internalizing, part 1.

Friday morning I sat at work procrastinating. I have always had the attitude that you do the things you want to do and and those things you never really wanted in the first place? You let fall by the wayside. I was hereby exercising that. I had a paper to write for class and I was resisting.

At some point I emailed the boy (who apparently I can’t think up a name for) and apologized for not returning his call the previous night as I had gone straight from class to try to beat Taylor Swift off the stage before Rascal Flatts came on. I told him yes, I would be around Friday night too as I had some things I needed to do around the house. When he asked if I wanted to watch a movie at my house be it there was a torrential downpour outside, I told him that that sounded like a plan but that just to warn him, he might find himself helping me write a paper.

When he called around 6 I’m pretty sure my head was spinning. I’d gone to the grocery store and left the recipe I was buying for on my printer tray. I’d been planning to write my paper and left my notebook on my desk. I needed gas. I went to pick up some pimento cheese at a market and was told to come back in the morning for fresh pita chips. I was going to miss the party for the anniversary of the paper I freelance for because the weather? Made me crave pajamas. I was almost in tears and insult to injury? None of my friends were available when I needed them to listen.

I was batting zero.

I found myself relieved when he asked what I was doing (to find out that on my Friday I was already returning to the office) and then added that he didn’t want to be a distraction. I found myself worried that he thought maybe I was a nut and that OH MY GOSH CAN I PLEASE FIND THE GUY THAT LOVES ME UNCONDITIONALLY IMMEDIATELY.

I went home and I did what my favorite thing to do on Friday nights is. Spend time with me. Yea I said it. BIG PLANS, I tell ya. Same as the Friday before. Me me me.

I cleaned out our hall closet and emptied out my old food from the refrigerator. I did laundry and tried to get myself packed for the next couple of days in Atlanta. I put together a dip for the baby shower [by calling both my brother and mom repeatedly for advice on how to put together the 3 - yes, THREE - ingredients]. I sat in my bed, the television on, my books and notes spread out in front of me, my laptop in my lap, and I started writing, past sentence number 1.

Around 10:45 the boy texted me, “How’s the paper coming?” And I responded the revelation I’d had about 10 minutes prior, “I’m sitting in my bed with my laptop still trying to grasp the concept.” Because, fyi, the paper was TOTALLY not about what I thought it was going to be about when I had initially researched the topic.

Saturday morning I got up earlier and jumped in the shower and started getting myself together. I retrieved my camera battery from the charger and then tried to turn my camera on before realizing WTF. The shutter would open then the whole thing would freeze. Over and over and over again. It had a mind of its own and I didn’t like it.

I called my dad who recommended I go to Radio Shack and from there he recommended a batteries store on the other side of town because maybe it was that and not the camera for which I needed for the baby shower I was throwing and the Nascar race I was headed to thereafter. I tried his suggestions. My camera still doesn’t work. I packed my car, I went by the market, I went by the office and got ice and worked on my paper some more, I took Todd the dog to the kennel, and I drove out to the lake and was there by noon to set up for the shower. Everything is going to be okay, I told myself.

The shower went beautifully. The baby mama is GORGEOUS. I’m going to be an aunt via one of my best friends and her husband and I couldn’t be more excited.

i'm trying this new thing where i like myself.

Dear Fireman,

Today I was driving down Main Street and I thought about you. Really it had to do with the fact that I was listening to Sol Driven Train and remember that first time we saw each other? You don’t? Huh. Well I was jammin’ to SDT and you asked me what it was.

Actually, I was thinking about you yesterday, too. I picked up a copy of the Free Times and I flipped it open to the personals and low and behold, there were no Missed Connections. I tried to channel you through one because I thought it would be greatly entertaining, but the Free Times must also get free labor, as no one returned my email.

You know what? Now that I mention it, I thought about you Saturday, too, as I was participating in the Walk for Life. This woman walking near us pointed out the firemen on the side of the road by saying, “Ooh! Firemen! And they’re good looking too!” (They were not.) We turned and all and looked. (I swear, no comparison.) And [the woman] saw us paying her words some attention and she was all “I’m married girls; y’all should look!” And Katie, my future sis-in-law, was all shy as per usual and saying quietly, “Not me! I’m engaged.” That woman seemed to be having none of it ’cause she shot back with a, “You can still look!” And I was all thinking, Yea I’m all for looking but SHE’S MARRYING ONE OF MY BIG BROTHERS so she answered right. So there you go.

But anyway, I was driving around Columbia with Sol Driven Train today, while I was on my lunch hour. I went over to the elusive campus and figured out with great ease (FINALLY) how to go about getting my USC ID. I will officially call it THE GREATEST STUDENT ID I HAVE EVER OWNED. That’s not too difficult to achieve, mind you. What would be really cool is if I put up a picture of my Clemson ID and showed you how different I am now, 6 years later. But I’m not evolved enough for that. Ironically, my Clemson picture either followed or preceded what I often remember as THE BEST SUMMER EVER. Why couldn’t I have just looked good?

Oh yea, and y’all liked how I hid my name and ID number? Oh, you’ve all already figured out my full name? Yea, duh.

In the meantime, Chick-fil-A is so friggin good. I just ate it and it is easily THE BEST FAST FOOD EVER.

Perhaps I have resorted to labeling things “Best Ever” because the Free Times is doing their Best of Columbia 2008 Survey. I don’t really know.

In any event, Fireman, I know you’re wondering why I’m thinking so much about you. I mean, just a couple of hours ago I was getting that ID handed to me and I thought, Boy I bet that fireman wishes he could date me. I’m a student! But really, I was walking around campus realizing, for the first time in a long time, I feel good about me. I like things about me. I haven’t liked things about me in a long time and it feels like a relief. Like things are right. I’m working on making my karma good too.

I was walking back into the office from my car and from behind, Mr. Beat called out to me. I turned and began telling him that I’d gotten my ID [to his alma mater] just then. I started telling him how excited I was (and looking back I’m thinking whoa nelly, you talk too much) and how I thought the woman at the Carolina Card office probably either thought I was adorable or crazy. I said I had asked her to retake my picture because my hair was flipping out on one side. And [Mr. Beat] said to me, “Oh, let me see.” At first I thought he was talking about my hair. (He hasn’t seen me since I cut 5.5 inches off.) Then, I realized he might be talking about my boobs. (I took care of sharing that bit of information with him yesterday when he told me he’d heard I’d had surgery and What kind? Why? all worried sounding and shiz.) Lastly, I realized, Yes, one moment, I will get MY NEW ID out of my wallet to share with you.

It’s good to make peace, though. With him. With me. With the things in my life that weren’t really making me that happy. (Please don’t confuse. Chick-fil-A does make me happy. As does yesterday’s lunch crave, Monterrey’s. Okay, maybe FOOD IN GENERAL makes me happy. But I digress.) I’ve been realizing lately, for the first time ever, really, that I’m kind of happy with my life. I may not have the perfect job, or the perfect wardrobe, or the perfect complexion, but maybe it wouldn’t be too crazy for someone else to like me too.

Love,

Me

if you have nothing to say, say what you want.

I am wearing a slip today and I feel so grown up it is incrrrrredible.

Yesterday I discovered there was an Athropologie in Myrtle Beach. MYRTLE BEACH. As in SOUTH CAROLINA. I don’t care that the one in Charlotte is closer. I feel like this is a huge win for South Cackalacky.

Then today I decided to once again venture on to find out about the chance of an Anthropologie career and learned I might just have to move to Philadelphia.

The fact that the narrator of The Wonder Spot, which is what I’m currently reading, is from there makes me less encouraged by the thought of such a relocation.

Last night, in class, the girl behind me, after hearing my name when the professor called roll, said to me, “Do you have two brothers? OH MY GOSH I USED TO BABYSIT YOU.”

I am really not looking forward to feeling old(er).

This afternoon, El Boss walked into my office to hand me something just as I relocated the picture of James Dean I have hanging from my bulletin board. Now he’s pretty much looking at me and I am pretty much always looking at him.

“Who’s that? Your new guy?” McHottie asked me one day when he walked into my office, pointing to the black and white photograph.

“My new guy?” I said. I’m pretty sure I was cocking a look too. Somewhere between my you crazy look and the stink eye.

“Well, you know, your new obsession,” he said, trying to recover.

“Do you have any idea who that is?” I mean, IT’S FREAKING JAMES DEAN. Derr.

“Yea, that guy – I can’t remember what movie he’s in. But, I mean, yea, I do.” I know he’s not talking about Rebel Without A Cause now.

“Do you mean James Franco?” My stink eye had faded into a smirk. I guess James Franco has atleast been hailed as the new James Dean.

“Yea. That guy!” Seriously. McHottie looked like he’d won. WRONG.

“Um, no. James Dean. But, thanks. And not a new obession. An old one.”