I'm supposed to be documenting the fine features and functionality of the Reporting section of Top Secret Software Project X: Total Waste of Time, here at work. But each time I come to look at my diary (and NO, I DON'T CHECK THE STATS 8 TIMES PER HOUR TO SEE IF ANYONE'S BEEN READING), I get depressed about seeing that Mike picture. He's so fucking hot--and it's all ruined and over.

Goddamn if I ain't goin to hell in a handbasket full of dicks.

So... I guess we could sum it up that I'm a fucking idiot.

I'm an idiot for trusting in Ritchie when he would say "Knot, you've changed SO MUCH that I'd never want to go back out with you again." Working from that assumption, I dumbly assumed that me talking about Anthony, Matt, and now Mike, was all getting taken coolly in stride; Ritchie seemed to listen with perfect aplomb and aloof-but-concerned observational coldness, offering me sympathetic insight when I needed it most.

Nope, he always thought that if he did this long enough, I'd want to get back together with him. If he faithfully remained the caring friend who was always around when my heart got broken, stomped on, shattered, run over, frozen, spat at, pierced, bludgeoned, sliced up, vivisected, drawn-and-quartered, sodomized, shit-smeared, moldy, whithered, blistered, burned, scorned, slapped, crushed, asphyxiated (and it has), eventually I'd "come to my senses" and see that he was "the one."

I should have known better than to trust that.

Two nights ago, when the shitstorm rolled into the night sky and crapped all over this green earth, here's some of what happened...

"I don't want to go that bar," he said. Mike had asked for my cell so he could call when he made it to the Long Valley Brew pub, where we were going to drink. "You can just take me home. Besides, Mike's meeting that girl."

"Is that his new girlfriend?" I say, bemused.

"Yeah, probably."

"Oh! Why didn't you tell me he had a girlfriend?"

"Why, is that going to stop you [from persuing him with your wantonly, slatternly whorish ways, you she-beast from hell!]?"

"Yeah, actually."

"Why!?"

"Why? Just... just because; I'm not like that. If a guy's involved with someone, I stay away. I'm not gonna mess with that, it's not right. And I think I have more respect for women than that, than to go around and mess up a good thing. If a girl's with a guy, I stay away."

"But the fact that Mike's MY friend, and you're MY exgirlfriend, has NOTHING to do with keeping you at bay."

I think to myself, how it has only been in the past day or 2 that Ritchie and Mike have started talking, their friendship didn't start in 3rd grade at the jungle gym with a pinkie promise or anything. You're no Gayle Sayers and Brian Piccolo, pal.

I think back to the 2 times I couldn't help myself, and breathily confessed, "Mike H. is so damn fucking hot..."

"Uh, excuse me? Could you stop that?"

"Wha... ?"

[pointing dramatically to self] "Jilted ex-boyfriend, here!"

And then a day after that, Ritchie had told me he ran into Hemmy, and of the conversation between the two of them...

So I'm at the diner with Ryan, and Mike's there with Fallon--I told you about Fallon wanting us to play with him? [nod] and I go to Fallon, "Yeah, we'll do it, but we don't have a drummer" and Mike goes, "I'll play with you!" And he goes, "But I hope that girl [meaning me] doesn't distract me. And I'm like, "You mean Knot?" and he goes, "Yeah... c'mon man,... She's hot." [What did you do? I ask] I shot him a look of death.

[There is a strange pause. I use it to sop up the gushiness that's oozing inside my chest and dripping off each rib, feeling girly (and I agree with Josh out there on the "girly" thing)... The absolutely hottest, most talented and now SINGLE dude just paid me a kickass killer compliment... but to my exboyfriend. Let's return to our story, for now, the pause is done, and Ritchie continues with steel in his eyes...]

He basically said that I was the only reason he hasn't gone after you. [What did he say, exactly?] (*with slight exasperation*) He said that I'm the only reason he hasn't gone after you.

What a fierce crush ensued. A pink tsunami rolling over me, tossing me about in hearts and stars and bunnies or some shit, making me cry "Not my hair!" at a gust of wind, and having me whip out a compact every 5 seconds. The lacey flutters of winged hearts beating all about... YOU FOOL.

It was another fight where I can't say anything ("I never win with you, Knot, you always have to be right") yet still get condemned for not speaking ("You never say what's on your mind" / "You're just sitting there, too good to talk to me, aren't you?"). But silence is the better option; at least it'll make the fight go faster if only 1 of us is arguing.

Plus, I do feel like a total shit heel. For, when it I am posed with the challenge of, "Just tell me why you'd never go back out with me!" I do my best to exercise diplomacy: "Ritchie, there's just too much history" // "I just wasn't happy or fulfilled" // "I don't want to do it again, and you know I've said this before; I just don't want to ever get back together with you." But the truth is exactly what I don't want to tell him: that I am just not attracted to him... that I care for him, and would take a bullet for him, I'd even buy him that car so he could get a job... But I could never be in love with him. I am just not attracted to him.

You know, one of the biggest complaints he ever had about me was, "Knot, you don't have sex with me enough." Trust me when I say it was never an issue with Anthony.

"Just tell me it's because I'm fat and ugly."

I cannot do this, I want him out of my car so I can be alone with my horrible shallow self and tell myself I deserve a disfiguring car crash in the next 48 hours, I cannot be blamed for what I'm incapable of feeling and FUCK YOU if you think didn't fucking pray like crazy for "Please just let me fall in love with him it will make things so much easier and right" I *prayed* for it to happen, I DID, A LOT.

But it doesn't work that way. I wish it did.

He leaves the car, and I don't want Mike waiting around for us, so I feel obligated to alert him we won't be coming. I txtmsg him, sending a vague excuse, not wanting to get into it. But then fearing 'maybe his phone doesn't tm' I feel the need to call him quick, just to make sure.

and i remember how he called earlier in the night, this is stupid, but i'm gonna write it anyway: we were at the diner yet again with Boof and Sara, and he calls me, and he goes 'i'm on 46 heading to the pub. i calling to see if there's a cute korean girl there' and here's me, squirming in my seat across from ritchie, giggling and not being able to stop myself, saying 'aw dude, sorry: yer shit outta luck' and we both laugh and i wanted nothing more than to pay the check so i could be on my way...

"You don't like me!" he answers his phone with.

"No, that's not it at all."

And when he offers to meet me at the diner, I really would rather just go home...but I don't want to lose this opportunity, even if I do look horrible and am tired and messed up over Ritchie's "I'm never going to see you again, Knot"---can't SOMETHING good come of this night? So I agree to meet him...

I do my best trying to keep some composure, explaining why Ritchie isn't with me and we've fought, withOUT saying "Well Mike, it's because I have this crush on you; it's a dilemma that has caused Ritchie to feel insecure and hurt, and thus he's not accompanying me this evening, nor any more evenings ever again." G-R-E-A-T. The first fucking chance I get to hang out with him, and I sound like I stepped off the stage of Jerry Springer. What a terriffic impression. For all of my *ahem* sophistication, my suave way with words, my euphamising and charming way I have of perfuming a shitty situation in only the prettiest metaphors and phrases, I made it sound no better than it really was, and with even less dignity than it had.

At the end of the night, when he said "Well, I don't want to get you in trouble [b-b-but... you didn't! honest!] so, I'll call you another night."

And then a hug (pleasant surprise!) and then a kiss on the cheek (oOOOOoooO!!!)...and then it's over.

Humiliation is waiting for an email reply that may never come....