Change of Heart

So as it turns out, resisting my drunken inclination to have sex with Jersey was a wise choice. I bit the bullet and texted him last night just to see where his head was at. He said he’d had a hangover all day and felt like shit at work. I asked him if he was glad that we didn’t do what we wanted to do, and he remarked that it would’ve been fun. I agreed. I asked if he was done with his random curiosity, and he said he had to see what happens with the girlfriend first.

So in other words, we would’ve had sex then he would’ve realized it was a mistake and while I naturally would’ve tried to forge some type of friendship with a guy who’s been inside of my body, he would’ve pushed me away and seeing him at work would be weird and possibly irritating or hurtful and that would’ve sucked for me. And if it sucked for me, I’d possibly make it suck for him too.

And thus we see how, with even the slightest utilization of forethought and restraint, bad situations can be avoided. I’m typically not one for either of these concepts, which is likely why I have so many problems with men as it is.

I’m not mad at Jersey. It’ll be slightly weird seeing him again at work or wherever for the first time, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s water under the bridge. It was a good time, but I don’t have any real interest in him, which is a good thing…otherwise I might be hurt right now.

My only concern now is whether or not he can keep what happened to himself. Given that he does have his girlfriend and she hangs out with us from time to time, I would think it’d be in his best interest not to go around running his mouth about what happened. But Lord knows no one’s mouth runs as quickly as a man’s when it comes to sexual activity. I’m discreet and I don’t like people in my business unless I invite them into it myself. I especially don’t want people I work with in my business. Everyone knows men just love to brag though.

In other news, last night’s party was wack. It was thrown by a couple of guys from the job who throw parties from time to time. I’ve enjoyed their parties in the past, but I think I’ve outgrown them. I took Sasha, one of my best friends that I’ve known since college, and I’m glad she was there because otherwise I would’ve sat around alone with no one to talk to being as I wasn’t interested in speaking to or hanging around most of the people there that I know besides exchanging polite greetings. It was a lot of people from the job, naturally.

None of the coworker friends that I’d asked beforehand were going, but I figured that at least one or two people that I like would show up and I’d have some fun. As it turns out, that wasn’t the case. It was a bunch of guys I’d never do, a couple of people I’m cool with but not really friends enough with to hang out with, several women I know who I know don’t care for me and whom I couldn’t give one fuck about if my life depended on it, people I know or know of and are indifferent about, and then a bunch of people I didn’t know. So me and Sasha spent most of the night sitting by ourselves.

One interesting occurrence was the presence of an ex of mine – Mr. Smooth. When I mentioned that I haven’t had good sex in over 2 years? Mr. Smooth would be the person with whom that good sex was had. But like all my romances, it was short-lived. We were dealing for a few months then he shut down and we fell out and shortly thereafter he found himself some basic looking woman to drag around, and whom he’s still dragging around to this very day, judging from various Facebook pictures I’ve seen. Until a couple of months ago, I hadn’t spoken to Mr. Smooth since November 2010. I only broke the silence to wish him a happy retirement and to say I’m sorry that we couldn’t get along better. Much to my amazement, he actually responded to thank me.

He walked in last night and I give Sasha the lowdown on the situation. Strangely, his basic chick wasn’t in attendance. Sasha remarks a couple times on how he looks over at me like he wants to say something to me. I certainly wasn’t going to initiate contact with him though, because I don’t have anything to say to him. I’m completely indifferent to his existence now, which is perfect. It was a big venue, and thus plenty of room for me to keep my distance.

But…because my life is my life, of course it wouldn’t exactly happen like that. Shortly after he got there, he got into line to get a drink. The one drink line, might I add. Big ass party and only one area set up for drinks, which was annoying. Anyway, I had just finished a drink and wanted another one. But when I look at the line and see him right at the back of it, I say fuck it and told Sasha I’d just wait. But then I say fuck THAT because I wasn’t going to let his presence dictate my activities. So I got in line right behind him. I couldn’t help but to notice that his upper body is looking slightly more fit. Be that as it may, I was successfully able to navigate through the line with him standing about a foot in front of me without issue. He got his drink and went on his way; I got my drink and went on my way.

I finish that drink after a little while and get in line again. And right at that moment, who comes sauntering up the steps from the bottom level to get another drink? Mr. Smooth, of course. Now he’s behind me. And this time, I eventually had to end up addressing him, which was awkward. Twice. The straws were for some reason kept not at the main drink table, but on a second table to the side of it, which is behind you and to the right once you get your drink. So naturally, when I turn around to reach for a straw, whose body is right there blocking my way? Mr. Smooth’s. I said a polite “Excuse me” without bothering with eye contact, and he moved. Then I had to excuse myself past him again to squeeze through the line and back out to the floor. That time, even though I wasn’t looking directly at him, I could see out of my peripheral vision that he was looking down in my direction and his head followed me as I squeezed past. I’ll never know exactly what he was looking at though…either my drink, my face, or my cleavage. One of life’s unsolvable mysteries.

Exes are stupid.

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