and Beyonce, Brad and Angelina, Kim and Kanye, but I made a mistake by ignoring his initial pursuit, and now his stubbornness and his ego are stopping him from being 100% true to his feelings. Should I move on? Should I try, once again, to tell him exactly how I feel? Should I go after his best friend? Should I change nothing and do me and eventually forget about him? I know one thing….. I’m gonna go study for my midterm that I have at 10am tomorrow morning…………………………………

PEACE OUT.

I’ll Text You

I’m sure my whole body was shaking as I smiled at the handsome creature standing before me. He was leaning against the porch railing with one hand in his pocket. I invited him inside and he followed me through the living room. I gave him a small tour of my cozy college house and led him into my bedroom. That’s where I got a really good look at him – he was wearing the world’s tightest white henley with dark maroon skinny jeans, brown wingtip oxfords and a soft black pea coat, a pea coat which he proceeded to take off and … wait for it…. HANG UP IN MY CLOSET. Like on a hanger. Now I know what you’re thinking: this guy is gay and she just doesn’t know it yet. I promise that is not where this story is going. He is not gay, just very metrosexual (look it up).

He made himself comfortable on my bed, which faced my large screen TV. We talked for a short while before we turned on Netflix and attempted to pick a movie to watch. I honestly couldn’t tell you what movie we chose, I don’t remember. I just remember pressing play and having Caliswag put his strong, perfectly-toned arm around me as I contently rested my head on his chest. About a half an hour into the unknown movie, he began to play with my hair. I tried to keep my cool. He then smoothly and gradually moved his hand down my body, lifted up a small part of my shirt and caressed the side of my stomach. His hand felt like a light feather; his touch made me quiver with lust. I returned his playful move by lifting up the bottom of his henley and running my light fingers along his flawlessly-defined abs.

His grip on my side tightened and I could feel my hands beginning to get clammy from a combination of desire, excitement and nerves. This was the first boy that had touched me like that in a long time (if you don’t remember, back during this point in time I had had a boyfriend for several years recently before meeting Caliswag).

At this point we both forgot a movie was even playing. Most of my body was entangled with his and I was burning with passion, but I did not want to make the first move. Patience is a virtue. All of a sudden he kissed me on the forehead with sweet intensity. I turned my face up to his and smiled. Instead of smiling back, he said “you’re not watching the movie, are you?” Surprised, I replied “no, not really. I don’t really know what’s going on.” “Me neither.” He said. His strong arms swiftly lifted me up off of him and he flipped over so that most of his body was on top of mine. That’s when he smiled and his bright blue eyes met mine. Our lips quickly met and my tense body relaxed. My hands explored his sculpted physique as the kisses became more intense. I bit his lower lip and his hands grasped my sides in pleasure. All in one motion I tugged at the bottom of his shirt, lifted it up over his head and threw it across the room. I could not believe how perfect his body was: each muscle was completely defined, his skin was perfectly tanned, tight, healthy and gorgeously smooth, with not a hair or blemish in sight.

We switched positions, now I was on top of him. I began to bite his ear and worked my way down, softly kissing his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his abs. Every fiber of my being wanted him, but I kept telling myself that I didn’t even know this boy very well. I didn’t want to go too far in the heat of the moment, even when the heat was this hot. I stopped abruptly and my honest and blunt personality got the better of me.

“I’m not going to have sex with you.” I declared. “You’re hot, but I don’t know you very well yet and I’m not like that.” Caliswag looked at me with a puzzled look.

“That’s okay, I didn’t expect you to.” He said.

“Good because I really want to get to know you.” I said.

“Yeah, I do too.” He replied. “It’s okay, let’s just hang out and see what happens.” I was satisfied with this response. We continued to kiss a bit longer, than the craziness settled down and we ended the night by cuddling and talking. Before we knew it, it was 3am. I had invited him to stay the night, but he mentioned that he had to get up early for soccer practice and didn’t have his gear with him. He got up off my bed, grabbed his shirt off the floor and reached into my closet for his pea coat. I followed him out of my room and to the front door. As I opened it, he turned to me and gave me one last long, memorable kiss.

“I’ll text you,” he winked, and walked down my porch steps and out of sight.

Mystery Man

Several weeks passed. School got really busy and the rainy season began. And I never heard from Caliswag. I even deleted (but memorized) his number from my phone so that if I got a text from an unknown number, I would be casually surprised. But no such luck. One Saturday night, I was drinking with friends and got drunk enough to muster enough courage to text him. That’s right, folks, I took the first move and texted him!!! And guess what? It paid off…

“Hey, what are you up to?” I sent. Several hours passed before I got a response.

“Hey, sorry, who is this?” He responded. At first I was furious and confused at the same time. Really, douche bag? After our magical night at the frat house, you deleted my number? I considered not responding and just forgetting about him, but he was too good to let go. (SIDE NOTE: MY NAME FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS BLOG IS BLAZE OKAY!?)

“It’s Blaze, we hung out a few weekends ago… at the dance?” I sent back. Hundreds of thoughts were going through my mind at that point. Was he not interested? Did he forget me? Was he just so drunk that he forgot to save my number? Did he realize that he was way too attractive for me and deleted my number? Then my phone buzzed.

“Oh hey! Sorry, I broke my phone this week, I stepped on it after soccer practice.” THANK THE LORD! Throughout the next few days, Caliswag and I sent hundreds of texts back and forth. Most was small talk, typical texting conversations like “how’s your day?” type of stuff. I would stay up later than I should have just to respond to his message late at night. You know what I’m talking about, where you’re lying in bed, about to fall asleep, but you don’t completely drift off because you’re waiting for a text message from a boy. Don’t pretend like you haven’t done that, all girls do it.

Then Thursday rolled around. It was about 4pm and I had just gotten home from a long day of classes. My phone buzzed in my purse, and I look at it to see a message from Caliswag.

“Hey, what are you up to tonight?” It read. I sat down on my bed to think about what I really was up to that night. I had some homework to do, but did I really need to do it that night? I didn’t have class the next day, so I didn’t have to worry about that either…

“Not much, what about you?” I responded. This was kind of a lie, but obviously homeboy asked me what I was up to for a specific reason, right?

“No plans as of now =)” He sent back. Okay, so how am I supposed to interpret that? Does he want to hang out, or is he just telling me that we’re both going to be bored and alone on this Thursday night? I read his message as an invitation to hang out, so I sent the most nonchalant, subtle invite I could think of:

“Well I’m probably going to stay home and watch a movie or something. You’re more than welcome to join if you want.” I thought that was an appropriate response, but there was no answer for a while. As I waited for his response, I tried to keep myself busy. Was it too much? Was my message too forward? Maybe he really didn’t want to hang out and just didn’t know how to tell me…

“That sounds nice, at your house? Where do you live?” He finally replied. A huge wave of relief and excitement flooded my body. Several more messages were sent back and forth until we decided upon a time when he would come over. The rest of the evening I couldn’t focus on anything. I was patiently waiting, trying to preoccupy myself so time would go by faster. The one awkward thing I had forgotten was that my roommate, Sandy, knew Caliswag, and apparently she had had a crush on him a while back. That could potentially make things really awkward. I mentioned to my roommates that I was having a guy over to watch a movie, but I really didn’t want Sandy to know it was Caliswag, so I did my best to keep it a secret.

“What time is mystery man coming over?” Sandy asked. “Around 11” I told her. “Okay, I’ll make sure I’m in my room when he comes.” She said. I desperately hoped she didn’t think it was him. But how would she know? She wouldn’t. I felt like a bad friend. But on the other hand, I didn’t care. He was so hot. And he wanted to hang out with me, not her. So there.

Around 11:35pm, I was getting nervous. He was late, and I was getting sleepy. I had already completely cleaned my room and made my bed, brushed my teeth, put on a comfy yet sexy movie-watching outfit and applied a ridiculous amount of mascara to my eyelashes (I’m so vain). All of a sudden, I hear a soft knock on the front door. My heart started pounding furiously; I was slightly concerned it was beating so fast that it would kill me. And I suddenly didn’t feel sleepy anymore. I nervously made my way into the living room, unlocked the door and opened it.

FRAT HARD

The first weekend of fall term is always the wildest – there’s a minimal amount of homework assigned and the warm weather makes it feel like it’s still summer. Back during fall term 2012, I was not yet of the legal drinking age… so I couldn’t go to the bars. It’s actually very crazy to think that less than two years ago I was not allowed to drink alcohol legally, even though I have been drinking since the tender age of 14. Good thing I’m smart, because those statistics generally lead to alcoholism……

Anyway, back to the story. It was a balmy Saturday night and my college town was ready to party. My roommates, Sandy, Pony, Alfie, and I couldn’t wait to have a crazy night out. We had been invited to several house parties and fraternity dances, so naturally we were going to try to hit them all up before the night was over (or before someone passed out.) I had that “overly-excited college girl adrenaline” rushing through me as the night drew near. Our little red house was booming with music and my roommates were running from room to room yelling “what are you wearing?” “Does this look cute?” “Are you wearing heels?” “Do I need more make-up?” Typical college girl issues.

After going through 27 outfit changes, I was finally satisfied with a bright red crop top, a contrast bondage skirt and black wedge sneakers. My roommates and I had managed to get our hands on some alcohol, and before we left for the parties, we all took several shots of some really shitty vodka. Once all of us were sufficiently tipsy, we took a ton of roomie pictures and bolted out the door to our first party.

The first few parties we went to were fun, but ordinary, and nothing really exciting happened until we hit up a fraternity. It was about 11:30pm, and I was drunk. My best friend, Kenya, had met up with my roommates and I, and all we wanted to do was dance. We walked around to the back of the frat house, down the stairs and into the loud, open basement where hundreds of sloshy college kids were getting their groove on. Sandy and Pony were quickly lost among the mob. Kenya and I were preparing ourselves to enter the crowded dance floor when I get a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to the most gorgeous smile, a smile I had seen before.

It was Caliswag and his posse. He stood out from his group in a stylish brown leather jacket and dark slim-fit jeans. Underneath his jacket he wore a tight black v-neck, which showed off just enough of his perfectly toned collarbone, and he was rocking huge diamond studs on his ears. It was still pretty warm outside, and I wondered how hot he was in that outfit, because I was hot just looking at him. His piercing blue eyes caught mine, and from that moment on I was hooked.

“Do you want to dance?” He asked. Slightly stunned, I turned to Kenya for her approval and she nodded. Caliswag took me by the hand and led me to the dance floor. At first I was nervous, because I didn’t want to freak him out with my crazy ratchet dance moves. But my drunkenness began to take control of my body and before I knew it, I had him pushed up against the basement wall, twerking on the boy as if my life depended on it. Crazy thing is he was totally into it, and he was a good dancer. We got low, we dougie-ed, we even did the cat daddy; over ten songs passed and we were still going strong. I was sweaty, he was sweaty, even the ceiling was dripping sweat.

All of a sudden, he grabbed my shoulders and pushed me up against the wall. But this time we weren’t dancing. He brushed my wet hair out of my face, fervently lifted my chin up and brought my face up to meet his. Despite how loud the music was, all I could hear were the angels from heaven singing their beautiful song. He wrapped one of his arms around my waist while the other was gently gripping the back of my neck. I reached up with one hand to tousle his slightly-curly, heavily-gelled blonde hair and used my other arm to stabilize myself. His lips were soft but his kisses were powerful, and the second he bit my bottom lip I swear I lost my balance. I desperately hoped that my breath wasn’t too horrible from all the alcohol I had consumed earlier in the night. I was also praying I would remember this moment, and hoped that he wasn’t too drunk so he would remember it too.

Several minutes later, our passionate intoxicated embrace subsided and he grabbed my hand to lead me off the dance floor. It was about 1am now and the frat house was beginning to clear out. There were couches outside on the fraternity’s patio. Caliswag and I took a seat on an open one. We started talking, and the conversation flowed naturally. He asked me about myself and I learned a lot about him (most importantly, that he was a soccer player!!!!) He was a transfer student from a small liberal arts college and was originally from my same hometown. We bonded over our mutual friends and shared stories about high school, and both thought it was crazy that we’d never met before. But thank the lord we did, because my-oh-my was he perfect. Or so I thought………….

The night ended with a phone number exchange, and tight hug that could have lasted all night long, and a sweet kiss on the cheek. Kenya and I reconnected and walked home together, sharing our stories of the wild night we’d just had. All I could think about as I fell asleep that night was how I had been the luckiest girl at that party, to get Caliswag all to myself. I couldn’t wait to hear from him. And obviously, after a night like that, I would hear from him…… RIGHT?!!??!!!

Want A Beer?

It was a warm Thursday night, the last summer weekend before the start of fall term. I had just moved all of my stuff into my new house down at school and my new roommates and I were invited to a back-to-school house party. I did not know who’s house we were going to, but if I’d known I was about to meet my life’s obsession, I might not have gone.

In a group of about 6 girls, we mobbed over to the house party, which was held in a townhouse several blocks from our house. Apparently, the “friendly drug dealer” who supplies my roommates with weed was one of the guys who lived at this townhouse, along with 5 other guys. We walked into the very crowded and muggy townhouse, being loud and girly, taking selfies and laughing obnoxiously.

I walked up the stairs to the main floor of the house, which was jam-packed with drunken students. Even in a sea of attractive college boys, he immediately caught my eye. He was leaning against the kitchen island talking to several of his buddies with a beer in his hand. Imagine a typical California pretty boy: blonde, tan, blue-eyed, toned, perfect teeth, small nose, soft skin…. That was him; that was Caliswag. His muscular arms were practically ripping the seams of his tight navy blue Henley and he could pull of beige skinny jeans better than any girl ever could. All of a sudden one of my roommates, Sandy, stumbled over to him and gave him a sloppy hug.

“Caliswag!” she yelled in his face. “How ya doing?” She motioned for me to come over. “This is my new roommate.” He stuck out his hand to me and I shook it. He leaned in closer and asked, over the booming music, “what’s your name?” I answered. “It’s nice to meet you.” He said kindly with a charming smile. “Here, want a beer?” He grabbed an unopened beer off the counter and offered it to me.

“Caliswag, come play beer pong with me!” Some drunk bitch hollered. He smiled at me again and then made his way over to the beer pong table. That was our only interaction that night, as it was his house party and he clearly had other people to pay attention to. Also, I was there to have fun with my new roommates and my mind was not on meeting new boys. But throughout the party, Caliswag and I kept locking eyes and exchanging flirtatious looks. I would watch his mannerisms and the way he interacted with his friends and other girls. I quickly got the impression that he was a charmer, a major flirt, and enjoyed being the life of the party. At one point in the night, the song “Gangnam Style” came on over the speakers and Caliswag was the first one to bust out his dance moves and imitate that funny little Asian guy who sings that song. I really didn’t know it right then and there that I would fall for him so hard and so fast, and that he would become my romantic torment for the rest of the school year.

Caliswag

Let’s go back in time about a year. I feel like that’s when things really started to get interesting. Actually, let’s go back even further than that to fall term 2012. That was an important term; that was the term I met Caliswag.

Caliswag was a game changer. Before I met him, I was a sweet, somewhat naïve college girl who thought boys were a generally good species. Sounds silly that I ever even thought that, right?

Caliswag was my one true obsession. Throughout my flirtatious existence, I have liked my fair share of boys. But this one was different – at one point I was legitimately in love with this guy. And the funny thing? Shortly before I met Caliswag, I was in a very successful and happy 2-year long relationship with the most incredible young man (we’ll call him Arc). Arc and I essentially grew up together. We dated for the first two years of college and he was the first boy I ever slept with (at a surprisingly old age of 18, and I say that because I think I was the only one of my friends who graduated high school a virgin). Arc and I made an amazing couple and he meant the world to me, but I never felt a passion or desire to be with Arc nearly as strongly as I did with Caliswag. I loved Arc, but I don’t think I was ever truly in love with him.

Now let me set one thing straight: Arc and I didn’t break up because of Caliswag. Arc and I parted ways several months before I even knew Caliswag existed. However, I felt that mentioning Arc was important to explain that I was once a one-man type of woman. I was a trusting, hopeful, genuine young lady. And that’s the girl I was when I first met Caliswag. And then it all went to shit.

Dodged That Bullet

It’s really hard being a girl. There are rules we are supposed to abide by and so many double standards that we have to deal with. We are supposed to wait for a guy to text/call/contact us, but we’re also supposed to show our interest in a guy so that he knows to make a move. But if we show too much interest, we scare boys off, or drive them to think we’re “crazy.” Here’s my thoughts on this: girls come off as “crazy” because we drive ourselves mad trying to figure out what the hell boys want from us! The act of attempting to figure out what men want and how they think is seen as an act of craziness. So instead of boys blaming themselves for being so confusing, they take the easy way out and just blame girls for acting crazy. This is a universal problem. All girls can relate. And if you’re one of those special girls who has never been considered crazy, you’re either lucky, a lesbian, or mute.

Apparently I am crazy. Crazy enough to get myself blocked on Facebook by BLT. I can HONESTLY say I don’t know what I did. Yeah, I have a big mouth, and I probably talked about him to the wrong people, who talked to other people, who then talked to other people, who talked to his friends who eventually talked to him. Gossip and rumors ruin everything. If I told one person that I was “interested in hanging out and getting to know him,” once it eventually gets to his ear, it will be warped into “she’s obsessed with you; she wants you to be the father of her 7 children and sits outside your house every night hoping to get a glimpse of you through your bedroom window.” (WHICH I DO NOT DO BY THE WAY!) The sad part about this is my best friend, Kenya, actually lives across the street from him, which completely sucks because now I feel uncomfortable going over to her house.

I have never been blocked on Facebook before, not even by a vindictive ex-boyfriend or a hated enemy. And before now, I never thought that I would be. I’m not a psychotic bitch, I have a great group of friends and as far as I know, very few people have ever considered me to be creepy (okay, the act of “creeping” on the internet is a different story, but EVERY GIRL does that, right?)

I’m still wracking my brain to try and figure out why he would block me. Besides someone telling him something about myself that isn’t true, the only other reasons I can think of is he 1) found this blog and realized I was writing about him or 2) just couldn’t stand to look at my pretty face online anymore because he knows I’m too good for him. My friends think I dodged a bullet with this one, because what kind of guy blocks a pretty girl on Facebook? Honestly, the guy doesn’t even know me! We shared a mutually-aggressive make-out session and he slept in my bed shirtless. You wouldn’t think a PG-13 occurrence such as that would turn into completely erasing someone from all social media. Eventually, I will get to the bottom of this. However right now I’m trying to not let it get to me. I know there are a handful of guys in my life who are interested in me and like me for the sassy, spunky, flirtatious woman that I am – I just keep telling myself that BLT wasn’t worth my time anyway. I guess this fish got away. Time to go fishing again.

I WANT THIS FISH

It’s been over a week and I haven’t heard from BLT. I even deleted his number so that I would be surprised to get a text from an unknown number and see that it’s actually him. I’m stupid, I should just grow a pair and text him myself. Why am I not confident enough to just text him and ask him to hang out again? The worst thing he is going to say is no, right? But that is the worst thing. That potential “no” hurts, a lot. I’m scared, I’ll admit that. But what exactly am I scared of? Failing? Failing at what, getting some hot guy to like me? Whenever this kind of things happens, I try to tell myself there are so many other fish in the sea. But I want this fish, this bright, shiny, gorgeous fish that is better than all the rest. And if I don’t get this fish, I’m devastated (for a short amount of time, until I do find another pretty fish).

I fall fast and hard, which means I kind of become obsessed in the man (or men, sometimes it’s more than one) I like at the time. I go around and tell all my friends every little detail about him – like when I run into him on campus, his favorite food, his birthday, how good of a kisser he is, the name of his childhood dog….

All girls do it. I always creep on my current love interest on every single social media site possible. If he has one, I will find his Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Linked In, Tumblr, Spotify, Snapchat, Lulu, Tinder, etc. I don’t know why I do this, maybe because I’m nosey. But once I start, I have to dig deeper. Once, a while back, I dug so deep that I found out the guy I was currently seeing was actually a 3^rd degree sex offender. Safe to say that ended quickly.

Anyway, I suppose I will just continue to wait for BLT to text me. Or maybe this weekend I’ll be drunk enough to muster up enough courage to invite him over for another sexy make-out session, AS LONG AS HE SHAVES.