Monthly Nice Quota: Met/Exceeded/Shut the Fuck Up Already
Email to the Irishman, titled: Reminder Fairy
Don't forget to take out cash to pay your landlord.
um.
you probably already did it and now you're throwing shit yelling, 'goddamned fucking puerto rican always telling me what to do!!!'
and that's RIGHT
You yell behind my back because if you ever do that shit to my face I'll cut you
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These days my favorite moments are when I fall asleep and the Irishman's hand is resting on my hip, his other arm under my neck, wrapped up around my shoulders. I wake to go to the bathroom and I have to untangle him from me.
I have this thing about skin on skin and have frequently been told by exes that I'm the most sensual girl they've ever touched, I lean in, I lose focus, I forget to breathe. In the past I've laughed and said I'm a cat. My ex walked by while I was cleaning the kitchen floor and I arched my back into the side of his leg, meowed, purred, pretended to scratch him until he laughed so hard he turned red. I have many fond memories of my exes. Trips we took. Games we played. But the Irishman is different.
I look at him and think, we can go the distance. When he touches me I lose focus because it's his skin, his hands, his arms.
The Irishman often tells me, spontaneously, 'You know. You're not funny. All those people that say you are are either extremely nice or extremely retarded,' cue the deadpan look, 'You're really not funny Terra.' To which I have a tendency to respond with singing loudly and widely off tune while I do an Elaine from Seinfeld inspired dance, 'WHO DO YOU LOVE?'
Do you remember this song? Who do you love? Tell me now!
After I do this he always gives me a funny look and I say, 'Come on, sing it with me!'
'No.'
'You know you love me, now sing it.'
'I'm not singing that stupid song, I've never even heard of it.'
'Really?'
'Really Terra. You know every stupid mundane over played song and I thank God I don't know this one... it's probably by Rob Thomas.'
'I like Rob Thomas.'
'Rob Thomas is gay.'
'WHO DO YOU LOVE?'
So the other night we're lying in bed and I do it again, 'Tell me now, who do you love?' And he sings it back, adding in the rest of the chorus and the actual beginning to the song.
'I thought you didn't know that song?'
'I do know that song, I've just never heard you sing so off key and I was hoping you'd shut up.'
Dude. I totally love him, and normally I'd keep this shit to myself but I just had to write it down, provide proof, show evidence, because there are going to be days I hate his guts, days I wish him dead, and I would just like to remember when that day comes, there was a time when he was everything, and I want to do more than just remember that. I want to keep that in mind.
Don't forget to take out cash to pay your landlord.
um.
you probably already did it and now you're throwing shit yelling, 'goddamned fucking puerto rican always telling me what to do!!!'
and that's RIGHT
You yell behind my back because if you ever do that shit to my face I'll cut you
------------------------------------
These days my favorite moments are when I fall asleep and the Irishman's hand is resting on my hip, his other arm under my neck, wrapped up around my shoulders. I wake to go to the bathroom and I have to untangle him from me.
I have this thing about skin on skin and have frequently been told by exes that I'm the most sensual girl they've ever touched, I lean in, I lose focus, I forget to breathe. In the past I've laughed and said I'm a cat. My ex walked by while I was cleaning the kitchen floor and I arched my back into the side of his leg, meowed, purred, pretended to scratch him until he laughed so hard he turned red. I have many fond memories of my exes. Trips we took. Games we played. But the Irishman is different.
I look at him and think, we can go the distance. When he touches me I lose focus because it's his skin, his hands, his arms.
The Irishman often tells me, spontaneously, 'You know. You're not funny. All those people that say you are are either extremely nice or extremely retarded,' cue the deadpan look, 'You're really not funny Terra.' To which I have a tendency to respond with singing loudly and widely off tune while I do an Elaine from Seinfeld inspired dance, 'WHO DO YOU LOVE?'
Do you remember this song? Who do you love? Tell me now!
After I do this he always gives me a funny look and I say, 'Come on, sing it with me!'
'No.'
'You know you love me, now sing it.'
'I'm not singing that stupid song, I've never even heard of it.'
'Really?'
'Really Terra. You know every stupid mundane over played song and I thank God I don't know this one... it's probably by Rob Thomas.'
'I like Rob Thomas.'
'Rob Thomas is gay.'
'WHO DO YOU LOVE?'
So the other night we're lying in bed and I do it again, 'Tell me now, who do you love?' And he sings it back, adding in the rest of the chorus and the actual beginning to the song.
'I thought you didn't know that song?'
'I do know that song, I've just never heard you sing so off key and I was hoping you'd shut up.'
Dude. I totally love him, and normally I'd keep this shit to myself but I just had to write it down, provide proof, show evidence, because there are going to be days I hate his guts, days I wish him dead, and I would just like to remember when that day comes, there was a time when he was everything, and I want to do more than just remember that. I want to keep that in mind.
