Don’t Kill The Messenger

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This is the only zombie image I could find that wasn’t going to give me nightmares from all the gory blood. Ick.

Alrighty, y’all. Don’t go all Florida zombie dude on me and eat my face when I tell you that Northman and I are through. Ok, wait, before I get into that, can I just say, WHAT THE FUCK, Florida? Face-eating zombies? What, now you get all the cool shit? Everyone knows zombies are the new vampires; there’s nothing more badass. So, why the hell would they go live … I mean, not live … with a bunch of old people and rednecks? Yeah, yeah, Penny lives there too, and not all southerners are rednecks, and Publix is sooo great. Whatever. I don’t think they sell brains at Publix, so the zombies aren’t there for your sexmart grocery stores. I mean, come on. Y’all already have a bizillion miles of beaches. Now you get to be the first ones to have zombies, too? Douche canoes.

Anyway, as I was saying, Northman and I have reverted to friend status. Before you start some kind of online petition to have his new girlfriend’s employer relocate her to Getoutofmyfuckingwayistan, let me say that I am 100% totally ok with this whole thing. Northman and I have been friends for a long time. I’ve lived my whole not-quite-forty (and wouldn’t tell you if I were) years without fucking this man; I’m pretty sure I can live the next forty(ish) years quite happily without doing him as well. Now, if I get to live to like, 90, and he’s single, and I’m single, bring on the geriatric sex, people. I swear to blog about it if I remember it afterward. But for now, Northman has gone back to being my friend.

Penny wanted to know why I was so fine with this whole thing, and I told her the simple truth, which is what I told y’all when I last posted: I love Northman. He’s my friend. Ergo, I want the man to be happy. If his new sort of girlfriend makes him happy, I say grab the fuck onto that woman and make her happy too. Despite our strong emotional connection and sexual tension, the odds of us ever having more than weekend away/vacation sex romps (albeit fucking awesome vacation sex romps) were always very slim. As I’ve said many times: he’s there and I’m here, and we have kids and exes and jobs and all of that. If we were in our 20s and unattached, things might be different, but that’s just not the case, and I’m good with that.

Seriously. I’m getting a little paranoid. Don’t eat my face. Not even my nose.

Part of me feels like, well, fuck, couldn’t he have waited to go all blushing, head-over-heels for this woman until after we had one of those aforementioned weekend sexcapades? I mean, Sweet Jesus in Birks, just one? But the truth is, if we’d had that and then he fell in love with this woman, THAT would have hurt. As it is, I just really and truly enjoyed all the fun we had over the last 6 or 7 months, and now it’s done, and I’m good with that, and it doesn’t hurt. The only thing that will hurt is if you guys freak out about this and do go all zombie on me and eat my face, so, you know, don’t do that.

So, that leaves me in, as they say, a bit of a quandary. I always wanted to say that. Quandry. Who comes up with these words? Anyhoo… the issue at hand: to blog or not to blog? I mean, let’s face it (which I can only do because I don’t live in Florida so I haven’t had my face eaten), the last few months..well, the last several months? Well, the last, whole history of this freaking blog has been very much about the progression of Cathy & Northman. Does the blog exist without Northman? I’m inclined to say yes. Why the heck not? I’m still here. I’m still funny. Now I just have to figure out what the hell to write about. Crap.

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