Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks


He Dropped A Bomb On Me – A Baby

Note: This is long. But after you read it, you'll understand why. I promise. So, I happened to be online last night. Unable to sleep and bored by my Grey’s Anatomy DVDs, I logged online to kill some time until my eyelids became heavy. The Nurse sent me an IM – which was kind of nuts since he pretty much dropped off of the face of the earth. And he starts in with how he’s starting his official nursing job tomorrow and why am I up so late on a Sunday, etc. I talked to him, but to say that I wasn’t at least a touch confused would be an understatement. Why now? After ignoring numerous drunken text messages from me and seeing me in public and not speaking to me? Crazy. We exchanged pleasantries and he said that he figured I’d never want to speak to him again and that he was a jerk and that he was sorry. And we had one of those talks that you can have after you’ve really gotten all of the hurt out, when you can be honest and while it still stings, it doesn’t crush you. Then he dropped the bomb. “I made a mistake. And now I’m going to be a dad.” I blinked when I saw those words. “It wasn’t the way I wanted it to happen, but oh well.” I blinked again. “You were wonderful. You are wonderful.” “What?” “The woman you saw me with is pregnant.” And I remembered. The grocery store. About six weeks after he’d dropped me. He was with a woman. I’d assumed she was his mother because she looked older. She was his girlfriend. His now-pregnant 29-year-old girlfriend. He went on to tell me that’d he’d really missed me. But he’d made a mistake. “I do miss those eyes, though.” “Eyes?” I said. “You have pretty eyes. I miss those eyes.” “That’s cute,” I said. “But forgive me if I don’t believe it.” “Oh if only you knew.” “I made an ass out of myself,” I said. “I don’t normally chase.” “You didn’t make an ass out of yourself. I was a prick. But you do have a nice booty.” We kept talking. I don’t know why. “I wanted to call,” he said. “Maybe if I had …” “What would you have said?” “That’s the tough part.” “I really liked you. You didn’t seem into having a relationship.” “I wasn’t, it just happened.” “With who? With me? You call that a relationship?” I asked. “No, with Her. It just happened.” He went on to tell me that he wasn’t planning on staying with Her. He was going to have the child and be in its life, but he wouldn’t be with Her if he hadn’t gotten her pregnant. “I wanted to be with someone. Like an adult. Not just drinking in bars,” I said. “I guess I didn’t articulate that well.” “You only seemed to text message after drinking at bars.” “I thought that was what you wanted. You were busy with school and I was trying to not be a big demand on your time.” He is right. I didn’t ask for what I wanted – I was too scared of being hurt to put myself out there and say, “[Nurse] I want a relationship. I expect a relationship.” I was so worried that he’d deny me this and that he’d think I was nuts. Hearing that he didn’t understand what I’d wanted from him didn’t make me feel much better. I wanted to be able to blame him for everything that went wrong. But I was part of the problem. And I knew that. We talked about me having my tonsils out. About how he felt bad because he knew I was sick and having surgery and he didn't call. Still. About how She hates vegetables and thinks instant potatoes are better than homemade garlic mashed potatoes and how he’s watching her diet to watch out for the baby because she’d turn it into a fast food junkie. “I don’t eat mashed potatoes anymore. Or popsicles,” I said, noting that I’d eaten a lot of both after my surgery. “I might have to make you real mashed potatoes with the skins on. Maybe in a year if you’re not in love with someone else.” he said. “Hah.” “What was that ‘Hah’ for? Like you wouldn’t ever be in the same room with me?” “Just Hah.” “Won’t commit one way or the other, huh?” “I’ve got to look out for myself. Can’t go around getting hurt again.” All of this was a bit much for me. Part of me wanted to cry because I finally knew the truth. And because I wondered what would have happened if I’d forced the issue of us dating. Or if he had called. If either one of us had done what we’d really wanted to do in our hearts. He said it was time for him to go to sleep – something I knew I wouldn’t do for hours after this conversation. “Good night. Remember that you are beautiful and you deserve a decent guy.” “I never doubted that,” I said. This was a lie, but in this situation, I think you just have to fake it until you make it.



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Charming, but single is 25 26 27(!), lives in the Southern part of the U.S.A. and likes both her drinks and her boys tall. E-mail (listed below) her and she may respond. You can also IM her in AIM/AOL. (If she ever remembers to sign on.)
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Former taglines of this blog: "A Journal in Dates and Drinks" and "A Dateless Journal of Drinking."




Those Particulars
Some Backstory
Memories of the Way We Were
Updates and Towel Snapping
One Year Wrap-Up
Just As She Is
An Open Letter to Myself
After 26 years, she HAS learned something
An Open Letter to the Men Who Message Me Through Match
Sharing a smoke



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