All right so, no second interview. Sent an email which I almost titled "what the fuck already?" but then remembered that this is someone I want to impress and not one of my vacant bosses or fucked in the head friends. Always good to make that differentiation, no? (had to spell check diffirentiation *<---on purpose how I wrote it first time* because I fucked it up; more reading necessary asap!). That last sentence makes no sense. Maybe I am trying to communicate with aliens or something. Love the ADHD there. Anywhatthefuckisthisshit? This is quickly spiraling out of control.
So Intensa and I came to the conclusion that the Dumpee always ends up having these crazy mixed feelings about the Dumper (are you up to the flow? We're talking about break-ups here, not scatology... that´s a different story).
She just got dumped by a dude who was soooo into her, like eating out of her hand, the taming of the lion, she even thought he was way into her than she into him. They had even gone as far as talking about the future and she was already hearing possible wedding bells and thinking about kids name (I
know! Loca!) So she's still feeling it and wants to get back at him somehow (he probably knows this). I feel the same way (not that i want to get back at him, the other other sentence about the bla bla bla). I've only been dumped twice, and yet those guys are still the ones I have unfinished business with. Maybe in a way I do want to get back at them by giving them another try of what I offer (oh god where is this goinggggg?!). Let´s talk about them shall we? How unhealthy my head is this will surely tell.
G. macho, arrogant, rude, lovable, fuckable, 30 back then, hot and single. The color of the earth in Arraijan, dark sort of reddish-brown, a badass tattoo on his bicep that his uniform sleeve barely covered (oh, did I not mention we were co-workers? Also, he had 10 years of seniority over me, oh yes, add to that terrible mess that I was in an unhappy relationship, chomping at the bit). The first moment I met him I could feel my pheromones sparking, the danger whispering in my ear, for this guy was danger (my friend would also say my clam was clapping, but she's a dirty ho and I'm not). There was something about the way we teased each other, marking wit against wit and charm against charm, the way he looked at me, made me feel ... someone toss me something cliché here).
We didn't really talk much when we first met, I kept to myself prudishly, listening to my iPod and looking stoic (I can be such a frigid bitch). We chatted one day finally about this and that, but I kept my distance. I was in such a serious relationship with a crazy emotional psycho that I felt I couldn't really make new guy friends, especially not make friends with guys I thought were hot. Fast forward 6 months and the relationship with the crazy emotional psycho (from now on abbv. as CEP) was on a terrible rocky road (yum) to the very bowels of hell (I do believe that was after he had thrown a box of tissues at my face that cut my cheek, or was it the time he slapped me thrice in front of his apartment house).
I was on MSN one day and G started chatting me up. I had to fly that afternoon to Mexico and mentioned it to him. He said that he also had that flight (in that moment I quickly searched for the piece of paper that had my scheduled flights and chief of cabin and sure enough G´s name was listed as chief instead of the guy I was supposed to be flying with). What a pleasant surprise, I was delighted. In the back of my mind I had already severed ties with CEP, things had gone as far as they possibly could go.
I arrive at the airport and proceed to the office to sign my name in the ledger and look at the rest of my crew. I am the only other woman on board aside from the co-pilot, a young girl no older then 21 years of age with a childish-brattish attitude, to boot. I start realizing what this means immediately: I had a room to myself. The company I worked for only assigned guy-guy or girl-girl rooms to share, so if say the crew was 3 girls and one guy, he would get to sleep in a room by himself. My crew was 3 boys and me, little old me, young, beautiful and only 22 years of age, a veritable babe and her hot, martial arts practicing, singer in a rock band, boss on board. This sounds like the contents of a steamy novel. The title would be
Flying High, of course don´t you doubt it hahah.
Back at the hotel bar, we finish the tapas and beers numero 2. We all have a couple more Negra Modelos and then move to my comfortably roomate-less hotel room. Four of us now, three crew and the young copilot. After more time of ordering beer, we all end up paired in different beds to watch a movie or tv or something on the boob tube, me conveniantly with my boss. To say that we're all a bit tipsy is underrated, we were siding on the side of sloshed, if I had been walking I would have been one of those slappy, happy drunks, spilling shit everywhere.
We're face to face, our noses inches away, breathing the same carbon dioxide in and out. I breathed him in and a bit of him became a particle in my lung, hidden there for ever. The other crewmember and co-pilot are fast asleep, inches between them. The television flickers blue and static white on their sleeping faces. We´ve gotten serious, our topic hushed and whispered urgently, I know what I am doing is wrong. It´s wrong to be in that bed with him, I have a boyfriend, a terrible boyfriend, but never the less a boyfriend. I tell this to him. He remains quiet and looks at me, a small smile on his meaty lips.
"I would love to kiss you" he whispers across me, his words tugging at my ears.
"I have a boyfriend" I utter, not entirely convinced, as he places his mouth on mine. I don't resist and it´s exquisite.
Part 2 to be continued whenever.
