So Midwestern

Magic of the mind

2008-08-20T14:08:00.001-04:00

I had the longest, most detailed dream about Colin last night. I haven’t dreamt about him in months. I don’t know if I had a dream about him since We became Me, actually. And there were a lot of nights when I went to sleep wishing that he would be featured in my dreams. At least I could have him there.

In the dream, I was at his house. I cannot recall why I was there. But, when I pulled up, there was a lot of old furniture sitting on his lawn. He was cleaning, redecorating. I did not think that he was moving.

Inside, his house was unusually clean. It looked like a real house, not like the disgusting bachelor pad sty that it. always. fricking. was. There was a table with a Monopoly game sitting atop it. That seemed so wholesome, so unlike him. I immediately attributed it to His New Girl. How was it that His New Girl could tame him so easily? I could rarely break him of leaving his natural habitat: his favorite bar, his friends. On his terms.

I found a letter – it might have been in the grass – that His New Girl wrote him. I assumed it was a mushy love letter. I opened it. I read it, sort of, going through the action but not comprehending a word. I handed the open letter to Colin, telling him that I had not read it.

She had an unusual name, His New Girl. Bordering on trashy, I recall. I think it started with a D.

When I was leaving, I reminded him that he could call me the next day to wish me a happy birthday. Happier this year, I snapped, because I wouldn’t be celebrating it with him.

I woke up in disbelief of what my subconscious had cooked up. I fell back to sleep almost immediately, half hoping that I would drift into the same dream.

15 Things That Are Making Me Happy

2008-08-19T22:22:00.003-04:00

1. My shiny brown shoes and the lovely little bag I store them in.
2. Trader Joe's.
3. The amazing iPod playlist I made on Sunday night.
4. I finally have all of my financial aid crap lined up.
5. The lovely conversation I had with Kevin's Replacement earlier this weekend.
6. Brand new white t-shirts.
7. Having the mental strength to skip my way-too-close-to-daily trip to Tim Horton's.
8. My sister was, as she had hoped, invited to play for an astoundingly good hockey team.
9. Organization.
10. The silly story about Blue that my mom told me.
11. Plans to make flourless chocolate cake.
12. Finally making that trip to the post office that I had put off.
13. Indian food.
14. My newly cleaned makeup bag.
15. Having Mom's birthday presents all planned out so painlessly and so far before her birthday.

Oh, hell

2008-08-18T21:06:00.004-04:00

I thought that I didn't have a crush on Darren because I had a decidedly more glamorous crush in The Athlete. (Who I expect that I will not hear from again until he is back in town in the springtime and is looking for a booty call.)

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

I totally like Darren. (That sounds so 5th grade, but its the absolute truth.) It is a very controlled like. A mature like. A reachable like. One who I don't feel the uncontrollable need to text every two minutes. But wouldn't mind doing so.

He's just fun. Fun and down-to-earth. He's nice. Honest. Good with kids. Decent. He isn't afraid of who he is. He has this very easy, unassuming self-confidence about him that I appreciate.

My latest plan is to talk him into coming with me to Kevin's Replacement's wedding in September. I have mentioned it before and he was all about it. We will see if he comes through. He hasn't done/promised anything that he hasn't come through with. But I'm jaded. I know how much fun we would have and I'm afraid to look forward to it too much.

The other plan? Our joint birthday party. His birthday is Monday the 29th. Mine is Thursday the 2nd. We've been joking about our joint birthday celebration - even going as far as to ask our company's marketing manager to come up with a theme - for weeks now. It would be fun, right?

Now, don't go telling me to make a move because I'm just not going to. I invite him to the bar every flipping time that we go (I don't think he has ever turned down an invitation). So the wedding will be just about enough. I will not scare him away. He is still a coworker. It can't get weird. I will nudge this to the edge, but he will have to be the one to push it over the cliff.

He's fun.
He's a good guy.
He dresses well.
He is responsible.

He's who Colin could have been if he was...well...completely different.

Unnecessary

2008-08-17T16:35:00.003-04:00

As far as things I don't need go: my mom nagging me is in the #1 slot.

I know that I am a trainwreck.

Further pointing out that I am a trainwreck. Adding in that my grandma also finds me to be a trainwreck. Not helpful. Not welcome.

I am really good at making myself feel like shit. Please don't help me.

Planning, planning

2008-08-15T11:23:00.003-04:00

My BFF at work, Ashley, and I have this wonderful system. It consists of exchanging at least 100 emails and spending at least 20 minutes on the phone with each other every workday, except Thursday (when she is off) and Saturday (when I am off).

It is great fun. I'm lucky to have a work pal with whom I am so close. She's an awesome girl.

I emailed her as soon as I got in this morning.

1. At some point in the next year, we should probably fly to NYC together, visit our respective friends and also wreak a bit of havoc.
2. We should also get tickets to the Outdoor Classic and go to Chicago for New Years Eve/Day.
3. We should quit our jobs and become wedding planners. We're very organized and also experienced at getting yelled at. I think it may be the ideal career path.

Her response?
1. Yes
2. Yes
3. Ummm....I like planning things, but I think weddings would depress me after awhile. Haven't you ever seen The Wedding Planner?

I wasn't really all that set on our wedding planning business, so my heart isn't terribly broken.

But New Years Eve in Chicago followed by the Red Wings/Blackhawks outdoor hockey game? That has potential.

Always a thrill

2008-08-14T22:42:00.003-04:00

I am crazy in love with my life right now. August is treating me very well - a raise, no school, lots of wild fun with my friends and my family, decent weather and a change from the hectic pace at which I choose to live my life.

It is such a wonderful break. I needed this, I think, to recharge for the home stretch towards my degree.

I was exhausted. I just didn't realize it. Or I didn't let myself.

I might be having a bit too much fun. Too many late nights. But I don't even care. Is this what it is like if you're 25 and normal? When your every second isn't scheduled for work, skating, homework, commuting, school, blogging, soccer, sleep, showering, hockey, packing lunch and watching Grey's Anatomy.

My soccer season is over. My summer season is my absolute favorite - so I am a little bummed. We had a good season. We had great fun. And we're going out as a team next Saturday to get drizunk and celebrate our second-place finish.

Living in this town has turned me into quite the drinker. There is something magical about being able to drink as much as I damn well please and walk home in the moonlight.

When I say magical - I really mean catalyst for shenanigans. For real.

This Michael Phelps phenomenon is amazing, isn't it? I'm having a lot of fun watching it - especially with his Ann Arbor connection. My sister has some amusing Phelps stories from her UM days...but I don't think it is my place to share.

Watching all of this swimming renews my interest in adding swimming to my workout routine. My gym has an amazing pool that is always open. You burn an amazing amount of calories. And it would be nice to give my joints a break.

I remade those bran muffins. Much better the second time around.

Am dumbass

2008-08-13T12:44:00.002-04:00

I was so excited to bake bran muffins last night.

HR just rolled out a healthy lifestyle initiative. I just got a raise. I had time. It wouldn't be too hot in the kitchen. And I was feeling domestic.

At some point during preparation, I thought that I might've put in too much baking power and baking soda. Would it really make any huge difference? I doubted it. Continued baking. Packed up the muffins to bring to work.

When I got here, I started thinking about that tiny, insignificant error that I suspected that I might've made.

So I tred one.

TOXIC.

And of course some coworkers already saw them sitting at my desk. Which then required me to admit my baking failure.

My mom and grandma might kick me out of the family.

Unexpected

2008-08-12T22:14:00.002-04:00

I got a raise today.

I had a performance review scheduled; I didn't see it coming.

It was a pleasant surprise.
I still don't make any money.

I walked to the grocery store.
I baked bran muffins.
I am watching the Olympics.
To celebrate.

Because I am a baller.

Foolish foolishness

2008-08-11T20:45:00.002-04:00

We started Friday night at Buffalo Wild Wings, which we chose for three reasons:
1. We could watch the Olympic opening ceremonies
2. We could drink
3. We could walk there

It was Anna, Ashley and me. Darren met us later.

We ate the painfully mediocre food. Talked. Watched the opening ceremonies and made bad jokes. And we headed back to my house.

Somewhere in there - Anna pointed out the fact that the wheels on my bed aren't locked. If you jump onto my bed, you'll roll across the hardwood floor.

Somewhere in there - Anna and Ashley came to some ridiculous agreement about how I should be hooking up with Darren.

And then Darren is showing up at my house and Ashley is running into my room, pretending to lock the wheels on my bed. So that the bed doesn't roll straight out the window while we are having hot sex.

Right.

It isn't going to happen. Not with me and Darren.

"He wants Anna," I remind Ashley.

"He doesn't know what he wants," Ashley tells me.

She calls me Little Miss Doesn't Take Chances. Because I don't. Because I am not willing to throw myself at Darren.

I would be okay if he decided to throw himself at me.

I have never even said so much as a word about having a crush on Darren. And all of a sudden they're suggesting this to me?

Here is the plan:
a. Don't get hopes up
b. Let Darren make first move
c. Try to shake Little Miss Doesn't Take Chances nickname

I like Darren as a friend. I adore Darren as a friend.

I won't count it out. And I won't hope for it.

I get too invested. And a little bit obsessed. I will not scare him off.

He is my friend.

It is okay if that is all he ever is.

Charming

2008-08-10T22:48:00.002-04:00

I played soccer for nearly two hours tonight.

In the pouring rain.

Wearing white shorts.

I feel like maybe we should charge for admission? Or the spectators should throw money.

No control

2008-08-09T07:24:00.006-04:00

I would've been perfectly happy with staying home and watching the opening ceremonies.

But, no, Anna wants to go out and Darren wants to go out and Ashley wants to go out and now I'm supposed to drag Anna out of bed so we can leave to go Up North in an hour.

I'll letcha know how that goes.

And also - I might have done something stupid to make Ashley - my best work friend - pissed at me. Well, I know I did it - the question is whether or not she's pissed.

So that is the story. And also: The End.

Records

2008-08-07T23:17:00.002-04:00

Blogging is a secret that I keep.

No one in my real life - not Meg, not Lucy, not Colin or The Athlete - knows that I blog.

I intend to keep it that way.

I hope that, at some point in my life, my blog is printed and bound...or otherwise archived...so that it can be read. By a grandchild or a niece or the kind social workers who save me from my Cat Lady squalor.

I'm not sure that I want to be alive when it is read by someone who knows me outside of the kind playground that is the Internet. Maybe. Maybe when I am old and confident in who I am and who I was.

Keep my blogging private, when I am in a relationship or married or sharing my computer with a preteen, will be a challenge. But maybe I will find that ideal guy, who I can tell that I blog but who will not ask for my URL (even though I will offer it up). Who won't mind if I write about our fights, our baby, our ins and our outs, for all of the world to read.

Who will support my blogging and all of my other hobbies.

Who will be mostly perfect, but not annoyingly so.

Will will be very wealthy.

Who will be named David Beckham.

Nagging

2008-08-06T22:55:00.004-04:00

Lately, I've had this feeling that I'm wasting my time in library school.

I don't know why - I think it has something to do with the fact that I have a 3.94 GPA without really trying all that hard - but the feeling is stuck in my head and I am having a hard time shaking it loose.

What if I go through this whole program and can't land a job?
What if I go through this whole program and don't want a library job?
What if all I ever land are a few adjunct, hodge-podge positions and I can't get in full time anywhere?

I am more than a little scared.

I don't want to finish my degree if all it will ever serve as is the glaring proof of my failure. Failure to finish. Failure to follow through. Failure to know what I want to do with my life and go for it.

I hate doubting myself like this. But, in this economy, in this state, in this political climate...I'm pretty damn scared.

I'd rather not be wasting my time.

WPGA, here I come

2008-08-05T21:17:00.002-04:00

When Meg and I expressed an interest in learning how to golf this summer, my dad came home a few days later with a pair golf shoes for each of us.

Over the summer, we've gone to his country club a few times, to the driving range a few times and practiced putting on the living room floor a few times.

We're both liking it okay. And picking it up fairly quickly. Meg, of course, is better than I am - she is such a natural athlete and she is really intellectual in the way she pays attention to the lay of the ground, her body mechanics, etc. I just wind up and smack the ball.

My dad is clearly infatuated with the idea of us taking up his favorite game.

He bought us each a set of golf clubs. A complete, shiny, fancy set of golf clubs for each of his girls.

No pressure or anything, eh?

Maybe you're onto something

2008-08-04T20:16:00.002-04:00

I keep thinking about the comment Accidentally Me wrote last Thursday.

I'll post it here...in case you missed it.

I have a working theory about The Athlete...(and I think you will like it;-)).

You noted that it is rare for you to be openly hit on by guys. Now, we have all seen pictures of you...and we know you are eminently hit-on-ible (i.e., plenty hot:-P).

So here is my thought...I think guys assume you are out of their league. Don't laugh! I am serious! It happens all the time...for whatever reason, they just assume that you wouldn't be interested. It is a combination of hotness and confidence and coolness.

But...here we have a guy who was likely always the best looking, strongest, most popular guy in his own world, who now has one of life's great pickup lines ("I get payed to play sports"). So, he would never assume that ANYONE was out of his league, and therefore he is the one who finally has the stones to try and pick you up.

Which can only mean one thing...you need to start hitting on more boys!!!

So that is what she wrote.
And then everyone chimed in to agree.

I am not entirely convinced.

Here is what I know for sure.
1. The Athlete has a subtle arrogance about him. Do you want to know that he's a professional athlete? He'll tell you. He will definitely tell you. And, no, he has probably never had any problems asking girls out.
2. I am not confident. I am not at all confident but I do a pretty damn fine job of faking it. The vibe I throw out, I think, is a pretty independent one. Regularly coming across as disinterested? In the short term - it is much easier than potentially being rejected. In the long term - it will be so easy to paint me as the bitter old maid.
3. Of course I like this theory!

Wearing out my weekend

2008-08-03T21:47:00.004-04:00

Every muscle in my body aches. The tips of my toes even hurt. I am so damn tired. And so damn alive.

I have the tendency, I think, to observe life more than I actually live it. It is nice to have a weekend that I lived the shit out of.

Friday night was spent at the bar with my soccer team, with Darren and with Anna after she got off of work. It was fairly low key and still oodles of fun. I was Darren's designated driver, which provided me with many entertaining moments. Including putting a band aid on the toe he injured walking up the stairs to my front porch.

I skated on Saturday morning, despite going to bed at 3:30 am. I went directly from skating to an afternoon of family time. I crashed for a few hours at home, went on a short shopping trip with Mom and Meg ate some ice cream and went to sleep.

Darren sent me a text or two before I went to bed.

And he called me at 2:11 am. The gist of what he said to me: I'm really drunk. I lost everyone I went to the bar with. I can't drive.

I went and picked him up. He was at a bar that is two blocks from my house. But I was at home. I drove 20 minutes to pick him up. 20 minutes to his house. 20 minutes back home.

I can't say that I wanted to do it, but I can't say that I was terribly angry, either. I would much rather get out of bed and get him than feel absolutely sick because he died/got a DUI/killed someone else as a direct result of my refusal to pick him up. So that it is what I did.

He is still harboring a major crush on Anna. I don't mind too terribly much. I think we have the potential to be good friends. I'm not really feeling the relationship potential. Is it because I'm busy pining over The Athlete? Well, maybe. I never claimed to be perfect.

We won our soccer game today. Darren called me to thank me, profusely, for taking care of him. Mom, Meg and I made a trip to Target. I read. And now I am in bed, fresh out of the shower and quite satisfied with life.

All weekends should end like this.

Things change

2008-08-02T18:20:00.004-04:00

I went out with Darren from work last night. Eight days earlier, I would've been peeing my pants. I spent the night thinking that he'll be a really great friend. And hoping he'd tell me a story or two about The Athlete.

He has known The Athlete for a long time. I won't get into the details - but if they were girls, I would describe them as frenemies. Actually, I'll describe them as that anyway.

Speaking of The Athlete: I got an email from him. Wheee!

I had other things to write about. Work, plans for my month of no school, next weekend, Lucy and Chet's new house. But I got four hours of sleep last night.

Maybe later.

Losing the shackles

2008-07-31T10:19:00.001-04:00

I am bummed – really bummed – that The Athlete is gone. I spoke to him yesterday; he was on a layover at an airport en route to his final destination. I’m filled with just enough regret. I should’ve gone out on Friday. The situation could be so different. But I am also harboring a fair bit of hope. Who knows what the future can bring?

My high school friend, Heather, called me yesterday. She wanted me to join her and a few of her friends for Trivia Night at a bar near our hometown. I told her the story of The Athlete and how I just wanted to pout for a night.

“He’s going to be in Scandinavia,” I whined. “With all of those beautiful Scandinavian girls!”

“But you’re beautiful,” she said. She is never empathetic.

I went to trivia. We did well. It was fun. I was social. And it didn’t even kill me.

We left shortly after 11.

I walked with Heather out to our cars. We walked together between two rows of cars.

Colin was walking, in the opposite direction, between the next rows.

I knew that running into him at that bar was a possibility. I spent a lot of nights with him there. He is at that bar at least three times a week (drinking problem, anyone?). He conducts court with all of his buddies after he leaves work.

He heard my voice. He had to have heard my voice. I was being loud. And my voice carries well.

I got a good look at him when we both crossed through an open part of the parking lot. He stepped out from between cars as I was just stepping behind them. He was looking at his phone. To avoid seeing me? So that I would think that he hadn’t seen me? I’m not sure.

“It’s Colin!” I hissed to Heather.

“Ewww.” Was her response.

I giggled. Shook off the pure terror that had gripped me for a nanosecond. And realized that I didn’t give a shit. I did not want to run after him. I did not wish that he had acknowledged me. I did not want to cry.

Our encounter was over before it started.

I’m done.

Rockstar

2008-07-30T08:26:00.000-04:00

96% in both of my classes.

No school again until September.

Holla.

This must be a joke

2008-07-29T10:48:00.003-04:00

My horoscope in the Detroit News today.
LIBRA: The Love Boat may change its schedule without advance notice and sail without you unless you get up to speed. Because you are so concerned with everything being perfect, you may lose out in the end.

The Athlete's horoscope in the Detroit News today.
AQUARIUS: Spontaneity means speaking from the heart. You may be torn between being compassionate and telling it like it is. Remember not to rock the boat. It is best to simply be someone's best friend.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Edited to add in The Athlete's horoscope. And also to say that he is gone. And my heart hurts a little bit.

Grrr

2008-07-29T06:36:00.002-04:00

The Athlete sent me a text at 12:11 am.

I slept through it.

[He leaves tomorrow. Then we'll be back to our regular schedule of self-loathing, stories about my soccer team and complaints about my job.]

A dose of realism

2008-07-28T17:13:00.001-04:00

I saw The Athlete today. First, I saw him playing. OMG. Panty pudding. It was pretty much the hottest thing ever. Love.

Then, I got to actually interact with him. OMG. Awkward. He was picking up a few things from me. We’re in the basement, in the storage room, and he’s like “yeah, so, sorry about the late night phone calls.” And I’m all “oh, it’s sweet. I’ve heard worse.” And then it was just like – yeah.

I sent him a text a few hours later. It just occurred to me that, when you apologized about Friday, I only made it more awkward. So sorry about that. It’s cool. All in good fun. And sorry for being too boring to come out.

I got a somewhat generic, but sweet, response back. And I’m just going to leave it at that.

I don’t want to push it.

I would rather have him not think that I’m a freak, shoot him a few emails while he’s gone and give it a try when he gets home next spring than throw myself at him so that we can have one good night before he’s gone for 8 or 9 months.

And I don’t really want to feel like I’m waiting for him to come home. If he kisses me even once, I know that is exactly what I will do. And I shouldn’t. I waited around for Colin for three years. I’m not doing it again – especially for a boy who it is physically impossible for me to be near for such an incredibly long time. I can’t do that.

So – I will see him tomorrow. And then I will be here and he will be there. He can do what he wants with whomever he chooses. I’ll do what I want with whomever I choose. And, when he gets back from Europe in the springtime, maybe... maybe I’ll see him. And I will be talented and – obviously – adorable. And maybe something will happen.

No harm done

2008-07-27T09:05:00.002-04:00

The fantasy of it was nice. I blogged about The Athlete just after I hung up from the drunk dial. He was sweet. He was charming.

I was a little bit surprised. Things like that don't happen to me. Boys - especially ones who I don't know well - don't tell me that I am adorable. They don't, in surprising detail, tell me the exact moment that they realized that they were attracted to me. It just doesn't happen. Boys don't like me. Or they don't tell me.

I was so giddy yesterday morning. I went to the rink and skated for two hours. I'm not sure that my blades ever touched the ice.

I stopped at the mall on the way home. I had nothing suitable, nothing date worthy, with me at Mom and Dad's to wear if he happened to call. I quickly picked out a few things and then I dashed home.

That lunch date? Didn't happen.

I heard from him via text message later in the day. But he never suggested that we do anything.

It's okay, I guess. What was I expecting? A torrid love affair? First of all, it was a drunk dial. Secondly, he's leaving to work in Europe on Wednesday.

If I wanted anything from this, I should've just gone to see him on Friday night. I should've thrown caution to the wind. For one time in my damn life.

Am feeling a little stupid that I didn't strike while the iron was hot.

Am feeling a little hopeful that something - something small - could still happen. I'll definitely see him at work on Monday and Tuesday.

And I'm feeling grateful that this whole thing happened at all. Because he'll come back eventually. Because I needed a boy at the top of my mind who isn't Colin. Because there's nothing wrong with a little fantasy.

A professional athlete thinks I'm adorable. Tee hee.

SQUEAL

2008-07-26T01:58:00.004-04:00

I didn't go out with The Athlete tonight. I needed to help out at Lucy and Chet's. I did. It will be one of those nights we'll remember forever. The First Night At Your First House.

There were a few text messages exchanged with The Athlete. He told me where his entorage was was drinking. I played like I was considering going once I left Lucy's house. When it got to that time, I politely pulled myself out of the running. Too tired. Too gross from manual labor. Have fun without me.

We exchanged a few other text messages in which he further attemped to convince me. I went to bed.

Only to be awoken by a phone call. Him. Drunk dial.

Come and hang out with me. I couldn't tell you how many times he asked.
You're adorable. He said it at least 20 times.
I decided that you were cute when you would look at me and give me that little half smile. Almost arrogant.

I refused to see him tonight. I'm at Mom and Dad's. He's over by my house. I told him that I was getting up early. He said that he was, too. I told him that I would clear my calendar for any other time. He proposed lunch tomorrow. And then asked me, again, to see him tonight.

He leaves for Europe on Wednesday, people. Wednesday.

Oh, the timing. Damnit.

Miracle of the week

2008-07-25T14:24:00.003-04:00

I just got asked out by a boy. (!!!)

A boy who plays a sport professionally. (!!!!!!!)

Sure, he plays in Europe. Sure, it was more of a group thing than a hot date. Sure, I had to say no (sob) because I already promised Lucy and Chet that I would help with their house tonight.

(Am I not the best friend EVER?)

But it was nice.

Me. A professional athlete. Hahahahaha.