grace in small things twenty six

5. It is almost fall. That means there is still summer weather in San Diego, but I get to apply my dark purple nail polish to my toesies and not feel out of season. Yay!

4. Coats.

3. There will probably be a new boy by Christmas… err, hopefully by Easter?

2. Concerts, concerts and more concerts.Ohh I cannot wait for all of the swooning over lead singers, and the dancing.

1. 45 minute conversations with my brother. He is my anchor, time and time again.

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!

Timing’s a bitch

Bear called today.

probability

Not a lot of people know about my boy stories.

Well, except for you guys.

So in speaking with a new-er girl friend today, she said, “Is it strange hooking up with random people?”

Uh. Yikes.

This is me freaked out by the above question. I never considered them to be randoms. Heck, some of them turned out to be dates, some relationships, some mistakes, and well, I guess some were randoms.

I just never thought of it that way.

Farm this.

There is a pattern. I quickly became obsessed with Pioneer Woman after reading her love story. She single-handedly renewed my faith in love.

Then there is Penelope Trunk. She is smart, funny, and fabulously sensible. The story about her and her farmer was amazing and I quickly gobbled up every tidbit she divulged. I just downloaded her audiobook. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Then as a result of all my farmer research (via following these two women), there was an ad that popped up for Farmersonly.com.

Yes, I did. I clicked. I was curious.

Then I realized that is never something I will ever again admit to doing. EVER.

Slow Motion: Part 1

Last night happened in slow motion. Everything went that way, and I think everything went my way.

Hoff and I are slow. We don’t move quickly about anything, mostly because it’s not his style, and I am too nervous about making him nervous, that I move slow too.

We hung out in the same group of friends in college, except I liked his college roommate. Too bad his college roommate didn’t even look twice in my direction. I started hanging out with Hoff more as we made a habit out of watching football at a restaurant near campus with great pitcher specials. Hoff and his roommate made great pizza and beer buddies. Not to mention, we shared an affinity for the San Diego Chargers, so we always found ourselves cheering for the same team.

I studied abroad somewhere in the middle and returned home with only 4 days of college left. I spent them with my friends, Hoff and his college roommate. We played drinking games and went to Study Hall. We drank and partied and knew it would the last time we would see eachother for a while. We tapped a keg one night, and rallied a group of six to finish it off the next. I ended up on the bathroom floor, and Hoff’s roommate was nice enough to move me to a pile of laundry because our beds were already packed away.

The next night we played King’s Cup on the floor of a friend’s apartment and we tried to stay up as late as possible. None of us wanted it to end, so Hoff and I shared an air mattress and we had a true-to-form slumber party, all of us talking to each other in the dark.

Hoff and I stayed in touch (meaning we have had two or three AWKWARD conversations on the phone about life), and I pestered him to come visit me in between boyfriends.

We never talked about who we were dating, and still don’t bring it up. I don’t think either of us care to know.

I never knew I liked him, until I would get a call from him or a facebook comment and be a little excited he was thinking of me. I flirted with him, but he never flirted back, so I left it at that. I metioned him to Bails, who always looked at me and said, “Ya, cuz you like him.” I looked at her quizzically and said, “How do you know?’ and ever since he has been a crush of sorts.

take it back

In my muddled mix of nostalgia and accordion players, I texted Bear last night.

I KNOW. If I could take it back, I would. Why doesn’t texting offer Nordstrom’s return policy? They take back everything, worn, battered, and ruined.

Last night, I was thinking (and by thinking I don’t mean using my better judgment) GOOD IDEA, and this morning I am am thinking CAN I TAKE IT BACK?

Living before the text was so much more satisfying, so much more he doesn’t deserve me.

Post text living is a little more Seriously, Pretending, what the hell are you doing?

Want to know what I said?

“We both royally fucked that up.”

Can I please take it back? I have proof of purchase. It hasn’t even been 24 hours, let alone 30 days.

Sheesh. Talk about a mean case of buyer’s remorse.

Fabulous Fourth

I had an amazing time. I hung out with my kickball girlies, which was a little Joy Luck Club, but fabulous. The house party, where I met Fin was also amazing, as Fin was this cute gorgeous New Zealander who found my attractive pull so irresistible, he couldn’t muster up the courage to ask for my number.

Oh, ladies, how I flirted my tail off. I waited for him to approach me, each time, smiled, muttered irresistibly witty comebacks, only to be convinced that severely liquored up Fin was never going to get to the punch.

The verdict: apparently he had his heart broken by an “almost marriage” quality gf who cheated on him. He recently moved out to CA to recover, and had been off his game ever since. (as told to me by his female roomie. He also apparently sucks at cleaning a bathroom.)

I mingled, I danced, I flirted with older boys, and I let Kate pawn me off. She sauntered around the party with me on her side and we loved it. All of her friends were amazing. They are all late-twenties, so sure of themselves, so everything I want to be. They are funny, smart, beautiful. They are all my older sisters in my once orphaned life. I have since been adopted.

And then Bear texts. Then calls. Then texts. Then texts again. All booty-licious. All undeserving of answers.

FUCK YOU!

Regret

Not really, but kinda.

I am waiting for a phone call that isn’t on its way. I am wishing it will come despite my little sister’s insight, “Uh, you don’t hang out with poopheads.”

I want to play the weak card and I want to call. I want to say, “Look, we are both royally fucking this up. Let’s do something about it, even if it is ending it all, no hard feelings.”

Nevermind, adult conversations are for boys who call.

I kinda hope I see him at kickball on Tuesday. I hope he comes.

Reply

I wrote back:

“Insightful. Poophead wasn’t exactly what came to mind”

Now I am waiting. again.

Serves me right. Not so worried if he doesn’t call (would you? after that? I think not). I’m thinking of it as a way of saving myself $245 in shopping funds. If he doesn’t call it is close enough to the last spending extravaganza that I will carry over the satisfying feeling of mopping up my tears with my pretty new jeans.

Could I have said something vague like, “um… I’m not sure what that means?” or hopeful like “Fortunately your phone still works and it might not be too late?

Ya- but you and I both know I’m not like that.