the heart of the matter.

It started last night with a text message from one of my good guy friends.

J: “I’ve got a friend I want to introduce you to. We think you’ll like him. Good guy.”

Me: “Who’s we? Who’s he?”

J: “He lives in NC now. Went to Clemson. Good friend.”

Me: “That’s perfect. I don’t want to date anyone in town. They would cramp my drinking habits and immediately learn my crazy.”

J: “Ha. You’re not crazy and he already thinks you’re attractive so it works out.”

Me: “What’s this?”

J: “I showed a picture of you to him.”

Me: “Uh oh.”

J: “I’m trying to fully bring you in to my circle.”

Me: “I love it.”

J: “I’ll send you a picture.”

Me: “Ok.”

J: “Tell me what you think.”

Me: “If he’s cool, sure.”

J: “You at all interested?”

Me: “Does he like Tony Stewart?”

J: “Sure.”

Me: “Ok.”

Then it was the facebook message I received sometime after that from another guy.

“Would you let me take you out to dinner one night… catch up in person?”

***

A few weeks ago I was standing in a bar catching up with one of my best guy friends from high school. A frequent topic of conversation for us is about the guy I dated some in high school that he’s good friends with. The guy that seems to, still this day, not be able to be good friends with me.

“It was pretty obvious today. It’s like his aversion to you grows. I’ve never seen him bothered so much by one girl. But I remember how he was when you ended things with him,” he was saying.

“Ridiculous,” was all I could let out. Because it is. Because I have never had this problem with anyone. I have been friends with everyone, no matter the fling or the date I cancelled or the fact that they make my skin crawl.

“I’ve had my heart hurt,” I told him.

“You…,” he began.

“…yes, I have a heart,” I said, interrupting him.

“Kristin, that’s not what I was going to say. I was going to say… you let someone hurt your heart? I can’t believe that. I can’t believe you ever let anyone hurt you. Or that anyone would.”

“Well I have,” I told him. “I’ve had my heart hurt,” I repeated.

And I don’t know that I’m ready for it to get messed with again.

i'm a 5'4" giant.

My brother got married on Saturday. It was the most beautiful, most wonderful wedding I have ever been a part of. The boy who said he understood how the girl worked because of the way I am, married the girl who realized she loved him after he told her he couldn’t just be her friend. And after 5 years together they had the most perfect wedding and the most perfect reception and the most perfect day I could ever have imagined for them.

And my new sister was truly the most beautiful bride.

one month.

One month from today my big brother (far right) gets married.

I think I’m going to start crying right now.

I love him (and her) (and other brother) and I just can’t believe he’s found happiness like this. Because he has.

And I can’t think of anyone that deserves it more.

It gives me hope.

couldn't help it.

Today at the funeral one of the reverends described the deceased as someone you “couldn’t help but love.” He described her as a “gentle spirit” and as a good hearted woman. He described her in so many kind and loving ways that I knew to be true.

I have not been to many funerals in my life, particularly recently, and so I count myself lucky. I have been to the funeral of an 18 year old friend, of my 32 year old youth director, of my grandfather and of my great aunt. But I have not been to many. And of those I attended I cried tears of personal sorrow and pain. Tears that had cultivated and were in earnest.

Today all I could do was listen to the stories that this one woman made true and look at the many lives she had touched. How many lives she had created. How when she was asked, just before dying, what her greatest accomplishment was, her answer had been her marriage.

And I found myself lonely.

It is a feeling, I’m sure, that has been building. I have felt, recently, hurt and upset and frustrated and confused. I have felt many things and I’m finding that loneliness, it seems, is the result of it all. I am lonely.

Riding in the car for the drive with the bossman and two of our farming members I am quite close to, we passed a billboard that said www.iwantanewmarriage.com. Mr. Landy said to me, “Just take out the word ‘new’, Kristin, and that’s for you!”

A lot of times I feel like I portray this judgmental dating nazi. Which I think (and hope) and have been told is quite the contrary. Every so often I feel compelled to throw out a “this guy was insane” or “let me tell you what this fool did.” And yea, I am so incredibly amused by these little tales. Who can imagine working 8-5 Monday through Friday and then some and not having these perks, these ups and downs and these obsessively texty males?

But I am lonely.

I was thinking earlier, in my silence as the men in the car talked about strip clubs (no kidding) and much more, that what I want is a whole lot more than what I’m getting. That waiting for the hypothetical is a whole lot easier than waiting for a particular person to get themself together for you. That I should be, even if someone sees me as someone they can marry, that someone that they have to be with right now, all of the time.

And I shouldn’t be losing sleep over the waiting.

I should be fulfilled and content and whole and happy. And not lonely.

I want to be someone someone can’t help but love.

happiness is a destination that's hard to find. may take some time.

“It scares me. But then I get this feeling, simple but exalted: He’s just like me, just with different details.”

Melissa Bank, The Wonder Spot.

I was sitting there at Harper’s last night, picking at our appetizer, listening to 2 of my close girl friends talk about life and work and frustrations and their relationships. They asked me how my week had been and I went through it. Drinks with an old friend on Monday night, drinks with a boy from high school Tuesday night, a phone call just before I left to meet them for supper from Monday night boy asking me to dinner tonight (Thursday).

“And what’s going on?” they asked me, looking curiously at my face. They have known my every move over the past few months and so they were expectant. They know almost every detail of me.

“It just isn’t there,” I told them. “With either of them, with anyone, it just isn’t there. I mean I keep trying and I’ll keep trying. But that doesn’t make it any easier. The fact that I have a bar I’ve set and I know [he] exists and I’ll wait around til it’s the right time and I’ll give it a whirl with others in the meantime. I mean, that’s all I can do, anyway.”

I am waiting on time.

“I wish we could keep on forgetting to remember ourselves.”

Julie Buxbaum, The Opposite of Love.

Towards the end of dinner the mood changed as one of the girls looked to me and said, “Kristin, I want to ask your opinion.” She started telling me how she had told the other girl on their drive over from their side of town what her thoughts were on that girl’s relationship and the way her boyfriend treats her and what she interprets as to his intentions. 2.5 years into a relationship. He is 33, she 26. He makes promises and doesn’t keep them. He yells at her. He hangs out with her 1-2 nights a week. He is secretive and defensive and rarely invites her out with his friends if even ever. He is rotten but he keeps her. He says he loves her. He says he needs time.

Time.

Who am I to offer advice? Who am I to say “leave him” or “give him an ultimatum”? Who am I to know or to understand or to be able to put myself in her shoes?

Who am I to be anything different? And who am I to not acknowledge that like all females, I understand what it’s like to be glued?

“It wasn’t torpor that kept her – she was often restless to the point of irritability. She simply liked to feel that she was prevented from leaving, that she was needed.”

Ian McEwan, Atonement.

i'm fine with edward cullen.

“Do you think that I could be scary?” He raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened his face.

I thought for a moment, wondering whether the truth or a lie would go over better. I decided to go with the truth. “Hmmm… I think you could be, if you wanted to.”

“Are you frightened of me now?” The smile vanished, and his heavenly face was suddenly serious.

“No.” But I answered too quickly. The smile returned.

(Twilight by Stephenie Meyer)

When I sit back and think about it I’m fine. Really, I am. I’m not putting on a front or feigning mellowness. I’m not fine in an I don’t give a damn sort of way. Because I do give a damn. And I’m not hiding behind the time of year it happens to be at work, pretending that I’m just fine because I’m keeping busy. I’m fine. Really. I am.

I’m fine with waiting for someone to be ready for me. With being the girl that people marry but don’t date. With holding out for something that could be so unimaginably great. With waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

I’m more fine than I was when I finally got boobs after being told all the way up through middle school that I was flat as a board by a guy who is now a deadbeat. I am more fine than I was when I got contacts after years and years of elementary school torture in those damn red Fisher Price glasses my mom thought were just soooooo adorable. (Right here is where I will make a mental note not to torture my hypothetical children in the same fashion.)

I am more fine than I was the last time I woke up and had no clue how I got home but yet seemed highly capable and found the doors locked. Not that it takes much to be more fine than that. I am more fine than I am after the roommate storms into my room announcing I have done something wrong that I don’t seem to agree with. More fine than when 5 minutes later she comes into my room and apologizes. More fine than when 5 minutes after that she crawls into bed with me to watch tv and keeps telling me how bad she feels.

I am fine because the things that are worth having are worth the wait. The things that are meant to be will be. The things that are going to last don’t have to start instantaneously. The things that are truly great come with a truly great story to tell.

I am fine because I have hope. And some expectations, yea, but mainly hope.

And maybe I am a little bit scared, too.

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.

i don't trust myself.

If I’d answered the phone as it rang the other night I would have had to say I was scared. I would have let the alcohol induced conversation flow and would have had to admit that I’m terrified. That so much has happened and at the same time, so little. That for me, this is big. And that I’m scared. And while I know the question keeps being asked if I am and I keep saying no, had it been asked at that minute, had I answered that call, I would have said it. I would have let it spill from my lips just as easily as I let so much else and I would have said I’m really really scared right now.

And then I would have waited. Just like I feel like I have been, for the past month. For the other shoe to drop.

The thing is that this week really threw me for a loop. I got the phone call from a friend that a guy we grew up with committed suicide. That his girlfriend broke up with him and he told her he was going to. That he thought, Hey! I know the answer! This will solve all of my problems.

I talked to my mom that afternoon about it. About this, the second suicide I have heard about in months from someone my age. About what it means to let a relationship completely take you over. About what it’s like to be there, where you think that nothing else could be the answer.

I don’t want that to ever be me.

I talked about drugs. About how this is the second suicide in 2 years I have heard of, from someone I knew from school days, that was tied together with substance abuse. About how I don’t understand. I just don’t get it. I don’t get drugs and I don’t want to. And I just don’t understand what makes me disinterested, what makes me different. Why I am the girl, raised in the same city, same school system, same church, same breed of parentals, who seems to look at them differently. Too scared to go anywhere near them.

Days into this past week I hit a wall. Another wall. This one I realized that all these fears, this inability to grasp certain things, while arguably an element of my naivete, bleeds into every relationship, everything I do. I told my brother last week that I’d sung karaoke while out in Myrtle Beach during a convention. “You must’ve had a lot to drink,” he said. “No, I was on my second and final beer, actually,” I told him. “Well,” he said, “I just know you don’t like people looking at you.” And he was right. I don’t like a crowd looking my way. I don’t like my back to a group because I worry what’s being said. I like to be noticed but I don’t like being looked at.

I sat on a bar stool the other night while people looked on at me. They teased me and I got defensive and I let it bother me. The next day I sat with my mom in the doctor’s office, both of us there for appointments at the same time. We went back to the exam room together and waited side by side. And I listened to her as she spoke of my weight, I watched her as she wiped my makeup off my face that apparently didn’t look right, I stared at her as she told me my hair looked a mess and then lifted up a mirror to show me what I knew, that it looked the same it always does. When I ran by my house afterwards, before heading back to the office, I talked to the roommate on the phone. And suddenly, in the midst of talking in my standoffish voice which she had noticed for days, I started to cry. I cried tears that really don’t mend the fact that this has been a really heavy week. A week where I turned in two final exams. Where I dealt, internally, with all of the above. And at the same time, when I’m trying to figure out all the shit that I have, right now, happening in my life. Because it’s shit I just don’t have an answer to. There’s no arrow. And I don’t want to trip and fall.

I keep thinking why it is that we let other people have such an effect on us. Why it is that it’s so easy to have hang ups. People that you see that bring back all these thoughts. I wonder if it’s really possible for everything to be easy. All in or all out. Nobody get hurt. Nobody lose. Nobody cry unhappy tears. Because seeing those in others makes me want to protect myself, makes me shy away from ever letting them spill from me.

Makes me scared.

i missed november.

The whole month. Honest. I was sitting at my desk this morning and thought, “Holy cow. Where did November go?” Because it just must’ve happened with the blink of the eye.

And somehow I missed it.

I missed returning phone calls I received a month ago in favor of focusing on the most mundane of things. Like how I really want to rearrange my room.

I’ve missed spending time with friends in need and instead have found myself meeting one brother for dinner and spilling my world out to him from a barstool over chicken fingers and a beer. And calling my other oldest brother once for advice and us falling into a routine of talking every day, each phone call consisting of him checking on me, me searching for more words of his infinite wisdom, or him asking me what my ideas are for his fiance’s christmas present because, as he says, “I’ve been pretty right on if you would like something that [she] would like it.”

I’ve missed shenanigans with folks, even leaving places in favor of home, in favor of a family I’ve found to be my pillar as of late.

I’ve missed a time when servitude would be appreciated, when soup kitchens could use help, and instead am the girl walking out of the Publix, lunch in hand, who then finds herself staring at the homeless man digging in the trash can. And all I could think was, this isn’t right. This isn’t cool. This reminds me of San Francisco, not Columbia. Not the Vista. And not one of those thoughts was, “Kristin, you don’t really need this sandwhich, these Rasinets, this Diet Dr. Pepper, do you?” I’ve missed that moment.

I’ve missed a chance to speak up for myself at work. On a Monday morning. When the boss gave me the chance in a conference room with my coworker-that-hates-me. All I could say was, “I haven’t been trained, I don’t know what I’m doing, and all I ask is that you speak to me.” Her response? “It’s not my job to train you.” And me? “I’m not asking you to train me, I’m just asking you to speak to me.” OR TO NOT EMAIL ME THE WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON BEFORE A HOLIDAY “SUGGESTING” THAT SOMETHING GET DONE RIGHT THEN THAT IS ABSOLUTELY IMPOSSIBLE BECAUSE IT “SURE WOULD BE NICE.” Damn right I’ll cc my stank – but yet professional – response to the boss in his deer stand wherever that may be. But can I stand up for myself any further? Can I muster out more than 15 words? There just comes a point where I miss it, want it to pass by, and want everything to go back to normal.

I’ve missed the chance to do the right thing, to turn the boat around as Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember would say, to mend something before it got too broken, and now I fear I’m just not the kind of person that that’s possible with. Because eventually I get too hurt, cry too many tears about it all, and just would rather go home, crawl into bed with a bottle of wine and Snuffles (don’t doubt the security of a teddy bear I’ve had since age 4) and stay there. Maybe until even 2010.

I’ve missed a lot of things the last month, the last few years, in my life. Namely, the opportunity to smoke that first guiltless doobie, make a lot of lasting friendships early on that never fail, fall in love young and get hurt and move on, find a constant in my own sensitivity.

Here’s to December.