Monday, May 31, 2010

Just a few questions

You know that boy from Chicago who I mentioned that Meg was seeing? He was supposed to visit her this weekend. She was so excited. Got them tickets to the Tigers game and everything. After a no-show, no-call, no-text, no-email, fell-off-of-the-face-of-the-earth, Meg's heart is a little broken. And I want to injure that little fucker.

Why can guys be such douchebags?

So, one of my mom and dad's neighbors has, like, 10 chickens that she keeps on her property. Totally against city code. (I looked it up today in a fit of rage.) I let Ell out today and somehow didn't clamp her chain properly. So, of course, the dog is racing into their yard and scaring their chickens and the woman's (really odd) teenage daughter flies out into the yard and is freaking out. And I feel awful about it but the dog, thankfully, doesn't kill any of the chickens but it was just a horrible and awkward situation that we wouldn't have if they didn't have illegal chickens. ...or if I could properly care for the damn dog. My mom has mentioned getting rid of Ellie because she's such a wild woman. But the situation would be so different if there weren't all of these damn chickens milling around the whole neighborhood. (Seriously. They're always in our yard.)

Who in their right mind keeps chickens in a city?

My summer soccer season starts next Sunday. I am so amped up for our season to begin. Summer soccer is, without question, my favorite league to play in with my favorite group of girls to play with. Unlike most years, I've barely played soccer since the end of last season. I'm interested, and concerned, to see how my skills held up over the long winter. And my legs. And my lungs.

What's the likelihood that I'll be able to get into really, really great shape by next Sunday?

I'm not looking forward to going back to work tomorrow. Every day there is an endless guilt trip. Guilt for leaving to go to "school" (which is really the 'brary). Guilt because I'm leaving for two weeks. Guilt because I only worked 47 hours last week. Guilt because I have yet to get the company logo tattooed on my thigh.

Who do they think I am and how much do they think I care?

I'm still plugging along at Eat, Pray, Love and I'm a little underwelmed. With all of the hype, I really expected more than to feel like I'm trudging through the mucky bottom of a pond.

Why is Eat, Pray, Love so appealling to the masses?

A three day weekend is exceptionally more awesome than the two day weekend. And, to add insult to injury, I'll be dropping back down to the one day weekend as of Saturday. (Due to a building remodel, I haven't had to work at the 'brary on Saturdays for the past two months.) Oh, the cruel reality of being an adult.

How much longer am I going to have to keep up this exhausting schedule?

Friday, May 28, 2010

My life as a travel agent

I have this bad habit of blogging about something but failing to follow up on the outcome of whatever silly drama/conundrum/event/comment/feeling/boy that I was excited/scared/stressed/pissed/confused about.

But this, kids, is not one of those times!

(Although, please feel free to call me out when I do that. It isn’t often that I’m reluctant to write about something, but I tend to forget. Or get too caught up in whatever is happening next in my life.)

Anyway. My hotel in South Africa. Remember how it burned down?

It was cute, right? Such a shame. It was booked out for the entire month of the World Cup. I’m sure that it was quite a loss for the owners and staff.

If you read my original post, you may remember that I was fairly worked up on the day that I found out about the fire. The next few days were a little dicey, too, as I worked my way through the whole ordeal.

First: I had to determine if the whole situation was legit. I so wanted to believe the hotel owner and take everything at face value. Doing so seemed reckless, however. What if it was a complete scam? What if they were moving us for some other shady reason?

Then: I had to make a decision on where we were going to stay.

The owner of the original accommodation secured us reservations at an alternate hotel just down the street that, fortunately, had some rooms open up at the time of the fire. It was an even exchange: we wouldn’t be paying any more and we wouldn’t be paying any less.

Which I was fine with, assuming that the new place was equal or greater to the old place. And assuming that the new place didn’t charge less per night than we were paying. If you’re going to rip me off, I’m breaking out my travel insurance and going elsewhere.

But they weren’t. After a bit of sleuthing that may or may not have required me to use an alternate email address to conceal my identity, I discovered that the new hotel is actually charging $65 more/night per person than what we’re paying. So, we’re sort of getting a deal. I love deals!

The new place has a few convenient amenities that the other did not, which is lovely, and the owners of the old place are holding firm to their other commitments (which is actually what enticed us to book there in the first place): they’re still providing airport and local shuttles, as well as organizing a few small tours.

I’m still crossing my fingers, but it looks like it will all work out!

And, if it doesn’t, I’ll have plenty to blog about! Well, plenty to start blogging about. Ya’ll will have to make up the conclusion to that story, too.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Dr. McHero

The last time Meg and I took a long flight together was when we went to Cabo San Lucas. I was a senior in high school.

Meg was in 8th grade. And a pain in the ass. Flopping around in her seat constantly. Restless. Bored. Annoying as hell.

While a lot has changed in the last 10 years, I've been nervous about Meg's behavior on our flight to South Africa since I booked it last August. It isn't like she's shy about her dislike of long flights: she's definitely turned her nose up at trips overseas because "the flight is too long."

Today, Meg went to see her surgeon for her second postoperative appointment.

(I mentioned that she had shoulder surgery last month, didn't I?)

It was a good appointment, apparently, as she was freed from wearing the sling she's had her arm in for the past five weeks. Three cheers for that!

During the appointment, she pestered the doctor for more pain medication. She was out and afraid that she'd be in pain and in Africa. Which led to the conversation about why she's going to Africa. Which led to the doctor's jealousy.

Which led to the doctor writing those pain medication prescriptions.

And one for Ambien.

Because that man is a saint.

Or has witnessed enough of Meg's high energy to be seriously concerned about my mental health.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010


I'm a little concerned about what I will be coming home to when Meg and I arrive on June 29.

This World Cup sort of feels like the only thing that I have right now. It is what I look forward to. It is how I pass the time: researching and booking and planning. It is the pile of clothes in the corner of my bedroom. It is the folder that I've been hauling everywhere with me.

What am I going to do? Who am I going to do it with? I don't do well with free time. I don't do well with an empty calendar.

I'm in a funk.

Or I'm anticipating being in a funk. Right now, I have just enough to keep my chin up. I'm hanging on by a thread.

And I'm afraid that I'm going to go home to no prospects. To more of the same. More boys who don't like me enough. More jobs that lead me nowhere. More friendships that feel distant. More frustrated.

More whiny blog posts.

...maybe I should apologize in advance for that right now.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Nothing but the facts

Fact: tomorrow would start off much better if I had gone to bed an hour ago.

Fact: this is my first blog post from my new laptop, which I've had for 10 days but haven't even turned on because I was a little busy and also because I have a strange emotional attachment to my old laptop.

Fact: today, I applied for two jobs away from home but not crazy-far-away from home, so maybe all of that babbling I did on my blog over the weekend wasn't my normal all type, no action.

Fact: I started reading Eat, Pray, Love this weekend.

Fact: I just finished eating hummus and pita chips in my bed. I don't normally eat this late, nor do I normally eat in bed. I'm predicting a night of wild dreams.

Fact: I topped the hummus and pita chips off with a piece of Godiva chocolate.

Fact: I am feeling obnoxiously poor lately. This trip to South Africa will not help. When I get home, it might be time for me to start on some intense anti-consumerism purchase embargo.

Fact: I called my dad tonight just to say hi. And because, after calling home twice but not asking to talk to him, he told me mom if I did it one more time he was going to punch me "right in the fact."

Fact: My dad has never yelled at me. Needless to say, he's never hit me, either.

Fact: tomorrow will start off much better if I go to bed now instead of in 10 minutes.

Sunday, May 23, 2010


I'm not certain that I did anything
Of note
This weekend

And, still,
From 1:00 pm
I was ridden
By the worst case of
The Workweek Is About To Begin
In the history of the world

(I wanted to cry,
a little bit,
which is always a sign
that maybe it is time
to make a change)

The anxiety
Unpleasant, yes
But at least I'm
A feeling

Instead of just
Going through the
Of my ungraceful

Which is all
I seem
To be doing
A hundred times


Saturday, May 22, 2010

Cutting the cord

Meg has just started casually dating this kid who lives in Chicago. (They met in a bar here, apparently.) She said that they were going to try to get together twice per month this summer - and make some decision about where they stand when summer is through.

As she is saying this, my mind is saying "I could never do that. I could never be away from my family so much."

Followed soon after by "OMG, YOU'RE 27 YEARS OLD. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

A lot. As we all know. A lot of wrong with me. One of those things is my closeness with my family. If I am physically nearby, I feel as though I must be with them. If I don't have other plans, I'm probably with my family.

And I am sure, very sure, that it has a negative impact on my other relationships. Because everything and everyone is second to my family. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to break that on my own. I might need the distance.

If it is a Saturday afternoon, for example, and I don't have any plans (which I generally don't), I'm probably with my mom. And maybe we decide to go shopping. Meg meets us at the mall. And then my dad calls and says that he is going to make dinner. All of a sudden - my entire Saturday night is planned. And I would feel so guilty leaving to have dinner or drinks with a boy or with a group of friends. My mom is happy when we're around and so that's what I do: I go around and I make her happy. It makes me happy, too. In that moment. But I'm not sure if it is making me happy in the long run.

I'm not going to meet someone at Mom and Dad's house.
I'm not going to create a life of my own when I'm socializing with the family friends who have known me since infancy.

And I want to meet someone and I want to have a life of my own and I want to stop being so scared to go out and do these things. I want to stop running home instead of going out on my date because home is comfortable and safe and nearby.

Moving for a job - only for a job - makes me feel ill. Moving to challenge myself? To let myself grow up? It feels like a goal. Like I'm striving for something very specific. And ya'll know how much I love the feeling of completion and accomplishment.

Leaving the nest at 27. I am so wild and crazy.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

I'm going to rant for just a second here

Dear Television Writers and Producers of America,

I am already scared all of the time.

Like when I'm walking to the car by myself. Or when I'm in an unfamiliar place. Or when someone is really, really angry. Or when I'm imagining sounds. It's all scary. I am already scared. Always.

So, your scary? It isn't The Scary. The big, bad world is The Scary and your scary? It's just a little frosting on top. Melted frosting. Runny, melted frosting. It doesn't add much to The Scary of the world. It just dyes your tongue.

And right now my tongue is dyed the color of SCARED SHITLESS.

Don't you realize that I watch your show because I like the romance and because I find scrubs to be particularly fetching on attractive men? Not for the scary. Never, never for the scary. There is enough scary.

Give me hot doctors.

And a sleeping pill. It is going to be a long night.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Unexpected delight

I love shopping at Trader Joe's. I love wandering the aisles in search of my new Favorite Thing To Eat EVER. And I always find it. (Lately, it has been frozen mango. Paired with protein powder and yogurt. Best smoothie EVER.)

And, while I'm never one to feel particularly warm about a greeting from an employee at the stores that I frequent, the employees at Trader Joe's always seem genuine. They're always striking up a conversation about something that I have in my basket and - I don't know - it just tends to be a pleasant interaction.

On Monday night, the cashier commented on the Inside Out Carrot Cake cookies that I had picked up. "Oh, these cookies," she said. Her eyes were big and she smiled at me, like we shared a secret.

"They're actually a bit too sweet for me," I told her. "I picked them up for a coworker. She had a really bad day today and I know that she just loves them."

The cashier thought that was so sweet. She finished ringing up my groceries and, while I was swiping my debit card, she scurried away from the register.

She came back with a small bouquet of flowers.

"You give these flowers her, too. Flowers always make things better."

It was a perfect, small, genuine gesture. I don't think that she did it to make me a customer for life. But it made me one anyway.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

In search of an ice bath

Well into my fifth year of blogging, sometimes I think that I've covered it all. That there isn't even one tidbit about myself that I haven't shared here.

And then I dig down deep and, oh! I've never blogged about 5th Grade Camp! Nor have I ever told the story of my first skating competition. Or the major feud I had with my cousin Liz when we were in middle school.

Here is your fact of the day: I'm not a big fan of ice. I don't make it. If I'm getting a glass of water or iced tea (I don't drink soda - have I ever told ya'll that?), I usually don't bother.

There isn't any reason behind it. Just how I am.

It isn't something that I even realize that I do, until I have someone over and I'm all embarrassed because I can't even put ice in their water (because I usually don't have soda, either, and I'm sure that my guests wonder why they've agreed to visit a third world country).

Tonight, however, I could go for some ice. A LOT of ice. Enough ice to fill a bathtub.

I returned to soccer. And, OMG, I hurt.

I hurt so bad that, if I kept ice in my freezer, I would seriously consider dumping it all into the bathtub for an ice bath.

I'm really looking forward to tomorrow. If I hurt this bad already? I'll be lucky to get out of bed without the help of major painkillers.

This is what getting old feels like, isn't it?

Other than my aching ass, ankles, back, hips, shins, quads, hamstrings, eyebrow, shoulders and clavicle, I had an awesome time. It was a totally informal drop-in sort of a game. A bunch of random people showed up. We broke into two teams. And played for nearly three hours.

Let me repeat that: three hours.

And that is why I hurt so bad.

It was still the perfect evening. Casual and social and sporty and fun.

In my past life, I must've been European.

...or Brazilian or Argentian or Argentinian or Ghanan or Korean or...well, I wasn't American, I guess.

Monday, May 17, 2010

This shit only happens in movies

I just got an email from the owner of our guest house.

"I have the most devastating news. Our beautiful guest house burned to the ground, it took a direct hit from lightning and was gone in 15 minutes."


As in, it is completely and totally gone.


It sounds like there is a guest house close by that they can transfer our reservation to. But I'd like to do a bit of research before blindly accepting the offer.

OMG. OMG. OMG. This is so unbelieveable.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

The weekend in run on sentences

I saw Luke on Friday night. I was halfway expecting it to be our last hurrah, instigated by him. But it was not. What it was, oddly enough, was a really simple and enjoyable evening. What it did, unsurprisingly, was mush my brain into many small pieces of indecision. I like this boy. I dislike this boy. I want to like this boy. This boy doesn't like me. This boy has all of the qualities that I am looking for and one that I'm really not looking for. And that quality is neediness. Or maybe I'm just a bitch.

Decision on Luke: delayed until further notice.

* * * *

Interesting factoid: I leave for South Africa in LESS THAN A MONTH.

So, I'm spending all of my free time:
a. Finalizing plans
b. Daydreaming

Let me just put this in writing: Meg hasn't done a single task to contribute to the planning and execution of this trip. Please remind me of this if/when I blog about her complaining about any aspect of our adventure. Remind me of this and then tell me to pinch her, hard. Please.

* * * *

Lucy and Chet had a little gathering on Saturday night. Chet barbecued huge amounts of meat. We sat on their patio and drank and ate and it was lovely. Except that I was the only one there without a significant other.

I have never, ever felt so single.

And I wonder, a little bit, if that's why I feel like I haven't seen much of Lucy lately. If she's busy doing couple things with their couple friends and I just don't fit into the equation because I don't have a male counterpart to drag along with me.

I sort of hate myself for even entertaining that thought. Lucy isn't like that.

* * * *

I have a thing for one of the librarians I work with.

He is awesome. He has a girlfriend.

But he has this personality that really meshes well with mine. I like my guys a little sarcastic. Clever. Quick on their feet. And smart, I like them smart and Mr. Librarian totally is.

Being married to a librarian would be really weird.

We'd have really nerdy kids.

And the girlfriend. We'd have to find a way to get rid of the girlfriend.

...I think I'll just admire from afar.

And flirt shamelessly.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

I probably shouldn't say any more, but:

Today I was a witness to an attempted robbery at a jewelry store.

Shit was crazy.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Sold on the sparkles

My mom and I rarely go shopping without Meg in tow, but we did on Saturday afternoon.

We came across a fabulous pair of heels. Immediately, we thought of our little Meg, lover of all things sparkly. They looked like they had been dipped in glitter. But in a classy way. Without a sequin in sight, peep toes, delightful and adorable.

I wasn't sure of Meg's shoe size.

And she doesn't have any upcoming events that she needs a pair of shoes for, so we passed on them.

Mom dropped the shoes into a conversation with Meg over Mother's Day brunch. "We saw the most beautiful pair of shoes, they were so you," she mentioned in passing.

Meg, who does love her shopping, took note.

Yesterday, towards the end of my workday, I get a text message from her.

Meg: Quick! Should I go get those shoes or no? Only you have seen them so only you know!
Aly: Have you seen them?
Meg: No.
Aly: I should remind you that you owe me money for our hotel. But you are getting money back from those hockey tickets...
Meg: Not helpful!
Aly: Ha. Pass on them! Have restraint!
Meg: Oooook.
Aly: I'll tell Mom to get them for you for your birthday.
Meg: They are so beautiful that they will be gone by then!
Aly: Oh, just trust me, turd.

The moral of this story is that my sister is so crazy that she fell in love with a pair of shoes that she's never seen.

And I'm so crazy that I stopped at the mall on my way home from work and bought them for her.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

I have turned into one of those crazy girls

I would be safe to say that Luke is officially off of Team Alyson.

Nothing official. No discussion. But clear to me by his new lack of enthusiasm and a text message, which would require more explanation than it deserves (so trust me on this one), in which he referred to himself as both single and not married. He has given up on me and I suppose that is okay. Except that it hurts. Rejecting him felt a hell of a lot easier than being rejected by him.

I hate that it is ending this way. Just winding down slowly with no conversation, no closure. Nothing final. We’re like a tire with the air slowly, slowly leaking out and I’m standing on the side of the road and I know that there is trouble but I can’t find the hole. I don’t know where the source of the problem is.

But I suspect that the problem, in this case, is me.

I’m a little pissed with myself. I didn’t give this my all. I didn’t try hard enough. I spent the entire time that I was with him being terribly, terribly afraid. Of what? Of a guy who actually likes me?

I am ridiculous.

And wanting this to work out. Or just be over.

Some closure, please. Or some clarification.

I wonder what he’s doing on Friday night.

Sunday, May 09, 2010


Like: Spending my Saturday afternoon with Mom. We saw Babies. Shopped a bit. Had coffee and split a peanut butter cookie. It was the afternoon that I needed and, hopefully, the afternoon that she needed, too.

Dislike: It was a rotten weekend for weather here in the mitten. Cold and rainy and yuck! Isn't it time to sit out on the deck with a good book and a glass of iced tea?

Like: Finished Kathryn Stockett's The Help. One of those rare quick reads that really nourishes your mind - not the brain candy that are the books that I usually fly through.

Dislike: Luke. Luke is pretending that I don't exist. I don't see how I'm going to break up with him if he is all but ignoring me. And the part where he's just ignoring me? I feel like he's just waiting for me to go away. Like Colin did. Just brushing me under the rug because I don't even deserve the decency of a humane breakup. The memory of Colin still stings. I thought that Luke was a better guy than that. I hope he proves me wrong.

Like: It was a big week for World Cup planning! I booked our safari. Got some transportation sorted out. Researched my head off on a few issues that I need to tackle. And we received our official confirmations in the mail from FIFA. Oh, this is really going to happen, isn't it?!

Dislike: I'm having a rough Sunday night. It's a Sunday night that feels like the Sunday nights I'd have right at the end of college. When all I wanted to do was cry, for no other reason than because I felt exhausted and trapped and I was so ready to be done with school. I'm taking this as a sign that it is really, really time to find a new job and move on with my life.

Like: I ordered a new laptop on Friday! The laptop that I have is six years old. For real. It actually works just fine, but it is just so big and heavy. It's time to upgrade to something smaller and faster. (Mostly so that I can blog in South Africa!)

Dislike: Seeing the Facebook invite Bridezilla's birthday party every time I log in. She sent it three months before her actual birthday. The Groomsman is invited. Her birthday is the same day as Lucy's. This all goes down the weekend before I go to South Africa. I can't deal.

Like: After Mother's Day brunch at the country club, Dad and I stayed and hit balls at the driving range. Amazingly, it seems that I haven't entirely forgotten how to play. I booked a lesson with our golf pro for Saturday morning. I anticipate that my LPGA debut will occur within 10 months.

Dislike: Haven't seen or heard a word from The Athlete in a couple of weeks. Doesn't he know that we're supposed to fall madly in love before July 31? Get your shit together, buddy!

Like: Gathering the following from various corners of my apartment: the flowers (dried) that Luke sent me to work, the flowers (also dried) that I carried in Bridezilla's wedding (because they reminded me of The Groomsman, okay?), the flowers (dried) that I caught in Bridezilla's bouquet toss. Throwing the flowers into a garbage bag. Stepping on the bag repeatedly. Depositing the garbage bag into the dumpster.

Dislike: The somber tone of this year's Mother's Day. Emma had an outwardly rough day. You could see the strain in my mom and my grandma's eyes. It was hard, not having Aunt Marie with us. It was hard knowing why everyone was hurting but not being able to fix it.

Friday, May 07, 2010


You know when you walk into a room to retrieve something and, when you get there, you have no idea what it was that you wanted to get? That is how my life feels right now. Like I’ve walked into a room and I can’t remember why I did it or what I’m looking for.

One year ago today, I was graduating.

Oh, that day felt good. The cap and the gown and the accomplishment fit me so well. And the future! The future was hazy but I could see it.

But this wasn’t what I saw. Sitting here at this same desk doing the same job for the same pay. Checking my phone for a text message from a boy who I don’t even like but still feeling frustrated that he’s ignoring me. The second job. The shrinking social circle. The unshakable feeling that I have stalled.

I am a year out from graduate school and I feel that I have accomplished nothing.

I am six years out from undergraduate and I feel that I have accomplished nothing.

I am mediocre.

And I am not the only one who notices. I was with my mom a few weeks ago. I can’t even remember who we were talking to, when the subject came up. “I said to the girls, ‘you will go to the best school that you get into. The cost does not matter, we will make it work. Because, by going to the best school, it will open up the best opportunities and the best job prospects.’ But I don’t know that I think that is true, now.”

My face burns up with embarrassment just typing it.

She was talking about me. The daughter who, six years later, still has the same job and the same nonexistent chance of moving up in her organization. Who still makes a laughable salary. Who still isn’t amounting to much, even though she and my dad made the decision and the sacrifices to send me to an exceptional, expensive school.

I thought that graduate school would change that. I thought that it would put me on the right path. That I would have a career instead of a job.

Instead, holding two part-time jobs would be a step up from what I’m doing now and, fuck, I just want to cry and maybe rewind back to when I was 18 and not totally mess it up this time.

I am capable of more than this.

But I can’t see my future. I don’t know where I am going and I don’t know what I am doing. I’m looking for something and I don’t even know what it is.

Wednesday, May 05, 2010

Theater lobby

I’ve sat in that theater before. Dozens of time.

The building is ornate. Golden, inside and out. The ceilings are high and I always love the sound of my heels, clicking against the floor, as I walk the familiar path: in the door and through the lobby and to the box office.

Yesterday, Lucy was with me. Spring Awakening.

It was the same time of year. 2003. The weather was nicer last night. I wore a skirt that night. It was either chocolate brown or pink and pleated. I was with my family. My mom, my dad and my sister, yes, but my family. All of it. My cousins. My aunts and my uncles. Second cousins and family friends who might as well be second cousins. Everyone clean and shiny and pretending to be happy.

There was a Silly Girl on stage. Three, actually. My eyes followed only one, as she swooned over Gaston. I would say that she played it perfectly, except that I would say that about any part that she played.

We waited inside of the theater until the staff made us wait outside of the theater.

Eventually, Danielle appeared. Face scrubbed free of her stage makeup. She carried a bag and her coat hung over her forearm.

She saw us. All of us. And she burst into tears. Because all of us wasn’t all of us and it wouldn’t ever be.

We were all of us, except for Grandma. Grandma was dead. Died, unexpectedly, only weeks before. Just after Danielle took this part. A big part. Her first national tour.

Grandma who was, unquestionably, Danielle’s biggest fan. Grandma who traveled to New York to see her NYU productions. Grandma who never missed a dance recital.

And she wasn’t there. And we all knew it.

And she wasn’t there last night. And I knew it. When I stood in that lobby. Wishing that my memory of that place included seeing my grandmother hug Danielle on that spring night, so proud that she had accomplished her dreams.

Tuesday, May 04, 2010

Close call

My office is the closest to the front door.

Delivery people generally poke their head in my office when they have something that they need to drop off and I sign for whatever it is.

Today, a man walked into my office carrying an enormous bouquet of flowers. White roses.

My heart dropped.

My coworker – who happened to be in my office, who happened to laugh uproariously when I told her the birthday party story yesterday – stared at me, mouth agape.

She was thinking exactly what I was thinking.

Oh hell no.

Not again.

“Delivery for Lisa?”


Best delivery I’ve signed for in months.

Monday, May 03, 2010

I'm okay with not being enough

Last week, I thought that maybe Luke was over it.

He came over on Tuesday. I made dinner – because he’s into that, not because I had a strong desire to cook – and we watched a handful of episodes of Weeds. (Which we started watching together that Sunday.)

I don’t know what it was, exactly, that he wanted or expected of that night (bootie? sleepover? expression of my undying love?), but I got the impression that he left without getting it. I was slightly concerned. And slightly annoyed.

I’ve always had this feeling that I’m not enough. That he likes me just fine but that I can’t give him what he wants: a clingy, needy, lets-spend-every-night-together InstaGirlfriend.

I usually hear from him every day. Just a text message to say hi, that turns into a lot of text messages and I’m okay with that. But, after last Tuesday, they mysteriously dropped off. Maybe just one, towards the end of the day, to fill the quota that he’s communicated with me that day. Like maybe he was testing me, to see if I would send the first text message. As though that is a judge of whether or not I really care.

I thought that maybe he was over this.

I prepared myself to be dumped. And relieved. Relieved that I would no longer have to worry that I wasn’t enough. Relieved that I wouldn’t have to attempt, again and again and again, to determine if I like him or if I only like the idea of him.

But then he went and brought me to that birthday party. You don’t bring a girl you’re about to dump to a party to meet all of your friends, right? Maybe you do. I’m starting to think that I have no idea what is going on in his head. (He did somehow reason that bringing me to that party was a good idea in the first place, after all.)

Then again, at the party, he was discussing plans – Memorial Day, an upcoming concert – with his friends, in front of me, without ever indicating that I was invited. He might not think that I’ll be around in two weeks.

Either that or he just expects me to go. Because that’s probably what it would be. Another expectation. And he would be disappointed because my schedule would already be full. He doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not going to sit around with an empty calendar, waiting for him to fill it.

I guess that this is my rambling way of saying this: I think that this has likely run its course. We have an expiration date. It is soon.

Which one of us is brave enough to pull the plug?

Sunday, May 02, 2010

6 hours that I'll never get back

"Come with me to my friend's daughter's first birthday party next Saturday?"

Luke caught me at a vulnerable moment. And I said yes. Pretty much regretted it immediately after, but I thought I'd be a good sport and join him. How bad could it be?

I could've sworn that he told me that the party started at 3:00 pm on Saturday. So I was a bit suprised when he told me that he would pick me up at 1:00 pm. Eventually, that changed to 1:30 pm. I had been remembering it wrong all week. I live about 35 minutes from the party. The 2:00 pm party.

Oh, no. The 3:00 pm party.

"I like to be early," he tells me in the car.


Early to a party where you haven't, like, been assigned a specific job. It wasn't like he'd committed to setting up the bounce house weeks ago. Not at all.

"Hey! I know that you're in the 30-minutes-to-party panic, but I thought I'd just show up now! I'm happy to help! I'm sure that I won't be in the way. Not even a little bit."

"Oh, and I'm going to bring a girl who NONE OF YOU KNOW. Just because she would love to stand awkwardly in your kitchen and try to stay out of your way."

Seriously, you guys. It was bad.

It was bad because, um, it was a first birthday party for a kid who I don't know. Who belongs to parents who I don't know.

It was bad because we were there early and that shit is just awkward, even though the grandpa put my ass to work. (Which I was grateful as hell for, to be perfectly honest.)

It was bad because it was a farm themed first birthday party and I had to get my ass up on a fucking tractor and get my picture taken.

It was bad because we WERE THERE UNTIL 8:15 PM. 2:30-8:15 pm. I'm sorry, but you don't do that to a person. You don't drag this girl who you're casually dating to a party with a ton of people who she doesn't know and keep her there that long. Especially since she asked to be home at 7:30 or 8:00 pm. Seriously. That shit is not fair.

Who unveils their new girlfriend (which I am not, and I clearly need to remind him of that) at a baby's birthday party? And who is so inconsiderate as to keep her there for 6 hours?

Maybe it is because I'm not head over heels for this kid, but yesterday was not cool. I wanted to punch him in the face.

As soon as he pulled out of my driveway, I went to my car. And drove straight to the bar.
Blog Template by Delicious Design Studio