And I . . . kind of like it?
As of late, I've continued shedding the Sunday School girl that I once was. I mean, I'm pretty sure she hitched up her skirts and ran shrieking from her new self a long time ago, but I still surprise myself sometimes. Last week, Tardy and her twin sister (also a tech in the pharmacy) had a birthday party. At first I wasn't going to go, then I remembered that I told T I'd bring her the Hypnotiq she wanted and that it'd be sucky to flake. Also, I'm trying my damndest not to be a flake because of how much frustration I know it causes me when people bail out on plans, although I'm not naming any names *cough* Ah, bother. I went with Dix because A., she had no ride there and really wanted to go, and B., T lives out in the middle of BumFuck, Egypt and I had no idea how to get there, she did. But I'd made up my mind to just get there, wish the girls happy birthday, and stay just long enough to not be rude and before everyone started going batcrap nuts.
So of course it made sense that two and a half hours later, after Dix took my phone away from me, I was slumped against T's husband's truck while he handed me a bottle of water and put a cold compress on my neck, assuring me that I had nothing to apologize for, even after I got rather disgustingly ill in the yard to everyone's amusement. I don't really remember how I got into the house and on the couch, although I learned later it was a former Voldemort employee who helped me inside. Honestly all I remember is him telling me not to step in the Jell-O on the kitchen floor. I also woke up in the morning to find that I'd sent Pip a text message that basically said “I wish you were here because I wanna do bad things to you.” I vaguely remember screaming at Dixie “TELL HIM I LOVE HIM. OH MY GOD TELL HIM. YOU'LL TELL HIM, RIGHT??!?!” after she had taken my phone away for the night and said she was going to blame herself for the nasty message I just sent, even though I fessed up to it later. When I looked in the mirror I discovered that someone had used colorstay lipstick to draw a penis on my face, with a heart above it. Definitely not my proudest moments at all, but I think I'll always look back on it fondly – my first, and hopefully last blackout.
And then we come to – he whom I shall call Lab Rat. Not that he lets people do science experiments on him (well, that I know if, anyways), but he works in the photo lab and for some reason reminds me just a teensy bit of a rat, but that's ok, because rats don't really squick me too much. He works in photo lab and has gotten shamelessly flirtatious with me over the past few months, mostly through Facebook. I forget when he started with the random smiley-only messages, but that went on for an insane amount of time and somehow morphed into him asking to see my boobs O_O. That's a hells to the no, so I sent him a very ugly photoshop I found instead, with the face on a girl's stomach and huge eyeballs on the tits. It really is very disturbing and he was appropriately freaked out by my Bazinga. And in all seriousness, no one is ever, ever getting a picture of my tits. One doesn't exist, one never will. But this weirdness continues. He's randomly stopped me to ask for a hug, said “I love you”, and once stopped me on my way out to give me a shoulder massage. This has all got me rather freaked out, to put it un-elegantly. Don't get me wrong, he's pretty. He's soooo pretty. But he just seems a little quirky and insecure, or worse, gun shy like Pip, and the undying 'show me your boobs' thing is a little off-putting. But my main reason for feeling a bit odd is the simple and ridiculous fact that he's 22 and I'm a little over a year from 30. Is that weird of me? Unfair? It's not as if he's been following me around being mushy and disgustingly lovelorn, we simply have agreed that each of us finds the other pleasing to the mortal eye. And while I certainly do enjoy the attention, the whole thing horrifies me and makes me feel just a little dirty and ashamed. I'm fairly confident that it'd be easy to just give in to this kid and make out with him like there's no tomorrow, but then I remind myself that I am a nearly thirty year old virgin with nary an experience with anything beyond a comfortable hug or drunken snuggles. The idea of having a first experience of any kind with someone barely old enough to graduate college makes me feel ashamed an inadequate. I'd always wanted an older man, or at least one closer to my age, to do all that for me, to teach me . . . things. It's no secret here that I'd had my sights set on the friendly neighborhood produce guy for that task, but I think he'd sooner be interested in letting me put lipstick on him. And believe me, I've actually tried to put lipstick on him – he wound up running halfway across a pub parking lot, and this was with him moderately smashed.
Loosely-moraled man-slut, Y U NO LET ME IN UR PANTS? He's either gay or I'm just not trashy enough for him O_o
Gods, this is one of those times when having been so sheltered growing up really sucks. I'm having this fantastic sexual tension thing going on, mutually for once, and I have no idea what to do about it.