The weekend in LA was officially a… fuckation. Am I a bit disappointed? Maybe a bit. Am I really surprised? No, not really. Am I bit pissed with him that he sent so many mixed signals? Oh, hell yeah. Am I mad that it wasn’t anything more? No. One thing though, if you’re on a fuckation, please have more of the verb in that word. I’m not sayin’, I’m just sayin’. (To borrow a phrase from Chelsea.)

That said, the weekend was still fun. Despite the fact that Mother Nature is a bitch. Apparently when you curse her out and call her names, she likes to shit on you. My visit brought LA their cold and rainy season. Yup, I packed for spring and got temperatures that weren’t a whole lot better than what I left here.

On Saturday we headed out to the Getty Center. A number of people have told me that I would enjoy the Getty. They were right. I loved this place. B and I went our separate ways here – while that wouldn’t bother me in DC, because – hello, I live here and know the museums like the back of my hand – I had never been there before. I wanted B to show me around, since he goes there relatively often. What did he do? He brought his laptop and a book. I can’t fault that – if you’re going there on your own, not if you have a guest in town. So, whatever. I explore the Getty to my heart’s content for four hours or more – then I call him to touch base and tell him that I’m tired and hungry and he tells me that since he’s finished his book, he’s going to work on some things for work. So I give him a while longer and find that I’ve missed one of the exhibitions, so I go back and look at that and a lot of the paintings that were my favorites. A couple hours later, he calls and can’t understand why I’m in a bit of a mood. Well, let’s see: my blood sugar had dropped so far that if I had waited any longer I would have passed out. I had a headache. Once we got out of there and on the way to food, I apologized for my mood and explained about the blood sugar. He seemed okay with that, but then he copped a bit of a ‘tude. We ended up going to dinner then a movie. (BTW, Walk the Line was FAB!! I was sooo crying at the end…)

Sunday, we decided to try to take the train down to San Diego, but that was a bust. Apparently, there are only two trains that run from LA on Sunday – one in the morning and one at night. Grrrr. However, it worked out well, because I wanted to get some beach time in, so we headed to Santa Monica. I loved it there. Of course, as we walked along the pier, I was very tempted to start singing the theme from Three’s Company – I decided against it, though. We also saw the Nomadic Museum was at the pier and running a photography exhibit – ashes and snow – so we decided to head over and check it out. Quite cool. We followed it up with a walk along the beach back to the car. Then he dropped me off at the hotel to go home and pack for a business trip he had to go on the next day. I took a bath and dressed for dinner… Three and a half fucking hours later, he comes back. By this time, I’m tired, hungry, and in bed. (By hour two, I was changed into clothes to sleep in.)

So, obviously, I’m like, WTF?? He had his moments when he was sweet and attentive and leading me to believe that he’s interested in something with me, then he does a complete 180 and acts like he could care less. So, on Monday, I ask the question: "What’s going on here? With this trip? With us?" He started to dance around the question, then answered it somewhat directly. While he is very attracted to me, we’ve only been on a few dates, blah, blah, blah. Blah, blah, friends… blah, blah. We discussed the fact that bringing sex into the equation definitely muddled the lines that define our friendship. He offered to take that out of the equation to which I responded that it was probably a good idea, but too late. So we left it at that. I admit, I didn’t want to listen, I did listen, but I didn’t want to. Basically, he would like a "friends with benefits" relationship – I don’t know how I feel about it. I wouldn’t have nearly as big of an issue with all of this if I had known this before I flew out there. (I also would have made sure there was more sex… but that’s another story, lol.) I think that Kel said it best in one of our emails earlier today:

well, let’s do the math:

FWB (DC–>LA) / (booty  -x) = HE OWES YOU!

I love my friends. πŸ™‚ He will be disappointed to know that he doesn’t have the love of the girls at work anymore. (Now, B, can I have my airfare back? LMAO!) Hey, at least it means I can still date, right? Hee! (Always look on the bright side, right?)

So now, I’m home, I’m sick b/c I caught something while I was out there. (Damn that Airborne – it didn’t seem to do a damn bit of good!) I hate having a sore throat and cough. While it gives me that sexy voice that guys seem to love (I could have my own 1-900 number – however, it probably wouldn’t sound so sexy when I have to hack up a lung in the middle of it all. LOL.), it means that I’ll end up losing it by the weekend. *sigh* I have a date with a guy named Nyquil tonight. I need some rest. Of course, I should probably have more than 5.5 hours of sleep. πŸ˜‰