like last time.

The last time I chatted with an ex, I eventually slept with him and that was the end of that. That was the end.

Now, chatting with Refuses is just so painful, but doesn’t hurt enough to stop, because I want it so bad. Deep down, I want him to want to talk to me.

And it doesn’t really matter if I’m not the one starting it, or if I’m the one keeping it out of flirting territory, because I am the one enjoying it and I will enevitably be the one getting over it. solo. alone. without refuses. In my sweatpants, with my girl movie, and an extra season of Mad Men.

But I can’t help myself. I just want to talk to him. Want to see if there is really anything left there.

What I don’t want- is to be his entertainment in the meantime. His person until he finds the next one.

I don’t want to be around for when he is lonely or sad, and without any other girl to make him happy.

Rather I want to be the one he goes to make him happy, over all of the others.

REPEAT AFTER ME: I am the rule, not the exception. I am the rule, not the exception.

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.

A big sigh of relief

I went to sleep last night at 7:30 pm, and woke up feeling like myself again.

I went to workout (and got my ass-handed to me by an awesome instructor) this morning.

Today I am going to hang out with a group of girls I hung out with before Refuses made an appearance, and I can’t wait to have fun with them again.

I am moving on today, demanding my old life, my old me back, and getting out of this funk.

From here on out I will be working out like I used to, eating like I just worked out, making plans like they are all mine, and living like my heart has never been bruised.

grace in small things: twenty three

5. girlfriends.
4. going out with girlfriends.
3. baking for girlfriends.
2. dinner with girlfriends
1. Really appreciating the fact that they love you, and they probably won’t ever leave you.

same stress, new cycle part 1

I am stressed out, approximately every 14 days. Every two weeks I am freaking out about when I am going to get paid- And I have a steady job with a steady income.

I know this sounds crazy to some people, especially those who don’t have jobs, but I am not going to pretend to understand what you are going through, because I can’t, and I wouldn’t know where to start.

Yesterday I cried for the first time in my life over money. My adult financial situation.

Ya, Ya, people my age bitch all the time about how we don’t make enough or a “so broke,” but yesterday I said, out loud, for the very first time how much money I owe. And then I cried.

I cried because every last cent of money owed is money I have actively spent. Sure some unfortunate things came up, but the money wasn’t mine to spend and I did anyway. Every latte, every lunch, every night out was I choice I made. Every necklace and every vacation or weekend trip.

It is no one’s fault but my own.

And no one can fix it but me.

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.

Simple life

I was watching a guy talk on the phone, while he stood at an intersection, waiting for the little green man to beckon him to the other side.

He looked happy. Like he was talking to someone on the other end that cared. Someone whose words made him rock on his toes, smile, and laugh, all within the same moment.

And, I thought to myself, “Man, that looks easy.”

And then I wondered, “Why?”

I answered with another question. Why do I envy his “easy?” when I constantly find myself consoling my insides with mumblings of “alone is easier” and “a lack of prospects equals peace.” I tell myself that drama-free silence accompanied by a simple life refuses to upset the delicate balance my life depends on.

Crazy is what happens when love interests get involved. The waiting for the phone calls, the fact that an entire day hinges on another’s actions. I constantly look for the signs that indicate that the stakes are too high, and all of the worry that comes from wondering if I will ever be me again, after this, floods my mind.

As I watched his carefree reactions on the street corner, I pinpointed my discontentment. It wasn’t that I want to be a pair, or don’t want to be single. Rather, I want to be distracted. I want to flit mindlessly away from money woes and job hunts. I want to laugh on the phone in a simple second of happiness, even if all it provided was a distraction.

Single forces me to look at myself. By default, all of the changes, self-improvement, and worrying are aimed back in my direction. Without the distraction that crazy fosters, I am left to face all of my problems that are so easily pushed aside otherwise. And frankly, it is tiring. They don’t go away and just stare back at me, as if to say “What now? No excuses.”

So what do I do in response? I wish to be crazy (and maybe in love.)

shave me off a piece of that.

Saturday morning: when I thought I was going to the wedding, later that afternoon, where C would be.

Me: I really shouldn’t shave. I need all the help I can get.

Kay: Um, has that worked in the past?

Me: No, actually. Not once.

Kay: Well, then maybe you should, just so you don’t appear… unkempt.

I think I just about died laughing. Oh the joys of being a lady.*

Based on my track record, all signs are pointing to “I’m an idiot.”

Then to top it off, we get home, I am checking the date of the wedding, and Kay goes, “Pretending, May 3 is next Saturday”

What? Thank god I didn’t get all dressed up, and show up at the wedding that wasn’t really until next weekend.

Only in my life, people.
* Don’t worry, I use the term loosely. My dad always claimed I was his first-born son.

winning at kickball and scoring drinks

Yay! We won at kickball. The team we played was pretty bad, but I think everyone had a good time.

I know this may come as surprising, but kickball is way more fun when you win. You know what’s not fun? When the old guy on your team that is 5′3″ buys you drinks and sits next to you.

No big deal right? I like the attention just as much as the next person. Apparently, Shorty has a made a habit of getting kickball girls drunk and making out with them. History doesn’t lie.

In the meantime, I am going to play that one off as being friendly. Right, friendly.

pretending, still?

I had an hilarious interaction with my dry cleaner on Friday.

A little background, first. My dry cleaner is commonly referred to by the people at my work as the dry-cleaner nazi. The slight Seinfeld reference is an earned one, as he requires exact change, very prompt pickup and often scolds you for new stains. Why do I continue to provide my nosy dry cleaner with business? Well, because he does a great job, and grace isn’t my best quality, so I often send him clothes that appear as though they jumped out of a Tide commerial.

He recognizes me and has inquired about my job situation. He asks quizzically if I am in school and repeatedly I tell him, “No, I am done. I work.”

So I walk in Friday, he nods, and pulls a new ticket. Then he looks at me above the rims of his glasses and says, “Pretending, still?” as he inquires about my last name. Then he asks for my first initial. I nod, then respond, and he counters with “When are you going to change your name?” I laugh. He says “When are you going to get married?”

I laugh again, smile, and respond, “Not for a very long time.”

Undaunted, he persists. “Why a long time? What is your plan for marriage?”

“My plan? I don’t have one, I don’t even have a prospect. I am in no hurry.”

“hmph. How old are you?”

“22.”

“hmph, you should be married by 25. I think 25 is good age. Then you have two years.”

“ok, I’ll remember that. Thanks.” I smile, he relents, and I leave.

I can’t wait until I walk in three years and he says, “Pretending, still?”

Talk about dissapointment.