Adventures with: The Men Who Like Me

I have said time and again that there are only two kinds of men that I date. It is not because I have a particular type or go out of my way to find these guys. In fact, I make a special point not to pursue men. (In case you did not know this - they really hate that. Write this down.) I date guys that vary in race, upbringing, age, social status, etc. and they ALWAYS fall into one of two categories. I'm going to share these with you, in case you have managed to snag one of these yourself.

Diedrich Bader - The Beverly Hillbillies movie

Jethro Bodine

You know this guy, even if you don't know Jethro right off the top of your head. He is the handsome idiot cousin of the Clampetts on The Beverly Hillbillies. The guy is so stupid that he makes your head hurt, but it balances out because he is so damn pretty.

Yes, I have dated this guy (not Diedrich Bader, unfortunately). It is the first of the two types that attracted to me. I'm a relatively smart girl who has been going to college for more than a decade. (Don't judge me, I get distracted.) I have a great education, and I am a big fan of straight talk. The Jethro Bodines of the world adore women who are smart and blunt, and they will fall over themselves to pursue you. And honestly, what is a bigger turn on than a beautiful man chasing after you?

It's all fun and games until the new wears off. You're happily staring at your hot boyfriend, then you decide to discuss something like foreign policy, the last book you read, sandwich-making, and dingbat there looks at you like you're speaking Mandarin. I shit-you-not that I had one of my most beautiful exes give me a blank look when I used the word "mayonnaise". I told him that it was "mayo", and he asked why I didn't just say that to begin with. *sigh* I suppose I should give you the best Jethro Bodine example of all.

I was out with some of my college friends and one of my old high school classmates who was visiting from Brazil (he was an exchange student) one night. I brought along Jethro because he was a lot of fun. Our conversation came to the topic of "reciprocation". Jethro had absolutely no idea what we were talking about. Not only was the double entendre (sexual innuendo) completely lost on him, but he had no idea what we were talking about on a general level. The words were too big. I had to give a vocabulary lesson with nearly every word we used with more than two syllables. I finally got so frustrated that I found some excuse to go home. Of course, Jethro did not get the hint and stayed out with my friends. What happened the rest of that night, I have NEVER lived down. Hell, I don't even know the full story. Nor do I want to know it.

Peter Pan - Painted by me 10/13/2011

Peter Pan

This is the second and most prevalent group of men that I have ever had the unfortunate pleasure of dating. I cannot even pinpoint why they are even attracted to me. Perhaps it's my sense of humor? (It is probably that my figure looks like it is built for fun.) Trust me, you know the guy. Look at the signs:

• If he doesn't still live at home, he is always over there. (I am NOT talking about a healthy relationship with his family. I mean he is over there because he does not want to secure/maintain his own residence.)
• He is unable to form lasting, meaningful relationships, friend or otherwise.
• He is still hung up on that girl and refuses to attempt to move on.
• He is over the age of thirty-five, never been married, and has no kids.
• He can't maintain a job for more than a year, regardless of the reason.
• He feels better lying to you than saying a hard truth.

If you know a guy that suffers from at least two of those symptoms, he has a case of Peter Pan Syndrome. He is the perpetual little boy that will never grow up.

Don't get me wrong, Peter Pan is fun. This man-child is not going to grow up for a reason. He knows how to party, and he does it well. You are going to smile, laugh, and sweetheart, you are going to fall in love with him. I have never dated a Pan without developing some sort of emotional attachment to him. How can you not fall for the guy that makes you smile and is so much fun to be around? You know what? I'll tell you how. Once you identify him, you can rest assured that he is 1) going to want you to be his eternal playmate AND NOTHING ELSE, or 2) going to make you his mother. (Trust me that #2 is worse - little boys always go through a phase where they hate their mothers. It gets ugly.) I have learned that once you identify the Pan, if you have any sort of responsibilities and can't be the eternal playmate - RUN LIKE HELL! (You will thank me one day.)

***

Now, I'm not saying that all men in these groups are bad. I mean, I keep dating them. I would not know what to do with myself if I found a man that did not fall into one of those classifications. I hope to find one. Until then, I think I'll be sticking with the Jethros for a while. They may be dumb, but they sure are pretty to look at.

What? I have smart friends with whom I can have those meaningful conversations.

New Rules

This is going to be a super short post because I'm doing the book blog thing (that you're welcome to go check out), and my brain has been overwhelmed by that lately. And this book thing that I'm doing a terrible job of writing. Plus, I know you guys are sick to damn death of me bitching all the time about whatever superficial problem I have going on in my life. (Rest assured, the Gingerman is gone, and there will be no updates on that. Period.)

Anyways, so the Gingerman shenanigans does not happen again, I am implementing some new rules in my life found on bitches gotta eat that I think are golden. That lady is a little over the top, so I won't be doing everything she talks about on her blog, but she has some good generalizations going on. Anyways, these are the main ones I'm going to use:

Delete shitheads from my phone? Done. And the Facebook is gone, so I can't stalk these guys and cry about not being pretty enough to keep him away from the fat, ugly bitch he was screwing on the side. Besides that, I really like the idea of deleting a guy's phone number if you don't hear from him for three days. Oh yeah, I learned something similar to that one from He's Just Not That Into You (the book, not the crappy movie). If he's not talking to you or calling you, it's because he's not thinking about you. No exceptions. (God, why can't I just get that in my head already?!)

I am the single mom of a five year old. I work for a living. I review books and paint as a hobby. I have a ton of awesome that I can be doing instead of moping over any guy who doesn't give two shits about me. You know what. I'm happy. I'm hanging out with my friends and doing what I love. I'm not spending my time worrying about someone that I don't even like that much. Oh yeah, if I'm stressing over you, I don't like you anymore. Why can't I ever remember that one either?

When I'm single, I remember that I'm an attractive female. Hell, I'm downright sexy. Why the fuck do I stay in a whatevership when I start feeling bad about me? I am a goddess, and you dumb assholes should be worshiping me. This last thing that I was involved in had me so down and low that even my best friend had a hard time putting up with me. This always happens. From now on, as soon as I start questioning myself - feeling crazy, ugly, whatever - you're gone. No questions asked. See ya.

I know that I should have figured all of this out in middle school, but I'm a slow learner. I'm a trusting, loving sort of person, and I assume everyone is the same. Well, kittens, from now on you get the benefit of the doubt for three days. If that. After that, I'm cutting you loose and setting myself free.

(Someone please remind me of this in a month.)

Adventures with: Heartbreak and Valentine's Day

Hello, kids. International Single People Suck Day has descended upon us again. While you are reading this, I am probably hiding in a hole somewhere or wishing that I was. I have always detested this holiday, and I do not see this changing any time soon.

What happened to your resolution to be more positive, Kayla?

Funny that you should ask that. I am going to try to be positive. I am also going to keep it real. Valentine's Day even made me nervous back when I had a significant other. It even holds a special memory for me - in 2006, I got "morning sickness" for the first time during my pregnancy with Bug. I was miserably pukey, and it was beautiful.

All of that aside, this day seriously makes me sad and stabby. So if you see me around, do not approach me. I am going to be telling myself that I am so fucking amazingly awesome that I will not need any sort of distraction or interruption. If I stop, I will fall into the Bog of Eternal Stench a la Labyrinth. I think putting forth the effort is positive. 

To be honest, I am hurting right now. I know it will piss some people off in a major way for me to say it, but I miss the Gingerman a little. We had a six month whatevership, and I enjoyed the hell out of it most of the time. Even when things run their course, walking away is hard. Especially when feelings are involved, and they were on my end. I do not get to date intelligent guys very often. After several years of blank stares from beautiful idiots when I used a word with more than two syllables, I was ready to chain this dude up in my basement until he got enough Stockholm Syndrome to wander around freely. I wish that I was kidding.

Whether you want to admit it or not, when we date another person, it usually ends up looking like this at some point.

It's fun to give away your heart, isn't it? Let's pretend that the recipient is more excited to have it. (Be honest,  you will anyways.)  Sometimes they hand one back to you, though I'm sure it is not nearly as nice. There are other situations where an individual is extremely creeped out that you would hand that writhing mess over so soon. *looks away sheepishly*

We would all like to believe that it is being held fondly and lovingly by our counterpart.

That's a lovely fantasy. The sweetheart loves your gory mass that you have put him/her in charge of. It's probably because s/he has no ears. And an ugly sweater. See? There I go not being positive again.

Basically, what I've learned from this is that not everyone wants to hold your own slime. Yes, your heart is a lovely thing to give someone. No, I do not think that people should never fall in love again because the world is a big ball of suck that likes to shit consistently upon my head. Okay. Maybe I do. A little. But that's not the point. Hell, I got so caught up in the pictures that I'm not even sure that I have a point.

I guess what I am trying to say is be careful about who ends up with your internal organs. Make sure it is something they're interested in having, instead of it hanging out in their back pocket, while they spend the day aromatically mutilating it with their last meal's after-effects. And believe me, they will. Sometimes without even realizing it or meaning to do it. You also want to stay away from those shitheads who may as well be walking around with a scalpel and an ice chest.

I guarantee that you would not want to see the state of my poor passed around chest-meat. But I'll probably go on being just as free with it. I'm sure that I'll thrust it into the horrified hands of the next poor soul who will be locked in my basement trying to escape. I'll be smiling like the silly idiot that my friends think I am the entire time. Again. And again. And again.

But I'll still hate Valentine's Day.

Adventures with: Art

I call it "Duckface with Oven Mitts"

Adventures with: Baggy

I have three cases of baggy going on in my life.

I am still on a weight loss kick. I have not lost a lot of pounds this week, but I am down an inch or two. Every pair of pants that I own - except for my one pair of skinny jeans - is baggy. They are baggy to the extent that if I am not careful, I could get arrested for sagging if I went to Shreveport wearing them. I need to go shopping. My skin is also baggy. Saggy. Chewed bubblegum. Yes, I think it is time that I suck it up and start exercising.

This morning, I have been researching the other baggy all over the internet. Apparently, that Preparation H thing no longer works since the live yeast was removed from the formula. I know - LIVE YEAST! That is shudder worthy. Anyways, I have dark circles and bags under my eyes. Worse than usual. I did a very hard thing yesterday. I spent hours crying about it. I was up all night thinking about it. I have dark under-eyes naturally (sad but true), but this is ridiculous. There is no way, shape, or form that I can pull off my 25 today. I moisturize twice a day, exfoliate as often as my sensitive skin allows, I do not smoke, and I pamper my moneymaker (ha!). Still, brutal emotions will not even allow me to pull off my REAL age.

If this is not a reason to become a heartless, closed-off bitch, I do not know what is. Too bad I made those resolutions yesterday.

*sigh*

Adventures with: My Anniversary on Earth

Yesterday marked one of my anniversaries on Earth. Let's say it was... Hmm... My 25th birthday? Yes, I think 25 is a good age. I had a good run with 22, but I can't really pull it off anymore, short of having surgery. (I don't want to start doing that for another five years, at least.) I think this is a more meaningful time for me to make resolutions of what I am going to do with my life this year. Seriously, what does January 1st mean to me? Before Bug, it was a hangover. Now it's just an extra day off of work. Here are a few goals that I would like to accomplish, and I am going to try pretty fucking hard to get them done.

1. Eradicate the Negative Relationships from My Life

I know this is such a cliche thing, but it is true. I have found myself being unhappy most of the time here lately. Yes, a lot of it is depression (a battle I will probably fight for the rest of my life), but I cannot exacerbate it by being around the wrong people. There is absolutely no reason that I should allow myself to be surrounded by people that do not want the best for me. I have so many great friends that I do not spend nearly enough time with, and I should not waste any more time on people who do not deserve my awesome sauce. I love each and every person that I have in my life. I should be spending more time with the people who love me back. I should also string the assholes up by their toenails, but I think that is illegal in this state. If it is legal in yours, let me know. I will be buying another car soon, and I love to travel.

This is a promise to my friends who have been around for a long time that have been neglected lately. I will make more time for you. Thank you for always being there, even though I am terrible. I know I am the shittiest friend when it comes to making plans and returning texts/calls. I am not promising that I will pick up the phone, but I am promising that I will try harder. If you have been around long enough, you are well aware of how distracted I get. I hope you also know that I love you. And watch you through your windows sometimes. I'll start knocking on the door more often, instead of just lurking in the shadows. Because that's not cool.

2. Finish Writing ONE of My Novels

This is something that has gotten quite ridiculous. If I combined my books and notes into one giant file, I would have a fully written novel. I have three works going on right now, and it is time for me to commit to one. I have been jumping around the three, based on whatever I am feeling at that time. I think taking care of my first goal will make me more consistent in my moods. I love all three WIPs, but the third one is really speaking to me. I am going to finish it before it goes quiet. I would hate to use waterboarding on my own characters to keep them talking. Or maybe I should...

3. Lose Forty More Pounds

I am almost down to the weight I was my senior year of high school. I am not almost down to the size. You know, having a baby kinda readjusts where your junk hangs. I am not complaining. I have a womanly figure now, and my weight is going in my waist. I am not have the straight-down body type any longer (not that it was a bad thing). I am happier with my appearance now than I have ever been in my life. Am I perfect? No. Am I going to be perfect? I hope not. I just want to be healthy and confident in myself. I am almost there now. Just think how good I'll feel when I'm closer to the weight my doctors think I should be? (Sorry, Dr. Doofus, I am NOT going back down to 98 pounds.)

4. Make a New Friend

Yes, I know that I already neglect my old friends. This is more of a goal for me to be more open to talking to strangers. Believe it or not, people terrify me. I hate being in a situation where I am surrounded by strangers that I am expected to speak to. Don't get me wrong, I love being in a crowd as long as I get to just watch (and take notes for my writing). I need to open myself up to forming new relationships and giving people the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone is an utter shit. Sure, most are, but I cannot close everyone out because of the assholes. I am a great person to know, and I should be more willing to share myself with the world. (See, I told you about the confidence thing!)

5. Be More Positive

I am a world class bitcher. I am an award-winning worrier. If the Doctor landed the Tardis in front of me, I could come up with a million and one reasons why I should walk away. I would bitch about the Daleks and Weeping Angels. I would be worried that he is only approaching me for terrible reasons. While I am bitching and worrying, I am not seeing that the Doctor (shut up, this is my fantasty, k?) just wants to hang out with this fantastic lady. Yes, the glass is half empty (with a crack in it), but it is also half full. It also has the potential to hold so much more than what it has. Instead of being bothered by what is missing or what I am denied, I am going to push myself to fill the glass up. And break the damn thing! I mean, seriously, isn't it time to let that damn glass go? Now excuse me while I go frolic in that shimmery ray of sunshine. Fuck some sunburn!

Are any of these goals going to be easy for me? Hell no. I am a die-hard pessimist who gets too caught up with everything that is not going right. I am the main person who is telling me that I cannot do something. However, I owe it to myself to be my own Number One Fan. I am going to shake things up and try something new. This is my life, and it is time for me to start enjoying myself. I am going to share the wonderful person that I can be with myself, and the rest of you. So prepare yourself for AWESOME Kayla!

Adventures with: Cray Cray

I try to avoid using the phrase "cray cray" very often, because I do not want to lessen it in any way, shape, or form. In fact, I put it up the Crazy Scale above "bat shit". So when I tell you that I have been adventuring with the "cray cray" lately, please understand that this bitch has been totally nuts.

Yes, I have been just rolling around in the insanity for the past month. First, I had that concussion. I don't care who you are or what you say, having a head injury is going to affect what you have going on in your life. I understood that there was something "not quite right" going on upstairs (I was having massive headaches and things like that get your attention), so I didn't make any major, life-changing decisions. I was even nice to the Gingerman despite him going a month without attempting to see me, forgetting about me on Christmas, and just being an all-around male. I knew that I shouldn't deal with stressful things while my wiring was a little faulty. Well... Except fight with my mom. I can do that year-round. It is to be expected. (And it was the holidays.)

I have been losing an insane amount of weight. I do not care how you diet, but when the pounds start falling off, it's going to affect you. The first three weeks are the hardest for me. I love losing the weight and seeing it melt off, but damnit, when you're hungry, it makes you think things. And do things. And want to do things. When you do NOT do those things, it makes you pissy. Or at least it does for me. I have lost 25 pounds in the past six weeks since my wreck. Yes, you read that correctly. I look like a deflated tire, but I am down to the same weight that I was my senior year of high school. (Please disregard the fact that I was fat my senior year of high school. I just like the way that sounds, okay?) So, I want you to combine the weight loss mindset with the recovering head injury. Are you starting to see what I mean yet?

This is the kicker here. This will completely and utterly explain where the "cray cray" comes in. If you are a guy or not a fan of the TMI, please skip down to the next paragraph. I'm serious. I'm about to say it. *stares* Alright then, you're asking for it. I don't ovulate. I haven't had a constant period since I was probably fifteen, and it's been MAYBE twice a year since then. Well, not really since then because after I had Bug, I got an IUD. That meant no hormone bursts for me, and a relatively normal life. Until, I had my IUD removed after it's five year expiration a few weeks ago. OH MY GAWD!!! I thought I was going to be fine until I let my body normalize a little. Nuh uh, didn't happen. It normalized all right. It normalized right to the hormone levels that I was dealing with as a teenager. Can you imagine suddenly finding yourself feeling as if the world was out to get you, although you knew full well that you're an insignificant speck on the wall of time? Or, that your friends all hate you because no one talks to you? No, it's not because they know that you hate talking on the phone or are the worst person alive about returning texts. That would make sense. Making sense is silly. Estrogen bursts do not believe in sense. It's all hormone-based emotions thrown on a person who hasn't had any more lady chemicals present in her body than those necessary to keep her from growing a penis. I'm guessing you're all females at this point, so imagine having an honest-to-Bob period after more than six years without that pleasure. And after hellacious PMS that has not been around here in more than a freakin' decade. Yes, it has been bad.

Did I mention that I have panic attacks, too? I haven't been taking my medicine since my wreck because I didn't want anything like that while my head recovers. So, let's throw together a concussion, a diet, estrogen, and a panic attack. I swear to you, it feels like a teenager has hijacked my body. Half of my brain is trying to talk to me and reason me through this, but the rest of me has thrown the bat shit out the window. I have gone full-fledged cray cray.

But did you see where I've lost 25 pounds?

Adventures with: Hooray!

I may have mentioned this in passing to a few people, but I haven't advertised it heavily as I have in past adventures. I don't like the pressure. Anywho, I've been kinda dieting. I mean, it's nothing hardcore - Bob forbid I should exercise. *shudders* I've been eating smaller portion sizes and mostly raw fruits and vegetables. And *sigh* no cake. That being said -

I've lost 15 pounds since December!

Yes, I know that is not ideal for a month's work (I'm 5'1" with a small frame under the pudge), but half of that time was spent puking from a concussion. I'm in it to win it now. I lost weight a year and a half ago when I was doing my crazy diet, but most of it came back. That being said, if I lose another 15 pounds, I'll be down to the biggest that I was before I had Eden. If I lose 30 pounds, I'll be high school weight (later teen years, mind you). So I'm going to see this through.

Will losing weight change my life? Not really, I don't hate my body now. However, if I want to lose it, I should do it soon. I'll be 25 (shut up) next month, and I've heard it gets harder to lose weight after passing that future decade marker. I just figure that I may as well do it now.

Also, you're all invited to enjoy my birthday with me next month. Unfortunately, there will be no cake.

Adventures with: Ketchup

I suppose I cornered myself into writing this blog post since I was unintentionally vague about my being engaged on Twitter. (That sentence is intentionally vague.) No, I am not engaged. I was, however, engaged for about two and a half weeks back in the early 2000s – and I won't say which year out of respect to my former fiance*. Not that he reads my blog, but you know how these things are. For all intents and purposes of the story, his name henceforth will be Freckles. Yes, he was a ginger. Did you have any doubt?

Once upon a time, long, long ago, I was a young and beautiful college student. (Hey, it's my story!) I had fallen in love with one of my very dear friends after a very traumatic event in my life. Freckles was not someone I would have agreed to date under normal circumstances (he was neither gut-wrenchingly handsome or in his thirties), but I have never regretted falling in love with him. (Well, except after our messy breakup, but don't we all at first?) And I digress. Back to the story. Freckles and I were holed up in a nasty hotel room and we had just gotten lunch from a local Greek restaurant. Yes, we were holed up in a nasty, cheap motel because we were secret lovers. Ours was not necessarily a forbidden romance, but I was definitely keeping it under wraps. Why? I don't know. I guess I'm just a natural hoarder of things – just not on an A&E scale. My friends did not know, my family did not know, the mailman did not know. Get the picture? Jeez, I'm off track. New paragraph?

Greek food! Yes, we were eating gyros and seasoned wedges from a local drive-thru Greek place. It was mediocre (at best), and was in need of condiments. I dug around in the food bad and managed to find some ketchup packets. I figured it was a long shot because Freckles hated all things tomatoes. I laid the packages on the table, and pushed some over to my love. I am not exaggerated when I say he went absolutely apeshit.

Does ketchup make you angry? Do you ever find yourself spewing filth at the sight of it? This boy did. You would have thought that ketchup was made from the blood of newborn kittens by the way he was behaving. Needless to say, I was confused. Bewildered. Startled. Intrigued.

I did not interrupt him. It was too much fun to watch. His wrath was not aimed at me – it was one hundred percent at the ketchup. He picked up every single packet, took them outside, and stomped on them. Oh yeah, there was some anger going on. People were turning around to look at this angry ginger. I just continued to watch through the window. Who am I to stop him?

After Freckles decided that he was finished demolishing all things ketchup in his general vicinity, he returned to the table and began to eat like absolutely nothing had happened. I watched him for a minute with raised eyebrows (to gauge the safety of the impending interrogation), and I decide to dive into this one.

"So... Are we not ketchup people?"

If looks were capable of physical harm, I would have been just as flat and beaten down as those poor, massacred ketchup packets.

I eventually cajoled Freckles into explaining to me his intense hatred of ketchup. (I knew he disliked tomatoes, but I don't like liver, and you won't see me going schizo at the grocery store at the sight of it.) Apparently, it was a family thing. His grandfather owns a bunch of ketchup factories that manufacture for that brand (and others) or something along those lines. They weren't exactly on good terms (i. e. Freckles was a spoiled shit and this explained it), but he was the only heir. He was expected to do things that he did not want to business-wise, so he did nothing at all. It took a minute for me to digest that. I asked him how much he stood to inherit.

"Millions."

No, I did not marry this man. He was one of those real life embodiments of Peter Pan. He also had some anger issues (big shock, right?). And I can never look at ketchup the same way again.


*I also changed some details to protect his identity, but believe me, it was NOT the good parts.

Adventures with: Breaking Up With Facebook

I have quite a few friends who are wondering why I left Facebook. I toyed with the idea for several months, and even announced my intention to leave at one point. Due to an overwhelming response of friends and acquaintances who wanted me to stay, I did so.  Then came October. I recognized that I had a problem, and I needed to get away from it. I had become dependent on the social networking service as a social outlet for myself. 

What was the catalyst, you wonder? I know that I am nowhere near old enough for such a thing, but I missed my high school reunion. I do not regret it in the slightest because I did something for someone that I care about greatly instead. What bothers me is how easy it was for me to decide that it was not a big deal if I did not go. I told myself - "I talk to these people on Facebook every day."

Think about that for a minute. These are the people that I grew up with and experienced the turmoil, heartbreak, joy, and elation of all things high school. Some of these individuals I have not seen since we graduated all those years ago.

Facebook.

I was fine with blowing off my childhood friends because they were instantly available on the internet. That was not okay. I had a problem. I was giving up real time with real people. It had to stop. Instead of me announcing what I would do, I quietly went to my page and deactivated it. No fuss, no fanfare, it was just done. I let people find out on their own.

Gingerman* was one of the first. Bless his heart, but he had to have thought that I had deleted him. I think that is what everyone thought. I have had a few people come over to Twitter to ask me what the Hell was going on, and I just told them that I was taking a break. People have come into my workplace asking where my Facebook page is, and I cannot go anywhere in the vicinity of my hometown without people drilling me about Facebook. I was getting more questions about my Facebook page than I was about my life, daughter, family, etc. It is mind-blowing.

I am not taking a break.

My Facebook is gone. I value the non-electronic relationships that I have with people. If someone needs to talk to me, I'll be glad to meet him/her for lunch, coffee, beer, whatever. It is so important to me to have a life that is not advertised on my timeline or page. Sure there are snippets on Twitter and blog, but I am not as tempted to post every aspect of my existence. I want to see people and talk to people. Even texts and phone calls are preferable to lurking on someone's page without talking to them. It is so easy to think you know someone from reading their Facebook life story, and not bother to connect to that person further than that.

I crave interaction.

So there it is. That is why my Facebook is gone. Sure, I am working on my novel, my other writings, and my painting, but my art is not main reason. It has benefited from its demise, though.

*I cannot stalk the Gingerman now (not that I ever did). I am not his girlfriend, so I do not need to know everything he is doing or who he is talking to. He does not have a Twitter. We have privacy. Unless you count me staring into his window. Yeah.