The conclusion.

Thank you all for your input on JB—I think we’re all on the same page. However, I went straight to JB to get the dirty details. I wanted the truth.

I know he said he wanted to wait until we were back from our weekend getaways, but I needed to know what the hell was up. So I bugged him Thursday night, told him I just wanted things resolved, and he told me what I needed to hear.

He said his breakup was too recent to have anything more than a friendship, but he wanted to keep getting to know me. He said things probably went too far the other night because he’d been drinking, but he would like to respect me and know more about me than, “just being sexy.”

I asked him if kissing was allowed and he said not yet.

I told him I was grateful for his honesty, and I really am. If he hadn’t have told me that, I would be upset and called him a liar, yadda yadda yadda. He thanked me for understanding his situation.

So here we are readers, back to square one. Only yeah, I am already dreading the next magazine meeting when I have to see him. CHRIST.

Years ago, I worked with this guy who I thought was pretty hot. Rumor had it, he had a girlfriend, so I stayed away from that shit. However, he was awfully flirtatious with me, so I wondered if they had broken up.

He took me on dates, cooked me dinner, surprised me at school…the works. We hung out all the time and I quickly fell for him.

But I was a little curious—whatever happened to that girlfriend?

One night, him and I were eating dinner, and I asked him what he was up to the next day.

“Oh, I need to change the oil in the g-f’s car…”

He literally said “G. F.” Tool.

I said…”oh……”

“What do you think about that?” he asked me.

“What do I think about what?” I said.

“About me having a girlfriend.”

I told him I didn’t understand the situation. He merely said it had been a bad relationship for a long time.

At that point, I was too green and too blind to slap him in the face and move on. Obviously it hadn’t been a bad enough relationship for him to dump her, or vis versa.

Although I didn’t act on his words, it irked me. I would lay awake at night, in his bed, wondering what she was doing. what was she thinking? Did she know about me? I was terrified she would use her key in the middle of the night and rip the sheets from the bed, exposing the both of us.

I knew it was wrong—if he cheated on her with me…who would he cheat on me with?

I remember us arriving at his house one afternoon after a lunch date, and we had just missed her—she’d left a letter in his room.

It was then, that I really felt bad for her. I had been in her position before—getting the cold shoulder from my boyfriend, wondering if he was cheating.

In the end, he left me and stayed with her. He never officially dumped me, he just quit talking to me. I ran into him months later and he acted like we never met, never kissed, never slept together.

Now, he is married to someone different; a lady who looks like a dyke. They have a kid, and go rock climbing all over Japan. I’m thankful it isn’t me.

So yes, I’m really thankful that JB nipped anything sketchy in the ass. However, I am not opposed to a friendship. And if the time is right down the road, then I’ll figure it out then. It might just be the kindest let down I’ve ever had.

Yesterday, I came back to work after a long weekend in Florida. It was another bachelorette weekend—glee! I actually had fun, we stayed in a bomb-ass apartment…it seriously looked like a Real World house with all these funky colored lights and black toilets.

I got along pretty well with the other 8 girls, but sometimes they were grandmas on the drinking front. On the night we were going out for the big veil-wearing-checklist-stravaganza, these bitches were flipping out over a tiny shot of tequila. We took one before dinner, then at the restaurant, the bachelorette wanted to share a bottle of wine—half the table was all, “OH MY GOD DON’T MIX YOUR ALCOHOL.”

Ladies, ladies, ladies—this is a party, right?

I split the bottle with the bachelorette and she joined me in ripping after-dinner shots.

Although the night was pretty tame, I did end up on a party bus, complete with full-bar and stripper poles—absolute hilarity. Unfortunately, I didn’t really meet any hot dudes.

Sunday morning, I woke up ready to drink. When I prepared a pitcher of vodka punch, the girls were all, “Oh you! This is just your first beach day….that’s why you want to drink.”

BITCH PLEASE! I can joke about a lot of things, but me being weak in the liver is not one of them—for the count, I won’t joke about prostitution, fucking my cat, or being a lightweight. For the record, I drank in the airport before my flight, then continued my solo party on the plane by purchasing multiple bloody marys. So whatever!

So yeah, I drank the punch all morning, then had margaritas at lunch, and a second pitcher of punch afterward. Then I had sake with dinner, and drank a bottle of red afterward. So fuck off, grandma.

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