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.

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.

when idiots speak.

Yesterday mid-morning I was sitting at my desk entertaining myself as per usual, when I heard a voice down the hall asking if I was in my office. I should have decked it Costanza-style but I didn’t and I waited.

And Cute Boy walked around the corner.

I had been somewhat warned by coworkers that he might be in the office. He is vice president of a council that was meeting in our auditorium.

“How are you doing?” I asked him, his cheeky and confident grin made me cringe as he bounced around my office seeming to take everything in.

“Stretched out like a rubber band!” was his answer.

Let’s be honest, I both expected that and cared not. “I applied for a job,” he continued. This would be the second or third job he had told me he applied for since I’d known him. The first he did not get. And for the life of me, I cannot understand why he would share this information with someone he sees once maybe every 3 months. “Is it close to you or closer to your parents? How is your mom, by the way?” I asked him. I knew his mom’s health had been iffy for some time, but I’m going to be real frank right now right here. I don’t understand why someone would be so vague about health problems to the point where I think his whole family is made up of hypochondriacs, I kid you not.

“It’s about 6 hours away in Valdosta. Better pay! I don’t even know yet if I have an interview,” he was saying. Again, why the heck is he even telling me this? His eyes continued to dart around the office. “So, what’s new with you?” he asked. “You married now?”

Um, what?? I was thisclose to looking at him and saying HEY BUDDY, AS FAR AS YOU’RE CONCERNED I’M A NUN.

Before he left and I said out loud “ew ew ew,” he told me to join them for lunch. “We’re having Beaufort Stew,” he told me. That Monterrey’s I had already subscribed to was looking better and better.

The afternoon passed uneventfully until Cute Boy – or Ew Boy – returned. I saw him coming this time and almost hid in the coworker’s office I was standing just outside of.

“What are you up to this weekend?” he asked.

“Headed up to Clemson on Saturday, I think.”

“Well what about Sunday?” he specified.

“Um, well, I don’t know,” I thought. I mean, Sunday? Really? Who the heck knows? So I recounted my previous Sunday (after he followed up with, “Hypothetically, what would you be doing this Sunday?”) “Well, hypothetically (I don’t even think that’s the right word) I will probably go to brunch with the roommate and then go for a walk and then clean up around the house and maybe go for a run. “And a nap?” he asked. “No,” I said. “No nap. I don’t know when the last time I did that on a Sunday was.”

“Well I was thinking about maybe dinner,” he followed up. “I will give you a call Sunday, if not before.” And then he looked at me with this I have high hopes expression.

Meanwhile, I think I threw up in my mouth.

iiiiiidiot. (say it like napoleon.)

Cute Boy (who maybe needs a new, less favorable nickname) came by my office this morning before he headed to a meeting he was attending in my building.

“How much weight have you lost?” He said it, right when he probably should have been saying “hi hello.”

And then he kept going. “50 pounds?” Yea he asked me that. HE ASKED ME IF I HAD LOST 50 POUNDS.

“Um. No. 5,” I answered. Five. F-I-V-E. Fiiiivuhhhh.

“Really? I can tell. Thought it would be more like 50!”

“YOU THINK I HAD 50 POUNDS TO LOSE!!??”

Holy shiz.

things a man shouldn't say.

Friday night I believed I had successfully avoided Cute Boy and his desire to “meet up” and have a “repeat of last time.” I’d been at the lake all day at El Boss’ house and then gone with McHottie and wife and precious baby boy to a friend of ours’ house on the other side of the lake to hang out for a short while. I’d passed the “time you need to call if you’re making plans.” And I thought this very thought as I drove the hour drive from the lake back into town.

I called my originally scheduled dinner plans and we met up for sushi. “This guy had wanted to meet up tonight; he’s in town for business,” I told her. “But I just don’t like him. I mean, he’s nice enough. But no. And let me tell you the thing about him that really cinches it. Every time we pick somewhere to go eat, he rubs his belly and tells me he’s got to watch his figure.”

Case in point #1: [We're in the car. I'm driving because his is packed with stuff as he is headed out to his farm afterwards.]

Cute Boy: “You pick where we go. I picked last time.” It was a bbq place, btw.

Me: “Okay! You want a hamburger?” All boys like hamburgers. EVERYONE likes hamburgers.

Cute Boy: “Come on! I’ve got to watch my figure..” AND HE WAS SERIOUS.

After finishing up our sushi at Friday’s dinner, the originally scheduled dinner friend and I headed to another bar/restaurant to have one more drink before we called it a night. We walked into the rooftop bar, spent too much time getting one drink a piece, and then joined the crowd in staring up at one of the multitude of tvs hanging up, showing the opening ceremonies. “We need to find a seat,” my friend told me, after a short while. I began looking around.

In the midst of my seat searching to tv watching neck exercises, I heard a stool being pulled out and almost tossed, ever so slightly, my way. Someone’s offering me a seat at their table, I thought to myself, before realizing it was none other than the Brett Favre look-alike, Cute Boy.

I think this is when the word flustered comes into play. But I mean, there they were. Two available stools in the middle of this crowd. So we sat.

Shortly thereafter a bartender showed up to ask if we wanted drinks. Cute Boy ordered some kind of light liquor concoction. “What’s wrong with your beer?” I asked, pointing at his full glass, while sipping from my own.

“Gotta watch my figure,” he told me, hand to belly. NO LIE.

It was shortly thereafter that we left.

Last night, as I was reading from Straight Up and Dirty by Stephanie Klein, a book that had me laughing out loud at both the doctor’s office and the gym yesterday, I found myself laughing again.

He ordered his burger well done, which meant he was terrified of death. Why else would you char a perfectly good piece of cow? After submerging the patty in a swamp of Dijon mustard, he removed the bun, placing it on his pristine bread plate. Would he butter it first? I’m afraid not. His bread plate was his discard station, housing all the unwanted food objects from his main dinner plate. This made me think of a child. “Mommy, eww. Take it.” A child would whine, unable to eat his dinner if a pickle touched his burger. Christian had pickle issues and then some.

“What are you doing?” I asked in a voice that definitely conveyed disgust.

“Dahling, carbs are the enemy.” No, I thought, you, my friend, are the enemy, your own worst enemy. He was a thin man with a thin frame, and he wouldn’t touch a carb. I imagined a life with him where he’d eventually refuse to dine out and insist on eating chicken from a can. He then began to cut his burger into manageable bites, all at once, like a mother cutting her child’s lamb. He was such a Mary.

This is where I need to stop. If you’re a man watching your weight, counting those carbs, do it off peak, please. While dining with a lady, if you happen to eat your burger without the bun, anticipate “visions.” The visions flashing before your date’s eyes are not of pectorals or biceps. Here’s what she sees: you double-knotting laces, you racing to the bathroom after sex to clean, you holding surprise inspections of your children’s sock drawers. All that from a missing bun? Oh yes, because chances are a man who kiboshes the carbs is also quite inept in the bedroom. He might as well just order the fruit plate for dessert.

we'll call them ghosts.

There was a moment yesterday when you cocked your head back with laughter and I thought, “Wow. You look so much like your brother.” I couldn’t say it. (You’d kill me.) So I sat there in silence, for just a moment. And I thought about him. I thought about him, to myself, thinking, “How cute is he?”

I’m not dwelling. I’m not even concerned. I’m not letting the fact of all of this affect me. That you don’t bother to even wonder why and what happened. Because maybe you know and you keep on knowing and you don’t want me to voice it because you are afraid I just might. “You’re not who I thought you were and I don’t have time for the guy that you are,” is what I’d say. If I cared enough to say even that.

“Why does he irritate you so much?” I don’t know. “Why do you have such an aversion?” I’m not sure. “Can’t you even just be friends?” Yea, I don’t think so.

I like everything about you that I know. Except there’s this one thing. Beyond that, you make me laugh. Beyond that, you make me smile. Beyond that, I know you’re better than most.

There is something about you I can’t help but hold on to as much as sometimes I wish I’d just let it go. But you’re there. You’re solid.

Do you laugh when you think of me? Do you even think of me? Did you just want to know me, even just a little bit, because of who my father is? Does it bother you, how closely we end up working together sometimes? Does it occur to you that, for once, you’re someone who is more awkward than I?

I can’t believe it possibly hurt you that much. I find it hard to believe what I’ve been told, over the past two years, as to why you find it hard to be my friend, hard to forgive over something that happened 8 years ago. I find it difficult to believe you don’t recognize my voice or my number when I call you to catch up. I find it amazing how excited you act to see me when you least expect to.

I saw you called again Tuesday night and didn’t leave a message. And the fact that you haven’t texted me in months? Yea, I realized that too. But the other day, when I was out running and I thought about you? I thought, man, I really want to get those earrings back that I left at his house. And that was it.

did i mention i need a vacay?

I am excited to have finally remembered to bill my editor for the past 4 months for a number of reasons. Most notably this one:

I am happy the weekend is over because I am hoping the next one will be better. Maybe it will be in Charleston. Maybe I will have to stay here. In any event it will not consist of work or dog sitting. If I can help it.

I am tired for reasons that I don’t understand. I thought the whole “exercise gives you endorphins” thing Elle Woods talks about in Legally Blonde would be working on me. I think it’s working the other way.

I am irritated for a number of reasons, I think. A few of which I can put my finger on. Some of which are work related. Others which result from a weekend without enough rest.

I am pleased there appears to be a storm brewing. Yay for a little free water.

I am wanting to see The Dark Knight, honestly. Funny thing is, it’s making me start to realize I wish I had a guy to see it with. Because I’d probably get scared. Really.

I am amused that I had to lobby around the office for 25 cents so that I could afford to get a Diet Dr. Pepper. And that I found someone willing to go find that quarter for me, and bring it to me. And that when I went to procure my soda, I saw Mr. Beat coming, said “hi,” and turned my back and went on my merry way. Like a grown up.

I am looking forward to saying that I may have gotten out of my whole predicament with Cute Boy by telling him, when he called a short while ago, that I have to be at one lake on the Friday he asked about and at another lake the next day. And I’m really not sure how much free time I’ll have that evening. Done and done.

I am wishing I had been reading more in the last couple of weeks. But I think that’s what happens when I am not ecstatic about the book club pick. And then I get stuck on it. And then that’s that.

I am ready to go home.