Sunday, February 06, 2005
Mistake, mistake... BIG mistake...
Oh boy, was I pissed at The Fiancé today. But then... who wouldn't be. He went out on "errands" with the roomies, leaving me at home bored, working, waiting for them to come home, thinking they are shopping like they said they are, starving with nothing in my stomach all day but a 3 Musketeers bar, and a gaping hole for a fridge interior. But that's cool... they run errands, afterall... yes? So after more time has passed than all the errands in the world could possibly take up, I make a phone call. And also to gently remind him to please bring me a $1 hot dog from 7/11 when he goes pick up some cat food, cause a 1$ hot dog is all I was willing to spend on food today, with bills and rent looming horribly over our heads.
So he picks up. Lots of noise in the background. "Hey, I just wanted to tell you... wait... where are you? What's that noise?"
"Oh... just here, at the California Brewery." All chipper and happy.
What followed was stunned silence, a horribly growling stomach, an explanation of how I supposedly should have gathered the information "we're gonna have a boys night out with beer and lots of food because our fridge is empty" from the overheard conversation: "I'll go with you guys to pick up some ink for the printers and then to the Guitar Center and then come back ASAP, because we have a lot of laundry to be done", and then tears.
Many, many tears.
You'd think anybody would pick up their bloody cell phone and give me a ring, telling me that they are done with errands, and are going to go get food and have fun™, asking me if I was hungry, and maybe wanted to come, too.
Yeah... think again.
Another full hour passed before they returned from their beer soaked venture... one full hour, when the place is no more than 10 minutes away from home, and when I was crying desperately into the phone, in utter hurt confusion on why I was left behind alone at home in the belief that useful errands are being run, sobbing in a way that would make any man with a heart in his chest drop whatever he is doing and hurry home to his damsel in distress.
Do you know how many tears can be shed in one full hour? I don't know either. I lost count when my sleeve was soaked with snot and started to drain onto my pillow.
To make a long story short and without explaining too much on why he came home empty-handed when he should have had the decency to at least bring me something to eat from the place, or at least a cup of Cherry-loves-Cheesecake ColdStone ice cream from right across the street to make amends and render me a bit more placable, and on why he then had to run out to get cat food after he came home instead of before, and then spent 2 hours in search for something to eat for me when I told him that I don't want anything anymore and then returned with only half of what I eventually allowed him to bring me because "Ooops, $5 haven't been enough" after I told him "Get more money, because $5 won't be enough":
After he called me once and I decided not to pick up because I am wrathful like that, I got another phone call. Maybe three minutes later. Blocked caller ID. Now, I have a policy of not picking up when I don't know the number period, and especially not after I just refused to pick up The Fiancé, who could possibly have been sneaky and turned off his caller ID to trick me into thinking it is not him and therefore making me pick up when I don't want to talk with him.
Yeah... I know I am interpreting too much into a man's creativity.
Anyway. So I was there, lying on my bed in the dark, my eyes so swollen that I could barely look out of them, curled up on my snot-stained pillow, watching my cell phone silently but excitedly flash in announcement of the incoming phone call. I was staring at it wildly irate, and if I would have had the super power to shoot little acid-soaked arrows out of my eyes, I would have used it on my cell phone right then and there.
The excited flashing stopped evetually. Everything was quiet and the room went dark again, as the lights on my cell phone gave up on me and went out. I was thinking: "Ha.", and was immediately interrupted by the sudden announcement that I have received a new voice mail.
Then... sudden horror piercing my heart like an icy spear. What if it wasn't The Fiancé afterall, because - as is common knowledge - men don't usually go to great lengths like that to get a pissed off and hurt woman to talk with them... what if it was...
- I fished for my phone and furiously pushed the button that would connect me to my mailbox. "You have one new message, received at 9:23pm..."
"Hi it's Jo, I just got your message, and I just wanted to say thank you for calling, that's so sweet of you guys to..." The rest got kind of lost in the sudden thunderous rush of blood in my ears, but it ended something like: "so... give me a call sometime... I will talk with you later."
WHAT A STUPID IDIOT I AM!!!
But her voice... oh, her voice... like some weirdo stalker I immediately saved her message... and listened to it over and over and over again. So sweet... I could hear her energy and her laughter through her voice, and her smile, the way she was touching me when we were talking the first time, the way she hugged me when we left the party... all that came rushing back at me with such a clear intensity that I wasn't even aware I remembered her with. I was ready to call her back and tell her everything as soon as I got to hear her voice... but of course I didn't. Instead I started to become insecure about myself again, feeling again like the clumsy and ugly teenager that I once was, my self-esteem hit rock bottom again, again I was unworthy of even hearing Her voice through my cell phone, and I felt no bigger than a tiny amoeba in comparison to the mighty sun in the resounding of her beautiful laughs on my answering machine. And again I was thinking... what the hell am I doing here... what the hell am I thinking... the very thoughts I promised myself never to think of again, when it comes to admitting and being proud of who and what I am.
"...give me a call sometime... I will talk with you later..."
Was that an invitation, or a polite way of telling me off? I mean... don't we tell people to "see you later" or "call me up sometime" all the time when we have not the slightest intention of ever talking with them again??? I know that I do. "Yeah... let's stay in touch,and now get out of my face already you boring lame person, and stop bugging me."
So he picks up. Lots of noise in the background. "Hey, I just wanted to tell you... wait... where are you? What's that noise?"
"Oh... just here, at the California Brewery." All chipper and happy.
What followed was stunned silence, a horribly growling stomach, an explanation of how I supposedly should have gathered the information "we're gonna have a boys night out with beer and lots of food because our fridge is empty" from the overheard conversation: "I'll go with you guys to pick up some ink for the printers and then to the Guitar Center and then come back ASAP, because we have a lot of laundry to be done", and then tears.
Many, many tears.
You'd think anybody would pick up their bloody cell phone and give me a ring, telling me that they are done with errands, and are going to go get food and have fun™, asking me if I was hungry, and maybe wanted to come, too.
Yeah... think again.
Another full hour passed before they returned from their beer soaked venture... one full hour, when the place is no more than 10 minutes away from home, and when I was crying desperately into the phone, in utter hurt confusion on why I was left behind alone at home in the belief that useful errands are being run, sobbing in a way that would make any man with a heart in his chest drop whatever he is doing and hurry home to his damsel in distress.
Do you know how many tears can be shed in one full hour? I don't know either. I lost count when my sleeve was soaked with snot and started to drain onto my pillow.
To make a long story short and without explaining too much on why he came home empty-handed when he should have had the decency to at least bring me something to eat from the place, or at least a cup of Cherry-loves-Cheesecake ColdStone ice cream from right across the street to make amends and render me a bit more placable, and on why he then had to run out to get cat food after he came home instead of before, and then spent 2 hours in search for something to eat for me when I told him that I don't want anything anymore and then returned with only half of what I eventually allowed him to bring me because "Ooops, $5 haven't been enough" after I told him "Get more money, because $5 won't be enough":
After he called me once and I decided not to pick up because I am wrathful like that, I got another phone call. Maybe three minutes later. Blocked caller ID. Now, I have a policy of not picking up when I don't know the number period, and especially not after I just refused to pick up The Fiancé, who could possibly have been sneaky and turned off his caller ID to trick me into thinking it is not him and therefore making me pick up when I don't want to talk with him.
Yeah... I know I am interpreting too much into a man's creativity.
Anyway. So I was there, lying on my bed in the dark, my eyes so swollen that I could barely look out of them, curled up on my snot-stained pillow, watching my cell phone silently but excitedly flash in announcement of the incoming phone call. I was staring at it wildly irate, and if I would have had the super power to shoot little acid-soaked arrows out of my eyes, I would have used it on my cell phone right then and there.
The excited flashing stopped evetually. Everything was quiet and the room went dark again, as the lights on my cell phone gave up on me and went out. I was thinking: "Ha.", and was immediately interrupted by the sudden announcement that I have received a new voice mail.
Then... sudden horror piercing my heart like an icy spear. What if it wasn't The Fiancé afterall, because - as is common knowledge - men don't usually go to great lengths like that to get a pissed off and hurt woman to talk with them... what if it was...
- I fished for my phone and furiously pushed the button that would connect me to my mailbox. "You have one new message, received at 9:23pm..."
"Hi it's Jo, I just got your message, and I just wanted to say thank you for calling, that's so sweet of you guys to..." The rest got kind of lost in the sudden thunderous rush of blood in my ears, but it ended something like: "so... give me a call sometime... I will talk with you later."
WHAT A STUPID IDIOT I AM!!!
But her voice... oh, her voice... like some weirdo stalker I immediately saved her message... and listened to it over and over and over again. So sweet... I could hear her energy and her laughter through her voice, and her smile, the way she was touching me when we were talking the first time, the way she hugged me when we left the party... all that came rushing back at me with such a clear intensity that I wasn't even aware I remembered her with. I was ready to call her back and tell her everything as soon as I got to hear her voice... but of course I didn't. Instead I started to become insecure about myself again, feeling again like the clumsy and ugly teenager that I once was, my self-esteem hit rock bottom again, again I was unworthy of even hearing Her voice through my cell phone, and I felt no bigger than a tiny amoeba in comparison to the mighty sun in the resounding of her beautiful laughs on my answering machine. And again I was thinking... what the hell am I doing here... what the hell am I thinking... the very thoughts I promised myself never to think of again, when it comes to admitting and being proud of who and what I am.
"...give me a call sometime... I will talk with you later..."
Was that an invitation, or a polite way of telling me off? I mean... don't we tell people to "see you later" or "call me up sometime" all the time when we have not the slightest intention of ever talking with them again??? I know that I do. "Yeah... let's stay in touch,
