My favorite thing to do these days is to act like a tough guy. Somehow the phrase, "I'll punch you in the face" has worked it way into regular usage. Fortunately my friends and co-workers have taken all of my quirky habits in stride and this will likely not yield 1) any actual face punching and 2) and long term issues. But, since I am currently locked in permanent introspection mode, of course I started asking myself what was going on.
Ever since the end of January, when everything got all crazy, I've basically been wearing my "toughness" like a helmet, or one of those awesome neoprene Survival Suits from the Deadliest Catch. Trying not to let anything out. Unintentionally try not to let anything in. Generally, this has been working fine enough. I've been able to keep plodding along and mostly keeping it together. Sort of.
Recently though, I've been falling into these little mental whirlpools that I've started calling Pity Parties because I sincerely feel ridiculous both having them, and then talking about them. My attempts to give myself perspective have been dismal failures. My brain knows that things really aren't that bad. My health, my friends and family, my job, it's all fine. I've been through plenty of situations that have been worse, or at least more appropriate to be sad about.
Losing my Grandmother, losing my job, continual and unexplainable bronchitis for the better part of 18 months, getting the back of my car slammed into at 55 mph and the ensuing 2 years of on and off physical therapy. IT COULD BE WORSE! Because I seem to be better at explaining the root of things by anthropomorphising my internal organs...here goes...the Pity Party...
-----
(BRAIN and HEART are sitting in a booth at the Golden Nugget)
BRAIN: It could be worse.
HEART: But...but...but...I'm saaaaaaad.
BRAIN: It's okay. But stop being sad. What are you sad about, anyway.
HEART: I don't know. Everything. I'm just saaaad. Let's be sad. Let's be sad and --
STOMACH (slides in next to HEART, puts her arm around HEART): -- EAT! Let's be sad and eat. That was not so terrible? Let's go to Trader Joe's and pick out some cheese and drink Bloody Mary's! I think that sounds awesome.
HEART: Do you really think so? We do love cheese...
STOMACH: Yeah! Remember that time we drank half a bottle of wine and put on all our jewelry! That was totally not sad. We can stop at McDonalds!
JEANS (the pants not DNA) (From under the table): NOOOOOOO!!!! We can't take any more of this eating! We're already dealing with serious seam-structure situations and you don't want to know what BUTT has been threatening! Getting bigger!!!
BUTT (slides into the booth, but on the same side as HEART and STOMACH, making everyone have to squish in. BRAIN sits alone on the opposite side): Um. I totally heard you talking about me. Jeans. Frankly, I'm more interested in what Stomach was saying about getting some cheese. And, fries! Or, fried chicken! OR ALL THREE!
HEART: That does sound good...
BRAIN: I don't know, guys.
BUTT: Shut. Up. Everyone knows that I'm only getting bigger and that means I'm in charge. I make the calls.
THIGHS (in unison, outside the window, waving): What about us? We're helping!
BUTT: Pipe down, get-away sticks. No one cares.
HEART: Okay, okay. Stop. All this arguing isn't making me feel better. I'm still just sad. Can we just sit in the dark and think about being sad and listen to sad music and think sad things? That's really all I want to do.
STOMACH: Wouldn't it be better with a chocolate shake...in the dark...with the music...
BUTT: Seriously.
JEANS: For the love of god, no!
BUTT: Really, Jeans? Who even invited you?
LIVER (drunkenly flops down next to BRAIN) : Heeeeeeyguys. I heard werehavingbloodymarysagain. Yeees! (Hiccup) (lays down on the floor)
BRAIN: No. We're not. We're not having drinks and we're not having cheese.
HEART (starts to cry): But....but...now I'm more sad because I want to have those things...and now you're telling me no. Why don't I have things? Why don't I have someone who will call me just to tell me something nice. Why don't I have someone who thinks I'm the prettiest? Why don't I have a person to bring to parties, instead of walking around like a dork? I HATE GETTING MY OWN DRINKS AT BARS!!! AUGH!! This SUCKS. Someone go get the iPod...
------
You can imagine how such internal (har har) struggle can get not only irritating, but makes me feel like a sap. Hence, the toughness-helmet.
What I think bothers me the most, more than just feeling strange, is that it genuinely seems like time is the best repairman here. Similarly to how I wanted somehow to be the person who exacted the consequences on X for his hurtful and vile behavior, I want to be the person that fixes this for myself.
Don't get me wrong, though. What I'm taking about "fixing" is simply my way of saying that I'd love for things to not feel so abnormal. I'd just like to go back to feeling like myself, rather than this sort of self. I can already tell things are far better, and that I'm really feeling lonely more than feeling sad about the end of my relationship...but how easy to conflate the two...
At any rate. We've all been to these personal Pity Parties. Thanks for reading mine.
BUTT: What were you saying about me? Because I totally heard you. Don't make me punch you in the face!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
Yep, Nope! Or: Directions.
Through an amazing stroke of friendship, my Mom and I were lucky enough to attend the Oprah Surprise Spectacular at the United Center on Tuesday. Being in an enclosed space with 22,000 other women is not something I'll forget. This isn't about all the celebs that showed up, or what a cool lady Oprah is (and I genuinely think she's an incredible person), this is about the fans. And, the two categories of people that made themselves clear.
The people who can follow directions.
The people who cannot.
Without spoiling the surprises for those who actually want to be surprised, I'll explain what I mean.
There were three moments of "choreographed" audience participation, and we're not talking group Electric Slide. We're talking "hold this thing up when I say hold this thing up."
First, there were the books. Part of the surprise for Oprah was a book donation made by each audience member, and as a symbol of that donation, at the right moment everyone was to:
1. Take your book out of the black plastic bag.
2. Stand up and wave it around like you just won a challenge on DoubleDare.
Sounds easy, yes? No. Here are things that happened, just during "rehearsal."
------
EMCEE: Okay! Everyone ready!
Handful of people: (JUMPING SCREAMING, WAVING BOOKS)
EMCEE: No! Not yet, not until I say, "Cue the Audience!"
Handful of people: (JUMPING SCREAMING, WAVING BOOKS)
EMCEE: ....Okay....."Cue the Audience"
Everyone else: (JUMPING SCREAMING, WAVING BOOKS)
Other handful of people: (JUMPING SCREAMING, WAVING BLACK PLASTIC BAGS)
EMCEE: Remember to take your book out of the bag!
-----
Awesome. Good. These are the people who drive away from the gas station with the nozzle still in their car.
So, my Mom and I thought, well...they are just excited. No problem. They'll do better next time...then came the Finger Lights. Little adorable LED lights that fit onto your finger like a ring. On/Off switch located on the top. The instructions were to put the lights onto your fingers but leave them switched off until FamousMusicPerson came walking down the long runway on stage. Then everyone turn them on, dance, go nuts.
Here's what happened.
-----
FamousIntroducingPerson: And now! FamousMusicPerson!!
handful of people: ZOMG!!! It's FAMOUSMUSICPERSON! I am turning my finger lights on RIGHT F-ING NOW. (lights begin to appear around the stadium)
larger group of people: Wait...FamousMusicPerson is here, but she hasn't walked down the runway yet, but those people already did it! No! I'm late! Oprah will be so angry! (more lights appear)
30 seconds later
everyone else: Yay! FamousMusicPerson! Oooh! She's walking down the runway (finger lights on).
------
The most ridiculous part is that they shot this segment TWICE. The Emcee came out and reminded everyone about not turning them on, blah blah. But, when we taped the second time...it happened EXACTLY the same way.
Perhaps there is a link between these people and the folks who "forget" to "pay your parking ticket here before exiting the facility" and then jam up the exit for 15 minutes.
The final, and unfortunately most blatant, example of this was the "card stunt." You've seen this all over the place. A section of the audience are given white cards to hold up over their heads and form either a picture or, in this case, a projection surface.
The Emcee tried to front load the instructions...but, well...
-----
EMCEE: Okay! Card sections! Are you ready to practice!
CARD SECTION: YEAH!
EMCEE: Great! Put your card on your lap, instructions facing you!
CARD SECTIONS: (PEOPLE HOLD CARDS IN FRONT OF THEIR FACES)
EMCEE: Nope! Not yet. Just put it on your lap!
CARD SECTION: (PEOPLE HOLD CARDS IN FRONT OF THEIR FACES, UPSIDE DOWN)
EMCEE: The eye holes are for your eyes! But don't hold them up yet! Put them on your lap!
CARD SECTION: (MOST PEOPLE PUT THE CARDS DOWN. SOME FLIP THEM AROUND)
EMCEE: Yep, nope! Instructions should be facing YOU, not out, but don't put the cards up yet!....Okay! Let's practice....1, 2, 3, GO!
CARD SECTION: (2/3rds OF THE CARDS GO UP. HALF ARE UPSIDE DOWN, SEVERAL PEOPLE JUST SIT WITH THEIR CARD IN THEIR LAP, LOOKING AT THE OTHER CARDS, AND A HANDFUL OF PEOPLE ARE HOLDING THEIR BOOKS IN FRONT OF THEIR CARDS)
EMCEE:........Good! Okay. Yeah...
------
Bless that Emcee, she did a great job, and fortunately during the taping the card section did much better...but holy cow! These are the people flying home who leave their shoes on in security and try to take full bottles of wine through the checkpoint.
Maybe I'm a little harsh here, but I take a great deal of pride in being able to follow instructions. I'm not a robot (or am I!) but there are certain things where doing what you are told makes things not only easier, but safer/faster/cleaner, etc. Anyone who has ever attempted to put a piece of IKEA furniture together knows this.
Overall, the taping was a phenomenal experience and our section (303! woo!) took great pride in identifying the continuing missteps of the "Card Section" and trying to coach them from afar. We got out around midnight, at which point I had to basically eat all my judgey feelings about the card section because I accidentally left my headlights on...and the battery died.
In semi-fairness to me, the "dinger" that says, "Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Lights! Lights! Lights!" when I get out of the car, is broken . I recently purchased my own set of jumper cables specifically because of the broken (and apparently unfixable) dinger.
We flagged down two lovely ladies to see if they would be kind enough to let me jump my battery from their car. Here's how it went down.
-----
LD: I'm so sorry to bother you, but my battery is dead.
Lady 1: Oh no! Do you need a jump?
LD: I do, would you mind? I have my own cables here and everything, it'll only take a second.
Lady 1: Do you need to call your husband?
LD:.....?
Lady 1: To tell you how to do it? I can call my husband if you need me to.
LD: Oh! No, I don't have a husband, and I know how to jump a car. It's okay, but thank you so much for the offer.
Lady 1: Are you sure? It's okay...
LD: Really, we're good. I promise.
(the two ladies arrive a few moments later driving a gorgeous Mercedes)
LD: Thank you! Thank you!
(a few moments pass)
Lady 2: Um...I don't know how to open the hood.
LD: On your car?
Lady 2: Yeah! I've never had to open it...let me look though...
Lady 1: Usually our husbands do all the car things! I'll call him and ask.
(meanwhile, Mom has spotted a parking lot attendant and asked him to come bring his truck over, which he has started doing)
LD: It's okay, really. I think we found another one.
Lady 2: What if it's like my gas tank? If I just push on it really hard, will it pop open?
LD: I doubt it, and you don't want to dent the hood.
Lady 2: (she begins shoving the hood) Maybe I'll just try it...
LD: No! Really. Don't. It's okay. Look! Here comes the guy!
Lady 1: We're really sorry...I can't believe we don't know how to open it...
LD: Please, you are so kind to even offer. No worries at all! Have a good night!
-----
Before I go on let me just say that I am so grateful that they even offered to stop and help. I mean them no ill-will by sharing the experience, but it did make me wonder how many people are walking around who have no idea how to pop their own hood. I can understand being wary of jumping your own car, but the hood!
Anyway. I felt simultaneously like WonderGirl, person who does man-type things in a skirt, and like some strange unmarried alien person waving around two jumper cables going "No husband, only electrical knowledge."
The parking lot man was very helpful, and we were on our way in a matter of minutes. Despite my own directional hiccup we got home fairly quickly. Even though I'd been forced to look my own judgements of the others in the audience, I slept like a log, content in the knowledge that even if I left my lights on, at least I took my book out of the black plastic bag.
The people who can follow directions.
The people who cannot.
Without spoiling the surprises for those who actually want to be surprised, I'll explain what I mean.
There were three moments of "choreographed" audience participation, and we're not talking group Electric Slide. We're talking "hold this thing up when I say hold this thing up."
First, there were the books. Part of the surprise for Oprah was a book donation made by each audience member, and as a symbol of that donation, at the right moment everyone was to:
1. Take your book out of the black plastic bag.
2. Stand up and wave it around like you just won a challenge on DoubleDare.
Sounds easy, yes? No. Here are things that happened, just during "rehearsal."
------
EMCEE: Okay! Everyone ready!
Handful of people: (JUMPING SCREAMING, WAVING BOOKS)
EMCEE: No! Not yet, not until I say, "Cue the Audience!"
Handful of people: (JUMPING SCREAMING, WAVING BOOKS)
EMCEE: ....Okay....."Cue the Audience"
Everyone else: (JUMPING SCREAMING, WAVING BOOKS)
Other handful of people: (JUMPING SCREAMING, WAVING BLACK PLASTIC BAGS)
EMCEE: Remember to take your book out of the bag!
-----
Awesome. Good. These are the people who drive away from the gas station with the nozzle still in their car.
So, my Mom and I thought, well...they are just excited. No problem. They'll do better next time...then came the Finger Lights. Little adorable LED lights that fit onto your finger like a ring. On/Off switch located on the top. The instructions were to put the lights onto your fingers but leave them switched off until FamousMusicPerson came walking down the long runway on stage. Then everyone turn them on, dance, go nuts.
Here's what happened.
-----
FamousIntroducingPerson: And now! FamousMusicPerson!!
handful of people: ZOMG!!! It's FAMOUSMUSICPERSON! I am turning my finger lights on RIGHT F-ING NOW. (lights begin to appear around the stadium)
larger group of people: Wait...FamousMusicPerson is here, but she hasn't walked down the runway yet, but those people already did it! No! I'm late! Oprah will be so angry! (more lights appear)
30 seconds later
everyone else: Yay! FamousMusicPerson! Oooh! She's walking down the runway (finger lights on).
------
The most ridiculous part is that they shot this segment TWICE. The Emcee came out and reminded everyone about not turning them on, blah blah. But, when we taped the second time...it happened EXACTLY the same way.
Perhaps there is a link between these people and the folks who "forget" to "pay your parking ticket here before exiting the facility" and then jam up the exit for 15 minutes.
The final, and unfortunately most blatant, example of this was the "card stunt." You've seen this all over the place. A section of the audience are given white cards to hold up over their heads and form either a picture or, in this case, a projection surface.
The Emcee tried to front load the instructions...but, well...
-----
EMCEE: Okay! Card sections! Are you ready to practice!
CARD SECTION: YEAH!
EMCEE: Great! Put your card on your lap, instructions facing you!
CARD SECTIONS: (PEOPLE HOLD CARDS IN FRONT OF THEIR FACES)
EMCEE: Nope! Not yet. Just put it on your lap!
CARD SECTION: (PEOPLE HOLD CARDS IN FRONT OF THEIR FACES, UPSIDE DOWN)
EMCEE: The eye holes are for your eyes! But don't hold them up yet! Put them on your lap!
CARD SECTION: (MOST PEOPLE PUT THE CARDS DOWN. SOME FLIP THEM AROUND)
EMCEE: Yep, nope! Instructions should be facing YOU, not out, but don't put the cards up yet!....Okay! Let's practice....1, 2, 3, GO!
CARD SECTION: (2/3rds OF THE CARDS GO UP. HALF ARE UPSIDE DOWN, SEVERAL PEOPLE JUST SIT WITH THEIR CARD IN THEIR LAP, LOOKING AT THE OTHER CARDS, AND A HANDFUL OF PEOPLE ARE HOLDING THEIR BOOKS IN FRONT OF THEIR CARDS)
EMCEE:........Good! Okay. Yeah...
------
Bless that Emcee, she did a great job, and fortunately during the taping the card section did much better...but holy cow! These are the people flying home who leave their shoes on in security and try to take full bottles of wine through the checkpoint.
Maybe I'm a little harsh here, but I take a great deal of pride in being able to follow instructions. I'm not a robot (or am I!) but there are certain things where doing what you are told makes things not only easier, but safer/faster/cleaner, etc. Anyone who has ever attempted to put a piece of IKEA furniture together knows this.
Overall, the taping was a phenomenal experience and our section (303! woo!) took great pride in identifying the continuing missteps of the "Card Section" and trying to coach them from afar. We got out around midnight, at which point I had to basically eat all my judgey feelings about the card section because I accidentally left my headlights on...and the battery died.
In semi-fairness to me, the "dinger" that says, "Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Lights! Lights! Lights!" when I get out of the car, is broken . I recently purchased my own set of jumper cables specifically because of the broken (and apparently unfixable) dinger.
We flagged down two lovely ladies to see if they would be kind enough to let me jump my battery from their car. Here's how it went down.
-----
LD: I'm so sorry to bother you, but my battery is dead.
Lady 1: Oh no! Do you need a jump?
LD: I do, would you mind? I have my own cables here and everything, it'll only take a second.
Lady 1: Do you need to call your husband?
LD:.....?
Lady 1: To tell you how to do it? I can call my husband if you need me to.
LD: Oh! No, I don't have a husband, and I know how to jump a car. It's okay, but thank you so much for the offer.
Lady 1: Are you sure? It's okay...
LD: Really, we're good. I promise.
(the two ladies arrive a few moments later driving a gorgeous Mercedes)
LD: Thank you! Thank you!
(a few moments pass)
Lady 2: Um...I don't know how to open the hood.
LD: On your car?
Lady 2: Yeah! I've never had to open it...let me look though...
Lady 1: Usually our husbands do all the car things! I'll call him and ask.
(meanwhile, Mom has spotted a parking lot attendant and asked him to come bring his truck over, which he has started doing)
LD: It's okay, really. I think we found another one.
Lady 2: What if it's like my gas tank? If I just push on it really hard, will it pop open?
LD: I doubt it, and you don't want to dent the hood.
Lady 2: (she begins shoving the hood) Maybe I'll just try it...
LD: No! Really. Don't. It's okay. Look! Here comes the guy!
Lady 1: We're really sorry...I can't believe we don't know how to open it...
LD: Please, you are so kind to even offer. No worries at all! Have a good night!
-----
Before I go on let me just say that I am so grateful that they even offered to stop and help. I mean them no ill-will by sharing the experience, but it did make me wonder how many people are walking around who have no idea how to pop their own hood. I can understand being wary of jumping your own car, but the hood!
Anyway. I felt simultaneously like WonderGirl, person who does man-type things in a skirt, and like some strange unmarried alien person waving around two jumper cables going "No husband, only electrical knowledge."
The parking lot man was very helpful, and we were on our way in a matter of minutes. Despite my own directional hiccup we got home fairly quickly. Even though I'd been forced to look my own judgements of the others in the audience, I slept like a log, content in the knowledge that even if I left my lights on, at least I took my book out of the black plastic bag.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Flirt Shmirt. Let's talk about how I feel like an idiot all the time.
Okay guys. I've dipped a toe into the dating pool. I do not like it.
Rephrase. I'm not good at the "toe dipping" part. I believe this is because I am incapable of successfully flirting with people. I have a lot of amazing lady friends who can wrap a fella around their little finger in a matter of seconds. That is not me.
Here is how I feel:
------
Picturesque forest. Sunshine, breezes blowing. And, a giant bear has run a handsome boy up a tree and is frantically jumping around at the bottom of it "shouting" and drooling.
------
Not only do I frequently feel like I can't control the volume of my own voice (probably all the time) when I'm trying to chat with someone who has caught my eye, but I generally feel like I'm the bear ripping all the bark off the bottom of the tree trying to scramble up.
This goes hand in hand with a conversation I had with my sister about the concept of "being sexy." When I was little, I thought "being sexy" meant moving really slowly. So, whenever my barbies were trying to catch Ken's eye, they would SLOOOOOOOWLY raise their pointed-toe-leg while laying in their beach chair in their best ball gown. This approach does not work well in real life. If it did, I would bring a beach chair and a gown everywhere I went, ever.
As I got older, the girls who "knew how to be sexy" seemed to have it all locked up. They could swoop into your conversation, just before you'd be trying to slooowly do something, and steal your potential guy with a little brush of the shoulder or a well placed giggle and boob wobble.
I bet they didn't call it a boob wobble. There isn't much sexy going on with that turn of phrase at all.
Anyway. Part of me has come to understand that a good deal of "being sexy" is being comfortable with yourself. WHAT!? That is SO much harder than just learning how to whisper something adorably into someone's ear, or to magically get a guy to ask YOU out instead of the other way around...
True story. Outside of ONE dance in high school, I did the asking. Including prom. I have chosen to look at this as an early life example of how I am a take-charge gal, but it doesn't really give me much confidence that I have the patience or the skill to get someone to ask me to do something fun.
I am also categorically bad at strategy and game-playing. I don't have the head for it. I'm an empath, with is probably why I feel so badly for the guys I'm trying to flirt with. I can sense that they are either no longer enjoying the conversation or that I have accidentally started shouting at them. I don't have the energy to discern if someone has stopped talking to me because they are "leaving me wanting more" or just actually leaving. I generally assume the latter.
Sometimes, I try to get up the nerve to say something cute and/or potentially sort of sexy. Then this happens. This is an actual quote from yesterday:
lovely gentleman: Can I take a pizza home?
LD: Sure. We have plenty left over, and there's pizza tomorrow too. It's a pizza explosion...hahaha...
lovely gentleman: Great! Thanks.
LD: You can figure out a way to pay me back somehow. I can be easily purchased with a cherry coke.
Aaaaaaand scene. I came within inches of just putting my head down on the stack of pizza boxes in embarrassment. "I can be easily purchased"!?!?!?! As my old neighbor used to say, Lord love a duck! NO! Why did I say that? I mean, it happens to be true, but JESUS! And how in the F do you respond to that, if it was even worth responding to. At least I didn't use an inappropriately large word. That happens too. I recently attempted to use the words "inordinate", "schism", and "flummoxed" in conversation with a fella. He didn't seem to appreciate them, and frankly those aren't even that large. Though, that was also the guy who told me that karma was "stupid" so I'm not that upset about trotting out some sophomore honors English vocab.
My friends who are in relationships have been incredibly supportive, letting me 3rd wheel with them (and never making me feel like one), and helping me brainstorm people who I might be able to start this terrifying flirting process with. But, they all look back so fondly on the flirting phase. The grass is always greener, I suppose. I can't wait to not feel completely ridiculous all the time!
So, when you are having dinner with your significant other, enjoying the comfort of an established relationship. Think of me. Somewhere in Chicago, there is a petite blond girl shouting big words up at a cute boy in a tree.
Rephrase. I'm not good at the "toe dipping" part. I believe this is because I am incapable of successfully flirting with people. I have a lot of amazing lady friends who can wrap a fella around their little finger in a matter of seconds. That is not me.
Here is how I feel:
------
Picturesque forest. Sunshine, breezes blowing. And, a giant bear has run a handsome boy up a tree and is frantically jumping around at the bottom of it "shouting" and drooling.
------
Not only do I frequently feel like I can't control the volume of my own voice (probably all the time) when I'm trying to chat with someone who has caught my eye, but I generally feel like I'm the bear ripping all the bark off the bottom of the tree trying to scramble up.
This goes hand in hand with a conversation I had with my sister about the concept of "being sexy." When I was little, I thought "being sexy" meant moving really slowly. So, whenever my barbies were trying to catch Ken's eye, they would SLOOOOOOOWLY raise their pointed-toe-leg while laying in their beach chair in their best ball gown. This approach does not work well in real life. If it did, I would bring a beach chair and a gown everywhere I went, ever.
As I got older, the girls who "knew how to be sexy" seemed to have it all locked up. They could swoop into your conversation, just before you'd be trying to slooowly do something, and steal your potential guy with a little brush of the shoulder or a well placed giggle and boob wobble.
I bet they didn't call it a boob wobble. There isn't much sexy going on with that turn of phrase at all.
Anyway. Part of me has come to understand that a good deal of "being sexy" is being comfortable with yourself. WHAT!? That is SO much harder than just learning how to whisper something adorably into someone's ear, or to magically get a guy to ask YOU out instead of the other way around...
True story. Outside of ONE dance in high school, I did the asking. Including prom. I have chosen to look at this as an early life example of how I am a take-charge gal, but it doesn't really give me much confidence that I have the patience or the skill to get someone to ask me to do something fun.
I am also categorically bad at strategy and game-playing. I don't have the head for it. I'm an empath, with is probably why I feel so badly for the guys I'm trying to flirt with. I can sense that they are either no longer enjoying the conversation or that I have accidentally started shouting at them. I don't have the energy to discern if someone has stopped talking to me because they are "leaving me wanting more" or just actually leaving. I generally assume the latter.
Sometimes, I try to get up the nerve to say something cute and/or potentially sort of sexy. Then this happens. This is an actual quote from yesterday:
lovely gentleman: Can I take a pizza home?
LD: Sure. We have plenty left over, and there's pizza tomorrow too. It's a pizza explosion...hahaha...
lovely gentleman: Great! Thanks.
LD: You can figure out a way to pay me back somehow. I can be easily purchased with a cherry coke.
Aaaaaaand scene. I came within inches of just putting my head down on the stack of pizza boxes in embarrassment. "I can be easily purchased"!?!?!?! As my old neighbor used to say, Lord love a duck! NO! Why did I say that? I mean, it happens to be true, but JESUS! And how in the F do you respond to that, if it was even worth responding to. At least I didn't use an inappropriately large word. That happens too. I recently attempted to use the words "inordinate", "schism", and "flummoxed" in conversation with a fella. He didn't seem to appreciate them, and frankly those aren't even that large. Though, that was also the guy who told me that karma was "stupid" so I'm not that upset about trotting out some sophomore honors English vocab.
My friends who are in relationships have been incredibly supportive, letting me 3rd wheel with them (and never making me feel like one), and helping me brainstorm people who I might be able to start this terrifying flirting process with. But, they all look back so fondly on the flirting phase. The grass is always greener, I suppose. I can't wait to not feel completely ridiculous all the time!
So, when you are having dinner with your significant other, enjoying the comfort of an established relationship. Think of me. Somewhere in Chicago, there is a petite blond girl shouting big words up at a cute boy in a tree.
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