On Being Needy.

A few years ago, I came out of a relationship thinking I had learned something about myself: I asked for too much.

"You want more than what I can give you."
"I can't give you the attention you need."
"I don't have enough time for you."
And what probably cut the deepest: "You're too needy."

For a while, I held on to those words and let them harden me. After a few years, I eventually came to the conclusion that neither of us were at fault. We had just outgrown one another. Of the four statements he made, only three were true: yes, I did want more than he could give me. And yes, he wasn't able to give me the attention I needed. And yes, I knew he didn't have enough time for me.

But he was wrong when he said I was too needy.

I never asked for diamonds and pearls. I never dragged him to go shopping so he could purchase expensive bags or shoes for me. I never expected lavish gifts and fancy restaurants. I only ever wanted some of his time. And maybe for him to share more books with me.

It has taken me years to finally learn that it's perfectly fine to want to feel special. Everyone has their own way of feeling special and nobody can tell us what should make us feel special. I feel the most special when somebody gives me the time of day, where it's just the two of us. *Queue Will Smith's Just the Two of Us*

And nobody can ever tell me that I'm being too needy because I know what I want.

The Night My Fart Saved My Life.

It was like any other Thursday night. It was just a few minutes past 6 o'clock and I had just emerged from the train station, speed-walking the block home so I could, you know--partake in number two in the privacy of my home. The sidewalk was emptier than usual but it wasn't as if I hadn't ever walked home like that. I actually didn't even notice how empty the street was until the after incident happened.

From the corner of my eyes, I noticed him cross the street towards me. I dismissed this and continued forward. I felt the air around me shift. I glanced down at the sidewalk and saw that there was another shadow circling back and forth around mine. Then I felt it, a tug. I gripped my shoulder strap tighter and immediately thought--NOOO! I'M SO POOR. I'M THE WORST PERSON TO ROB! I ONLY HAVE MY KINDLE, THE ONLY THING OF VALUE ON MY BODY!!! DON'T TAKE MY HAPPINESS AWAY FROM ME!

Instead, I slowed down and cautiously turned to look behind me. BOOM! I let out the biggest and loudest fart I've ever made. I felt it vibrate through the sidewalk and echo down the street. It was literally a boom. And then I immediately thought UGHHH I HOPE HE DIDN'T HEAR THAT NASTY ASS FART.

We stood, face to face, his hand holding onto the bottom of my bag and me with my eyes as wide as they could possibly stretch thinking I had probably shit my pants. It sure felt like it. His mouth stretched out into a creepy grin and I felt his hand pull away.

I always thought that if I was ever in such a situation, I would just punch the perpetrator in the throat and then stomp on his man-bits. I mean that's what I've always been told to do by my guy friends.

But I couldn't move. I just froze. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my eyes. Then he sprinted away from me. I think I wanted to cry. But I also think I wanted to laugh because it was so absurd. I had just farted the loudest, most nastiest fart ever in my life in the company of somebody who had scared me half to death. Who knows what he was trying to do. I just didn't know what to do so I awkwardly stood in the middle of the sidewalk, shivering, until other commuters started coming out of the train station.

(This next part may be gross and very unladylike but this is my blog so I do what I want.)

I got home and tried to poop but couldn't. There wasn't any poop that night. Or the next morning. I think I was backed up that entire weekend. It hurt.

* * *
I know I'm poking fun at this and maybe that's my defense mechanism for dealing with stress and anxiety but I have been taking the long way home from the train station when I'm alone, which happens to be on a busier, more lit street.

I suppose this is even more alarming for myself because my roommate sent me this link.

No matter how safe your neighborhood is, there's always an off-chance that something may happen. It really can happen to anybody, anywhere so I just want you all to be cautious of your surroundings. I don't want anything to happen to any of you.

The Facebook Add.

This thread from yesterday reminded me of something else having to do with Facebook requests. I figured I'd combine the two.


* * *
It had been at least two months since the last time we hung out. You were worried you were starting to forget what I looked like so you asked me to send you photos. True to my trolling ways, I only sent ones where you couldn't see my entire face. They were all links from my Facebook. And because you're such a smart cookie, you immediately said that you'd just add me on Facebook.

Finally. After 10 months. You were going to add me on Facebook.

You were able to find me with a quickness, which made me realize my privacy settings were shit, but you weren't able to actually add me. I knew why but I played stupid. Mostly because I found your Facebook-ineptness hilarious. You thought I blocked you so I gave you a fake add URL, which you probably believed and clicked. I was literally rolling on the floor laughing. You were really adamant about adding me.

After a solid half hour of back-and-forths, I finally added you.

I can only assume you immediately saw that I was in a relationship. You probably thought "What the hell? I thought this girl was single." Or maybe you thought, "THIS BETCH IS A LIAR!" But true to your conflict-avoidance ways, you remained behind your pleasant demeanor and changed the topic of our chat.

You told me some time later that you immediately told your friends of my relationship status. You even circulated my profile picture of us (that's not weird at all). And while I wasn't inside your brain, I can't help but want to narrate what went on:

Initially there was anger towards me. You felt lied to.
Then, anger towards yourself. You were wondering why it bothered you so much.
Then, denial that frequently bounced between mild to extreme. You finally realized you wanted more than whatever we had.
You tried to put it behind you but it kept gnawing at you. Because you thought you could change my mind.
And all the while, the fact that I didn't address it, probably enraged you even more.

I treated you the same: with a sense of fond camaraderie. Some may have interpreted this as cold and heartless, but I stand my ground in that I had no obligation to you.

For months, we never had any sort of emotional exchange. Sure, we got along: conversations flowed right into one another, we laughed a lot, we would think each others' thoughts and not have to say a word, and for once you didn't have to deal with some uptight, materialistic froufrou. But you never asked about my personal life or had an interest in who or what I did when I wasn't with you.

I had no reason to ask if you were comfortable with my decision.

However, I am sort of sad that you found out. You started acting and treating me differently. It was like a Facebook friend request suddenly ended our real-life friendship and that's disappointing because I really liked being your friend.

On Kissing.

"Before we go, I have to do something," he told me. Oh no, I thought, he's not really a man. He's probably a robot. Or a vegan. "Come here."

I leaned in, hesitantly, hoping he wasn't going to tell me that he was really a cyborg here on earth to capture me because I was really the love child of some cyborg king-bot from a universe far, far away. "Close your eyes."

"What? No. Why?" Who the hell tells anybody to close their eyes. Unless you're about to surprise me with an Eiffel Tower-sized room full of muffin tops, I won't ever close my eyes for you. Never.

"Ugh, just close them," he insisted.
"No," I politely declined.
"You're ruining the moment."
"What moment?"

He backed away from me and glared at me. Ah, in retrospect, I was probably being a buzzkill.

"I just want to kiss you. Can't I do that?!" He threw his hands up.
"Oh. No. No, you can't just kiss me. You don't ask to kiss me. You just do it."
"I'm trying to just kiss you! But you're being difficult."
"I don't want to."
"What? What's wrong with you?"

WHAT?! WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME!? HOMEBOY, DID YOU JUST ASK WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME? OHHAILNO YOU DI'INT.

So then I laughed in his face. I don't know. It just seemed like the right thing to do at that point. He already thought I was crazy. Would it really hurt my image any more if I just spiraled downward into insanity?

In all seriousness though, I don't like kissing. Kissing is weird. This may be due to the fact that I don't know how to properly kiss. Which is probably derived from the fact that I don't ever really have anybody to kiss. Which comes down to the root problem that I'm probably just a bad kisser and the entire world knows about it. Or because I'm a mildly paranoid germaphobe. Or all of the above.

Or maybe I just think too much.

Church & White.

If there's anything I want to remember and thank you for, it's this--your keen interest and support in my writing. Thank you for always inquiring about my current reads and writing projects. I am forever thankful for your persistent messages about wanting to read something new that I might be willing to share. Oh and also, thank you for finally understanding (maybe a little too late but that's alright) what I've always stood so firm in--that nobody will ever understand what we had, shared, and felt except for us. Nobody can tell us otherwise.

* * *
I didn't expect anything when I met you inside my favorite bar on a Friday evening of the in-between hours of the happy hour crowd and the party crowd. But that was where I began to heal.

It was busy enough so nobody could overhear our conversation but empty enough for us to have our own booth. You placed your coat across the booth and sat next to me. At first we didn't have much to say. You played with the candle on the table and I wiped the condensation from my half-drunk glass. I considered making an escape to meet my friends in Brooklyn because it didn't seem like we had much in common. But by the time I knew it, we were already two or three rounds of drinks into the night. And I was wrong; we did have a lot in common.

I humored you while you gave me a psychology spiel. Yes, everything you told me, I had learned in Psy101. But we laughed. We laughed a lot. You asked questions that made me want to share more. You laughed at all the right moments. You spoke confidently and deliberately. You bumped your shoulder into me whenever I made a smart comment, which was often. I don't think you were expecting it but you took pleasure in not knowing how to respond. You rubbed the small of my back when I turned to face you, my chin resting on my elbow. You did this to get closer to me. And even though there was an undeniable attraction, I still held back.

What you didn't know about me and what I would keep from you for months to follow was that I had no intention of ever being anything more than friends. In all honesty, I just wanted your company to pass the time. I didn't expect anything to come from it. I was still on the mend. It wouldn't have been fair to you. But we both know now that we were both in the same position and we weren't very fair to one another.

I tried to end the night. I wanted to see my friends but I was having the first good night in a long time with you. You walked me to the subway but tried to convince me to stay in the city with you.

"Doing what?" I asked you.
"I don't know. Anything you want," you responded. But I couldn't. My allegiance was to my friends, who were blowing up my phone about my whereabouts.
"Fine. I'll call you. I'll definitely call you. Or text," you said as I walked down the subway stairs.

* * *
On the train, I finally felt it. The burden and ache of brokenness lifting off of me. But what I had been waiting for for so long made me uncomfortable. Sadly, a part of me wanted to continue to wallow in self-pity. The other part told me to seize the moment and hold on to it because it was what I needed. Wasn't this kind of freedom and aliveness what I had been yearning for?

Whatever the case, you were the catalyst for it. And I guess that's something else I've never properly thanked you for.

She'll Forget in the Morning.

He leaned into the doorway. Waiting. Patiently, like always. She turned away from the mirror to face him. "Which do you like better?" She held up two pairs of shoes. He stared blankly at the shoes in front of his face. He was never sure if these questions were trick questions or if she genuinely cared what he thought.

"Hurry, we don't have all night. Which shoes?" Still unable to differentiate between the two, he pointed to the shoes he thought she'd want him to choose. She dropped both arms and glared at him. "Really? Ew," she turned away from him and strapped on the pair he hadn't chosen. "But...but they both look the same," he said as he walked into the room.

She rolled her eyes as he pulled her close to his body and smiled at their reflection. She pushed her way out of his embrace and picked up a pair of dangling earrings off the dresser. "Remind me to take these off when we get back."

It was only a quarter past one but she was already tumbling all over the party. Her feet hurt and she couldn't lift her head off his chest. "I want to go home," she mumbled drunkenly into his chest, "I also need to eat...maybe an entire cow." He laughed loudly and startled her. He rubbed her arm and kissed the top of her head. "Yeah, let's get you home."

With one hand on the small of her back, he gently led her out of the party but before she got to the exit, she froze. Overwhelming emotions flooded her drunken vision. Her insides knotted up as she stood face to face with her past. His presence suffocated and bounded her to the floor she stood on.

The hand on her back slowly rubbed her shoulder. "What's wrong?" He asked from behind. Instead of responding, she pushed forward and against the crowd.

On the drive back, words spewed from her mouth a mile a minute about years prior. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked bitterly. She hesitated. "Because I thought you'd care," she sputtered. Silence. Regretting his choice of words, he searched for her hands, tucked tightly underneath her thighs. Her grip was strong and unyielding, even in her drunkenness. He finally rested his hand on her knee and sped home in silence.

She ran out of the car before he could even park and stormed up the stairs into her apartment. He followed and walked into her bedroom where she was still clothed. He sat on the edge of her bed and gently took off her shoes. He slowly unzipped her dress and gave her a t-shirt to wear. He put down a glass of water at her bedside as she folded the covers over her like a burrito. "Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound rude..." his words drifted off as she turned away from him. He sat there for a few seconds, trying to rearrange words in his head.

Finally he said the only thing he knew wouldn't upset her even more, "At least let me help you take off your earrings." She didn't say anything but turned her right ear to him. He unhooked the first earring and let her turn her head to unhook the other earring. "Thank you. I think you can leave now." She turned her back to him again. He smoothed the back of her head and kissed it before he got up to leave. He turned around to see her burrito-blanket body.

I should say something but would it matter? She'll forget about all this in the morning anyway. She always does. He sighed one last time and slowly closed the door, hoping she would stop him and ask him to stay.