Come to your senses....

Thursday night my life came and circled back 360 degrees to almost exactly 10 years ago. In November of 2003, I had my first kiss and my first date. Mind you, I was in middle school so as far as I and everyone else was concerned, he was my first boyfriend. Two weeks later, we break up and soon after that he comes out as gay. (Cue Gay Boyfriend by Hazzard). It took a while, but I learned to laugh and make jokes about this non-straightforward start to dating. "I was so good looking I turned him straight but then a hot guy walked by us" etc. Oh and if I had to identify with a fairy tale, it would be "The Ugly Duckling" because in high school I became the swan.
In high school, I had guys interested in me. Guys thought I was pretty and I made friends. I thought those dark, lonely middle school days were behind me. Then I fell madly in love with J. If you go back to the early days of this blog, back when it was still called "Living Under A Rock" you'll find various posts about him. I thought I had found the love of my life. A large part of me believes he still is the love of my life, the one that got away, because it's hard to believe that I would willingly give up so much of my life again. I could go on and on about him to try and give you a glimpse of how I felt but maybe I'll just publish some of the poems I wrote then.
Then there was MadDogBV and I think that relationship is fairly well chronicled here as well. It'll suffice to say that J and MadDog were as far away from my first relationship as I ever got. They were based on common interests, genuine affection and concern, and sexual attraction. Let's face it, I was 16 when I first became interested in J, 18 when we got together and put serious effort into making the relationship work despite the war in Iraq, 19 when I lost my virginity to him and I was 20 and in my 3rd year of college when I got together with MadDog, sex was going to enter into the relationship at some point. Sex was something that played into my previous relationships but took the back seat because I wasn't ready for it.
Lastly, there was Frank Sinatra. Not a real relationship because it was based pretty much solely on sex but I fell for him. To this day, I'm not sure why since he's spinning his wheels in a small town, he can't get a job, he was a borderline alcoholic, not very good looking, very weird, and he only paid attention to me when I was in his bed. No, I'll tell you what it was: he could sing Frank Sinatra extraordinarily well, he's a talented artist (acting, directing, singing, and lighting design) and he's truly creative. Everything he works on he wants it to be perfect and show his effort. He doesn't want to half ass anything but does when someone else is in control and( in his mind) doesn't want anything changed. I loved his fire and passion and talent. Eventually, he did start taking me out on something that resembled dates and then he'd do something or say something that would send whatever progress we had made in making the relationship grow back to square one. He knew I loved him; I would tell him and when I would try to help him as a professional friend (telling him about a job) he'd wipe his ass with it and not listen to me. (Cue We Found Love by Rhianna/ Come to Your Senses from Tick Tick Boom). It was tumultuous to say the least, but I got some kind of sick pleasure from it because every time I'd say that I was ending it, he would, with random precision, say or do just the right thing that would compel me to forgive him. I graduated and got a job and moved away, but I still loved him. In February I decided to end it and didn't talk to him for almost 2 months (go me). He did text me for Valentine's Day but I couldn't brush it off as a mass text because it had my name in it and I tersely replied "Same to you." Just as it was finally getting easier, he texts me saying that he's been an asshole. I ask him if that's supposed to be some of apology and he replies that it's the best he could do and I told him not to waste my time.  I was talking to a mutual friend, A and she told me that she had been talking to Frank Sinatra on Facebook the day he texted me and she told me that he wanted to reconcile with me and he tied it to the rock musical "Rooms A Rock Romance" because the male lead was basically him and his life and the icing is the lead female and I have the same name. So, April 1st we had a long conversation where I got to grill his ass and he admitted to using me for sex and attention but it wasn't just my attention for himself, it was the attention our relationship got from other people. He wasn't making out with me in front of half of the people in our college because he was proclaiming his love for me, it was to start gossip and make himself look good. The ugly, weird outcast guy making out with this really pretty girl and leaving with her. We decided to be friends.
Now, this is the climax. I texted him the other night to find out how "Rooms" went, since it was opening up last weekend. He told me that it was interesting but didn't want to go into details because he had a "snuggle date". Ok, fine. The next day I text him asking if he was going to tell me about this date so that I could live vicariously through him or if I was going to have to use my imagination. When he finally does text back he asks me if I remember the dancer from the night we went to this bar to watch his movie. No, I reply but then I remember the gay guy in the corset. Turns out this gay guy was actually a girl who wants to transition to a guy, goes by "Charles" was in Frank's production of "Death of a Salesman" as "Bernard" but she/he is bi! And Frank is "intrigued" by Charles and they've been taking turns staying at each other's place for the past week and a half. And Charles has a girlfriend who lives in Canada (Cue My Girlfriend Who Lives in Canada from Avenue Q) so Frank, Charles, and Miss Canada are in a poly-amorous relationship. First of all, all that identity just fucks with my mind, it took me a little while to get it straight. It's not that he's found someone else that hurts, it's.... who it is. If I look at is as "He's scraping the bottom of the barrel" it begs the question "What am I?" Clearly, I'm not his type because he likes tall women with big boobs and Charles has bigger tits than A and she's like a 34 D. Yes, it makes me feel worthless, like I'm not good enough for him but who gives him moral support? Me. Who encourages him? Me. Who tries to help him find a job? Me. Who believes in him? Me. Who sees beyond his antics and strangeness and sees the talent and potential? Me. It's me, always has been, since the day I met him, I've had faith in him.
So now, ten years later I have come back full circle. But not in the kind of full circle where everything plays itself out exactly the same way as if nothing happened in between the first time and the second time, but the kind that is merely uncanny. This second time around bears the marks of the strange, the absurd, the so impossible it must be true that comes with having a past. It's not a stand alone event, it's a culmination of the past ten years of my dating life events that ended in this. (Cue Don't Bother by Shakira)
Eventually I'll laugh about this. It's so outrageous one can't help but laugh, right? Maybe now that I've finished this cycle of my life, I'll move onto the next one and that one will be more awesome and not nearly as dramatic.