Lesbianic Tendancies - By The Husband

So . . . did anyone else get that vibe from my wife's blog? I love her as the flowers love that guy who drinks a lot, but when she talks about Molly it gets a little too much for me. Was Molly beautiful? Yes, in a very classy Angelica Houston type way, she was. Tall and dark, thin and strong willed, she commanded attention . . . and had taco stuck in her braces.

I love reminiscing about exes just as much as the next person, but aside from being dark and broody in High School, I was also kind of a man whore. I loved the attention of women. I still do.  Am I a chauvinist probably, (when it comes to my affection for the fairer sex), but I do love a strong willed women. Hence the red head wife.

The sad fact was that my future wife at the time was the thirteenth girl I had considered a significant other, yet out of all the others she was the only significant one. Before Molly there was one girl that really messed with my head. That chick messed me up. Her name was Alicia and she not only would break up with me, make out with the new guy if front of me, and after a week dump him and get back with me, but would play head games to the point that she convinced me that my parents were abusive.

She had convinced me so well that she got me and another mutual friend to run away for a weekend, to her home 3 hours away.. I left with her after school so I never came home and never told my parents a thing. It was something that I still feel that, even though my parents have moved on, I have placed a permanent wedge between them and I. I still go back to the thoughts of hurting them all those years ago, and these 10 years later it still wakes me up at night.

So when all those years ago I was dark and broody I definitely had reason for it. I loved to talk about things I read, and things I had seen on TV because I hide. I play video games for the sheer escapism of it all. When I had come home from running away, which through time, my mother and I had decided we could partially blame on her depression and it causing her to push me away, she had put Final Fantasy 7 in my room. It had been there since the night I ran away. It had been her way of apologizing for pushing me away, and was meant to be a surprise for me when I had gotten home that afternoon from school. 

 

Ever since then I have emotionally tied myself to the gruff and angry adventurers, whose stories so resembled mine of self loathing and self destruction.

Back to the story at hand. I threw myself at the masses of girls that found my silence intriguing, my "Nick Cage in Leaving Las Vegas" sense of unforgiving unapologetic hatred for myself. There were many girls between Alicia and Molly. I was never without a "girlfriend" for more than a week. I had become like Alicia. Disposable relationships, it was the new fad. I knew Molly was into me and neither her or I were open about our affections for each other. I had taken the stomach turning leap while we were dating and told her I loved her. Less than two weeks later sometime in early May of 1999, she had told me that when she said it back she was confused and didn't mean it. It was the day of her best friends birthday she broke up with me. I had planned on going to the birthday party but with Molly going I felt like I would be trespassing on everyone elses' good time.

But alas I get ahead of my self. Back in December of 1998 I was sitting at an anti-pep rally in the cafeteratorium at Rio Rancho High. The school gave us a choice: we could fake school spirit, and watch chubby thighed New Mexican cheerleaders stomp their way through a Will Smith song or we could sit in a foodless cafeteritorium (multipurpose) and chat for a few hours. I chose the chat. 

 

I sat with friends being tough, spouting profanities while telling the story of a particular Japanese cartoon when Molly (pre-realtionship) came down the stairs, smiling her metallic car wreck of a smile at me, to the lowest section of the cafe-whatever, the spot that was normally reserved for jocks, dragging her friends with her.

One hanger-on was a dark haired moron who had been easily convinced by some goth kid that his trench coat swallowed souls, and tearfully begged him to not have hers taken. The other was a large chested red head knock out with an ear to ear smile and stars in her eyes.

"Dang," I whispered to a friend, who was sitting far too close to me. I continued my story consciously being coy and trying to ignore her to keep from staring, the whole time thinking, "She probably thinks I'm a idiot."