Shit Balls and Sharpie

I left work early today after a phone call from my doctor. I made some calls myself to a few people. As per usual, Zach came in clutch.

Me: I mean… Yikes.

Zach: That’s a nice way of putting it. This might warrant a “holy fucking shit balls,” Jess.

Me: Thanks, asshole.

Zach: Eh, some things change. You and me? We’re constants. I’ll Sharpie your face in every bathroom stall to keep you around. I can look at you while I shit, and it don’t get much realer than that, sweetness. Now dry your eyeballs. You might look cute when you’re pissed, but you look damned pathetic when you’re belly achin’… stop that shit.

He turned away to look out the bar’s window.

I’m pretty sure I saw tears welling in his eyes. Fuck, this shit is getting to real.

I ordered two more shots. They took the edge off and put a fire back in my belly. And then I went home from the bar to cry some more and write this post.

Jesus Take the Wheel

My ragtag group of friends and I seem to all have hit a low point. This is grounds for drinking.

We’re going into downtown Baltimore this evening.

Dank Ass is gonna get laid, Rachel is gonna get fucked up, and I’m gonna start a fight. Matt will be there to save us all.

Jesus Take the Wheel
It’s a good thing I’m not driving tonight; I wouldn’t want to do battle with a deity for the fucking steering wheel.

I’m meeting up with Matt in about an hour for lunch and general hang out time. I haven’t seen him in a very long time and I miss him dearly.


I also miss Michael. He seems to be busy as of late, and a small part of me (I don’t know if it’s the rational or irrational side of me) thinks he may be growing distant because he doesn’t like me anymore. Just typing that out makes my stomach go icy. There have been other little things that send pangs of hurt through my spine, but I try to push those little things from my mind. I hope they’re just figments of my imagination. Whatever. Gotta face the music someday, right? My chances were slim from the get go. Eight months in and he still hasn’t really told me he likes my company… A girl can’t wait forever, and waiting this long has made me weary. It does something to your confidence. Someone you like so much treating you like an option… I want to cry.

I met an anesthesiologist + lawyer while wandering Baltimore a few days ago. He struck up a conversation while we were waiting to order coffee. He looked at me like I was worthwhile. He asked if he could sit and chat with me at a table by the window. He wrote his number on a napkin and slid it across the table (so old school, I think he’s ten years older than me). “Let’s swap numbers. I hope to hear from you, Jess, but I’ll call first if you don’t.” Well I hope to hear from Michael… Why the fuck am I thinking that when I pretty much hit the jackpot? An anesthesiologist who used to practice law?! A Doctor Esquire?! There’s no way a guy like that could find me interesting. He probably thought I looked solemn and wanted to make me feel better because he’s a doctor. Goodbye, Erik. I’ll just wait for Michael to say I’m not cool enough… and then I’ll find a befitting guy behind the counter of a McDonald’s. Free. Fuckin’. Fries. 

I threw away the napkin with my empty coffee cup; it wasn’t on accident.

You’re funny, you’re easy on the eyes, and you’re smart, kiddo. You’d make a man happy if you chose him. You’ll be fine. If this Michael fella doesn’t work out, you’ll find a different one.

Thanks, Pops. I’m about to drink a magic potion that will make me happy, confident, and lower my standards. That’s the perfect trifecta for finding a nice guy.

God have mercy on my soul.

Rain

The worst part about rain is short people with their umbrellas. 

And the fact it seems even the weather is against me. It’s a reflection of my emotions. Cloudy and tearful. 

  

In other news I have a doctor’s appointment today. I imagine my doc will order a range of labs and try to get me nekkid on one of those tables with stirrups. A breast examination will follow to determine if my tits will fall off, and I’ll have to answer a barrage of questions regarding my mental health and sex life. 

How would you describe your mood as of late?

Are you fucking me? Sad. Sad as a kid who accidentally let go of his balloon or dropped his ice cream cone. I’m in a slump but I’ll manage.

Are you sexually active?

Shit. How do I answer that? I was, but I probably won’t be for a while.

He’ll prescribe me pills for both situations. “These will make you a hollow shell but you’ll look happy so you’re not a nuisance to everyone. This will lower your inhibitions, and inviting all manner of horny vermin into your bed will seem like a good idea. You won’t feel better, but I have to give out drugs to make it look like I’m doing my job. Nice tits.”

Dolly Parton said, “If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.” 

Well it’s still raining, the clouds are grey… so these Skittles will have to do.