Saturday, July 06, 2013

Seriously, how old are you?

Seeing Elvis Stand in front of me, flaunting IT just before he left me for work was a very weird moment for me. It was reality check. Am I really doing this? For some reason I kinda saw him for who he was, a middle aged man working in a department store who likes younger girls. Do  I want to be that girl? I don’t really know how to put it in words but it was a moment, a realisation you don’t want to have your very first morning at your boyfriend’s house who you just moved in with. Because, what are you going to do? Leave him because you just had an Aha! Moment? Was it cold feet? I don’t believe in cold feet. I believe in that feeling that you get in the pit of your stomach, that voice that tells you if and when you’re about to get in trouble, if something feels right or not. I go by that feeling. It’s been my guiding light for like ever. I think we should all listen to that voice, that feeling. It’s there for a reason. I didn’t.

Soon as he left, I went on Skype, to take my mind off things and talked to my one of my sisters. I wasn’t gonna be that person who just had a weird feeling about someone she just just moved in with. We love Elvis! We’re not gonna say bad things about him! I had to keep the facade up! Hey, sis, how’s it going? I’m in LA, whoooooo hoooooo! We talked for hours as we always do. We were all so happy I left Perry. New beginnings! This is it, sis! Someone who loves and cherishes you, blah blah blah. My stomach was turning, I couldn’t talk about it. I didn’t want to be that uncertain person, who jumps from one big decision to the next. Good thing is, my sisters get it! They get me! They don’t think I’m nuts, at least, they don’t tell me to my face if they do haha. Which can be a good thing.

I then started cleaning up. I was tired, so not in the mood and slightly pissed off that Elvis, who knew what I went through with Perry would take me to such a pig sty. I wasn’t up for it at all. I wasn’t about to pull Operation Spring Cleaning all over again. That’s not what I’m about. I didn’t move to California to clean Old men’s houses! Screw that. I just tidied up enough for me to be able to not wanna puke when I look around. That in itself took hours, because the place, you could tell, had never ever been touch. This from someone who is always in relationships. Seems to me when he’s in one, he always lives with his women (and his sister, her two special needs cats and his mother), you would expect way more. Right?

I didn’t know where to begin, I really didn’t! There were blood stains on the pillow cases from his ear “which was snipped by the barber”, jury still out on that. #SideLook

While tidying up on top of the chest of drawers I FOUND HIS DRIVER’S LICENSE! Licences! He looked different in all of them, good  but different, much younger, no salt and pepper hair, we love the salt pepper on him too though, so it’s all good.

He had so many receipts lying all over the place, I wanted to just throw everything out but I didn’t know why he had what in there and all, so I folded them all up and stuffed them up in a small random bucket I found in the bedroom. Heaven only knows what that was doing in there. There were diet pills on the chest of drawers, tons of them! My theory is, he must have gone on some quick diet before we met. He still looked bigger than the pictures he had sent me but the belly grew four times bigger between our first meeting and the time we moved in and that was like five minutes after! He must have stuffed himself to death once he knew he sealed the deal. Good for him!
And I was supposed to do kegel exercises, yoga and all kinds of things to make sure I’m perfect for him. Dream on, dreamer! By the time I was done tidying up, it must have been night time already. The first day really is a blur to me. Nothing ever is, which is why I can blog about things that happened forever ago. But that day sure was. I think I would like to keep it that way too. The sister went out just after Elvis, I was alone in the house with Sweetie Pie (remember that’s what “Daddy” Calls his mom?) the entire time. She (the sister) took the cats and got the heck outta there! I don’t blame her. She got back in the evening, before El, I decided to go to the living room and socialise. Not up to it but, I remembered living with host families in Georgia. We had to make an effort to mix with the folks, it was frowned upon to lock yourself up in your room and spend all your free time on the internet. That stuck with me. So there I was in the kitchen with sis, while she was preparing dinner to make sure there was food ready for when Daddy got home. Yuck.

She told me the story of her life! Goodness, did I regret getting out there! Either way, It was going to happen, you know? Whether I talked to her that day, the following day, week, month, year, it would have just been postponing the inevitable. I sucked it up and thought, you know what, let’s get this over and done with. Once she’s done telling me these stories, she’ll be done, then we can move on to funner things (American English, don’t judge me! I’m doing as the Roman’s do). She told me about her estranged son, from when she conceived him, to his birth, raising him as a single parent, his dad who was abusive, their divorce, his death, son’s girlfriends, blah blah blah, tears, blach, more tears, crying from the pit of her stomach, I just stood there in utter shock that someone can pour their heart out to a stranger the way she did. Daddy, come home! Yuck!

I was in a tight corner, literally, I was standing in a corner in the kitchen, she was standing by the entrance, she cornered me up, there was no way out for me. When she talks, she gets so passionate, so emotional, and literally is in your face, spitting, and crying and crying and sobbing and crying and balling her eyes out, my Gosh! Then we moved on to Elvis, she wanted to know how long I had known him, I seem like a nice girl who shouldn’t be with someone like him. Then she told me all these stories about him.The stories all were familiar. It was amazing how of all the stories they could tell me about themselves and each other, they picked the same ones. The only difference was that, in her stories, he’s the bad guy, in hers, he is. I got a headache!

The problem moved up from my stomach, to the head. I didn’t know what to think? Who the bleep did I move in with? (Know that show? Who the bleep did I marry? A documentary about people who were in relationships with monsters. Check it out if you haven’t seen it and you, like me love morbid shows haha). I was just standing there, listening. It reminded me of when I was in Connecticut and N was telling me all these stories about T who had told me tons of stories about N. Both sides were convincing enough. It was a toss up, I didn’t know who to believe! In both cases, Connecticut and Los Angeles.

I was ready for El’s return from work. Partly, so I could have another look at him and to hopefully remove the image I had in my head from that morning about him being those older men who creep me out, and party so he could save me from the hell that was his sister.

He was going to be home around 10 pm. My Jamaican friend called. Saved by the bell! I never answered a phone call quicker than I did that call! I jumped up mid-sentence and told Sister, I HAD to take that call. I ran to the bedroom faster than you can say B.E.D. and was not to return there even if you paid me. She was going to have to go drag me out of there. Which she couldn’t. The plus side of being plus sized. #Rhyming

Al called me that night around 9pm, which was a nice thing. I’d almost thought he wasn’t going to. He had never called me from work, so I assumed he never has a chance or is not allowed to, remember he’s the only person in the Universe without a Cellphone? We talked for a few minutes, he was wrapping things up and was about to come home. I was ready for him to get back, it had been a heck of a day.

By the way, remember how on his profile he had lied about his age and said he was 47? Then he confessed when I cornered him on one of our phone calls that that was to piss his ex girlfriend off, he actually was 49 going on 50? HE LIED...

No comments: