Dude,

I have this 34 year old stigma that has sorta disallowed me to accept that someone could actually like me. It's one of those things I could blame my mother for (one of the many, MANY things I could blame her for) but I figure that since I'm in my mid-thirties that I should really take responsibility for fixing it. And I really want to believe you're interested in me ... LAWD, I really want to. But the signs aren't nearly as blatant as I need them.

Blatant - you know, like you screaming at me about 2 inches from my face, "I LIKE YOU!" That's the blatant I need. And you're clearly not giving me blatant.

And the reason I want to know is because I'm crushing on you something awful. I can't even be bothered ... with myself! I'm totally stupid about it and the time we spend hanging out is such bitter-sweetness. Sweet because ... well, it's ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. And bitter because ... your'e not fucking giving me blatant.

I've been advised to take it slow and enjoy the ride. That, sir - has never been me. Slow does NOT equal enjoy the ride. Slow = meplayingheadgameswithmyselfoverwhetherornotyoulikeme. And hence this letter. That you'll never see.

Never.

Because my neuroses are splattered all over this here place like I'm a windshield and it's washer fluid. Sure - it wipes off, but it's always there, on the fringes. So, you seriously can't know ...

... that I laugh uproariously on the inside at every funny thing you say - and that it takes my mustering every ounce of *whateverthehellitisIuse* not to literally ROTFL with each joke

... that I pathetically check my cell phone throughout the day JUST in case you sent me a text I missed

... that I ponder seriously how to respond when you DO text - and I often times have a few drafts before I actually hit send.

... that I seriously almost throttled that other dude that was hitting on you right there in front of me and God and EVERYBODY. Or that I seriously despise him now and there's not hope for his crossing over into the friend zone. ever.

... that I keep a mental list of the things I'd buy you if we ever WERE an item.


And you really can't know that I'm not fixated on sex - it's you. The way you carry yourself. The way you speak. It's your worldview and your sense of humor ... your dedication to a goal. The person that is you attracts me ... and it feels like I'm being sucked into a vortex.

But you best believe I'm going to continue to be easy, cool and not-crazy-like whenever we spend time together. Because, dare I say it, even if you aren't feeling me at all ... It's cool that I know you and that we get to be boys. Even if we're not (marriedlivingtogehterinahugehousewithanenormouslawnandawhitepicketfence) an item.

-me