This is my third day of being off, and I’m not feeling that good right now. I think my liver is mad at me and/or dying. Either way, I’m feeling poopy so I decided to sit down and type out a blog entry.
Let me start off by saying, my life is going pretty well for the last few years. And since “N” came into my life back in January, I really have nothing to complain about.
I have an amazing boyfriend who I love insanely, a job that doesn’t suck and pays a ridiculous amount of money even before I get my quarterly bonus. And thus far, since January, I’ve hit my bonus every quarter.
I bought an amazing condo this year, on a hill overlooking the ocean. And on a clear day, I can just make out some of the taller buildings in downtown San Francisco. And a month ago, I bought a brand new car, my first since 2005.
Two months ago, on my way to work at 5:40am, heading northbound on 101 into San Francisco, my car engine blew up and I was stranded on the highway in line number one. I’m not scared to admit that I was pretty scared as cars flew by me doing 70 plus miles an hour. Seeing that tow truck pull up behind me was an amazing feeling let me tell you.
But let me again repeat, my life isn’t even remotely bad or stressful.
So I can hear you asking, why am I typing this blog entry today? What could have possibly happened in my almost perfect life that would get me off the couch and share something dark and twisted with all of you? Maybe it as because Cole told me that he missed my writing. Or maybe because I feel like things are going a bit too well and I’m waiting for the other boot to drop. And trust me, that is a very real fear of mine, because lately it seems the only thing falling from the sky is fuzzy bunny slippers.
Could it be that though “N” is almost a perfect boyfriend, maybe not everything is working out in the bedroom? Is that what you are thinking? Are you really wondering about my sex life with “N”? All the dirty details of naked bodies under the sheets. Because I think that is asking way too much of me and I might stop typing this if you are going to be asking those kind of things. My sex life with “N” is none of your business thank you very much.
If I actually would take the time to research this, I’d know the exact date I am referring too but if you are that interested you can look it up yourself. A few days/weeks/months ago, the crazy inhabitants of San Francisco suffered through a record breaking heat wave that rose to 106 on that Saturday.
And trust me, the normal weather conditions here have no call for air conditioning. Just stop and think about that for a moment. 106 degrees without any air conditioning in city that is almost always covered in fog and mist. Trust me, I have never had so many complaints ranging from this beer isn’t cold enough to my salad is hot. After a few hours of dealing with bitchy guests due to the heat, I started saying at least your not back in that kitchen, where the temperature was soaring to 110 plus. That shut up most of the guests.
During the hottest part of the day, guests would come into our restaurant, feel the heat, and turn around and walk right back out. It was so miserable, and I kept changing shirts as every few hours I would completely sweat through my shirt. Nothing worse than having a person serving you food that is dripping sweat into your hot salad. After it was all said and done, I had changed shirts three times.
On a separate note, I did write a thank you note to Old Spice deodorant, cause I still smelled fresh after that blistering day. (I actually don’t wear Old Spice deodorant but I can’t remember the brand I actually do wear and the bathroom is all the way across the house and I don’t want to get up and look) Don’t judge me, I’m hung-over.
Have you ever been so miserably hot that you can barely think straight? We all know, the heat does crazy things to our brains and after spending hours trying to calm down all the metaphorically fires that erupted due to the heat, that I was completely spent by the time I crawled inside my car and cranked the air conditioning to full blast.
People don’t realize how hard running a restaurant can be. No matter what happens, I have to keep calm and always put the good of the restaurant above anything else. So the amount of abuse I often take from rude guests leaves me somewhat silent when I’m not at work. Being happy and cheery for eight hours a day, that usually by the time I’m finished with work, my give-a-shitter is completely empty. Add all that usual bullshit but compound it by 11, and I was in a pretty foul mood.
Those of you that are from our hotter states and who are accustom to those kind of temperature might not sympathize with me, so all I can say to you, fuck off, we all can’t be as tough as you.
It was so fucking hot outside, that my poor little car couldn’t keep up with the temperature I was demanding of it that my car started overheating. So for parts of the commute home, I had to turn off the air so my car wouldn’t stop working. So after giving all my kindness at work that day, I didn’t have much left for anyone, much less my boyfriend, by the time I made it back to my house.
Now, before you ask, “N” and I have maintained separate apartments, mainly because I’m not happy about the neighborhood he lives in. Seriously, my car has been broken into three times in two months in his place. Plus, his place his pretty small, and as I have mentioned in the past, he is not the cleanest person I have met.
And he doesn’t like my place only because I live in Daly city, on a hill, overlooking the ocean, and it’s a bit far for him to commute to work. He doesn’t drive and I’m not that close to our underground, and the nearest bus stop is half mile away, but on the way back, it’s a half mile up a hill, and I can’t blame him for not wanting to walk up that hill after working all day.
And before you start yelling at me that I’m a bad boyfriend for not driving him around. We work completely different schedules most of the time and its not that easy. Jeesh, get off my back, I try to pick him up or drop him off at work as much as I can but sometimes I need to get my beauty sleep.
So needless to say, we spend most of our time at his place, and he rarely comes to my place unless we both have the day off.
My condo has air conditioner, and “N’s” does not. Matter of fact, he only has one window that opens so all of us can imagine how hot his apartment must have been that day. So on that hot day a few days/weeks/months ago, I texted him while I was heading home and informed him in no uncertain terms that I would not be staying at his house like we had originally planned. And again before you yell at me, of course I offered for him to come back to my place and enjoy the cold on that stupidly hot day. Its not my fault he didn’t want to make that journey up that long hill after his shift ended. I even offered to get a lyft for him but he refused. So there.
This is the part in this story when I tell you that both of us run highly successful restaurants so our schedules rarely match up and its something of a juggling act to coordinate time together that doesn’t involve us watching the other sleep. I know its weird, but we actually like spending time together in or out of the sheets. But relationships are better when both parties are awake at other times than just sex.
And really, stop asking about our sex lives. It doesn’t matter who tops or bottoms. We are in a loving committed relationship and its not your concern.
Have I mentioned that “N” is an Indian that was born in Malaysia. He has just a hint of an accent that makes my heart skip a beat each time he talks. And he’s been here for years so he’s pretty much Americanized.
Let me set the stage for you, I’m at my house, taken a cold shower, and am now sitting in my living room naked, watching season five of 24. Its been about three hours since I’ve gotten home and im finally starting to feel normal again.
So he texts me and demands that I pick him up at work. Now think about this, I get up usually around 4am and leave work around 2pm. He goes to work at 4pm and gets home around midnight. So when he demands that I come get him, it means that I would only get four hours of sleep. And maybe I would have, if it wouldn’t have been Saturday night, and the next morning I would have to deal with Sunday brunch again, another heat wave, and more bitchy guests. So I tell him that I can’t but that I would see him the next day. I was planning on seeing him at work and having dinner.
But he gets really mad and starts a barrage of angry texts. I’ve had a few hours up to this point to cool off and get my head back on straight. I know he’s still in the middle of the heat and his mind isn’t in the right frame to have a logical discussion about the merits of sleep or my lack of love for him. And for a while, I keep that fact in my mind and ignore some of the more hurtful things he said/typed to me.
You know those kind of comments that only someone who love you can make that send you right around the twist. They know all your faults and fears, and can use them in the most horrible ways when they are mad at you.
After more than a few insults, I started firing back with both barrels blazing. And for an hour or so, we go back and forth, calling each other horrible names, brining up old argurments, basically being awful to each other.
What got my blood really boiling though, was he said I didn’t love him since I didn’t want to come pick him up and that I was selfish that I wanted to sleep instead of picking him up in my air conditioned car.
I throw my phone across the room and storm around my apartment waiting for 11pm. That’s the time when I am going to go to his work and tell him off face to face. There was no way I was going to wait until I see him the next day. And while I’m waiting, I’m rehearsing all the things I want to say to him, I’m not going to hold anything back. I plan on bringing up past things that I let go but never really forgotten about. It’s going to be epic, I’m actually looking forward to yelling at him, maybe because I’m so nice during my day job that I can get out all my aggression on him. Or maybe its because I’m a baby but I’m not going to tell him any of that. Fuck no, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.
It’s after 11 and I’m driving like a mad man all the way across San Francisco to his restaurant which has the most lovely view of the Bay Bridge. I arrive right at 11:30 and just wait outside, seething the entire time I’m waiting.
About 11:45, he comes out of the restuarnt and locks the front door. After he locks the door, he picks up a bag and looks around until he sees my car across the street. The moment he sees me, he smiles and starts walking to the car unhurriedly.
I’m not going to lie, when he smiled at me a bunch of my anger went away. But I wasn’t going to let this go and he had no right to say/type some of those things to me. I opened the car door and stood up, ready to give him a good tongue lashing.
The last four steps he runs and jumps into my arms and kisses me until I can’t think straight. After a few minutes, he stops and hands me the bag, saying, “I got you your favorite.”
“Why” I’m a bit shocked.
“Because I knew you wouldn’t eat dinner because you were mad at me.”
Fuck him, though he was right. I hadn’t eaten dinner.
“How’d you know I would even be here tonight? This whole thing started because I refused to pick you up tonight.”
He looks at me, smiles the biggest brightest smile I’ve even seen and says, “Babe, I know you better than anyone, why do you think I said all those thing to you, I had to make you come here somehow, dumbass.”
It was late, around 2am, and we are in his bed, a hot sweaty mess on his bed with one fan blowing around hot stagnant air. He’s snuggled up to me, gently snoring into my shoulder. And I have to been at work in two hours to struggle through another hot day with bitchy guests. Life could not be better and one day, I swear, we are going to be exchanging “I do’s” before our friends.
After all, the sex is simply amazing.