where do I start?

In which I somehow manage to cheat on HB again, even though we aren't even together.

When I get drunk, I call HB. You might call it drunk dialing, but I'm still in denial. For the second time ever in my drinking life, I blacked out last weekend. I was in LA (Santa Monica to be exact), rendezvous-ing with an eclectic group of people for a weekend of beach ultimate. We got so excited to be in the southern California sun that we went to happy hour at 4pm Friday afternoon and didn't stop until who knows when.

I woke up in a bathtub, fully-clothed, around 10pm when the girl sharing my room came back to use our bathroom and almost called an ambulance when she discovered me.

Passed-out. In a bathtub.

I wasn't actually unconscious--I really had just been sleeping--but she didn't know that. And I didn't know how or why or when I got into the bathtub.

The next morning, I discovered that I had several texts from an unknown number asking if I was still awake (hmm... I have some vague memories of giving out my number to a beautiful black man at the bar). I also had a voicemail from HB, timestamped 9pm the night before, telling me that he hoped I was able to get some water and that I'd be able to play frisbee the next day.

How'd he know I was drunk and needed water?

My outgoing call history showed a 30-minute conversation with HB around 8pm the night before. Huh. Having no recollection of this at all, I sat down in the sand and called HB to ask for details. Naturally.

He said during the course of this 30-minute conversation, I wouldn't stop telling him how much I loved him. I also kept repeating how drunk I was, but not nearly as many times as "I love you so much."

Oh god.

The extreme happiness in HB's voice betrayed his interpretation: my drunken self revealed my true feelings for him which I obviously hide and escape from when I am sober, logical, and collected.

Oh god.

The truth is that I get overly affectionate when I drink and have a tendency to overstate my emotions. It doesn't help that I often do it with extra flourish and oomph just to make extra certain that my audience is fully aware of how serious I am (and how much they "mean to me"). But in the end, it's all alcohol talking. I don't admit it much because who likes being told the morning after that they're not actually loved as much as the sun and the moon and the stars? I just giggle, chalk it up to my cheesy drunken state, and let it go. The boyfriends always love the ego boost.

Except HB is not my boyfriend. Oh god.

Let's start back at December 29.

I was home at my parents' house in South Carolina for the holidays with two more days to go before returning to Boston to celebrate NYE. HB called me out of the blue to declare that he wants to come to Boston for New Year's Eve, especially because he knows I'll be celebrating with Special Friend and company at a fancy cocktail-dress party.

"No, that's not a good idea," I said. "It will make things very awkward with Special Friend. Besides, you're only doing this because you're jealous of him."

"I just don't like seeing other people take New Year's kisses that are rightfully mine."

"What? That's so immature. Besides, there's nothing special going on between me and Special Friend."

I lied. Let's rewind back two more weeks to mid December. I was still in Boston, rushing like mad to get all my lab work done before leaving town for 1.5 weeks to see mom & dad. Things with Special Friend were going down omg-we-might-actually-start-seeing-each-other-dating-relationship-scary paths, and we'd picked out a night for a proper dinner date. It was the night before I was to leave Boston though, and we ultimately had to cancel because neither one of us actually had time. He smilingly asked for a raincheck in January, and yes, he was very much looking forward to this fancy New Year's Eve party. He wrapped his arms around me and leaned in for a kiss. I melted.

Fast forward again to December 29th. HB angrily asked, "So you don't want me to come because you're afraid I'll cramp your style with Special Friend? I'm offering to buy a last minute plane ticket to come see you, and you're turning me down for a playboy whom you don't care about?"

"No, you wouldn't be cramping my style. You're twisting my words." But I had no further arguments because that's exactly what I was trying to say without explicitly saying it.

I felt evil and manipulative and like a cheater again, even though HB and I weren't even together anymore. I managed to calm him down by convincing him that Special Friend really wasn't someone special. HB asked me to clarify the nature of my and SF's relationship. I told him that we make out sometimes, that I've slept over a few times, but that's it.

Now-calm HB very understandingly tells me that he understands where I'm coming from, why I am afraid of commitment, and that it's fine to go explore with other guys around me. That's all okay with him. And for New Year's Eve, he just wants to come to see me. And yes, to fuck me, but that's secondary to seeing me and just spending time together again and seeing if we still have that spark because it's been a while since we talked. He had no expectations for after NYE though he would want to talk about it while he's in Boston and just see where things go.

I couldn't say no to such an understanding boy who wanted to see (fuck) me so much, so HB bought his Chicago-to-Boston plane ticket

I broke the news to SF over text (I know, I'm even more evil than you ever imagined).

SF knew that I would be back in Boston on Dec 30th. Around 11:30pm on the 30th, he texted me. "I'm so stoked to finally see you again. Want me to pick up some burritos and come over to chill?" Last couple of times we got drunk together before the holidays, we bought 7-11 frozen burritos on the way home and then giggled over nothing while they cooked in the microwave.

This time, I'd just gotten home from picking up HB at the airport. I felt like I just ran over someone's dog.

"Aww," I replied after some time, "that's so sweet. But I just got home from the airport. Picked up a visiting friend whose flight was seriously delayed. Am exhausted, think we're headed for bed."

"Sure, no worries. See you tomorrow night?"

"Definitely." And then I broke the news. Kinda. "Stoked to see you too, but things are a bit complicated."

"Oh? I'm home all day tomorrow. Wanna come over, and you can elaborate?"

He's not making this easy. He doesn't see any of this coming. All he wants to do is to see me and hang out with me.

"Um, well, actually, so my friend who is visiting is a male friend."

"A male friend? Or a male friend? Either way is fine with me - I just want to make sure I don't misunderstand your text."

"A male friend."

"Okay, that's cool. Haha, I have male friends too. Are you still partying tomorrow night?"

How could he still manage to crack a joke after this? What is actually going on in his head?

"Yeah, we'll both be at the party."

"Awesome. Looking forward to it."

I wanted to crawl into a hole.

The NYE party had so many elephants in the room. A very drunken Special Friend nodded in HB's direction indicating recognition (they met briefly when HB visited me from Beijing last summer). The two of them shared a cigarette out on the balcony while I pretended not to fret inside. Outwardly, everyone appeared okay, cordial, and cool. Inside, not a single one of us was okay.

From midnight onward, Special Friend spent his entire time dancing and making out with the only other Asian girl at the party. He just met her that night. He told me in December that he's never kissed an Asian girl before me.

HB caught me spying on Special Friend and the Slut and asked if I was bothered.

"Of course I'm bothered," I shot back.

This sent HB huffing and puffing out to the balcony, where he huffed and puffed two more cigarette even though he told me he'd mostly quit and would only have one or two a week in social situations. I sat on the couch staring out onto the dance floor of seemingly happy drunk people wondering what kind of a fucked up situation I got myself into.

Aside from the party awkwardness, HB and I actually had a great weekend together. So much so that I began to question myself again on my resolve to not date him. The problem isn't when we are together. We always have a great time together. It's when we go back to long-distance that everything fades for me.

We talked about us. HB, as usual, was clear on what he wanted: me. I, as usual, was wishy washy about commitment. This time, I spelled out our pattern and pointed out that I don't want to commit only to change my mind about wanting to be with him a week after he leaves.

HB finally proposed that we should delay the commitment decision for three weeks. That way, I can think about everything without him next to me feeding me this high of spending time together. The three weeks apart would ensure that I am making an informed decision untainted by his presence beside me all weekend. Yeah, okay, that sounds good.

But not before a final question from him. "Are you going to make out with Special Friend during these next three weeks?"

"No," I said, "it wouldn't really feel right." I meant it. It wouldn't feel right.

HB left the Monday following New Year's. That following weekend, Special Friend and I went clubbing together with our huge group of mutual friends. Completely hammered at the end of the night, SF asked me to go home with him. Shocked and drunk, I managed to stammer something about "I can't believe you still want me to go home with you after New Year's Eve." SF's exact reply is now hazy, but I think he said that he didn't care as long as HB and I aren't actually together. The one thing I do remember him clearly saying is "we can't ignore the fact that when we're out partying together, neither one of us flirts with anyone else besides each other."

So I gave in to my present-hedonist self and went home with Special Friend. I woke up the next morning in his bed with a throbbing hangover, the dread of having to call HB, and the resignation that I am a giant heart-breaking mess.

HB swore on the phone that he was finally completely done with me. I'd broken his heart. I'd shown no interest in trying even though he's been trying ever since we met a year ago in Beijing. He had no idea why he'd wasted so much energy and love on me. I'm a chronic cheater, and he questions if he'll ever trust in me again.

I sighed because I had nothing to say. I agreed wholeheartedly with him. I'm in a bad place right now, and it was time to finally admit it and own up to my actions. And with that, I thought I had closed the HB chapter of my life...

...Until HB changed his mind and decided to give me a 2-week test. If I could go two weeks without hooking up with Special Friend or anyone else, then he would reconsider. If not, then he's gone from my life.

I sighed, out of exhaustion. "Okay, whatever you want to do. I'm exhausted."

That takes us up to my boarding a 7am flight to LA 4 days later... 13 hours before I blacked out and woke up in a bathtub.

To be continued (and I never did write about the Alum or the Tall One)...