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.

vintage index.

Last night I got a phone call from a guy I know through my West Coast Best Friend.

“Are you as bored as I am?” he said to me, invitingly. “If so, come hang out.”

After a good dinner with a friend of mine and her husband, I did just that. I met him out and drank a few beers with the guys. A welcome distraction from the grown up world.

You know they offer some statistic – which I could attempt to butcher – that for every bout of conversation that lasts some number of minutes, there will be a moment of [awkward] silence to follow. In those bits of silence last night, one of the guys baited the question to us all. “Why are we so bored?”

One offered the need for a change in job. For another, exhaustion. I seemed to think, to myself, it was instead a boredom, floating on the waters of my surface, that was caused by my hoping endlessly and to no avail.

I think this for a number of reasons. When we give up hope what is left? When we’re exhausted we’re hoping to remedy that, perhaps with sleep. And then, in turn, hoping leaves us exhausted.

“Childhood is what you spend the rest of your life trying to overcome. That’s what momma always says. She says that beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it’s the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up. And it will..” birdee pruitt, hope floats.

When it comes to work, I am more so hoping for successes to come of my current roots than for me to be uprooted to find success. When it comes to my home life, I am hoping for mutual respect. When it comes to my family, happiness and health are what I hope for.

When it comes to men, I want neither to hurt or be hurt. Though it’s happened, both ways, I keep hoping. Accidentally Me asked that I give a play-by-play of sorts. Really, a reference to who I have hoped for and who, sometimes, has even been left hoping for me.

Mr. Athletic – My first true crush. Also known as my first kiss. Mr. Athletic was the first guy that annoyed me to the point of I can’t date you. And our relationship might, in fact, be an accurate representation of my entire dating experience. What I do know is that I apparently hurt him more than I was left hurting.

Mr. Perfect – Some might know him as the one I keep going back to. Some might think of him now as Patrick Dempsey. He’s the one I never think I’ll be good enough for. But, in all, he’s the guy I’ve known the longest. He’s the guy I couldn’t just casually date. And, to be honest, the thought of a date once shook my core. Sometimes I really think he just gets me, or reads me, too well. I can talk to him. Like, really talk. And if you want to know, I think this says it all.

Mr. Beat – Also known as, the crash. The friend, the best friend, that showed me in his own way that I just wasn’t good enough. That I wasn’t worth his making time for me. That I could be his best friend and there with him every day and then – suddenly – a nobody. We went from talking about everything to nothing. The truth is that he hurt me. And I didn’t deserve it. But I still have to deal with it.

Good Lookin’ – With him, things just faded off. He was good on paper from the very beginning. I met him through my dad. We’re in the same line of work, though McHottie still swears we’re just on different levels. Really, if I’m awkward he’s got me beat. Still, he makes me nervous. I wanted to hide from him when he spotted me just last week. And that nervousness, that kindred awkwardness, keeps some story there left to tell.

Dreadlocks – My once super secret special crush. I entertained that whole idea for an instant. A this will never work but I’m going there anyway instant. I booted my norm, I envied his heart, and I turned to hate his docility. All in all he wasn’t so much as a lesson learned, nor a learning experience, he was just something fun.

Cute Boy – I called him a Brett Favre look alike and I still swear by it. He’s got the scruff. And the truck. And the job with John Deere. But you know, I think he’s another one of those good on paper guys that just, doesn’t, make my foot pop. And I don’t think he got me – er – gets me. Maybe I’m putting a wall around myself with this one. Maybe I’m jumping off too soon on the basis that we don’t seem to want the same things, that he broke promises (more than once), and that he’s, perhaps, too good to be true. But in any event, I think that I wanted it to work more that it felt like it did, and that I realized, through it all, I just want ever
ything to be.. natural.

“People fall in love. They fall right back out. It happens all the time.” birdee pruitt, hope floats.

today.

Today, I am entertained by this.

Today, I am irritated by the federal government’s lack of reasonable solutions to the issue of farm labor and the amount of time I am having to spend on this cause.

Today, I am wondering why when I saw Good Lookin’ as he worked on Tuesday, I wanted to hide, and why, when he came to find me, I had such a good time talking to him, much more so than I think I had with Cute Boy.

Today, I am tired.

Today, I am frustrated with one of my best friend’s boyfriends and how, after 2 years of living together, a joint checking account, and her helping pay his credit card bills, he could tell her that he’s not sure he wants to marry her because she is not vulnerable enough.

Today, I am wanting this clock, which is totally unnecessary.

Today, I am wishing I had an I-can-lean-on-you friend.

Today, I am craving to know you all.

Today, I am jealous that I have friends flying out to LA to see my West Coast best friend and that my mom flies out Tuesday to Salt Lake City to see my cousins.

Today, I am relieved that Bill Lumbergh in the cubicle next to me is out of town.

Today, I am looking forward to watching American Idol and cooking dinner with my friend Meredith.

Today, I am reeling over whether I made the right decision in turning that job down now that I know that they hired someone.

Today, I am hoping to at some point find my answers.

the "friend" thing.

I sometimes feel like a pawn with new friends.

“Take out of your wasted honor
Every little past frustration
Take all of your so called problems
Better put them in quotations
Say what you need to say..”
john mayer.

I have this idea in my head that there are certain criteria that determine the definition of a real friendship. There are people which I would consider my “friends” yet they have no idea what goes on with me, what I do throughout the days. They’re “by association” friends or, simply, friends of friends. But really, they don’t need me. They don’t miss me. They might ask where I am when I’m not around, but they’re not concerned enough to ask for my number.

That phone number thing is a big kicker with me.

I feel like, if you actually want to be my friend, you get my number. [And no, I'm not going to be the one to ask for yours, typically.] And it almost gets to be uncomfortable in some situations, because there are moments when it is almost awkward. Like when such a friend comes to pick you up somewhere and you’re somewhere else and there’s a miscommunication with the 3rd party and it all has to get sorted out and there seems to be no thought in there about why you each don’t have the other’s number. Especially, one might think, if you’re friends. And I know it’s hard to explain this “rationale” I have. And I know, even, that too much thought has been given to this whole diatribe. But I’m wondering, just as I did in college, whether oftentimes you should consider certain people your friend or merely, a friend of your friend. Because, you know, if we want to be picky, let’s start here.

It’s funny though, don’t you think, that I’m better friends with some of these people than some of the people whose numbers I have.

Let’s see.

Good Lookin’ has my number.

And so I feel inclined to mention that at the wedding I went to on Saturday, Good Lookin’ was there. Good Lookin’, as you know, knows my father through work, and so they spoke for much of the reception. And towards the end, he came to speak more than merely a hello to me.

GL: “What are your plans after this?”
Me: “I’m probably just going to stay at Mom and Dad’s. They live right around the corner.”
GL: “You’re not going to go downtown?”
Me: “I don’t know. If I do, I have to stay at my house. Dad doesn’t want me coming back this way too late.”
GL: “Well I think we’re going to 5 points. You want me to call you and let you know where we end up?”
Me: “Sure.”
GL: “Okay. I’ll talk to you in a little while.”

And, to all, do you think he called?

That answer would be no.

on the right foot.

A few weeks ago I got mad at a guy in my office when he told me I was “too picky” when it comes to guys. My great comeback? “Well you’re sexist when it comes to girls.”

“How do you figure?” he asked me.

“You don’t think girls know anything about football. It’s like the he-man-women-haters-club when it comes to football chat here.”

“That is not true. You said Proctor would be bust last year as QB and you were right about that. You were the only one that was. I talk to you about it.” Honestly.. I was right about my football predictions last year.

“Well you’re just like the other guys – off to play golf and leaving the girls out.”

“I’ve told you, let’s go play sometime. Bring your clubs to work and we’ll play hooky.”

“I’m not much of a play hooky from work with a coworker kind of girl,” I told him.

“You haven’t proved I’m sexist. You are picky, though.”

“And how do you figure?”

“You dropped that boy from upstairs.”

“No. That boy from upstairs didn’t want me.”

Last night I was sitting and thinking about all the goings on lately. I was talking to the 15 year old I’m babysitting (if you can even use the word) and we were talking about the kids at her school – what they’re doing, things they’re saying, that petty stuff that makes you hate high school – and I thought and said, with such ease, “I don’t miss that.” She’s a cheerleader but not a pot stirrer. She’s a beauty but she’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen. And even she’s going through it. Those mean and conniving friends. The peer pressure.

The growing up.

One thing I’m thankful for from high school – the one thing – is that I stayed true to me. I didn’t compromise who I am. And I wish that, so much, for her. I wish that her purity and her kindheartedness will not be affected by the gossipping and the cliques. I wish that she’d be picky about people too.

Lately, truthfully, I don’t think I’ve been so picky.

Mr. Beat, as much as he meant so much to me, was nothing like what I wanted him to be. And it can be as simple as his handling of friends and as petty as the fact that he can’t just blend in anywhere – like at a hunt club or a hip hop concert. The boy didn’t even like country music.

Good Lookin’ was oh so handsome. But his poshness was not quite a match for my quirkiness. And it’s one of those little things I picked up on.. but quickly dismissed. I mean, if there’s something about him that’s too polished for me, what is that saying about me?

Dreadlocks. I don’t even know if I need to say anymore, do I? I loved his view on life and the things he loved (fishing, music, Clemson). But his reaction to events? His nonreaction, really? It was rude. Things about him were just rude. Y’all taught me that much.

I can meet a guy and think he’s cute and nice.. and then all these words that people have said to me start flooding in.. “too picky”, “shallow.” They all kind of.. leave a mark. I guess it’s ridiculous to think that it can be just as easy as 1-2-3. I’m not expecting perfection, but I am happiness. I want someone to like me that’s kind and fun and likes to stay busy and take road trips and play outside and be silly and at the same time kick back. “I am someone who is looking for love, real love.. ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love..” (Carrie, Sex and the City).

And that’s that.

"the unexamined life is not worth living." socrates.

I came back to work a few days over Spring Break my senior year in college in 2006. It feels like yesterday. But it sometimes seems like the year ago it was. In many ways it was also a lifetime ago. There I met McHottie. He had started a few months prior, after I’d left to go back to school from Christmas break. He’s charming and southern and all that. He quickly, once I graduated from college, became a close friend, a brother of sorts. He’s my advice giver. He’s my friend. He makes me laugh. Usually.

Yesterday, he found humor in my defeat. Yesterday, he came to find me in the Accounting Department, telling me the guys were looking for me. I came around to our department and nobody said they’d been. I came into my office and he’d put toilet paper in my trash can and tossed my phone on top of that. Is that funny? Making a make-shift portajohn to make fun of me. Hm. My mom sure thought so. I’m still too frustrated about everything to find humor. I don’t like being made fun of.

McHottie, despite all this, has seen me through a lot of things.

He’s seen me through Mr. Beat who he thought wasn’t rough and tumble enough. That’s putting it nicely. He saw me on the other side of that and he offered me words of comfort, of “his loss” sorts of things.

He saw me through Good Lookin’ who he didn’t think was intellectual enough. Those were his words, indeed. I think in many ways he helped me weed away from that affection. I saw Good Lookin’ Saturday night and there was nothing there at all, as I preferred to be inside the bar taking shots rather than making more small talk.

He’s watched me with MJ who on any number of levels he has advised me to stay away from. And I have, as he’s not exactly my type anyway. But he’s seen the way we interact and he’s joked about our tete a tetes.

And he’s brought up this thing with his brother. First, being that he should set us up but wasn’t sure as he thought it might be incestuous. Next, asking me a month ago if I thought his brother was cute. When I said, “Yea..”, he said, “Well maybe he thinks you’re cute too and I should set y’all up.” And now, with me making a harmless joke about his brother kissing me sparking something wild. He flat out doesn’t think I should have told my work mama. I flat out don’t think it matters.

And that’s where we’re now.

abracadabra.

Last night, as I was helping a friend move some furniture into her apartment, I received word from McHottie.

McH: “I am so sorry.”

Me: “What did you do?”

McH: “You’ll see.”

Me: “Tell me.”

McH: “Uh uh.”

Me: “I will hurt you.”

Yea.. apparently I resort to violence. But when a coworker and confidant apologizes to you for no reason.. you just kind of.. start to see the cracks everywhere and wonder what in the world they could have done.

So maybe I was overreacting.

Maybe.

About an hour later and after receiving no response back from McHottie, I get a phone call from his friend MJ. And, as I actually did “miss” the call, I subsequently got a voicemail.

“Hey miss.. I hope you are screening my call because you do not realize who is calling. That’s what I’m hoping. But anyway, this is MJ. It is Wednesday evening. And if you get the urge to call back.. call me back. Talk to you later. Bye.”

Being that I was out for drinks, I did not call him back. And about an hour later, I received a message from him that said, “You can’t return my call?”

So I called.. and rambled something like “who’s screening who’s calls now” in my message. When he returned that call, I was asleep. There appears to be a certain window of time in which you can catch me in. I’m not so much of a telephone person. (Hence why I choose to hide behind a computer screen all the time.) I think it has to do with my rather large fear of social awkwardness.

So McHottie rolls into work this morning and won’t come more than 20 feet of me. (I take it he took seriously my threat.) It appears MJ called him, at home last night, asking specifically for my number. And what is interesting is that I had already told McHottie, explicitly, that he was not allowed to give out my number. This is not the first time. (Hence his apologies.)

Have I mentioned MJ before? A friend of McHottie’s from college, I first met him at Cup but don’t recall that. And I was, allegedly, a legend well before then.. as I had worked with McHottie at that point for an entire year and he had spoken frequently of me to MJ. I use the term “allegedly” very pointedly as, from what MJ has said, it is very difficult to believe all. But, what has been told of me must far exceed me. I have seen MJ a number of times since. Once, at a cocktail reception at work, he sent McHottie a message that said “Kristin better not be there.” I suppose it doesn’t occur to him that McHottie sees me every day.

He [MJ] also helped bring a dance off to life at a party we went to in June.. consisting of me dancing with Good Lookin’ and then MJ asking me to dance in the in-between times. All the while saying to me, “Is that your boy? Who’s your boy? You need to go back to your boy?”

Last I checked I don’t have a boy.. anything.

Anyway, entertaining it is.. I dare say. Somethin’ to talk about, I admit.

hole in one.

Last night I heard on the radio (103.9 if you wanna know) that T. Pain is performing at Club 3000 tonight. I kid not, this was of interest to me.

I decide to send McHottie a text asking if he was going to make an appearance seeing as though we sat in his car Thursday morning listening to “Buy you a drink” being played from his CD player.

At 7:47 am today, he responds with a “Had my tickets reserved for two months.”

And then, subsequently, Good Lookin’ sends me a text at 7:51 am that says, “I’m playing golf with [McHottie] this morning.”

Apparently these people haven’t gotten the memo that it’s Saturday morning.

I respond to McHottie with, “Liar. Have fun golfin.”

His comeback? “I will. Just have to keep my teammates from fighting each other over you.”

“Yea right.”

"a bird with one wing can't fly."

Even the strongest people you know get scared, they get nervous, and they feel insecure. Even the most put together people you know are not always so sure of things.

My dad is like my rock. He is this solid and indestructible fixture in my life. He has never, in my entire life, let me down. He has never failed me. He has never disappointed me. He is amazing if amazing could fly.

He is who I call to solve my problems and who helps me to determine my actions. He is the man that is sometimes impossible to get in touch with because he works so damn hard. He is who I send emails of links to pink laptops and cute houses with questions like, “What do you think? A good birthday present for me from you?” And his response is always the same and in its simplicity, always makes me laugh. “Too much,” he says. And that is all he says.

If he were to tell me to jump, I’d jump. I trust him that much.

Last night, we fit it into both of our crazy weeks to have a father daughter dinner. We went to his favorite restaurant (Mr. Friendly’s) while Mom stayed home and “did yoga.”

Dad is currently at the hospital being prepped for surgery. He will be anesthetized and then have a part of his cancer removed from the top of his head.

And he was nervous. And when I’d ask him about it last night, he’d change the subject.

In fact, we had quite the conversation because Dad would talk about anything and everything but what’s going on today and what will keep him out of commission for atleast the rest of this week.

“Dad, what are your plans for this weekend?”
“Missed you in church on Sunday, Kristin.”

So that was fun.

At some point, I lifted my fork to eat and the food fell off and back on to the plate. (Yea, I’m not the most graceful girl in the world.. contrary to popular expectation because I used to figure skate.) I said to Dad, “This is why I don’t date.”

“Yea, I was really wondering about that,” he said in a voice so full of sarcasm.

He then added, “I thought you were near engaged.”

And there’s his Good Lookin’ reference for the night, referring to when Good Lookin’s boss introduced him (GL) to my mother as “the guy Kristin’s seeing.”

News to me.

So Dad.. seeing as though he is through whom I know Good Lookin’ decides he will email him to say, “I had dinner with Kristin tonight.”

The response? “I didn’t get my invitation.”

About an hour or two later, it’s rounding about 10:15 last night and I am still at our Youth Leadership Conference tallying ballots for our mock Speaker of the House elections, and I get a text from Good Lookin’ that says, “I heard you had dinner with your dad tonight.”

The short diddy of correspondence [which occurs on my drive home from the conference and as I begin my articles for the paper – of which deadline was last night] goes as follows:

“I sure did.”
“Yeah. He emailed me to tell me.”
“Did he really?” Play dumb, Kristin.
“Yeah. Was I mentioned during dinner?”
“Yes. He was telling me a funny story about [your boss].” Truth!

And this morning, either because of an unexplainable delay that keeps happening mid our conversations, or because he needed to think on it, I got a text message at 8:30ish a.m. that said, “Well there are so many I could only imagine.”

“Well he is quite the funny guy I hear.”

he's just not that into you.

I’ve kind of always operated on this “well maybe they’re just testing me” idealism when it comes to guys.

Hey, I test people all the time.

So when Good Lookin’ called me Tuesday night just to chat as he was driving home from work, I thought, how sweet. And when he got home and had to go so that he could get some packing done but said.. “I’ll call you a little later when I’m headed down to Charleston,” I thought, I guess he really does want to talk to me. It had been awhile..

And yet when he never called, I got to thinking.. is this a test?

Why not?

The last time he did that.. we were talking on a Saturday night.. he was in Charleston that time too.. and he told me he’d call when he got back to Columbia on Sunday night. Monday night.. that’s when he called.

I don’t play hard to get, I play impossible. And I don’t act like I’m interested just enough for you to know that I am and to be intrigued. I act like I’m not interested so much that there’s no way that you could ever think I am.

And I’m just guessing here.. but is that wrong?

I’ve been making an effort lately to change that some. Maybe nobody’s noticing it but me.. but when you’ve got 2 brothers.. you kind of shy away from being the “crazy relationship” girl. That would just be too totally uncharacteristic of me.

So I brought the situation up to the roommate. And I linked it to a reference she had made about a guy that would say to her, “I’ll call you right back.” And he never would.

And you know what she said? “That’s how I realized he just wasn’t that into me.”

Hmph.