really??

Last night I walked into Pizza Man and looked around for the company I was there to meet. I had seen a silver Tacoma just like the Ballplayer’s parked outside when I’d pulled in and so I assumed he’d beat me there. I saw a man sitting at the bar, the back of his head looking just like Ballplayer’s. I walked up, saying something to him before my new friend Brian turned around and looked at me. Not. The. Ballplayer. “You’re not who I thought you were,” I said before he introduced himself. “It’s not a Wednesday unless you do something awkward,” I continued.

Sometimes, I think I am really alone in the world. That I do these crazy things and that I have these thoughts that are all a mess in my head and that oh! my! gosh! if I could just meet one person that said ME TOO! I could picture myself a little more well balanced.

In college I remember being taught that a philosopher (was it Luther? or Milton? or Calvin?) once said that no thought we have is ever truly original. That someone, somewhere, at some time, has once had the exact same thought. (Maybe it was Derrida?) I know it wasn’t Oscar Wilde, but it was Wilde that said, “Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.”

I am now resting assured that that awkward moment of walking up to a stranger at a bar and striking up a conversation happens a lot to other, you know, moderately normal people. At least that’s what I’d like to imagine.

And you know, that time (being today) that Cute Boy (ew) emailed me from RIGHT OUTSIDE OF MY OFFICE asking me, “What are your plans after work?” and I had to, well, quickly come up with an excuse because I *cough* don’t have plans after work today? That happens to other people too. And when my coworker stopped by (within hearing range of Cute Boy) and was talking about how my caterer friend got “some good pub” today and I said, “Ah, when I hear pub I don’t think publicity I think of PBR,” and I could hear (but not see) Cute Boy saying, “That relates to that question I asked earlier,” (gag me) THAT HAPPENS TO OTHER PEOPLE TOO. Because I wish this on all of you.

Yes, you heard me, I WISH AWKWARDNESS ON ALL OF YOU TOO.

how to lose a girl in 2 weeks.

Last night I was on the phone with my LA BFF, catching up on events. “Are you at the grocery store?” she asked me, hearing the beep beep beeping from the checkout lines. “Yea, I guess I shouldn’t be saying words like bitch while I’m talking to you; I bet people from our church shop here. But, I mean, I think maybe I’m a bitch…” I began.

“Tell me about it,” she commanded.

And this is how, right between frozen peas and pizza rolls, I decided that maybe I should write a dating book for men. A guide, really.

1. Don’t assume you and a girl have dinner plans when all you’ve really asked her is if she had plans at all. Don’t assume you’re dating if you have only been on one “date.” Don’t assume anything and neither will I.

2. Never ever ever ask a girl if she has lost 50 pounds. PARTICULARLY WHEN SHE HAS ONLY LOST 5ish. Say she looks fantastic. Ask her if she’s changed her hair. Say anything but that which will make her think that the last time you saw her she was highly overweight.

3. Do not ask a girl to let you know when she is available. Ask about dinner Thursday or a Sunday movie. But, as sweet as it may sound to know you will work around my schedule, it is a sure fire way for me to never commit to anything.

4. When you meet a girl’s friends, don’t talk their ears off. Seriously. It’s great that you can keep up conversation and not be awkward. But the likeliness you say something offensive or ignorant or annoying just increases with the more you say.

5. Going for drinks and having just one beer? Not impressive. Going for drinks and having you repeatedly tell the bartender – before I can even say no, thank you – “one more round”? Not a good idea.

6. Just because I agree to go out after work one day does not therefore mean that I will accompany you to anything else that week. Or even the next week. Check back with me in 3 weeks for drink number 2.

7. “Wut r u doin 2nite?” “Nothing with you.”

8. Asking me when I’m going to take you out, like Mike the Electrician at work does, is really likely to merit an irritated “when I start making more money” response from me. That whole hard ass reverse psychology whatever thing that guys seem to think works for them actually, let me break it to you, does not.

9. Do not ask a girl to have dinner or a drink and then say what time or where. I’m going to need you to make suggestions. Man up. If I say Monday works for me you should say, “How about 6 o’clock?” Good. Then say, “Publick House?” Double good. But if it takes 10 phone calls or 10 text messages to agree on a time and destination, I will be in my pjs on the couch before you can say “Hello my name is.”

10. Honking? ARE YOU KIDDING? Saying you would smother someone’s face in poo? (YES that actually happened.) Is, mind you, DISGUSTING. Saying you’ve heard that story about my brother and then acting all judgy mcjudgerson… is just plain idiotic. He is my brother and you are some guy I will never go out with again. Not stepping up and buying my beer? Not really the best start.

i saw a lot of things last night.

I saw Keller Williams for the second time.

I saw the inside of the Music Farm for the first time.

I saw a girl with blue eyeshadow and eyelashes that thought it looked fantastic.

I saw another one in a pink wig that thought she was Britney Spears.

I saw some chick in a self made Heineken hat.

I saw a girl, upon finding out that Val and I were – gasp – going to be 25 years old this year, look visibly shocked and taken aback. Bitch.

I saw two chicks on acid and two guys on E who looked absolutely ridiculous. That’s putting it nicely.

I! Saw! Stirrup! Jeans! On a white girl!

I saw a couple making out right up against the stage with his hand frequenting her chest area. And I saw a handful of people staring.

I saw a text message from a guy to me, apologizing for not taking me to dinner this week and telling me that he would work around my schedule this next week.

I saw a text from a friend of my brother’s telling me he should’ve come to the show even without my brother’s stamp of approval. When I said, jokingly, that nobody needs his stamp of approval, he replied with “good to know for next time.”

I saw a guy at the gas station on the ride home that said he’d worked there for a year and a half and that there was a girl that worked there that frequently napped in the bathroom. Yes, the Exxon bathroom.

I saw enough to provide me with plentiful shock value til the next time.

this may get confusing.

I’m trying to figure out where the beginning is so I know where to start.

Last week, across the dinner table, I sat there looking at him. Mr. Perfect, in all his togetherness. Talk of family, of running and biking, of work, of life. I sat there and couldn’t help but think of where in the big picture he sits. Yes, I have always had in on a pedestal. You know, the kind where you have known someone for a long time, know all of their good parts (and their bad parts too). Know their family and their take on God. Know that a part of you maintains an innocence so that you will be good enough for someone like him. Someone like him but not him. Because with him it just isn’t there. Not 8 years ago and not now, anyway. And that’s irritating. Because here is someone that seems to have, you know, atleast a good percentage of the 20 must haves. And that should be enough, right? Enough for me, at least.

I left the restaurant and didn’t think of him any further. Not in the way I like to have a guy I want to be with occupy my thoughts. Because, well, he just doesn’t occupy my thoughts so much.

A couple of days later the roommate and I were planning a really thrilling evening. And by thrilling I do mean the discussion went from mexican to pizza to carry out or eat in to whether we were going to go to Blockbuster and really branch out to just planning on watching the Sex & the City movie. Yet again. It was Friday night and we are very popular, you see. (I am being sarcastic, for all those who might not be able to tell.) I walked into my room to grab my phone as we set to head out the door and as I looked at it, I saw that The Ballplayer had texted me. Texted to let me know he was headed to the restaurant I too was about to set out for and asking if I was interested.

So we joined he and his friend. For dinner and beer and then to another restaurant for more beer and shots. And then yet another. (Because you know, as I told the security guard when I’d left the office at 5:30 pm, I’m not drinking tonight.) We talked casually but not much of significance to me. We laughed, because the evening was light and fun.

Sitting on a barstool I saw him. My first kiss, the bitter Mr. Athletic. He appeared genuine with his hi hellos. As he always does. And yet I’m still unnerved by the fact that we can’t be the kind of friends that call each other and make plans like we did way back when and like he can with all of our other friends. Not wanting to be your girlfriend in high school does not a bad person make you. In my opinion but apparently not in his.

“Kristin, I just don’t understand why you care that much what he says to others about you. Why is it such a big deal?” the roommate asked me as he walked away. I will explain why this bothers me the same way I explained to my Charleston best friend’s husband today why she is allowed to be unnerved by a coworker’s rude “you gained a lot of weight during your pregnancy” comments to her a few months back. We want people to like us and be nice to us and treat us equally to other people they like and are nice to. I am, unapologetically, consumed with other’s impressions of me. Maybe my heart is warped, maybe my ego is at fault, maybe I’m too damn sensitive. Maybe it’s as simple as something chemical about me. But I want to feel unjudged and missed and loved. From EVERYONE.

There. I said it.

And so, his shit bothers me. It bothered me and kept me from apparently paying attention to The Ballplayer and realizing what the roommate seemed to see so clearly. That he is apparently way into me. And I am apparently crazy for not getting that.

And honestly, for once again, not feeling the same way.

Good guy. Sports fan. Lives with his sister in town. Actively pursues me and clearly doesn’t take “not tonight” for an answer. Makes sure I get home safely and sends me “night sweetheart” texts.

And I’m just, not into him. What the hell is wrong with me?

Friday night was my moment of rehash. Sitting on the final barstool that evening I found myself 4 stools over from The Nice Guy. Oh yes, the teetotaler was at the bar. Not drinking. Duh.

Between he and I was a girl that dated, albeit briefly, Cute Boy.

HELLO, I’m aware this is all too much and it may be difficult to keep up with ALL OF THE GUYS I AM NOT INTERESTED IN. We shall call them my discard pile. Mr. Athletic, The Nice Guy, Cute Boy, etcetera, etcetera. I really wish happily ever after consisted of a road made up of yellow bricks. And not speed bumps.

Tonight I sat at home thinking that maybe my perfect guy, my One, is with someone else right now. Maybe he’s with this girl, or that girl, or SOMEONE. Someone that is not me. That is funny. And beautiful. And everyone loves her. His family and his friends and her friends. (Sad that that’s even a one up on me.)

And maybe it’s okay. Okay that I have these standards and that that great guy with all these great things about him might not ever come around my way. Or maybe he has and he took one look at me and said, “That’s not what I want right now.” And he went off and found someone that fit him for the moment. Or maybe for forever. And that’s okay.

Because maybe if I had my One right by my side right now, I wouldn’t really have all that much to write about.

this may be why i'm single.

The official what I want in a man list. (To be added to at any time.)

1. Be funny. I don’t care if your jokes are corny. In fact, the more better to run in stride with me. But laughter? Laughter’s key. I love to laugh.

2. Like the outdoors. I don’t mean you should regularly use a latrine or holler at me “hey baby let’s go camping every damn day.” I want you to like it. In a conventional sense. Don’t be a lazy dud. Like the prospect of hiking. Tennis and golf. Football.

3. Yea, let’s get this straight: must love football. MUST. College football specifically. I don’t care what team you cheer for but cheer on. And none of this “southerners think too much of their college football teams.” I don’t want to hear it. Love it. And go to games with me. And drink beer. Mmm.

4. Respect me. Not that you can’t slap my ass when you want. But I want respect. As in, listen to what I say. Don’t push me. Don’t take my feelings and toss them aside. And don’t be a jerk to me in front of others. Or in front of anyone. When I’m thirsty in the middle of the night and I say “water, please”? Please for the love of God just get it for me.

5. Respect your family. I once, about a year ago, sat at dinner with a guy who told me about how much of a slack ass his brother was and how trashy his brother’s girlfriend was and yada yada yada. And you know what? It didn’t matter about anything else he said. Because it was not a friend talking casually to another friend about the same old shit. We were on a DATE. A first date, no less. And dating someone means dating their family. (Kind of. You know what I mean.) And he was just losing in all sorts of ways.

6. Respect my family. Because I can tell you all sorts of stories – craaaazy stories – about my brothers, but you should know above all else that I love them unconditionally. And there’s a fine line to draw between sticking up for me when I’m in a verbal disagreement with my mother and making sure you don’t ever say anything negative about my wonderful mom. So I would start practicing tightrope walking now.

7. Be accountable. This is big. If you say “let’s go to dinner next week”? Best take me to dinner next week. If you say “let’s slow down”? Best not mean let’s stop this dating-like game we’re playing and I don’t ever want to talk to you again. I am not a mind reader. And I don’t like having to overanalyze situations or read between the lines. With guys I want to take things at face value. So just freaking be accountable, be someone I can call so I don’t for the next 20 some odd years bug my brother in Gvegas when I might potentially have a nail in my tire or am running out of gas and need to find the location of the nearest Exxon. Or maybe don’t know what temp the thermostat can reasonably be on because I’m freezing and the roommate’s out of town. Be accountable to me. Please.

8. Don’t drink too much. I mean, drink, and if you want to get drunk atleast be a fun drunk. Because there’s nothing worse than a guy with an alternate bourbon personality. Sketchiness while overindulged? Totally entertaining. Knowledge of what wine I should order or beer I should venture to equals an added plus. Also, the 5 to whenever happy hour? Big fan. Not every night, though. Particularly on the random weeknight.  Lots of points if you support this desire.

9. Dance. Dance. Dance. Because I’m going to totally need a guy to lead me.

10. Have your head on your shoulders. I’m really not into that “ooh I’m still coasting my way through Midlands Tech” guy. Or the one that wants to meet up at Sharky’s. Nor the guy that thinks I’m eager and willing to meet him at a friend’s house for a bonfire 30 minutes away from where I live every Friday and Saturday that he asks. And I mean EVERY. Nor even the guy that each time he sees me tells me about all his prospective job opportunities and how busy busy he is at work. Because I really don’t care all that much. Or – oh my – the ones that seem to think I give a damn that they know or work in some fashion with my father. Really, that’s awesome that you think he’s so awesome but he is my dad.  NOT IMPRESSED.

11. Please be able to atleast grow facial hair. That is all.

12. Understand my need for J.Crew and Anthropologie as a part of retail therapy. And the occasional high Target expense. Which is why right now I am restricting myself from Target. As well as Barnes and Noble. Too bad I can’t seem to restrict myself from online shopping. Damn computer.

13. Have religion. Because, and just personally, the whole apathetic/agnostic/atheist stuff does not go far with me. I’m not requiring you to pick a political party (though small judgements can be made if you favor certain politicians over others). But I do think, that for a relationship’s sake, I’m going to have to ask that you love sweet baby Jesus. And no, you best not expect me in church every Sunday morning.

14. Take my good with my bad. Take my insecurities with my sometime edginess. Take my bad clothing combinations with my great outfits. Take my need for Pizza Man alongside my love of Mr. Friendly’s. Take my laughter with my tears and my increased volume with my silence. Take my love for romantic comedies right up there beside my total obsession with the Bourne Trilogy and Superbad. Take the fact that sometimes I don’t want to leave the house and would prefer to watch movies, order in, and play games and love it just as much as the day when I have decided TONIGHT I AM GOING OUT. And I will be overserved. And then blame it on the bartender. Or perhaps you.

15. Be able to safely get me home. Then I can get my mom to quit saying, “Kristin, you have to be more careful when you go out and drink than I do because I have your dad to look out for me.”

16. Appreciate the people around me. Because the people around me are, well, not all that much like me. I want a guy that can hang out with my married best friend in Charleston and her infant baby and great dane, go to Greenville and visit my insanely crazy turned somewhat settled college friend who is soon to elope with her live in boyfriend, go to the least classy college bar in Columbia to say a quick hello to a lunatic childhood friend who gets drunk in under an hour and has the most unholy hookup history, take a trip to Atlanta with me to visit my old bible study leader and her husband, have a drink with my boss, dinner at my grandparent’s, and never once question why they’re all in my life for keeps.

17. Let me win. For the longest time I would have said “fight with me.” I was feisty once and I would have said “I want a guy that likes to argue.” Um, scratch that. I want a guy that doesn’t argue. At all. That when I say, “No, never met them,” doesn’t say, “Yes you have.” And doesn’t say “I told you so” when I call and say, “Actually, you were right I have.” Just says, “Yea, I know.” And smiles. Pretty simple. Let me win.

18. Do not have vanity issues. I could care less if you have a receding hairline. Don’t be that guy (I actually know) that drinks special nasty smoothies his mother gave him the recipe for that are supposed to help with hair growth. Also, I will break up with you the instant you touch hair gel to your head. Be able to throw on clothes without thought and make my heart melt in whatever they are. Be able to dress for yourself and buy for yourself (and me) just like my father does for himself and my mom. Know that I don’t spend a whole hell of a lot of time in front of the mirror and therefore you should spend way less. Be easygoing even about yourself.

19. Have the normal family thing going for you. Not that my family is normal. At all. But normal by my standards. Um, please keep in mind that when dating I not only judge you, I also judge your family. And I want someone whose family is fun! With fun family traditions! (Perhaps so I can someday make them my own. Oh well.) But I want someone that maybe believes in and knows what love is just as I do. Because I can see it in my parents. I sort of kind of want someone that has that too. Bonus: I used to also say that the guy I ended up with needed to have a sister. Weird, maybe. But Gvegas brother once said to me that having me as a sister really helped him understand where his now fiance was coming from a lot of the time. And I really think there’s a lot to be said for that. Also, how cool would it be to finally have a sis?

20. Be my friend. My best friend, really. Let me be able to tell you anything and everything I think and still just love me. Unconditionally. Be my friend in a way that I have always been searching for. The person to whom I can say the first thing out of my mouth to before I can even think it through. Miss me when I’m out of town. Miss me even if we’d never met. Tell me you wish I were with you when you’re gone. Want me on the driving range by your side, out every now and then when you’re with your guys, there with you when you’re nervous or anxious and especially when you’re your happiest. Kiss me in the morning even with our unbrushed teeth. Want me. And love me. That’s all I ask.

hello goodbye.

2008 was a difficult year for me. And it was for a lot of reasons.

I was given a coworker’s job (and she mine) without any salary changes. And was left to spend the remaining months being hated on by her.

I learned the entertaining way that a lot of guys out there? Well they suck. And it’s not in a wow, you’re so great (Note: sarcasm), thanks for breaking my heart sort of way. Um, more so in an I really like you oh wait I just got to know you now I can hardly look at you ew ew ew quit calling me sort of fashion. (I’m so mature.)

I recommitted myself to J.Crew. Not that that was really even in question.

I started grad school classes. Hated grad school classes. Cried a ridiculous lot over grad school classes. Did not enroll further in grad school classes. Sighed heavily at the conclusion of grad school classes.

And then I wondered if I should continue taking grad school classes. (Side note: WTF?)

I had a surgery that changed my life.

I stupidly and irrevocably screwed up a friendship that I can’t seem to better. No matter my efforts. And despite that I understand this completely, it has led to many a sleepless night, countless tears, and a whole hell of a lot of frustration. If I’m being honest.

I had a lot of hateful shit said to me. Notably that I have my own set of rules that are difficult to live by. That I’ve changed in a laughable sort of way. That I don’t make time for people. (Just repeat that last sentence about 10,000 times and you’ve about covered the number of times it has been said to me. Maybe. Almost.) That I do not make enough effort. That I don’t pursue.

I’ve even been told – point blank – that a guy I really really liked was just not that into me. And it was JUST THAT SIMPLE.

I quit being able to sleep through the night without fail and I picked up dreams – er, nightmares – that I never wished to have.

I learned that I apparently wear “sensitive pants”. And, well, that I hate that expression.

I got asked to be my brother’s fiance’s Maid of Honor. One of my best friends had a baby girl and named her Blakely, after me. My mom’s pet scan, just before Christmas, came back clear.

Oh! I had a boy talk dirty to me. Via text message. And it was GROSS. (Totally not for me, sorry.)

I vowed to start off 2009 differently.

I renewed my hope.

reasons why i find dating difficult.

I don’t think I should have to justify why I can’t go out this Thursday night. I have class. (I mean, in all fairness, I do what I want.) Is that an all night class? Cause that’s lame. Actually, Ballplayer, it ends at 8:40, which makes it 2.5 hours. Which means I will have been at the office already that day for somewhere around 9 hours. Which means I don’t want to drive to the middle of nowhere to a bonfire when I have to be at work the next morning at 8 am. You keep turnin me down I might start to take it personally. Just trying to get through work and school, my friend. My bad. I’m just gonna give you a hard time but it would be a lie if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed you aren’t gonna come. Little sensitive there. (Yes, people, I actually typed that in a text message to a guy.)

Next I got, consecutively:

It’s okay. I’ll try again sometime unless you don’t want me to.

Have I given you a hard enough time yet?

Sorry I’m done.

Mind you I edited each of these in typing them here and responded only after the last one with a Hey Ballplayer, I’m sorry, I’m working on a paper right now.

This morning at brunch at Adriana’s, I asked the roommate, “Do you think I was rude to The Nice Guy?” He had sent me a text last night that said, Harper looked bad, and my response was, naturally, I thought he looked good. And as I was sitting there in the light of day reading the sports section where it didn’t blame Harper for our loss but instead, the offensive line, I thought, it’s just so typical for fans to blame the quarterback. (The Ballplayer had too.)

I didn’t hear from The Nice Guy again. “You think that was mean?” I had asked and the roommate assured me no, it was not. “But why do you even care?” she asked. She knows I don’t.

Meanwhile I hold my breath.

afternoon.

Me: “Thought about you earlier as I cut through the avenues. You vote yet?”

Ballplayer: “Yea I voted. Funny cause I thought about you when I passed your office…”

Me: “Did you? I went to Krispy Kreme and got a free donut with my I Voted sticker. Holla.”

Ballplayer: “Yea I did. Damn it I already threw my sticker away.”

Me: “Mmm that’s too bad because it was good. Had sprinkles too.”

Ballplayer: “You are evil. We aren’t friends.”

***

Mom: “What are you doing tonight? You might want to go to bed early so you can get up to find out who the president is. Or, wait, um, maybe you don’t…”

***

The Nice Guy: “You vote this morning?”

Me: “I did! My dad and I got there at 6:30. You did absentee, didn’t you?”

The Nice Guy: “Yeah. How long did you stand in line?”

Me: “I walked out at 8.”

The Nice Guy: “Y’all doing anything tonight?”

Me: “I’m going to my friend Lindsay’s for dinner. What’re you up to tonight?”

The Nice Guy: “Got to attend a reception with [my boss] and no idea how long that will last. I will let you know if we get into anything after that.”

***

Which of these conversations am I entertained by?

general sketchiness.

Last Friday I got home from work and I was in shaky tears and I couldn’t explain it. They were not monthly related. They were not anger driven. They were shaky tears of “oh gosh I really need a stiff drink.”

I sat on my computer checking my email as plans for an evening of trick or treaters and wine evolved. I checked facebook to find the reply to a thread of messages that had started a few days earlier between myself and a guy I’ve known for pretty much my entire life.

Here’s how it went down.

Ballplayer: “What are you up to Friday night?”
Me: “Hey I’m not really sure. I was supposed to be in Charleston but I think I’m going to end up staying here. What’re you up to?”
Ballplayer: “One of my teammates/friends is having a party at his house. Of all the people I could invite, I invited you. If you’re up for it let me know, just figured we could hang out. Since we’re both in Columbia I’m thinking we should probably try that from time to time.”
Me: “Is this one of those things where you have to have a costume? I’m not so great about that… but I like the invite. We do need to hang out…”
Ballplayer: “No no, you don’t need a costume. In fact, I would be surprised if anyone had a costume on. We aren’t those kind of people.”

He called me around 6ish and I ended up calling him back and we enjoyed a nice laugh about the slutty girl scout I’d seen getting out of her car as the roommate and I drove to Earth Fare. He told me to let him know if I ended up wanting to come out to where he was and he’d give me directions. I was already in sweatpants and my have-never-left-the-house-in orange Uggs.

About an hour or so of couch to doorbell Halloween activity later, I caved and asked for the address for “just a couple of beers.” I was already two glasses of red wine deep.

When I arrived at the house almost 30 minutes away, I could see the bonfire out back. Pick up trucks filled the driveway. Ballplayer called and asked if that was my car he saw out front and came to meet me.

I was exhausted. I was exhausted when I was at work Friday. I was exhausted when I got home and tears spilled from my eyes. I was exhausted when I got in the car to meet him. Wine and beers only made me more so.

When we left, I followed Ballplayer and a couple of his friends through the back roads of (classy) West Columbia to sit on a couch with a final beer and watch Halloween-ish tv. And from there? I followed Ballplayer through even more (sketchy) streets to get to his house (which was closer than mine) and pass out in the bed. But first, he let me pick out a movie, of which I chose Bull Durham. And as we lay there (and I made him rewind so I could hear Crash’s best monologue again) we talked a lot in my delirium. It had been almost a year since I’d last seen him.

“You remember you asked if I was engaged when I saw you,” he said to me.

“I thought I’d heard you were,” I said.

“I was all freaked out when you said that. She and I didn’t last much longer. I had gotten in one of those relationships where she really liked me a lot and came to my games and it just happened…”

“Yea,” I said. “Relationships just don’t happen for me. I don’t know what it is but I just can’t seem to get it right. In high school it was this funny voice the guy made and it drove me crazy.” He laughed. “In college it was anything from the way he wore his jeans to hair gel.”

“Hair gel! No…” I knew he wasn’t the hair gel kind. He didn’t have to say it.

I laughed as I fell asleep to Annie Savoy telling it like it is, a boy saying she didn’t do it for him, and an arm wrapped around me.

The next day I awoke in my bed around noon, Gatorade by my side. The roommate and I walked to Adriana’s for lunch with my hope that food would kiss a headache goodbye. When I got home I had a missed call and message from The Nice Guy. What were my gameday plans?

As I showered and got ready to tailgate for the Carolina game, Ballplayer sent me a text message. “How are you feeling sweetheart?” I may have awwwwed.

The roommate and I pieced together a spectacular evening and got to spend time with one of my most favorite people. And The Nice Guy and I never did meet up. On Sunday night, though, he called. I was washing the dishes at the time and called him right back. We have a tentative date Wednesday night, depending on what time he gets back from out of town for business.

What went through my mind last night as I sat watching Brothers & Sisters was the slightly frustrated dialogue I dispensed upon the roommate at the beginning of the weekend. The I shouldn’t be so bothered by the fact that I think he judged me for my alcohol induced conversation, I think I got more giddy when Ballplayer called than I ever have when he has, I want stomach flips talk about The Nice Guy.

I thought about a conversation I had had with Ballplayer. When we talked about a mutual friend and I mentioned “how cute” she is and he said she was a 4, maybe. And we then talked about another mutual friend, who he said was a 6 or so. I said to him, “I don’t even want to know what I rank. Honestly.” And his response was, “You wouldn’t believe me. Whether I said a 1 or a 10, you wouldn’t believe me.”

And then I thought about the fact that what I really really want right now is some guy that makes me giddy from the inside out to grab me by the waist and tell me he loves me. And that ain’t happening.