I hung out with John, the hunky military guy, again. I met him at a bar in Southington and he introduced me to all his friends. Then we left his friends (whom all seemed to be ignoring us) to go to Billy O’s.
He’s so big and sturdy. That’s what I like about him. But as the night wore on, so did my patience. Unfortunately, because of my extreme pickiness over who I’m friends with, he doesn’t make the cut.
He appears totally normal at first, but then weird idiosyncracies started sprouting up. The one that really got to me was his love of money, and his inability to part with it. He got upset when I put a pitcher of beer on his tab instead of putting it on my own tab – he was desperately afraid I was going to skimp out on the bill.
Me – “Can’t we just split it at the end?”
John – “Yeah we can, I just don’t like it when girls expect free drinks, like they’re better than me or something.”
Me – “Uhhh….yeah, those girls are bitches.”
He lives at home with his parents, has no bills to pay, no debt and managed to save $30,000 in the bank from his two tours in Afghanistan.
John – “Money just keeps rolling in every month! It doesn’t stop coming. I told them I have post-traumatic stress and that means I get an extra $450 a month on top of unemployment and free college tuition. Oh and see these braces?”
He runs his tongue over his teeth.
John – “These were $6,000. I didn’t have to pay a cent.”
Me – “That’s great.”
Then I saw his cockiness.
John – “Did you facebook stalk me yet?”
Me – “No, I just saw your status update for today, that’s why I called.”
John – “Yeah right, I bet you stalked me already but you don’t want to admit it.”
He made me take out my phone so he could sign me up to be a member of his meet-up group. He saw that I was already a member of meetup.com, and that I was part of a blogging group. I completely forgot I was a member of this.
John – “You blog?”
Me – “A little.”
John – “Can you show me? You have nothing to hide.”
I brought up Wordpress on my phone and let him read my posts that I wrote about him. He laughed hysterically the whole time reading it.
John – “You’re totally going to blog about tonight, arent’ you?”
He grabs my face with his hands and kisses me on the lips.
I smile and say, “probably.”
The bar closed, Billy O politely told us to leave and then I find myself sitting in my car with John. How did this happen? He wasn’t ready to part with me yet, so he was sitting in my car.
John – “Can you feel my bicep? Yeah, I like that. I used to take steroids, but they made me crazy.”
Me – “Aren’t steroids hormones?”
John – “Yeah. Can you touch my earlobe again? I like that.”
I touched his earlobe earlier and asked him if it was a diamond stud. It looked too sparkly not to be.
John – “Be completely honest and tell me what you think of me.”
A list of negative qualities scrolled in front of my face. I held my tongue – something I don’t have much practice with.
Me – “You’re brave, loyal, dependable, courageous. All very important things.”
He nods his head and says thank you.
John – “A lot of people treat me like a regular guy, like I wasn’t in the military or anything. They should thank me at least.”
He kept telling me that I was shy, and to loosen up, but I felt completely relaxed. I felt so relaxed in fact, that I was afraid my mouth would get me in to trouble – speaking my mind, that is. Sometimes my filter doesn’t work properly. I have a problem by being completely honest with people and it can lead to disaster.
John – “You’re so shy, why don’t you open up? It’s cute about you. You keep blushing.”
I’m not a blusher. In the few times that I do blush, I can feel it on my face. I knew I wasn’t blushing, but he insisted that I was by telling me every 10 minutes or so. Annoying? Yes.
Me – “Maybe I have sunburn.”
John – “No, you’re blushing!”
Me – “Maybe there’s a red light getting reflected on my face.”
John – “Just loosen up, you can tell me anything. Don’t be shy.”
Me – “I feel like I can’t open up anymore. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
John – “Just be honest. Tell me exactly what you’re thinking.”
Me – “I’m thinking that you’re trying to get into my pants.”
John – “Nooooo….. I don’t need to have sex. Sex isn’t everything. I don’t know what gave you that idea. Umm…WOW. Ha ha.”
He squirmed around in his seat, looked out his side of the car.
He was clearly trying to seduce me. It was so obvious what he was doing, it could’ve been an after school special.
John – “But I mean, now that it’s in my head, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea. We can totally rent a room if you want. I have plenty of money, I’ll pay for the room.”
A hooker popped into my head and I thought at least they get paid. My guy didn’t even offer to buy me a beer.
Everybody is faced with defining moments everyday, they just pass by unnoticed. This felt like my defining moment of the day. I actually thought about it – I wanted to do it. But then I thought about the 60% of men in prison having sex with each other, then thought about swinger parties and orgies, and then an image of a monkey throwing poop came to mind.
Sex for the sake of sex is primal and animal. It can inhabit you, bring you back to nature – your roots. All walls break down and your left with two gyrating bodies exploring each other. I can’t find anything wrong with it besides babies and STD’s. Even still, I declined. Well, first I looked at him and asked;
“You got a condom?”
John – “No, but I can get one. That’s not hard.”
Me – “No, no I can’t. I’m not that girl anymore. Maybe some other time.”
My instincts told me No, my body was screaming Why Not?
We parted ways and I drove home. When I arrived at my house, it was a little after 2:30 in the morning and everybody was awake.
Me – “What’s going on? What’s all the ruckus?”
I went upstairs and saw my mom bent over the toilet with a plunger.
Mom – “There’s water everywhere. I hope it’s not leaking on your ceiling.”
Me – “No, it wouldn’t do that. It can’t be that bad.”
I grabbed a plate of macaroni and went downstairs to my room. John left his phone in my car, so I brought it in my house to keep it safe. When I say, keep it safe, what I really mean is, snoop. I found his texts to Mary. I wanted to see if they slept together.
At the start of the night, John told me not to tell anyone that me and him were hanging out.
John – “I don’t want Mary to know. You know how girls are. I don’t want her to feel hurt.”
So there I was rifling through his texts. I got to one message that talked about someone snoring, then Mary wrote something like, “I got less sleep than you and I still woke up earlier and with more energy! Burn!”
I’m pretty sure they did it. Poor Mary. She got scammed into sleeping with a dog. No wonder why she was upset the other night – I don’t blame her.
Well, all in all it was a good learning experience. But in the end, I would much rather enjoy my own company than have to entertain people I have nothing in common with. It just seems like a waste of time to me. Unproductive. On the other hand, there is always Happy Tuesday. A few hours away from myself with a group of older, jolly fellows would do me good today.
And I want to stop at the art store to buy some charcoal paper they have on sale for 40% off. It’s time for a new project!
Well, I guess I can never see John again. If I do see him, he’s going to want to read my blog and well, heh, that would be bad. Very bad. I just hope he doesn’t google Melanie’s blog.
Shit. When you type in “Melanies” in the google search tab, right below it, in the scroll of possible searches that people type in, melanieslifeonline is the very first choice that comes up. You go ahead and try to see if it happens on your computer. Maybe it depends on the IP address? Google can trace your searches?
If I type in Melanies in google search, press enter, my blog is everywhere on the first page. Every single site listed has Melanieslifeonline.com written in the description. This is getting scary. Exciting, but scary.
I don’t think John would ever think about googling me. God I hope not. There are people out there who know me personally that don’t give a shit about my blog. Let’s hope he’s one of them.
Okay, I’m going to hold off publishing this for a few days. Just until the heat wears off.
Nauah, fuck it. He told me to be honest, right? I’m posting it for Mary. Poor, sweet innocent Mary.