I know I’m a whore.  Really.  But if you can get through me pimping myself for ANOTHER AWARD HOLY COW THIS IS MY WEEK MAN I’M TELLIN’ YA!!! - I promise there is almost a real post below.  Almost.  Promise.

ANYWAY:

 Edited to add - the link should be working now.  My bad.

Yeah, I’ve been nominated for another award - this time by Miss Ann.  How fucking cool is that?  Unfortunately, I am up against Boobs, Injuries and Dr. Pepper (yeah, like I’m gonna link to my competition, do you know me at all?!)- who even I have to admit probably kicks my ass ALL OVER the blogosphere.  But, in a desperate attempt to win something, I would like to point out that we are nominated in “BLOG OF THE MONTH” and technically, she’s kind of been on “maternity leave” from blogging.  So this month, rightfully, should be mine.  Right?  Anyway - click on the little heart thing to vote for me.  And Miss Ann.  And Avi.  And NYC Dawg.  And Mr. Fab.

Vote with your conscience.  That’s the little voice in your head that’s telling you that you desperately want to be part of my clique.  It’s also telling you that if you pimp me on your own blog, I may let you sit at the Cool table all month.

/pimping (for today)

There really is no good segue for this… I had a sad realization about myself during my back home commute, and I’m gonna blog about it.

It seems I have some kind of retro-active, mutated, every girl loves a bad boy thing going on.  Now.  In my late twenties.  After I’ve been married for damn near seven years.

When I was younger I “dated” exactly two “bad boys”.  One when I was 14 and oh my gawd so naive.  And one when I was 17 and oh my gawd too cool for regular boys my own age.  The rest of them were pretty safe to bring home - at least on the surface.

What I realized last night is that every time I’ve dated someone, I’ve had that destined to make you a martyr sense of “Nobody understands him like I do”.  With the bad boys - that’s obvious.  I mean, that’s the CLASSIC reason girls hook up with bad boys in the first place.  It makes us feel special, because nobody “gets” him like we do - even though we eventually learn that damn near every girl in town is “gettin’” him one way or another.

But I get that proprietary need in weird circumstances.  My first really long term, serious boyfriend?  As straight laced as they came.  Good boy through and through.  My angle?  Within two months I had his virginity in my back pocket and a strong conviction that only “I knew” what he was “really like”.  To this day I find it hard to imagine that any other woman - including his two wives (one past, one present) - know him as well as I did back in “the day”.  How WRONG is THAT?!?

I also realized last night that I still carry with me that need to know someone like no one else.  And it makes me oddly possessive about my relationships.  Especially with men.  Men who I have nothing but friendship relationships with.

My ex-ex-work husband.  Super quiet guy, never said a word to anyone, excellent employee.  I lured him into lunches with me, which quickly became a daily bonding experience.  By the time I left that job we were pretty tight.  And I have found myself at times actually thinking that I know him better than his fiance/now wife.  Really, she should hate me.

My ex-work husband.  Not at all quiet, but likes to think of himself as a “playa”.  He is God’s Gift To Women In His Own Mind.  But we didn’t hit on each other.  Not even when I was very drunk, very mad at my husband, and very vulnerable.  Because I wasn’t just some “chic” to him - at least not in my head.  And I am totally OK with him leering at some “hot girl” - unless he talks about her as a person.  Only then do I find myself feeling some bizarre form of jealousy.

And it’s not just them.  I work with three men right now on a daily basis that I get along very well with.  And I find that I actually pride myself on the fact that I “get” them better than other people, or I see sides of them that most people don’t.  More than that, I find myself getting pissy if someone else tries to step into that sacred place that I imagine myself holding.

It’s not that I mind them having other relationships.  It’s just that I apparently need to know that MY relationship with them is “special” on some level.  What am I like 13 fucking years old??

Seriously people - what the hell is WRONG with me?!?  I knew I was narcissistic and crap, but DANG!  This is just odd.  And immature.  And… well… ODD!

I don’t even have any cool editorial reflection on this.  I don’t know why, I don’t know what the hell to do about it (which, maybe I should have saved a post about it until the thought had chance to form a little better, eh?).  I just know that some how last night I caught a glimpse of it and now -BAM!, there it is.

Man.  Sometimes being self aware sucks serious ass.

And having a blog where you feel compelled to share these insights with the Internet?  Sucks ass too.

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