approval rating

You seem to be liked by everyone. Everyone in my life thinks you are great.

You have impressed my sister, and had lunch with Mandy just because.

You seem so level-headed, so eager to please, and everyone is looking at me asking, “What’s wrong?”

Here’s the thing: I don’t know. I know that you wooed me. The night you said that I was a good person, that the one with the most memories wins, that I am the most down to earth person you had ever met.

Here’s the thing: On the days when you are too critical, too straight-forward, too free with your words, I think twice about moving forward. I have a hunch there is something more out there, not that you have something to hide, but that there is something I should know before drinking the kool-aid, so to speak.

I have doubts and am guarded, mostly to protect me. The less you invade my life, my house I have carefully constructed for by bruised heart, the easier it is to rid you from it.

Don’t be suprised. You didn’t come into this expecting anything. How can you be disappointed? I am simply doing this the only way I know how. My percentage of like doesn’t increase based on everyone else’s.

grace in small things: sixteen

5. Finding horrible pink dresses to wear to the ZOOM party at the first store we walked into. We are going as flamingos. How cool is that? Yellow Leggings? Check. Beak? Working on it.

4. Chips and Salsa. Yum. Easy, quick, single girl dinner? Yikes.

3. February is turning out to be a tight month financially. I am thankful that I may finally be learning how to budget. Maybe.

2. Staying up with Refuses. Sober.

1. Thankful there are only 4 more days in February. See reason #3.

shaking in your safe arms

I hoped that the screaming would stop. That your roommate would stop yelling at her and that he would stop making so much noise. We lay in the dark, talking about hopes, and love, and sex, and we listened to two people’s worlds fall apart.

Refuses’s roommate ripped into his girlfriend last night at one a.m. He was drunk and wouldn’t let up and she was crying and refused to leave. We waited for him to stop, waited for him to pass out, but he refused. We minded our own business until we couldn’t any longer, and Refuses had to put a stop to it. This guys girlfriend just takes it. She sits there and cries and I wanted so badly to just take her and bring her into bed with us. I just wanted her to know that she is loved by someone, despite all the mean things that he was saying.

The mumbling and the muffled cries, combined with the drunken, irate yelling made me tense up, and curl closer to him. I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to cry. It reminded me of when I was young, sitting on the last step at the top of the staircase, listening to my parents scream late into the night. I used to listen to be informed, so in the morning I would know why mom was sad and my dad distant. I was flooded with memories of crawling through the halls, absorbing every accusation of infidelity that my mother hurled at him and soaked up every lie my dad shoved back in her direction.

I wanted to be in my own bed, but Refuses arms would have to suffice for comfort. I was so disappointed, so scared. I wished for her that she had to guts to leave, to move on, to find a man who would cover her in kisses instead of dirty, drunken blame. I thought that kids like me, our generation was SO OVER THIS. I thought that the boys loved the wholesome feeling they got from girls, loved their cuteness, their smallness. I thought that the girls left any guy that would threaten to take them for granted. I thought that we didn’t waste our time with people that didn’t respect us. That we had bigger dreams and better ideals than to let a lover let loose at our expense. I was convinced that we weren’t our parents. Convinced that our friends, who may be parents themselves soon, would never be in danger of letting down their children. I was convinced that future generations were safe from the hurt, protected from the pain.

I swore that our lovers were going to love us. Nothing more, nothing less.

not sure…

… I can stand knowing that some people won’t ever hear their music.

Go download, stream, or purchase Fiction Family’s first album.

drool.

Tailspin

So my girlfriends from college and I post regularly to a website in order to stay in touch, and most of the time I post something I have written here or retell a new story.

Today, said this:

AND I have a boyfriend, I think. Which means I am feeling
CLAUSTROPHOBIC as we speak and contemplate breaking up with him
everyday. Do you have to break up with a guy that you weren’t sure you
were dating? And then my sister friended him on fb and ohmygod CAN YOU
FEEL THE WORLD CLOSING IN ON ME? It is getting dark. Quick. Where is
my secret escape hatch?
How did this happen? How do I stop it? and when did I become such a
freak?

Can I just say that I threw them all into a tailspin even though I was kind of kidding. I am not being smothered, but rather being confronted with the idea of having to let someone care about me again, and over here: THIS IS ME SHAKING IN MY SHOES.

Silently, of course. We hang out all normal and I’m not so scared when Refuses is around. But, holy hell, do I over analyze everything.

It is nice to know I am so cared for by them though. They don’t want to see me hurt, they want to see me flee at the first sign of trouble, but I can’t do that. I am here to test my limits. My limits mean that I need to try. I need to throw myself in it. I need to not be scared or I will be just as scared for every man that comes along.

I am ready to do this. I wish they had just heard my laughing, joking voice through the Interwebs. I was being dramatic.

Oh, and I really liked being single. I was fun and free and loved every little morsel of my own little life.
I am just scared that part of that love will get transferred into loving him and that is not okay with me. I worked hard for that solid, dependable part of me.

Let’s not eff it up!

grace in small things: fifteen

first of all… There are two twelves. Who is running this ship? and how come no one told me?

5. All the clothes have been hung in the closet with semi-care, in hopes that a boy would come heat up my bed.

4. Ramen. Because those noodles are oh-so-good and Spicy Vegetable is the hardest flavor to find.

3. Thank goodness for sick being a fabulous excuse to not work out. Oh, how my nose would run if I attempted to run.

2. Sara Watkins. I saw her sing a June Cash part in a duet at a concert on Tuesday. TO DIE FOR.

1. Being in bed before 12 am tonight because I am tired.

bonus: clean sheets- because I sweated my way through them three nights in a row thanks to a ravishing fever and some fabulous cold sweats. My mind has never been so confused and my bed has never been wetter. Sad, I know. Or good if you are thinking that I meant peeing in my bed. I don’t pee in my bed.

Oh and can someone please remind me to shave my legs tomorrow? Here’s the thing. I am really effing good at being single. So good in fact, that I pretty much only “remembered” to shave my legs on nights I was feeling ridiculously randy and thought I may get lucky, or..Wait, no that’s about it. -And I don’t get lucky that often.

I also have never dated someone that lived less than an hour away, so the “hey, I’m just going to pop in so we can sleep in the same bed situation” never happened to me. Until it did. And oh, holy hell, was I unprepared. Fortunately, it is now a bonus for Refuses when I remember, but ohmygod, my college girlfriends are going to kill me when they find out… and how the hell did I forget (more than once?)

Gross. I am officially pulling my girl card for good.

late night visitor

Refuses came over to chat with me last night. We didn’t kiss because I have a mean cold, and we didn’t really cuddle because I am infested with germs.

He brought me tea. Then he told me about his day while I folded laundry. We talked and talked and talked.

Then we talked with my sister on skype.

It was so easy.

So simple. As it should be.

grace in small things: thirteen

having roommates that live exciting lives.

hit on me

Yesterday something happened that doesn’t normally. I guess you could say it was remarkable.

I got hit on. A lot. My roommate was batting boys away from me, and the ones that made it through got my number. It was so unusual, and such a needed confidence boost.

It all started with ADD boy handing out Valentine’s stickers that almost everyone at the bar had on at the end of the night. Note that upon further inspection this morning I came home with 3 different ones that read, Kiss, Call Me and Hook Up. Then there was one the bottom of my shoe that simply read “nice.”

There were cute boys and tall boys, and short engineers whose feet I stepped on. They all used their own stickers as conversation topics, and we swapped stickers numerous times.

Overall, I highly recommend getting hit on.

grace in small things: twelve

5. Target. Again.
4. Victoria’s Secret for cheap pajama sets.
3. the sunshine and a three hour walk on the beach
2. DVR
1. A little bit of rain at the end of my run, reminding me that my sister is always watching over me.