I Do What Boys Like

Have you seen that predictive text epitaph meme? If you haven't, here it is.

Well, being the lover of predictive text that I am, a few days ago when a friend of mine posted it, I was like, Ooh! That looks fun! and although I didn't post the results, I did figure my epitaph out.

Here lies Kelly McIntyre. She was really nice to him.

Here lies Kelly McIntyre. She was really nice to him.

Here lies Kelly McIntyre. She was really nice to him[!]

All I have to say is, does my phone really know me that well?

I know this is supposed to be funny and stuff, but that epitaph really does sum up my entire life.

Take tonight, for example.

In the long tradition of my baking things for boys that I like/covet/love, I just finished baking not one, but two desserts for La Dispute Guy who I'm going to see tomorrow for the first time in almost a month (it's a crazily long time, I know, but he lives over a hundred miles away, don't forget, and the last time he was in town, I was in North Dakota), two because I want him to try something with pumpkin, which he says he doesn't like, because I feel like he just hasn't had the right pumpkin thing, but just in case he really doesn't like pumpkin dessert, I made him another one, and, oh my god, could I be any more into this guy who wants to be casual and I never even see? I'm obviously insane.

And off topic. Let me go back.

You know what? Let's forget the epitaph for a minute and go back to that long tradition. Let's take a quick look at my past.

When I was 24 and married for a year, I made my ex-Glenn those chocolate-mousse filled chocolate bags that led to my being in hysterics and my mom and Erin eating mousse out of the garbage can. I also used to want to make him his favorite food, chicken parmesan, on special occasions, but he refused to let me cook it--because apparently I made it too wet. Fucking weirdo eats cereal without milk and doesn't like sauce. I promise the problem wasn't my cooking--and until about ten years into our marriage when he blindsided me with the admission that he hated the way I made eggs, I happily used to make him those. (You know, there was so much wrong with my marriage that I can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure his not wanting me to cook anything for him ever contributed in some way to its demise).

I've baked for C twice, cookies from scratch nearly ten years ago when he got some really bad news and vegan brownies during The Summer of C when he complained that because he was lactose intolerant, he'd pretty much given up on dessert. I also once made my specialty, spaghetti and meatballs, for him and his friends (I've done this for stupid Louie who never wrote me back as well).

I even made brownies for one of Griffin's guitarists, who I used to really, really want.

Baking and cooking, of course, aren't the only way I've been nice to boys, and no, I'm not talking about that (I told you about that time I took that cute boy to buy heroin because I couldn't say no to him. Think things like that). I've just always had a horrible weakness for boys my entire life, and when I'm really into one, there's pretty much nothing I won't do, which sort of makes sense, but even if I'm not really into one, even if I just think a boy is cute, I do things for him too, I just can't say no even when I know I should and that, readers, is why I can't stop thinking about that predictive text.

Do I think that predictive textitaph was sort of supernatural and really had insight? Of course not. Okay, probably not. I mean, it's not very likely. But I do feel like, whether it's been my being nice to a boy, my coveting a boy, my talking about a boy, or my thinking about a boy, boys have been my entire life.

I remember when I was 23 telling Erin I wanted to write a memoir called Rocks in My Shoe with each chapter being about a different boy and her telling me that as a feminist she had a problem with my telling my life through the lens of my relationships with boys.

As a feminist, I know she's right.

I just like cute boys too much to care. 

If the Streets Don't Kill Him, I Will

*Name has not been changed to protect the innocent because there isn't one

About four weeks ago when Keifer asked me if his friend Jordan* could stay at our house, I said yes right away. Although I didn't know the details, I did know that someone who was a good enough friend of Keifer's for me to know some details about his life--he was a SoundCloud rapper, he'd been looking for a job for months and couldn't find one, he owed someone I know very well $50 for taking a class for him in order to graduate--needed help.

In the few days between Kei's asking and Jordan's showing up, I found out that Jordan got kicked out of his house after graduation for reasons Keifer didn't know but that a stepdad was involved and that he had lived with at least two friends' families since. Red flags maybe should have gone up or at least appeared--for instance, I might have wondered why this kid's parents kicked him out, why he kept having to leave everybody's house, or why he couldn't find a job--but they didn't. Lover of strays that I am, I just wanted to help.

Jordan "moved in" on August 26. I was out somewhere, I don't remember where, but I do remember that when I went to put my clothes in the washing machine it was absolutely stuffed to the brim with clothes of his, so many clothes that I had to run them through the dryer twice, and yes, I'm the one who had to run them through the dryer because the boys had gone out. When they came back, I introduced myself and told Jordan I had dried his clothes, he thanked me, I told him he could stay in Griffin's room, Keifer said he'd show him where it was, and they went upstairs.

I hoped he'd be comfortable, especially since the following day I found out that that night in Griffin's bed was his first time sleeping in a bed in over a month. Poor thing, I thought. That's so sad.

Well.

Can you guess what I'm going to say?

Is it that the only thing sad is my judgment and fear of confrontation?

Because that's pretty fucking close.

Poor, poor Jordan, it turns out, is an ungrateful, entitled piece of crap, and I exhibit no surprise whatsoever that nobody, including his own parents, wants him in their house, and lest you think I'm about to exaggerate my tale, I'll have you know that last week Keifer's girlfriend messaged me asking if we could throw a party when he leaves and even Keifer, who was pro Jordan for much more of his stay than he should have been, also wanted him out.

To make my life simpler, and I'm in dire need of simple after this ordeal, I'm going to give a tiny bit of info and then copy and paste lots and lots (Facebook friends, you can skip those parts).

Jordan, you may remember, didn't have a job. How then, you may wonder, could he afford to eat? Where was he getting food? It's not like some dumbass schmuck came along and went grocery shopping for him, even texting her son to find out what his friend wanted to eat.

Except it actually is.

So for twenty-one days, I fed and housed this kid; I drove him to the skate park; I included him on Wednesdays when we had family dinners with my nephew Ty; I listened to him make beats loud enough to drown my music out when he was upstairs and I was down, and while we're talking about him and his music, I might also mention I had to listen to him rap/record all the time; I scrubbed the toilet and underside of the toilet seat repeatedly because never in my life have I seen someone who is so unbelievably bad at directing his penis and its stream of pee--I'm talking pee, still wet when I'd wake up in the morning or when I'd come home from school, dripping down the toilet seat in little rivulets; I swept the floor day and night, an action made necessary by his constantly twisting the tiny dreads he was cultivating and the nauseating collection of hair he left wherever he would sit; I scrubbed the stove when I woke up because he left macaroni and cheese powder and other food particles on it overnight; I cleaned the counter constantly because it was crumb city all the way; and I went further and further into the abyss of insane.

On day eight, I posted this

Okay, so Keifer's friend has been here for eight days and shows no signs of leaving. He has no job or money, so I'm buying all his food. Is it all right for me to ask him to vacuum twice a week? Like, at this point he's no longer a guest, right?

prompted by his having done nothing but go to the skate park, record music, make a mess, and sleep until at least 4:00 in the afternoon every day (later that day I got up the nerve to ask him to vacuum twice a week and wash all his dishes; he vacuumed twice and if we all held a collective breath waiting for him to wash his dishes, we'd be collectively dead).

Two days later, on September 7, I commented on a post declaring the rapper had to leave

Okay, so two nights ago--Wednesday night--he woke me up rapping and blasting music at 3:30 in the morning. 3:30 in the morning! I messaged Keifer and was like, wtf, I have to be up at 5:30, and he apologized over and over and said he told him to be quiet. I couldn't fall back to sleep until almost 5, and I wake up at 5:30. So I was pissed. I said the next day, which was yesterday, we needed to establish rules. 

Well.

He was still asleep when I took Keifer to work at 4:30 last night and still nowhere to be seen when I went to bed at 11:30. I just got home from work and was in a perfectly good mood only to find a sink with dishes and crumbs, crumbs on the floor next to the garbage can when I mopped yesterday, the Brita pitcher empty, and the sponge smelly because he didn't wring it out. 

I can't be understanding anymore.

And later that day

Okay, so get this. I just talked to Keifer. He and his gf got the rapper an interview at their job today, which was just a formality, and he didn't even show up. He said he couldn't find it even though Keifer pulled up the location and showed it to him on his phone.

And

You guys! I just found his hair in my bed.

In. My. Bed.

A couple days later, I was sitting on the counter drinking an apple ale talking to Keifer when Jordan walked into the kitchen, open the fridge, and without so much as a word, just took out and opened a beer. I seriously think I almost dropped dead. Not long after that when he was cooking himself the vegan pizza I'd just bought for Kiefer the night before, I told him to please not eat Keifer's vegan food but to eat the stuff I bought for him instead and to wipe the toilet after he peed.

Then I went out of town.

And, well...a copied and pasted list from yesterday afternoon

Okay, so I was out of town from Tuesday to last night. Before I went, I sat both boys down--really to tell Jordan, not Keifer--and went over rules. I reiterated about cleaning up after themselves, not leaving dishes in the sink, things like that. Also, the day I left, I came home between work and the airport and Jordan was making Keifer's $8 Daiya vegan pizza, and I said to him that I want him to leave the vegan stuff for Keifer since he's a vegan and so picky that he's 5'10 and weighs 118 pounds (keep in mind that I grocery shop for Jordan, getting him stuff like macaroni and cheese, grilled cheese stuff, cereal, pasta). So:

1. Erica text me (unbeknownst to Keifer) to tell me Jordan was eating all Keifer's food
2. Keifer text me to tell me Jordan didn't do one dish the whole time I was gone and that he had to keep doing his dishes
3. Keifer had this collectible Monster shot that we bought on a road trip like three years ago, and it's $50 online now since they're unavailable. Jordan drank it.
4. Keifer said the counter was covered in stuff because Jordan didn't clean up after himself once
5. When I got home last night, I saw a cockroach--a cockroach!--on the dryer. That hasn't happened in 17 years of my living in this house.
6. He ate an entire pint of Keifer's vegan ice cream in Griffin's bedroom and left the empty pint and a dirty spoon on the shelf attached to his bed
7. The upstairs toilet actually had dried pee on the top of the toilet seat and dripping pee on the underside. I had to scrub it when I got home last night at about 1 a.m.
8. I can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure he was in my bed. After scrubbing the toilet, I had to change my sheets.
9. The downstairs toilet doesn't have the pee issue, but the seat is just filthy--like black, like someone really dirty sat on it. Obviously I had to scrub that, too. 
10. Keifer just told me about half an hour ago that his gf bought him Bento and Jordan ate it from the fridge
11. I'm not sure if I mentioned it before, but he took my good running/talking on the phone headphones from the counter (right in front of me while I was doing dishes!) and lost them
12. He's just a disgusting human and I can't have him in my house


Jordan is now gone. Keifer told him when he woke up at 9:00 last night--9:00 last night!--that I wanted him to go. Embarrassed and uncomfortable even though he wanted him gone as badly as I did, he initially said something about my not being able to afford food for both of them and the house being dirty, and for some strange reason, his detailed explanation of that was that I said something about crumbs.

Jordan's response?

[n word with an a] i been in here all day
how could there possibly be crumbs
lmao
its whatever tho

and Keifer told me that even though he told him today that it was more than just crumbs, whenever he DMed anyone, crumbs was the reason he gave for my kicking him out, and as if that's not bad enough, when that fucking piece of crap motherfucker left my house, he didn't say one word to me, he just walked out of the house like I wasn't even there.

In the 23 days that I made my house that absolute stranger's home, he said thank you once, and that's when I put his clothes in the dryer on day one--oh, and maybe when I drove him to the skate park two or three times.

I have never felt so used in my entire life.

And I'm a fucking slut. 

I Was Kinda Hoping You'd Stay

Well.

La Dispute Guy wants to keep it casual. After a lot of going back and forth about whether I should say something or not and consulting with a not obnoxiously huge, but not tiny, number of people, I decided to ask him what his intentions were with me, and keep it casual is the answer I got. Emotional wall...hurt many times...investing in things that disappear...all things that were mentioned that may as well have been me talking to him.

I have to tell you that at first that felt entirely fine. I told him before I asked that there wasn't a wrong answer, and that wasn't a trick. I honestly just wanted to know. Plus, BS--yes, the BS I was in love with last July--well, the July before the July that just passed--you know what? Since he's now my friend and no longer that other kind of  boy, let's just call him by his name. Brian he is--and I role played my asking him, and one of the scariest options was his saying he wanted to be serious and us see only each other, not because I don't like him enough for that but because after having been single for four years, the thought of having to worry about answering to someone in absolutely any way falls somewhere between mildly daunting and abysmally suffocating. While we were lying in bed, me between his legs, my head somewhere between his stomach and his chest, casual really didn't sound bad.

But then he left, and I'm thinking you probably know me well enough by now to know I got sad. Like, really sad. Like, sad enough that Keifer actually offered to get off his bunk bed and give me a hug (which for him is really saying a lot), sad enough to tell Griffin when I talked to him that I'm never dating again and that I had to go because I had to go cry and then go to bed. The next morning, which was yesterday, I woke up feeling just as bad. I changed the title of my Suspension playlist on Spotify, which I made when I started my fall for La Dispute Guy, to something along the lines of Happiness? Please. What Was I Even Thinking?, and felt mopey for most of the day.

My moping and sadness wasn't what it seems. It wasn't because I thought La Dispute Guy didn't like me the way I like him because I know that's not true, and it wasn't exactly because of the casual thing, at least not the way you probably think. I don't mind him seeing other people at all, and it's nice to know I can, too--even though when somebody kissed me last Saturday night, I realized there's nobody else I remotely want to kiss--but what I told Griffin and what I'm now going to tell you is if things continue the way they've been, I'm probably going to end up liking him even more. I also told him that despite that fear, I can't stop seeing him now because I said the casual thing was fine, a statement he refuted, telling me that yes, I can, or at least I can just not put in as much effort as I've been putting in, something that sounded plausible at the time. I'll just stop messaging back so much, I thought. When he's in the area, I won't always be around. I'll find a way to protect my heart.

Last night, though, like every night for the past 36 days, La Dispute Guy and I messaged; when I woke up this morning I had a message from him like I usually do; like always, we've been messaging since; and I realized that other than my perception, nothing has changed. I also realized that trepidation and reserve are not my things, and I care completely when I care. I also, for whatever reason, have a really, really hard time staying sad (a fact of life that prompted Curt to tell me I'm too happy to ever really be goth when goth meant something different back when I was seventeen). To deny those things would be to deny who I really am.

So I woke up this morning and changed the title of that playlist to Melodrama Much?, I listened to happy music, I danced around my house, and I sat down to write this blog. It's true that La Dispute Guy may make me sad in the future, but he makes me unreasonably happy now, and I refuse to let foreboding joy take that away.