Push My Buttons

So, here's the deal. Let's rip it off like a bandaid. I got back together with the ex. Oh, I know...there are so many ways this conversation can go. But, bottom line. I love the guy. He is sweet and loving, and makes me feel good...and alternately pisses the crap outta me. 

It's been nice to have someone around who worships the ground I walk on. That ain't a bad thing. There are worst things in this world. 

My friend Lisa had a tragic accident happen to her son. Horrible, senseless and life changing.  And I thought...wtf? Life is so short. And I couldn't imagine never seeing him again. So...back together we went. And it's been good. Actually better. But...

Here I sit now( actually I am standing, cuz it's closer to the wine bottle) two months later, furious because he has the emotional intellect of a 17 year old boy...maybe 17. The number 12 feels more appropriate. 

He wants to talk about everything. Every feeling, every emotion. Me. I want to provide my opinion in 5 words or less , move on and forget the conversation ever happened. Hello. I am an Army Brat. I only speak when spoken to, and then with the bare minimum info. The dog ran fast, is about as complex a sentence structure as I get. Ask me my feelings about something and I may bust out a PowerPoint presentation with citations and white paper examples, but you ain't gonna hear what I really think. But, that's not the real reason I am singing along to the Les Mis soundtrack and canceling my   Brazilian wax. It's because of what happened next.   

AND THEN.....my use of capital letters makes it seem more ominous...his ex girlfriend who is his best friend came up in conversation. I thinks she's trash. And told him that. Way to go me for speaking my mind!!! But, he thinks that I think, because she is trash...so is he. Although, his very association with me makes him above that...he won't let it go. I've told him, fine...hang out with her but I don't want to know about it. 

What does he do tonight? Sends me a text telling me he is going over to see her to yack. At first, I thought...ya'll are gonna throw up together? That's weird. But, guess it was Yak...and yack. Who knew. 

But, I have an issue with this. Don't freakin tell me about it...and you're too busy to see me, but can go see her. Really? How lame is that. Plus it feels like my buttons are being pushed. Trust me I know I have HUGE buttons, and they are like the Staples Easy button...but still, not like you have to touch it. Yeah, I know it says easy. 

So...here I am. Again. Boys are dumb.