tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141857712011-12-02T04:20:11.076-05:00All the things we don't sayUsnoreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185771.post-1121007867512985952005-07-10T10:54:00.000-04:002005-07-10T11:04:27.513-04:00We haven't posted in awhile out of a crazy fear that T. might find said online journal and laugh at us behind our backs. Although, truth be told, things could not get much worse. And we'd much rather know that someone -- anyone -- else is in the same boat and rooting for us. Once we get our readers back.<br /><br />Suffice it to say, our "relationship" with T. devolved from a series of bimonthly diner lunches and movies to a series of bimonthly sleepovers. Not drunken one night-stands, exactly, but in the same vein. He calls by 10 p.m. (our rule) and we go over within two hours. We watch half a DVD, cuddle, hook-up (and by "hook-up" we mean what people in the olden days would have called "heavy petting"), cuddle again, and sleep. <br /><br />T. always has a smile for us in the a.m., but doesn't buy us brunch. It's bipolar that way -- neither one thing nor the other.<br /><br />Anyway, we're through with that. His best friend had a party last night and he didn't invite us. We certainly understand why, of course -- we're not the girlfriend, there's no obligation -- but hurt all the same. Of course, now that we drunk-text-messaged our indignation ... well, we believe we should probably just lay low for awhile.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185771-112100786751298595?l=tattletaling.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Usnoreply@blogger.com3