Thursday, May 17, 2018

No I'm not pregnant - this is a good thing

Dear Diary,

It was Friday night, breezy and bustling in the city - as always. But tonight we went out for hot dogs and beer, a desirable change from the ridiculously upscale restaurant that he took me out to the Monday before this date.

As a preface ... on that date (the Monday one), he took me to a restaurant inside of a hotel that showcased ~4.8 stars on Yelp. We had to take an elevator to be seated. And the lobby entrance was solely for restaurant-goers. There was a contrasting look in the room - me in my frumpy work outfit. I was wearing a grey skirt and t-shirt that falls loosely, along with a dark cardigan and my self-proclaimed "ugly work shoes." I'm not certain that anybody feels truly happy about themselves when they call an everyday article of their own clothing ugly, by intention. It's like a self-inflicted insecurity that is removable. Anyways, I digress. The outfit sounds generally alright, although it sure didn't fit the modern decor of this place. With confidence, okay, maybe it was a possibility. However, I had been feeling particularly depressed that day and the days prior. It was one of those in-a-slump-burnt-out-toasted-the-walls-are-crashing-in-why-mayday types of feelings. You know, typical overextended young adult who's going through growing pains types of ordeals. With a dash of existentialism mixed into the batter for good measure.
So. Picture That Girl, frumpy inside and out, with her logical and introverted boyfriend who is quite kind about still covering the check at the end of the night.
"Why didn't you tell me we were going to a nice place?" I ask him.
"I told you a got a raise at work," he says with a smile. He also adds that he wants to take me to nice places, which is actually very nice considering he knows that we both didn't grow up with the nicest things as an inner-city kid and an international village kid. We never had money, but it is a wonder of the world that we have some as adults and didn't as children. 
It was all-around a good date, though he knew I needed time to decompress at the end of the night and probably didn't want to sit around with me staring at the wall freaking out about whatever philosophical problem applying to humanity that I dreamt up (under stress) until the morning came up. I actually felt guilty, because the week before it is to my truest belief that he told me... dun dun dun - that he loves me. loves. With an  L-O-V-E. It is still not completely uncertain if he did, but what happened was ...
He took me to a nice Italian restaurant because he knows that it's my favorite type of food (heart eyes acceptable here, maybe emoji) and we had good conversation, with a bottle of wine. I never let myself get totally smashed and unclassy when I'm with him (as in falling down and falling asleep in a public area or becoming unreasonably loud and obnoxious in public) - though I've been pretty drunk with him on special occasions when we're both game - so he had a bit more of the wine than I did. (Must stay a little classy, That Girl...)

On the way out the restaurant, "I like you." I say.
"Why do you say that?" he smiles at me.
"I just feel like it," I say in return. He looks pleased and puts his hand out to hold mine.
Anyway,  we went back to his place and the conversation continued to be good.
 We were laughing and kissing, it really was very lovely and light and fun and sweet.
"I like you," I say to him as I'm feeling warm.
"I like you a lot," he says in return.
The cuteness continues as we make jokes (we have the same sense of humor :D) and do cutesy cuddly light making out stuff. (Barf, I know it's TMI. But it was nice.)
He looks at me at some point, "I love you" I see him say at me while looking me right into the eyes.
I froze - "Wha-? Huh?"
I reacted how you don't want someone to react when you admit your love for them.
"Huh? What did you say?" I continued being spazzy and prolonged the awkward feelings between two thinking-types of, "Oh shit this is serious emotions here" in my chest. But maybe I read the situation wrong. To be honest, my 'real' (sorry Blogger) name sounds like the words "I love you" when jumbled together, so I've made the mistake in the past of thinking that someone was heavily admitted their love for me and really just said my name huffily/with sympathy (:().
"Huh? Nothing," he says. He then says later that he "likes" me. So...did I hear wrong or did I just spazz? At least the latter. But this led to my feeling guilty that I couldn't find those words back to him on this night and contributed to my depression on the next three dates - which he planned very nicely, but I again, I just couldn't find those words to say to him on any of the dates. I believe that we were both disappointed by that. 

Okay, so now we're up to speed to the ~~~~Friday night date ~~~~~~, which this post began with.

... the date was romantically stimulating through discussions about our future goals and our thoughts on each other. When I talk, he listens. And when he talks, I listen - as I think it really should be in a relationship. He tells me that he thinks I can do anything...and I authentically believe that he can do anything he sets his mind to as well. 
We went back to his place per usual, but I had something important to say this time around.

I (I begin)

You're not pregnant are you?


No! I'm not pregnant!


You're what then? (Starts rambling about something)


I love you, -I say and then turn away quickly-


-He takes a pause, then rolls me back towards him- Come here. I feel the same way


-I stare at him-


I haven't heard those words in a long time...  (he rambles)


I love you (I interrupt his ramble and kiss him deeply)


I didn't say it because i didn't want to ruin anything (he says)


I love you (I say again, at a loss for words)


-We make out-

I wasn't sure if I should tell you because I don't know what's best for you, only you know what's best for you and what will make you happy...but you make me happy (I say with my chest heavy)

I love you too (he says to me.)

Im overkill 4life, so I tell him probably five or six times throughout the night.
Now we say it pretty much everyday. Sigh. To be continued, Diary, old pal.

-That Girl

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