In Which I Am Delusional

You don't want to hear about the mess I made of things with me and Que. He's still around but...that's a tale for another time. Maybe.

Not to keep harping on this but where is my man? Seriously, where is he? I have never had a boyfriend, never been on a date, never held somebody's hand as we walked down the street. What thee fuck. I mean I guess I haven't needed a man for the past 21 years but I sure as hell have wanted one. I'm used to not having one obviously but sometimes in the dark, quiet corners of the night I wonder where my love is. Every time I console myself into thinking I'll be fine on my own I get a glimmer of hope, a wisp of a man's attentions and he says all the right things and I think, holy shit, maybe I'm not doomed! But then he reveals his true colors and I sink back down again and the walls come back up.

I think I'm not attractive. Not ugly but literally not able to attract. Que says (in a judgy and kind of condescending tone of someone who's never had a problem meeting women) that it's my fault that I keep attracting guys who just want to have sex with me and I don't present the right package and I should flirt more because he always gets the girls that he wants by flirting with them. Is that in ANY way helpful to tell someone who's borderline socially retarded and introverted? That's about as useful as telling an anorexic "to just eat something already." But he succeeds in making me feel bad about myself because, well, he has a harem so it must be me, right? I just have to remember that he's attracted to a certain type of woman and I am certainly not her and dating advice is rarely general. I guess I just have to be patient--God hasn't seen fit to put a man in my life, apparently. Y'all know patience isn't my strong suit...and it especially kind of stings hearing Que say those things because it's him. He was supposed to be the one who wanted me back. He certainly acted like he did, in the beginning, anyway, even before the sex (and I use the term "sex" loosely, for the sake of brevity), but I guess it was all lip service or he's a really good actor. He's very good at avoiding the tough stuff. We will literally talk all the way to the point of:

Me: "I wouldn't mind being your girlfriend. All you have to do is ask." Him: "But would you cook sometimes?" Me: "I'll try." Him: *crickets*

And that will be that. What am I supposed to get from that conversation? And he'll be the one to bring it up! If I really didn't think that we would make an awesome team and have so much fun together then I'd leave it at that. But I think we would. And call me crazy but I think he knows it too.

Or maybe I am just delusional and like torture...

The Mistake I Wasn't Supposed to Make

You lot were right about the whole friends-with-benefits thing. It isn't just happy naked times. Somewhere along the lines I developed feelings for this young man. This isn't what I bargained for! I don't know if I am just transferring the lust into a different part of my brain that feels actual emotion, but, yeah. I want him all to myself, or at least acknowledge that it's not just physical. Because we were friends at first. And now we're lovers (how cliche). And now I'm past kicking him out in the light of day but find myself wanting to hang on a little longer. He's weird. He says he wants one girl. We drop "what if we were together as a couple" hints all the time. I want to hide my feelings but somehow make him confess his. Needless to say, THIS SUCKS. Somebody hold me...

I Bet He's the Smitten One This Time

Coming home for holiday break came at the best and worst time. Best because it's Christmas and worst because I'm missing about five games with NBA team. Ugh, I can't even think about it because I'm so worried about making a good impression at this internship and it's really easy to fuck things up. So yeah, there's that.

But also, I can't help but think I dodged a bullet with Que (if you haven't guessed he's the one from the party). Before any of it happened, we had a very teasing relationship. Afterward, I resumed the teasing as usual, maybe a little more than usual to protect myself/not give anything away. On my last day, he sat in the passenger seat of my car and said that I act differently when it's just the two of us. It seemed like he was trying to get me to admit to feelings or something, but I was stressed and cranky and I couldn't be bothered to giving an inch.

"I'm going home to take a nap."

"Want me to come take a nap with you?"

I did, but I didn't know how to ask without feeling stupid. He said he'd call me after he got a haircut but he didn't.

One thing I've realized is that I have walls up when it comes to men, both inside and out.

First I think it's because I don't trust men romantically. When you hang around and work with guys as much as I do you see the cavalier attitude with which they treat women. Not to say that all guys are liars even though they ARE, but I definitely recognize the need for a thick skin.

Also, and a little more based off of my experience, it just takes me a long time to admit to having feelings because I'm always the one with the hopeless crush, the unrequited love. Friends would always make jokes about me being totally smitten and call me thirsty with a hint of desperate. And that takes a lot out of a girl, ya know? The affair with The Smoker left me kind of scarred as well, showed me the downside of giving too much, investing too much in a boy. Once bitten, right? So I need the guy to jump first. In Que's case (whether I have feelings for him or not other than lusty ones), I feel like he's trying to case the situation and see if I'm going to slip up and say "Uncle!" to the tune of "Yes I have feelings for you," or, probably more accurately "Yes I can't stop thinking about that night come over and let's make lurrrrrrvveeee." Aha! That's what triggered his frustration in the car, methinks, when I said if he came over there would be no actual, technical, fucking.

Because as he got out of the car he said, "You know the deal. You know I want you."

Color me perplexed. I almost yelled "What do you mean 'want'? You want to sleep with me? You want to really, like, date me because I have won you over with my glasses and humor and gossipy ways? WHAT?" But I didn't want to be that shrew who over-analyzes everything. Even though in this case I should have been.

Seeing everything all spelled out like this makes me think, eh, it was a one TWO time thing and we're better off being friends/coworkers/partners in crime. Who maybe fool around occasionally? NO. But damn it's been a long time since I've had some nookie...I mean, once I get back maybe we could...NO. Right?

Spotted

Speak of the fineness and he doth appear.

Walking to class and him and his brother were walking on the other side of the grass median. He was just strolling around, being beautiful.

So what did I say? Um, that would be nothing. Unless fidgeting with my sleeve and flipping my hair counts as speech. Secretly I don't think he actually noticed me--he was also messing with his phone.

Maybe if it had been just him I would have said something (no idea what!) But yeah. Just to give you an idea of the psychoses I'm dealing with when it comes to him/cute boys in general. Not pretty. Eek I'm embarrassing myself! Le sigh despite not having any interaction though, I can't complain...but not for long I'm gonna have to move my arse soon...

Begging for Forgiveness and Groveling for Advice

Would you rather have bad, boring sex, or none at all? Because my life has been SO, SO dull as of late that I often find it pointless to come here and regale you with my tales of going to class, going to Paper meetings, and going home. But if not posting often enough like I've been doing means that y'all will hate me forever and ever then I will surely come up with the bloggerly equivalent of groveling to keep ya around. So like I said, would you rather have boring sex or none at all? Pretend that I am sex. Huzzah.

Update: ok ok there is a boy that I have a gi-HUGE-ant crush on but I've only seen him twice in person and a million times through Facebook stalking like when he's on the sidelines at football games (in his football uniform, not like cheerleading. Don't play me.) and I happen to be on the track covering the game for the Paper. But he is a vision. Trust me. So what do I do? Lurk around campus, hoping to see him? Then what? I know it's real stank of me to be away for so long and then pump you with advice when I come back but I am desperate and you all are kind and well-versed in seduction. And don't turn into mush when you see a beautiful boy. So help me. Plus, if by some miracle we start something I will have PLENTY of dating shenanigans to document on this here blog! So everybody wins.

'Cause This IS Thriller

I WILL be blasting his music all day.

Since I have a stupid workshop for The Paper all day tomorrow, I'll make this quick.

Happy 51st birthday, Michael Joseph Jackson. I love you. Always have, always will. Your music has been the soundtrack throughout many memorable moments in my life, and I am forever grateful that you shared your remarkable gift with the world. You are the ultimate Thriller!

"But they say/The sky's the limit/And to me that's really true/But my friends you aint seen nothin/Just wait 'til I get through"

If I post nothing else today (and I might because as of yesterday I kinda like this boy) I had to get out one of my legendary birthday tributes to my favorite artist, the late, great, Michael Jackson.

Ch'mon!

Old Fling

Lord. Third day in Southern State, at a drunken 21st already. A friend of Top Chef (well mine too) is having his birthday. Currently en route to impromptu bowling jaunt with a bunch of half-drunk (some all-drunk) college students. Guess who is here. Science Guy, and the one, the only, The Runner. Double !!, a glass of WTF?, and a side order of a humorous are you kidding?. And yes he's been all over me. Asking me if I'm "still mad at him." From what, you ask? For walking out of his room and ceasing to talk to him. This occurred February of SOPHOMORE year, mind. Which later became the year of The Smoker. So suffice it to say, the Runner wasn't quite on my mind until I walked into tonight's shindig. And doubly suffice it to say, I had no answer. It would have only been more awkward had I not been tipsy. I really don't anticipate starting something with the Runner, it was just a weird blast from le past. But if I had to recycle an ex-fling, not quite sure it'd be the Runner. He'd be on the list I GUESS, but I really have no thoughts about him. Ah well. I'll hopefully have more to report after tonight's affair. If these drunken imbeciles ever get us to the bowling alley.

*2 seconds later*
Ok I came back. What if it was different this time? We did have a lot of fun together...

*4 Seconds later*
Stop! This is a mind-cycle that will become vicious if I ever put it into fruition. And we know I can put stuff into fruition, especially when I completely shouldn't.

*8 Seconds later*
OMG I'm reading soo much into this and it's only been a few hours. I need to chillax. Y'all pray for me.

*Like 30 min later*
I'm sitting shotgun in his car and he's writing down directions. He's left-handed. Aw.

Pardon the Interruption

Don't mind me, I had to try out the "strikeout" html code which I have trying to figure out forever while I'm watching B. Scott on YouTube getting ready for bed.

Hang on... *hits "Publish Post" and crosses fingers*

Ahhhh yay it worked! Oh, the things I will say without saying. Now all I need is a new template and this blog will be well on its way to a due intervention.

You've been warned Stay Tuned!

Today I forgot to take my phone off of "silent" after barely escaping the boringest job ever work, and later on I noticed somebody had been blowing my little Blackberry up. I then received this text (verbatim): "yo is this old girl from the dollar store?" Er, what? I started mentally backtracking ("did I meet anyone in the dollar store? Wait, when's the last time I've been to a dollar store?") and just called the guy. He asked me if I was, indeed, the girl he met at some random store. "Nope, sorry." He apologized, but then I could tell he was weighing his options on whether or not trying to holler at me would earn him an epic curse-out. I saved him the trouble with a "Yeah, not me. Sorry. Have a nice day." Click.

I got off the phone laughing. That dude got played in a major way. And damn she must have been fine too enough for him to call twice and send a text. And this fool had the nerve to call again, after I told him I wasn't her!

I tell ya, it's a jungle out there.

Quirks

I love how men are quick to list what they want/don't want in a woman yet remain annoyingly oblivious to their own faults. However, that's another post. Looking through posts at Single Black Male (which I have a love/hate relationship with), the posts I liked were the lists of "quirks"--or qualities unique to a mate-seeking individual based on their own personalities, that other people may not understand. These can include wearing glasses, enjoying Anime, what have you. I thought about it, and here's my starting list of quirks that will make Lucky's heart swoon.

-Knowing a little about a lot.
This is a two-fold: keeping up with current events, from the highbrow news to pop culture is one. More importantly, and Top Chef is the man for this one: knowing so much random trivia it makes my head spin, allowing us to have drawn-out conversations about any- and everything. There are a few subjects with which I am totally fascinated. While my man doesn't have to share these same fascinations, I will find it absolutely endearing if he's a total nerd about, say, the Bermuda triangle, the history of football, and Howard Hughes.

If you're wondering, my favorite subjects are the Romanovs, Princess Diana, the Mafia (la Cosa Nostra!). Honorable mention: Titanic, ancient Egypt, and Greco-Roman mythology.

-An affinity for the child-like
Not to be confused with childish, ie, immature, overly messy, dependent on mothers, etc, a man who can appreciate the childlike makes my heart melt. A little silly, laughs at cute commercials, even stuff like remembering his favorite Power Ranger (and has valid reasons!). Ultimate bonus: if he has read (not just seen the movies, although that counts for something) Harry Potter. I've never met a man besides TC who has physically turned the pages of our beloved series. When I meet him, there will be a party in someone's pants, I guarantee.

-(Slightly) Imperfect Teeth
A tiny gap or a little crooked tooth in the front is so cute to me. Noticeably f*cked up or discolored chompers are icky, but a textbook so-called too-perfect smile along with perfect lips does nothing for me. I'm a sucker for a unique, lopsided grin.

-Left-handed
My dad's left-handed. My terrific buddy The Artist is left-handed. The Smoker was left-handed. Barack Obama is left-handed. Maybe it's the fact that it's kinda rare and weirdish. But it is absolutely adorable when a guy is so confident and by-the-book classic but writes with the "off" hand. Sigh.

-Hates the same reality TV that I hate
Ok. Shows like Rock of Love, for the Love of Ray J absolutely turn my stomach. I think they're misogynistic and dumb, catering to the idea of a man and his harem of women. The women on the show are just as bad. Maybe it's the one uptight part about me but I can't stand those shows, for comic relief or othewise. Just can't get with it. And any guy who doesn't at least see those problems, or worse, "kinda likes the idea of getting to choose from a bevy of [publicity-hounding, morally questionable] 'sexy' women" gives me a glimpse of his thoughts on women, sex, and relationships in general. It depends, I guess, on what he has to say, but more than anything those shows piss me off and I don't want to risk the chance of them clogging up my TiVo 'cause he just has to see who else smashed the homies.

-Has battle wounds
I love a guy with manly hands and scars from actually working sometime in his life. Or, oooh, playing sports. I don't bruise, and the few scars I've gotten totally disappear when they heal. True story: when I tripped and fell in a ditch in an unfortunate cheerleading-related incident and disgustingly scraped my knee, I thought FOR SURE it would leave a gnarly scar. But alas, you can barely see it now. Boo. Bottom line: I think scars are cool and since I can't seem to get any* I like them on guys. OMG another true story: this guy I went to high school with is a burn victim and years later I think his somewhat faded but still visible burns are kinda sexy...

I am so weird.

*Knock on wood that I don't, like, slice my arm in a freak shopping accident. Even though I got a burn on the top of my hand from the oven and I kinda like it.

I truly and literally could go on and on as I write, so I'll stop here. But I'm interested in you guys' quirky turn-ons.

Some final thoughts:
-I freaking love the Real Housewives of New Jersey. LOVE THEM. I love how they're all kinda tacky and too tan and really great moms, too.

-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA THE FAMED CAVALIERS LOST HOLY CRAP CHRISTMAS CAME EARLY THIS YEAR!!!!!!

Obligatory Women's Lib Rant

It's no secret that everybody is all over Drake aka Wheelchair Jimmy (not that I ever watched Degrassi. I SWEAR. I would tell you if I did, honest) as a rapper, and some of his music is cool.** It took a minute to separate this version of him with what was portrayed on The N, but his songs are quite catchy and he's an admirable rapper.

**Ok it is really good, if you can look past the budding misogyny. "A Night Off" and "Man of the Year" are my favorites so far.

However.

It seems that we have already started with the "bitches and hoes" mentality. He's throwing those adjectives around a little too freely for my liking. Even stuff like "Baby you my everything/other hoes ain't never on it" which, ok, you called me "baby" but why does my homegirl gotta be a hoe? It just leaves a sour taste in my mouth (ear?) after hearing those words used as legitimate words to describe a female. Because there are bitches out there, don't get me wrong. I interact with many on a daily basis.

I guess we didn't expect Drake to come out raunchy and/or profane which makes it sting a little more, but I mean, if he really wanted to be "revolutionary" he could have started by coming up with a better way to describe women.

There's a bigger picture here. Not only do men need to better, but women need to demand better. Take this Film Screening Guy situation. Men only do what they can get away with as many times as they can get away with it. Obviously, his less-than-chivalrous method of courting has gotten him sex before, to the point where he doesn't know how to act when a standards-having female like myself rebuts with, "I need you to come better than that if you want me to entertain you, let alone consider sleeping with you." But it could be argued that those other women were desperate because there aren't that many dateable men around. Which I secretly kind of understand but that doesn't make it ok for anyone involved. Because those desperate women are making it hard for ME.

I mean, other hardworking, slightly more modest women. Like myself.

The Yahoo! Reign of Terror Continues

My dear, dear Italian spaghetti noodle of lurrrrve, Vittoria, has already expressed her dismay at Yahoo!* and their so-called dating advice. I agreed with--and chortled at--most of V's claims, and when I came across this [gag-worthy] gem of an article, I immediately imagined her response as "Are you effing kidding me?!?!:

#5: Send Him the Diary Entry You Wrote After Your First Date -- or Write One Now

One of the best things about having a girlfriend is reminiscing about what you thought about each other in the beginning of your relationship. Reliving all of the uncertainty and anxiety is strangely exhilarating. I can't think of a better anniversary present than a sanctioned peek into the documented thoughts of someone I care about.

Um. No. No ma'am. Well, at the very least proceed with extreme caution. If you do this even a minute too early, and he gets an unfiltered look at how googly-eyed you were over him in the beginning, HE WILL RUN SCREAMING FOR THE HILLS.

Trust me on this.

*That exclamation point was meant to be sarcastic, by the way.

Dating Vernacular

To give (gave, giv⋅en, giv⋅ing; verb): To show one's ass, to employ tactics such as: rudeness, skewed logic, over-the-top shenanigans, or reverse psychology in a ploy to get a point across or get something accomplished, usually to zero avail. Can result in the giver looking extremely dumb and uncooperative.

Used in a sentence: "Film Screening Guy just texted me looking for sex and he absolutely GAVE."

Final Thoughts

Have been the participant in the World's Most Unproductive Day. I'm going out tonight, though, if that counts as doing something. Cali Girl and Ms. Politics came over, though; always a treat.

I got my hair done last night and told Hairstylist B that I was having man troubles. "Let's talk," she chirped. "Sit in my chair." The first words out of my mouth were, "Ok so I met this guy on Friday..." and the first words out of hers were "And you're having problems already?" I love Hairstylist B; a light bulb went off when she said that. a) I am having problems, not him. Film Screening Guy isn't thinking about me, so why am I still letting him occupy brain matter? 2) and more importantly, this is not fun anymore, and at this rate when men stop being fun and start becoming work, that's a wrap.

This is the last mention of this affair, I swear, but once again, it sucks because he was cute and tall and played the guitar but I mean, that could have all been a ploy to get into my pants, men have said and done crazy things when faced with the prospect of the P(ussy). Besides, I don't know that much about him; we hadn't gotten to the interesting stuff yet, so there's not much to miss. As for him, I mean, he knows that my legs look awesome in short things, that I flirt a lot, and love tequila, but he doesn't know that I have an Amy Winehouse wig in my closet, eat pretzels with every meal, like bellydancing, or hoard romance novels under my bed.

And that's the good stuff.

PS--what's on your nightstand? I have two night tables. The one on the side I sleep on has a lamp, a digital clock, a birthday card from my family, meds and water, a pen, hair clip, Carol's Daughter body cream, Rosebud lip balm, an amber cube that says, "give thanks," and a candle. The other one has a fan, iPod speakers, another candle, and candy :)

Just curious.

You Won't Get It

I learned my lesson about writing about specific guys too much on here, but I started a story about the guy from the film screening and I owe you a "what happened next" post.

On Monday, I did indeed go over to his place, where we talked for a few hours on his floor. Well, I did the brunt of the talking. There was lots of flirting on both ends, no real physical contact. We texted almost all day on Tuesday, and somehow the texting turned dirty. I forget who started it, but I think we all know I'm no stranger to sexual innuendo, so I played right along. Key word: played. Well, on my end.

We were supposed to hang out again on Tuesday, but I got stuck doing stuff for the Paper and we had to cancel. Earlier today, when I asked him what he was doing later, he responded, "U." This is when I started to panic: all our flirty/textual filth had me writing checks that my ass couldn't cash, literally. I am not/was not looking for sex, but it became clear that he was and thought I was as well. I vented this to various friends, fearing that once he found out these legs were closed, he would be, as the expression goes, so over me. The response from pals I got was I shouldn't want someone who would be over me just because we wouldn't be sleeping together anyway. Point taken.

Anyway, I sort of eased into the "no sex clause" (this is all through texting still) and the answer was not a happy one. He pretty much said he was looking for sex and thought I was, too. So I asked him if that was it, are we "over" if there's no sex? He said he "wouldn't say that" but went on to, well, say it. I expressed my position, apologizing for leading him on and saying that I'd like us to hang out still but sex wouldn't be part of the equation. When I got home a half-hour later, I called him up to maybe clarify, talk it out; no answer. That was at 10:30pm. It is now past midnight.

So yeah. My worries were pretty much confirmed: I told him "no sex" and he told me "well then peace out, bitch." I guess I'm sad about what "could have" been: he hadn't given me a chance to explain that making out/rounding a base or two were still perfectly viable options.

If you're wondering why I'm making such a big deal about this, well, it's time for me to come clean: I'm still a virgin. I talk a lot of filth, but I am still quite, ahem, untried. In every sense. Not for particular religious beliefs or anything, at this point it's just because I haven't found anybody worth fucking. Yes, including you, Film Screening Guy. I didn't tell him this, and waffled on whether or not I should, but somehow I doubt that would change things if he was just out for sex to begin with.

This instance does not bolster my faith in future dating prospects and boy-kind in general: how the hell does a 20-year-old female virgin navigate within a 2009 world of men who expect and are used to regular helpings of ass? We virgs are a rare breed, after all. I'm a little annoyed right now, actually. I cleaned my room for this yahoo. I try to look for the lesson in things, like "why did this happen," and so far I can't come up with anything except for to remind me that "yes, Lucky, you are still [and will probably forever be] a virgin. Still." Thanks for the update, world.

So yeah.

Some days, hell, most days, I wish I wasn't holding my V-Card. Especially in situations like this. Even though I wouldn't have sex with Film Screening Guy after knowing him for FIVE WHOLE FUCKING DAYS. Maybe I should buy a t-shirt that says "Virgin" to alleviate any misconceptions. Internets, a) don't laugh at me. I am fragile. 2) answer me this: what could I have done differently in this situation? Shut down the dirty texting ASAP? Inform him of my virginity the first time he brought up sex in conversation? Let the Smoker deflower me last year to get it over with already? Censor myself/stop talking about sex with such exuberance so as not to send the wrong idea? I never tell people I'm a virg, never say I'm not, let people draw their own conclusions, but tell the truth if asked directly. This involves lots of conversational sidestepping and vague answers, in case you were wondering.

It may not be easy when you're sleazy but it's just as hard when you're not.

Be Careful What You Wish For

On Friday I went to an film screening. Of course I tipped in late, so I sat in the back next to some dude. Key word: some dude.

We made little comments about the movie for a bit, I didn't really think about it because it was early and I was hungry and fantasizing about waffles. At one point, I was squirming and crossing/uncrossing my legs and I guess he noticed (I was wearing shorts) and leaned over to say, "I like your sandals." I am so sure.

After a minute, he introduced himself, and I did the same. I still didn't think anything of it. Really, I was that hungry, y'all. Anyway, my phone started buzzing and I when I whipped it out to address three missed calls he goes "while you have your phone out you should put my number in there." Points for finesse, sir!

He texted me later on that night and we went back and forth on Saturday, too, during both convos he invited me to his place. At 2am, mind you.

Since I'm on my Blackberry, in a booth killing time before class I'll skip to the part where I think we're hanging out this evening at a respectable hour, duh. I'll skip to the part where I say I'm nervous not that he's like sooo sexy blah blah he's ok but you know I hate awkward let's get to know each other one on one situations and I fear I'm not that interesting and plus omg here's the big part he's on the basketball team and I'm scared that his roommate is actually his teammate that I turned down to "hang out" last month wouldn't that be horrid?

Me and the Runner used to hang out in his room but we'd been talking on facebook for like eight months before so we pretty much knew each other and this is nothing like that. What do people do when they hang out?? Why am I so nervous?? Why did I not inherit social skills??
Somebody slap sense and calmness into me. Will report back later.

Update: it's 9:02pm, I'm supposed to be going to his place soon, after a rigamarole of plans. He asked if I had any single friends--like my roommate--if we could "all" hang out, to which I had to tell him me and the Roommate aren't friends like AT ALL, so it would be 10 kinds of stupid to bring her along. He asked if I had any single friends and I thought "do I ever, dude." But none who would subject themselves to being "hooked up." But I managed to convince Ms. Politics to accompany me, which abated my nerves for about an hour, until then she got really nervous, so I put her out of her foreseeable uncomfortability and said I'd go alone, as originally planned. So here I am [blogging] doing homework so I won't have to get ready to go on my first "hang out with a guy I just met" experience. What the hell is my problem?! (well, see above) I need a drink...

More Flashbacks

Thursday was Top Chef's 21st birthday...he is now the Official Buyer of My Drinks until my 21st in November. He's having a party this Saturday and I'm super-excited 'cause, you know, it's him, and it's a party and he told me there'd be Fuzzy Navels just for me (I can't bring myself to imbibe like I used to after Spring Break Fiasco 09).

Also, the Science Guy will be in attendance.

I had a huge, girly crush on SG for about, oh, a few months of second semester of freshman year. Lack of palpable chemistry** relegated him to the friend-zone, and that was that. Soon after, I moved onto the Runner...who eventually got eliminated as well for...well, lack of palpable chemistry on my part and lack of balls on his. For serious.

**Ok, and maybe a little because he's short. OKAY and I think I outweigh him. I never said I wasn't shallow.

Anyway, SG and I are cordial whenever we see each other, he is often very gracious with candy as well. Lately, though, he's intimated something a leetle more than friendship. The last time I saw him, in person, he mentioned his upcoming birthday celebration and hinted that I should come. I figured he'd just been making small talk and promptly forgot about it. After all, our entire beginning had been built on fake invitations.

True story: he invited me to church once. CHURCH. I agreed at first but chickened out so my inner heathen wouldn't show. He also invited me to go running with him. RUNNING. I laughed in his face.

Back to the story. When I actually wished him a happy birthday via text, he texted back with something along the lines of "we should hang out sometime." I forgot what I said but it wasn't "yes we should."

So today, I'm hanging out with TC, flipping through some program and SG's name and middle initial, "C," is under the Honor Roll list (I know, he's smart. Reason #44395 why I don't want him...that's sad...). Feeling jokey and in girlish high-spirits, I texted SG, "is your middle name Charles?" I thought he at a track meet and didn't expect him to respond, but he did, with "blah blah yes it's Charles how did you know blah blah I'm going to the party tomorrow you should come with me :-)."

Pause, sir.

This is totally not his fault or anything but he is two whole years late. I'm completely not interested and this fool wants to come knocking on my doorstep. First the Smoker and now this. If the Runner Facebooks me tomorrow asking me to go mini-golfing or something I will honestly blow my brains out and call it a day. Timing, you are an elusive bitch and the truth ain't in you. And of course the one I really would welcome back with open arms, Tex, is nowhere to be found.

Oh my giddy-God what shall I do? I don't want to lead SG on, I tried to ignore his advances without outright saying "no" because he's such a nice guy--a puppy, really--but I hope against hope this won't get out of hand...ordinarily I wouldn't care and let my powers of avoidance run their course but TC's party is Saturday... and a college party is no good to try and behave yourself especially when there's liquor present that I surely will be drinking because this is too much, Lord.

I try to move forward but the past keeps a-tryin' to pull me back. Absolutely not!

Restored via Phone

It's amazing what a girly phone chat with your best friend can do to lift the spirits. Just thought I'd say.

Oh yeah, guess what? Tex has a GIRLFRIEND.

I found (via that damned Facebook) while I was on the phone with BFF. I looked at a few photos of them together and subsequently started whining, mid-conversation, about "the bad decisions and failures that are my liiiiiiiifffeee." BFF, no stranger to my "woe is me, I am single" ranting, wisely ignored me until I was through. And for that I love her.

Le sigh. Table for one, please. But I am trying to get my life right so maybe it's best that I go this one alone...plus, let's be honest, I don't have time to get through a whole magazine in one sitting and I'm pretty sure that if I had a boy at this moment he would get lost somewhere between my full dishwasher and carful of shoes.

Girl Seeking Books

A double-post! Go me.

One of the ironic things about being an English major is that you don't have time to read for pleasure anymore. Seriously. The highlight of my week was looking up interesting book titles on Amazon.com and reading the blurbs and reviews. La-ame. And when/if you actually do have time to read for leisure, your brain is so tired from all that academic mumbo-jumbo that all you want to re-read is Confessions of a Shopaholic for the 43rd time. My mom laments [talks shit] that I read literary junk food all the time, but in my defense, I read Of Mice and Men, The Scarlet Letter, and To Kill a Mockingbird all before I reached middle school.

I may have peaked.

Anyway, I need something in between, you know? Something a little more highbrow than Size 12 is Not Fat (don't hate) but that's not too heavy. Bonus points if it's a British book: they're funny. And must, MUST have a traditional plotline. No Toni Morrison. I like linear novels. Stories. Give me your basic rising action, climax, falling action, denouement structure. With preferably a love scene thrown in for good measure. Also, and this is a recent development, black characters preferred.

This is the fly in the pudding. See, I like chick-lit (again, don't hate). However, love it though I do, all of the plucky, earnest characters in said chick-lit seem to be lacking melanin. Pre-HBCU, this would not have bothered me. Now, it does. When I finally came across a black historical romance novel, I freaked out in the middle of Borders.

I'm not saying that there are no books for black women, because one, DUH that's a lie. But what I'm having a hard time finding are, say the black version of Jennifer Weiner or Meg Cabot. Stories (of quality) about contemporary, middle-class, educated black females like myself. Like a novel about a Vanessa Huxtable-type gal.

So, suggestions, anyone, on some quality literary stimulation? Maybe I just don't know where to look, point me in the right direction! And ok, they don't just have to be FUBU reading (For Us By Us, if you don't remember that horrid satortical phase); any good, moderately-easy to get through novels will do.

As if I'll have time to read them.

PS-had another internet run-in with The Smoker that I would've mentioned had it been productive/interesting, but I shan't even waste space because he has proved, once again in stunning fashion, to be a major asshat. It's my fault for [starting?] entertaining it, but damn! He is the king of Home Depot (ie, a tool). How do you forget someone who won't stay gone?

Spring Break Leftovers

Back in Southern State and detoxing from partying and junk food. Overall a crazy-fun trip; I miss the beach already!

But yay for sand between my toes.

On the last night, we went out to a club to celebrate [drink the rest of the liquor--not me though!] and I met a guy. Shocker, right?

Sistah Girl, Cali Girl, Ms. Politics, and I were walking back from the bar--empty-handed, those bitches didn't yell "Last Call"--when this tall dude cut me off and introduced himself. We chatted for two seconds, he was nice enough, and he asked for my number. I didn't have my phone so he took mine. I was flattered but chalked it up to life and spring break--he's a local, after all, and we were leaving the next day. But he did call and we ended up texting the rest of the night. And a little the next day, during the six-hour road trip. Haven't heard from him since yesterday, but again, it's not like I'll be going back to Myrtle Beach anytime soon so if anything, it's a good ego boost. He thinks I'm gorgeous, dontcha know.

Mama Said it Would be Days Like This

While [on Facebook] trying to finish another midterm I saw that The Smoker was online. When I saw his name the first thing I thought was "I think I hate him..."

Then, That Boy got on. I Blackberry'd Mr. GQ and he was all for FB chatting him. Torn, I turned to the trusty radio game. I asked "Should I FB chat him?" R. Kelly's "Bump and Grind" came on.

This can't be life.

But I chatted him up. Um, he didn't respond.

For real, though, life cannot be this way.

I have got too many damn love/sex/slow jam songs on my Itunes. That must be it. Now I must go slink back over to Facebook and log off.

Update: oh, never mind. He responded and I didn't see. *oops my bad-type giggle*

Honestly. I talk shit about my friend Mr. GQ being melodramatic as all get out but truth be told I'm the one having Dramatic Cunt Fallouts at the first sign of disorder and then have to backtrack and call off the hounds later.

He's not saying much...I mean, he is but he ain't, if you know what I mean...like he's...dry...maybe he's just quiet. Oh hell I can't do quiet boys because I seem loud in comparison which I am sure is grating. Oh, no. He just wrote that he doesn't really drink. We have a man down affair.

I...don't think this is working. Maybe it's the medium but our conversation feels very forced. Or maybe someone has a slow computer connection. Facebook caking/caking in general used to be fun and now it's too much work like there's too much at stake, too much to read into.

Update: end conversation. I don't see anything becoming of this, especially if I have to keep initiating contact. At best he just doesn't like talking via Internets, at worst he's not a conversationalist/not into me at all/thinks I'm an alcoholic. He hardly asked any questions; it was like pulling teeth and I got a dual-degree in Pimpology and Hustlemonics, not Dentistry (gross. As if). Methinks I'm over it.

Can someone find me a mail-order husband?