I have commitment/dependency/intimacy issues. I have said this a million times…and will probably say it a million times more. Something is wrong with me and I am fully aware of that fact.
It’s kind of like being perfectly aware of your addiction to alcohol… I know the situation is wrong, but I’m functioning…so I ain’t changing shit.
I know where it comes from too. I was 15 and this 17 year-old asshole basically cheated on my (with my best friend at the time) because I wouldn’t do what he wanted.
I’ve never been in a relationship since. I’m 22.
And for the most part, I don’t really care. But there are days man, where you just get so sick of “society” telling you that you are a lesser person because you are, in fact, not in a committed relationship.
Thank you, Katherine Heigel.
…bitch.
But yet, here I sit…thinking of my 3 good friends huddled around a table…drinking Michelob…and just completely frustrated with the taboos and speculations of the opposite sex.
Four beautiful girls…brilliant at what they do…longing for more than a silly boy in life…yet we fill this void because America tells us we are a complete part of society unless we are completely with someone else.
And at this point it’s more of a rebellion thing than anything else.
I feel like I’ve grown up in the past year since I graduated college…and I actually think I may be ready to get over some bullshit that happened to in 10th grade…
Yet America also tells us that we should never fully open up. Unless filled with ridiculous amounts of Michelob Ultra.
And as cliché as it sounds…I know this situation won’t change (for me at least)… until I take a chance. (Vomit.)
So let me finally get to my point…it looks like this “taking a chance” will be coming sooner rather than later…Thanks so my lovely boss who told the boss of the intern I like that I…well…like him.
Turns out he may...may... like me too.
And I can already feel my body recoiling in fear. The same symptoms are popping up.
Denial. Complete mental shut down. Flatulence.
So this is my social experiment to “not fuck this up.”
That yes, I will laugh at his jokes…all of his “jokes”. And yes I will blush when he laughs at my perfectly timed black joke. I will not make fun of his hand size….or correct his incorrect assertion about Saturday Night Live (right away).
This is my first social experiment with myself…and if it doesn’t work…then I blame that annoying chick from “Gilmore Girls”. Alexis Bledel.
Fucking asshole.