Confession is good for the soul.

[imood mood at time of entry: different]
[Personal Mood: disgruntled and satisied]

I did a lot of confessing my damned self last night. And to Justin, of all people. I got to thinking on my way to work after I posted my last entry and couldn’t help but wonder if the nastiest I felt between us was just me; was just some figment or my own feelings projected onto him. I’m pretty sure that a huge part of it was just me and my own frustration with our formerly confusing limbo. Were we dating, were we not dating, why was his status set to single on MySpace, but he spent time kissing me? And why did it seem that he was always on drugs when he did it?

Well, we addressed this and more last night when I ended up back at his house. I always somehow end up at his house, talking smack, chatting with his mom, and rolling around on his floor wrestling. I ended up getting off work yesterday (Friday, January 18, 2008) really early. We were dead as fuck and no one really came in all day. At least not steady enough to justify paying four members of the hosting staff to stand around chit chatting for eight bucks an hour. Yes, that’s how much I make. It’s not much, but it’s something.

So, I was cut and I called Justin. His phone rang and rang and rang. I got worried that he wouldn’t pick up. On the very last ring right before I knew his phone would go to voice mail, he picked up. I invited him out to a movie and we were going to go and see “Cloverfield.” I’ve been dying to see it since last summer when they released that infuriating teaser trailer. It was seriously just enough to make you mad.

Now it’s out and I wanted to go see it. The only problem was that it was raining on and off for most of the day yesterday and it was chilly as fuck. With Justin’s windows fogging up and his defroster not wanting to work properly, he suggested that we just go hang out at his house and he’d take me home later. I reluctantly agreed, because I wanted to see that movie pretty bad, but it really is dangerous and stupid to drive around in a car with windows you can’t see through.

We sort of watched SGA, but we talked over it, like we always do. After it went off, we ended up talking for hours in his room and in his car. We talked about everything. Me and him. Him and other girls. Me and other people. It just all sort of came out. Most of the time, we couldn’t look at each other in the face, but we could just talk, because there was something about last night and us getting stuff out of the way. We discussed the whole stunted back and forth and the mixed signals we were both sending.

We talked about sex and how quickly either of us wanted to have it with people we actually care about vs. how quickly we’ll have it with people we don’t give a damn about. He told me that he’s really gotten why I didn’t just want to take off my clothes back when we were teenagers and briefly dated now that he’s older. He, of course, talked about the way that sex can express love and that he didn’t want to leave me after it had had happened. I, of course, talked about my desire to not rush things when I actually like you.

Perfect case is the whole Maurice from last summer’s vacation and Beate for two years of infatuation. With Beate, I want more than anything sometimes to just sit next to her and talk and maybe venture a kiss. With Maurice, I was more concerned with him shutting the fuck up about his crazy baby’s mother and some chick he dated when they were on the outs. I wanted him to stop trying to give me a horrible backrub and just take his clothes off already, because what else would I want him for?

I told Justin about this and I didn’t think that I ever would. I also didn’t think that I’d tell or anyone else about the fact that I kinda would like someone I could call up for sex and not worry about anything but getting there. There’s just been this huge amount of reflection on my part this week. I’ve been thinking about my previous plans to be married with children and finished with my education by now. It’s funny, because Justin told me that he expected to be on the same path and at least engaged to be married to someone by now. He’s only 19 and can think of commitment in a positive light. That’s refreshing to hear from a guy. It truly is.

So there was all of that and all of the other chatter where we finally verbally said that we’re not dating, but maybe it could happen if it was going to happen. I had to ask Justin outright, because I’d definitely stop talking as much smack to and about him if we were honestly considering it. I’d also stop stealing his stuff and running away, among other things. . .

It’s just so flattering to have someone sit there and tell me that I am the girl that they compare everyone else to. Me! Me, the crazy one that’s endlessly made to feel bad for being loud. Me, the one who’s kinda bitchy and obnoxious and a bonafide know-it-all. Me, the one that talks too much and is consumed by more than I dare put in words to other people. Well. . . me and another girl. The ex. His ex. Lauren. I really can’t blame him for that, since she was his First. Important First.

I really don’t know where we’ll go from here, but it does look like we’re friends more than I gave us credit for. As for the dating part, I really don’t see it. How do we make that leap without us screwing everything up? And we would screw it up spectacularly. Even with all of the reasons I tried to present to myself to support the idea of blocking out any feelings I had for this guy, no matter how ridiculous a reason I had to come up with, stupid hope insisted on having it’s say.

I really don’t know sometimes.

But what I DO know is that Ronnie, my same Ronnie from work, messed up one hell of a sex dream this morning. My mother and I were trying to get into WalGreens or what have you to get in line to get drugs/medical treatment. I showed her how she was able to waltz right in past the two separate lines. She snapped at me and I snapped back. For some reason, my liar, thief brother Brandon was there. We had some kind of conversation in the hall after we’d been called to back by a nurse. I just remember us standing next to vending machines talking while I idly considered buying something from one of them.

Anyway, my mom went off further into the back area and Brandon sort of melted away. I had somehow made it to a room with a giant bed and about six other people in it. There was me and my girlfriend (I wish!) and five male hookers. I kid you not! Well, we’d just had an introductory round of sex and petting and were lying in a pile of bodies. For whatever reason, a fight broke out between the men. The girlfriend and I tried to stop the fight before it went too far. Even so, it went far enough while the scene flipped to the secondary storyline, that the guys and the girlfriend packed their stuff up and put their clothes back on.

All of the guys except for two of them were ready to walk out of the door when I decided to give it one last go. I saw the total amount I was going to have to pay being added up before my eyes, so I wanted to make a last ditch effort to enjoy it all. The men. The room. The extra stuff I had to pay for. I have this to say for myself, I have excellent taste, because my hookers and desired services cost a fortune. Clearly, my dream self was rich and could afford a $15,500+ tab in male hookers. And that’s not even including the room fees and everything else, that’s just the men themselves.

So I had a go at the Hispanic guy first. The sex was good, but it wasn’t as great as I knew it’s be with the Black guy laying next to both of us. He, the Hispanic guy, wasn’t as substantial as I would have liked and needed, but that was okay, because all of my men were gorgeous and diverse and I was going to get my money’s worth, dammit. Just as I was about to finish up, I saw a bright flash and the departing men turned back in interest. I was just about to go for the Black guy when Ronnie’s phone call woke me up.

I tried to lay there and go back to sleep, since I’m pretty good at going straight back to sleep and picking up where I left off. It was no good this time.

I can’t be too mad at him, but I can’t help but be a little mad. These guys where freakin’ gorgeous and I had to pay an enormous dream bill to have them. The secondary storyline was also pretty interesting in that it was something that could actually happen. It turned out that these three guys that by any conservative definition would have been labeled “freaks” in their own right decided to take up a cause for moral decency and punishing loose women/people in power. I saw them deciding on me and I guess that bright flash I saw was someone taking our picture. I know that the guy I was having sex with was lifting up his kilt just was we were almost done. Heh.

Anyway, I really need to head in to work. I can’t avoid them forever. I really need to do email, but I’d rather avoid that, too.

Danielle