Borrowed Time

He has great taste in hotels. That much I can say for him. I've got 1200 thread count sheets at home - I researched them to be sure it wasn't some dumb sham - all criteria for the Softest Sheets Ever were met. But still these ones manage to feel more soft. That could be because I don't have to wash them tomorrow. It will be a clean getaway.

And the view. It's fucking spectacular. 3 walls of windows, I'm not even sure how you manage that in a place like this. Right now I just want to make some tea and go sit in the middle of the southeast side and take it all in, but I'm a little nervous because of Cheeba.

Cheeba has the greenest eyes you've ever seen. She's gorgeous all around, really. But she's a pit bull and a light sleeper, and he sleeps like nothing bad has ever happened to him in his life. I know this arrangement works out well for him, but for me it means that tip toeing to the windows to sit and watch the sunrise means that she might jump up in a hot second and rip a hole in one of my fucking legs before he's able to shake himself out of whatever sweet dream it is that has him moaning quietly right now.

She's sleeping at our feet at the moment, and this is really familiar. How do I always end up in bed with other people's vicious dogs?

I'm actually scared to go to the bathroom. I've had to pee for the last hour, which is why I'm awake instead of getting the kind of sleep that would allow me to look presentable in the morning. Doesn't matter what kind of car you leave in, if you are haggard you can't help but to appear kinda downtrodden.

I've learned that already, but I'm learning it again just for kicks. The million things that money can't buy.

Time is the biggest one. The most important. I see this cat so rarely, he's never anywhere for very long. Every time we link up it's like a first date. He's oblivious to my priorities and pastimes. I've actually told him the same comic book plot over four different dinners and he hasn't noticed. Or he just thinks I'm daft.

I don't really care, that's the fucked up thing. Underestimation or not, he is the consummate gentleman. I once asked him to go Dutch and he asked me what the fuck that meant, if I wanted to jump rope with him or something. You have to laugh at a response like that.

But I want to pay for things so that he'll be okay with the fact that I won't sleep with him, you know? The whole deal I have with dating is the expectation that a man can buy intimacy by shelling out enough dough on a certain number of dates. The unspoken third date rule, which is total goddamn bullshit.

It's untrue, the whole money for pussy exchange rate. And if you're buying it? Male or female, you deserve to eat as many dicks as someone wants to feed you.

So why cater to it, right? Why bother fighting for the check? I should just be eating my free dinners and accepting gifts and telling him to fuck off when he puts his hand on my thigh and feeling no type of way about it.

But see. You see. That's the difference between me and a lot of the chicks he probably runs with.

I understand that sometimes you have to live up to a compromised version of reality instead of your own ideas about how the world should be. It's the standards vs. expectations thing I talked about before. I fully get it cause it's what got me where I am today. It's much better than just giving in and living up to shit you don't believe in. And I want this cat to understand, because I like him. And I'm a realist.

When he's not distracted he is incredibly charming. He has jokes for miles. Even though he doesn't remember me because of the long pauses in our friendship, he's actually fully with me when we *are* together. The phone is turned off. Clamoring chicks are ignored. It's like I'm the only person in the world.

That's another thing that's priceless.

I'm looking around right now and all I can see is his jewelry, my jewelry, some partially smoked blunts from the pre-party, and what's left of room service. I don't recall drinking an entire bottle of Ace of Spades, but there is an empty on the coffee table and he doesn't drink so I'm guessing that was all me. I love my champers, but it takes quite a while for me to go through a whole bottle of it.

Time fuckin flies, I guess.