Sam bought me these cute heart-shaped earrings from Tiffany’s for Christmas. No complaints here. I appreciate the fact that he got me more of a “romantic” gift like jewelry, but it’s also sweet that they are hearts.
I like Sam.
I’m quite content. This Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.
I haven’t received my gift from Sam yet because I’ve been violently ill. I feel like crap and look like crap so I’m embarrassed to see him. I look like death. It’s miserable. My Christmas weekend has been full of nothing but downing medicine, sleeping and watching the entire season of Dexter. Let me just say, normal people watch movies like “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “A Christmas Story.” I, on the other hand, watch 12 hours worth of murders and killings on Christmas.
Anyhow, to do a little something Christmas-y on this day I figured I’d remember some blasts from the past. When it came to the last two Christmases, the gifts I received from significant others were horrendous. So horrible that I’m terrified of any guy buying me a birthday or Christmas gift ever again…
Flash back two years ago. The loser alcoholic I was dating for like two years bought me a Snuggie. Seriously, a Snuggie. There is a strong possibility he was drunk when he determined it would be a great gift. I lived in South Florida! What use did I even have for a Snuggie? Am I going to use it when it’s 90 degrees? The thing probably cost a whopping ten dollars. I think there was another gift, but I honestly can’t remember what it was. Since I can’t recall it was probably worse than the Snuggie. How do you get worse than a Snuggie? To the Snuggie’s defense, I’ve found it to be useful as a blanket to take to outdoor concerts because I don’t care if it gets muddy. My dog also enjoys it.
However, nothing can top last year’s Christmas gift from Charlie the Lug – a knock off purse. He was hell bent on buying me a new purse because it drove him crazy that mine didn’t have a zipper and things kept falling out. I didn’t trust him with the task of choosing a purse, but I couldn’t stop it. On Christmas, there it was – a black patent purse. It wasn’t bad…. The brand was nothing special – I think it was Nine West. He said it came from Macy’s. I decided to be nice and use the purse. I didn’t love it, but I didn’t hate it. After three days BOTH of the straps completely ripped and fell off. So I asked Charlie if he had the receipt so I could take it back. He said he lost it. My response – “Ok, well let’s just go to Macy’s tomorrow and explain. I’m sure they’ll know their product and exchange it.” He kept saying he didn’t want to go return it. Damn it, I wanted another purse and he refused to go with me to exchange it. This leads me to believe he did NOT get the purse from Macy’s. I’m pretty sure he bought it off a street corner or some weird online site for crazy cheap. If you’re gonna do a knock off, at least make it a Coach bag or something! Nine West?! He had to lie about buying my gift at MACY’S?! He said he’d just get me another one, but of course that never materialized. The purse and Charlie the Lug both belonged in the same place – the garbage.
This is probably where it came from
The question remains – will this year be better or worse? It’s only been a month, so I don’t know what to even expect. Based on my past, my expectations are low. He’s got it made. If he blows it, it’s pretty bad. It’s hard to outdo a blanket with sleeves and a knock off crappy brand purse.
Already that time? I’m due to meet Sam’s parents (and entire family) in two weeks. I woke up to a text on Sunday morning inviting me to his parent’s Christmas party. While it may be a tad soon, I still find it cute that he wants to introduce me to the family. It affirms he’s into me as much as I am him. We’ve only been on four dates, but it feels like more. That counts for something. I like where things are heading. I’m not about to bore anyone by babbling on about how amazing he is, but so far he’s pretty damn great.
Anyhow… apparently there is going to be kids at this party because he mentioned that we have to go shopping at Target for them beforehand.
Only problem is – I’m terrible with kids. God fucking awful with kids. Kids see me and immediately run the other way because my disdain for them is evident. I scare them. They scare me. I’ve never been a mushy, gushy, cutesy kind of girl and have difficulty interacting with anyone under the age of 13. Kids just don’t do it for me.
There’s a reason I’m a licensed high school teacher and not an elementary teacher. (Bet you didn’t guess that I was/ am supposed to be an English teacher…) I teach/taught teenagers because I loathe little children. I don’t want to play with them. I don’t want their dirty hands touching me. I can’t stand their high-pitched squealing. Kids and I do not mix. Once they are over 13, I don’t mind them anymore. You can have a normal discussion with them that doesn’t focus around the latest episode of Dora the Explorer.
Ewww. Kids.
Do I want kids of my own? Someday. I’ll probably love my kids (I hope so). It’s just I don’t enjoy being bothered with other people’s kids. My reaction is ugly and virtually impossible to hide. I don’t think this is necessarily abnormal… my dad is the same way, but he’s an awesome father. He always reminds me that it will be “different when they are mine.”
When it comes to meeting the children in the family, I’ll be putting on the performance of my lifetime. Seriously, I might have to throw a ball to them (and not at them), dress up a doll or participate in some form of unsavory playtime activity. Sam doesn’t need to realize my contempt for little ones so soon in our relationship. It could turn him off. I must pretend to thoroughly enjoy the “tiny darlings.”
His parents, on the other hand, I’m not so worried about. I’m nervous, but I’m sure I’ll do better than I will with a three year old snot-laden child.
I say this now, but I’m going to be a nervous wreck when facing the folks in two weeks.
Another great part of the single life involves a yearly STD test. While not mandatory, since I have to go to the gyno for my yearly pap in order to get my birth control refilled, I figure I may as well get tested. It’s a good feeling when the tests come back negative.
Before I leave she informs me, “We won’t call you unless something shows up. So if you don’t hear from us, it’s a good thing.”
Imagine my horror when I received a phone call from the doctor’s office today requesting that I call them back. I normally work from home, but I was at the office today when I received the call. It’s a VERY small office and I didn’t want to call back while I was there. It was pouring rain so I couldn’t step outside. I spent the remaining hours of my afternoon in full freak out mode. I kept going down the list of what it could be… Gonorrhea, Chlamydia, HPV… I was petrified. Not to mention, I’d have to call my exes over the past year to inform them. I’d slept with three people since I was last tested, not an astronomical number, but nonetheless worrisome. I use condoms, but after being with Charlie the lug for so long we had stopped.
I called the minute I got in my car and was placed on hold for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes is an eternity when faced with the prospect of a STD. I was most worried about it jeopardizing my relationship with Sam.
By the time I got through I was shaking so badly I thought I was going to throw up. She then informs me the doctor just called to let me know my tests were all negative.
Seriously? Is this a little game they play? It certainly wasn’t fun. More like traumatizing.
The “I may be sexually doomed forever” debacle still has me sick to my stomach. I’m thirty and single. As if I don’t already have a ton to worry about. Regardless, the scare is over and I’m healthy.
