Off-Limits

(Me and friends at an opening night party on 12/04/09)


I talked to Brian tonight. He's getting deployed again. And for the longest time ever. It's going to be weird not being able to call him up. We have an incredibly (and shockingly) functional exes-who-went-back-to-being-good-friends friendship.

I talked to him tonight about the weird boy drama in my life. There are things that have happened recently that I feel like I can't talk about down here. Perhaps that I shouldn't even acknowledge.

Usually, my flirting radar is defective in the sense that I don't notice when it's going off. For so long, I've held this concept of "As Good As Gay" in my mind. To remind you (because I wrote this post long before many of you knew this blog existed)...

In the past, I have often placed men in a category that I call "As Good As Gay". For one reason or another, I have (consciously or unconsciously) deemed them off-limits, crush-wise. Reasons that a male might be put on this list include:

1. I am in a relationship. (automatically makes all other men AGAG because of my famously successful "relationship blinders")
2. He is in a relationship.
3. He is interested in another female on a level somewhere between “significant crush” and “stalker-like obsession”. (You would be surprised how many times I've come across the latter... usually it has to do with "the girl who got away")
4. One of my friends is interested in him.
5. He has previously dated one of my friends.
6. He lives far away.
7. We have never actually met in real life.
8. He's actually gay.
9. I suspect that he MIGHT be gay.
10. He is friends with one of my exes.
11. He is in my class/program. (this one was added when I came down to grad school)
12. He is under the age of 22 or over the age of 29. (I just made up this rule right now, because I think those are probably my extremes, dating-wise, at my present age of 25. Although according to this formula, I could date anywhere from 19.5-36 before things got creepy.)

And honestly, the thought of dating someone who gets labeled AGAG doesn't enter my mind. Unless he does something that changes that. Which usually involves flirting with me in an obvious manner. Or flat out telling me that 1. he wants to date me, 2. he wants to kiss me, 3. he would dump his girlfriend for me... you know. Something along those lines.

So, fine, once the switch gets flipped, all rules are off. Examples:
- I dated Ex #1, who had previously made-out with one of my best friends, and whom about 5 of my friends had crushes on before I dated... Awkward.
- I dated Ex #2, whom my then-roommate (the same girl who had made out with Ex #1) had a crush on not long before. Also, he had a crush on another girl when we started dating (which I didn't actually know about until a few weeks into dating him, but continued to date him anyway. Actually, I should thank her... Part of the reason I started this blog was because he said his crush on her developed out of his love for her blog. So thank you, blogger-chick-whom-my-ex-had-a-crush-on. You changed my life).
- I dated Brian, who was in Nebraska while I was in Chicago. Also, my crush on Brian totally began while I was dating Ex #2 (although I think I already knew things weren't going to work out with him).
- I dated The Filmmaker, who was over a 5-hour drive away... and continued dating him when he was in California, and I was in Connecticut/Florida.
- I went on a date with a 38-year-old when I was 21. (Note: After finding out that he was 38, there was no second date.)
- I kissed a guy who was a 3rd-year in my program when I was a 1st-year. (Note: this is precisely why I don't drink anymore.)


I feel wrong about going into the awkward male situations in my life at the moment... but to satisfy a little curiosity...

- Guys who are in relationships who seem to be hitting on me. (I have to write "seem to be" instead of "are obviously" because it feels somehow safer if I don't fully admit to it, even on here. It just seems so wrong... Actually, I'm only positive about one of them still being in a relationship. The other could very well have broken up with his girlfriend by now, but I'm treating him like he has one until I know otherwise.)
- Guys who have previously dated (or quasi-dated) my friends who now appear to be hitting on me.
- Guys who have hooked up with my roommate are hitting on me (including one who hit on me the same day that he had woken up at my house).
- A guy who is friends with one of my exes has a crush on me.
- A guy who is out of my self-instituted datable age range is hitting on me.

So basically, they're all off-limits, by my own definition. And normally, they'd be AGAG... but they're flipping switches all over the place, and that makes it all much harder to handle.

And there are so many thoughts that fly through my head about these things, but I can't say anything. Because I don't want to spread rumors. Because I don't want to upset anyone. And because what if I'm wrong? What if they're just being friendly, and I'm so lonely that some part of me is, dare I say it, wanting it to be something more?


I will admit to the following:

1. I like to flirt. I'm not terribly good at it. And I don't always know that I'm doing it. But okay, fine. Yes. I'm a flirt.

2. Touch is my strongest sense, according to me, my Movement Professor, and probably most of my classmates (which is unusual; people are more likely to have sight or hearing as their strongest sense). So I touch people a lot. And I acknowledge that could be construed as flirtation.

3. I have social anxiety, and touching people is actually one of my coping mechanisms. It grounds me, somehow. So in large groups of people, I find a way to work touch into conversations as much as possible. And I acknowledge that it could be construed as flirtation.

4. I am an non-discriminant cuddler, and I believe in platonic cuddling. I will cuddle with anyone, regardless of my attraction to them. And I acknowledge that it could be construed as flirtation.

5. I often dance in a suggestive manner. As a result, I have a general rule that I will only dance with people after giving them a verbal disclaimer that I dance in a suggestive manner, and that it does not mean that I want them. (I haven't danced with anyone lately, but I felt this belonged on the list because of past transgressions.)

6. I have lately been mentioning on a regular basis just how lonely I am. I actually said it on Tuesday while I was on stage in front of 22 of my schoolmates. I acknowledge in retrospect that statements like this could lead someone to believe that I am looking for offers... Which I'm not (as far as I know).

Yes, I flirt. Yes, I cuddle. Yes, I encourage people to touch me. And yes, I'm guilty of more than I'll be admitting on the internet tonight.

And I realized something particularly horrible about myself yesterday. Brace yourself:

Sometimes it feels safer to flirt with people who are unattainable.

Because really, I don't want to be in a relationship right now. I don't want to become "...and Angela". I don't. So as stupid as it is, I think I'm actually MORE likely to flirt with people in relationships. Or, at the very least, I'm likely to flirt BACK when they initiate it. I don't always realize that I'm doing it at the time, but I see it retrospectively.

But in my defense:

1. I once slapped a guy who had a girlfriend who said "kissin' ain't cheatin'" and tried to kiss me in his car. And I plan to do the same to any future non-single guy who attempts to make any sort of move on me. I do not condone cheating, and I will not be a part of it. Period. (NOTE TO BOYS: The difference between cheating on a girlfriend and not cheating is picking up a phone and breaking up with her first. If you're not willing to do that, then you shouldn't be trying to hook up with anyone but her.)

2. I very directly stated to TWO of the guys hitting on me that I am not going to sleep with them. (Which, frankly, they should have realized, as they are both well aware of my lack of a sexual past.)

3. I very directly stated to one of them that nothing is going to happen between us because he has a girlfriend.

4. As soon as I (very recently) found out a guy had a past quasi-relationship with a friend of mine, I stopped talking to him. Out of sight, out of mind.


I was talking to a classmate yesterday very vaguely about the things I've mentioned here. She basically said.
1. She thinks I'm an attention whore.
2. She doesn't think that what I actually want is someone to cuddle with (which I've been thinking would be the solution to my physical-loneliness problem), because she thinks I could easily get that if I wanted it. She thinks the issue is more complicated that that.

I don't think of myself as an attention whore. Although, I am a blogger, so that's not exactly evidence to the contrary.

But maybe she's right on the cuddle buddy issue.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, I suddenly got a feeling of déjà vu as I was typing this post, so I took a break and I checked over my archives... And I found a post that I actually deleted after the initial posting (well, "Saved as Draft", if you want to get technical) that I wrote 11 months ago. A post where I mentioned the very same "kissin' ain't cheatin'" story, in fact. A post where I wrote about 4 guys who were interested in me under strange circumstances.

And that deleted post involves one of the very same people that I'm writing this post about. I actually wrote, "...it has been strange for me to be around him. Less comfortable than normal. I guess that night flipped the switch. Maybe he's no longer easily fitting into my tidy little label of As Good As Gay."

Which means his switch was flipped way back then. And then he went back into AGAG territory (probably around the time of The Filmmaker, if not The Engineer). And here we are again, at the end of the year that we started off in an awkward position.

The deleted post was deleted for a reason... but Past Angela just surprised Present Angela with this:

"But I'm not going to lie: I liked it. More than I'd like to admit. If he were single, I probably would've let things go in a different direction that night."

OH. MY. WORD.

I don't even want him! I don't! I swear! He's wrong for me, I'm wrong for him, we're wrong for each other. And IF he's intending to hit on me as he has been, I'm sure it's purely out of his need for chasing unattainable sexual conquests, and not because he's interested in me on a romantic level, and I have no desire to be used in such a manner.

But, man, the game is fun sometimes. Maybe it's because I know it's not going anywhere. Maybe that's why it feels safe. Maybe that's why. And it's got to stop. I have to stop flirting with him. Have. To. Stop. Now.

I'm leaving for a couple of weeks. To Connecticut, with my family, where I'll be working, and in a state where the only males I know that I'm not related to are over the age of 50. A state in which there is absolutely zero potential for flirtation.

I told Brian that. I thought this hiatus from temptation would be a good thing. He thinks the opposite. He thinks that as soon as I come back, my emotional baggage is going to explode after having been packed away for weeks. I hope he's wrong, but I'm not sure if he is.

So here we are. Another un-concluded post. *sigh*


May you be able to stay within your limits.

~A~



P.S. Don't you wish I blogged more? If I get a 20SB Bootleg Award Nomination, I'll try to do just that. :) My 20SB URL is http://www.20sb.net/profile/angelaboration

P.P.S. After this post, I thought it appropriate to throw in a quotation from one of my favorite book series...

"The tales we tell ourselves about ourselves make us who we are... and who we might be."
~ Jessica Darling, "Perfect Fifths" by Megan McCafferty


P.P.P.S. I ate an entire bag of Christmas-colored sour gummy bears while composing this post. And they were delicious.

I Think I Like Him

I freaked out. For reasons that seemed good at the time. But I shouldn't have. I don't have to with him. I'm just too stupid to have figured that out yet.

I wore a green dress. It got a positive response. He's never seen me a dress before. Well, no more than the people who read this blog have. In pictures, but never in real life.

In real life. It's the one way I rarely get to experience him. In person. I prefer it to every other way. There are so many more things about him to enjoy. The way he looks. The way he smells. The way he feels. The way he tries to read my face (and often fails miserably -- but it's endearing that he tries).

He smells nice. Manly, with a bit of laundry detergent mixed in. Clean. Like home, somehow. He said I smelled good. I imagine that at the time I smelled like sweat, stale shampoo, and marinara sauce. And maybe a trace of grapefruit from the perfume I had put on that morning. He insisted that it was a good scent.

He came to see the show. I had my friend Anna be his date for the evening. He seemed to enjoy the audience participation. Hell, he created his own character, complete with lisp and backstory (he and Anna were "engaged" and fighting over the color of bridesmaids' dresses at their upcoming nuptials when I passed them at one point). He applauded madly as I danced on the bar (even as I *almost* fell off about four times... apparently, despite my lack of peripheral vision, I have a well-compensating sense of balance). He told me after the show how he thought I was great.

At the bar with the cast, he sent me text messages from 10 inches away, carrying out a secret discourse while continuing to converse with the others at the table. And at one point he called me out for being "rude" and texting "someone" after he came all this way to see me. I laughed and put my phone away. And then I got him to dance like an idiot with me to some techno music. It didn't even take much convincing.

He's protective of me. But not in an overbearing way. Just in a cautious one. Wanting to keep me out of the bad situations that I have a tendency to get myself into (the sorts of situations that I won't discuss here, but don't worry... it's me; therefore, it's nothing scandalous).

Every so often, I'd catch a glimpse at him, and really see him. Because so much of our relationship is sight-unseen, I forget how attractive I find him. But some moments, it strikes me out of the blue. He's a good-looking guy. Of course, I'm probably biased...

He's so warm. His body is, I mean (though the same could be said for his manner). Mine is always cold. And I have this tendency to get temperature-induced Tourette's ("Freezing! D*** it! AH! Cold! F***!"). He says he doesn't like it when people complain about being cold. I guess he's making some sort of exception for me and my notably poor circulation.

I learned last night that he's an excellent cuddler, which I'm excited about for future use. He's aware of his position and physically attentive. And if it hadn't been for a particularly annoying alarm clock emanating from the apartment next door for the better part of the morning, I think we would've slept quite well on the futon in his friends' loft.

He rushed around in the morning and packed up his things. I stood back, wanting to be near him, but not wanting to get in the way. He dropped his bags, walked over, and enveloped me in a hug. I forget what he said exactly, but it was lovely in the moment. Something about how he'd been worrying that he was forgetting something, but then he saw me and realized that hugging me was what he'd been forgetting. (It turned out later that he'd also forgotten his camera and a pair of socks.)

Logically, I just saw him a matter of hours ago. But I miss him. More than I probably should. Most likely just because I know how far away he is.

I'm seeing him again this week. Thursday through Monday. Five whole days. The longest I've been around him in one go in the entire time we've know each other has been... about 14 hours, back in August. Megan was there then, and I was dating Ex #2 at the time. This is going to be just the two of us, and the only people we're attached to are each other. I'm looking forward to it immensely.

I'm going to be in the show again tonight, for the third night in a row. I feel like I haven't had a weekend because of all the rushing around. The next few days of work at my "real" job are going to be rough. But at least it's a short week. Half a day on Thursday, and then I'm going to go in one of the metal tubes in the sky that Brian spends so much time in, and before long I'll be in Nebraska.

I spoke to my youngest brother earlier today. He came to the conclusion that if I'm willing to go to Nebraska for five days, then I must really like this guy.

I think I do.


May you find someone you really like.

~A~


P.S. Thank you for all the encouraging comments on the last two posts. I'm glad to announce that I'm oh-bee-kay-bee now.

Cuddle Bunny

(Picture taken 02/29/08, in the city where I'll be attending graduate school. You should be very jealous right about now.)

The last week has been marked by the following events.

- I saw 5 plays in 7 days. And, shockingly against the odds, none of them was bad.
- I guest-blogged for two people (hence my missing post this week... I figured I'd covered it. And I think both of my guest posts are pretty great, so please go read them if you haven't done so yet).
- I became completely and totally obsessed with Lost, finishing seasons 2 & 3 in a week (well, technically I'll be done with season 3 on Monday night -- I saved one episode for myself in an effort to stretch it out a bit longer).
- I changed my relationship status on Facebook to "It's Complicated" (because, let's face it, it is).
- I have put off figuring out how to do my taxes for another week (but I did pick up the necessary forms from my old temp agency so that I can properly do them).
- I got my application and acceptance letter from grad school (I have already been made an offer, but I have to apply to the school as a formality).
- I had a really great cuddling session with a platonic friend.

And now I'll just expound upon that last point (because if I explored all of them, you'd be reading for the next several hours, and I wish to spare you that grief).

On Saturday night, my friend Mike's band was playing in a Battle of the Bands (I have previously mentioned Mike in my post So Close). And his band effing rocks. They won their night in the first round. Last night was the second round (in which the competition was exponentially more talented), and they came in second in the night. This means that they are officially qualified for classy elite third round. I'm so proud of him!

(NOTE: For the handful of you reading my novel-in-progress blog, I have to mention that the character of Sam is NOT based on Mike. I've never even mentally cast him in the role. But yes, upon editing it I've recognized a couple of similarities -- namely that he's in a band and I think of him as a brother)

(NOTE: If you are not reading my novel-in-progress blog and you would like to, leave your email address in the comments section. It's an invite-only soiree. Very exclusive.)

At the end of the night, Mike made a comment that we hadn't had a good cuddle session in awhile (I think the last one was in July. He was drunk. We were lying down on a narrow couch in a room full of people. And we were watching Shaun of the Dead at the time). I think he craved that physical closeness as much as I did. And so he and I headed to an apartment that some of his friends live in, and we crashed on a giant, sinfully comfortable air mattress. And it was glorious.

I love cuddling more than I can possibly say. And I'm a completely indiscriminate cuddler. I'll cuddle with men, women, gays, straights, I don't care. Most nights, I cuddle with a pillow or two, pretending that there is a human sleeping next to me.

Cuddling is particularly enjoyable when it's with someone who fits you. I don't mean personality-wise; I mean it in a completely physical sense. Some people's bodies just fit together well. Like legos. Or puzzle pieces. And other people... well, it's like trying to put two Slinkies together; you end up with a big tangled mess. Or sometimes, it's like a Slinky and a Rubik's Cube; two things that have no business being near each other in the first place and are better off alone.

But my As-Good-As-Gay friend Mike happens to be a very good cuddle match for me. Supreme. He's definitely in the top three best cuddle-partners of my life. In fact, he might win the title. He's that good.

He and I are mysteriously able to avoid all of the "awkward arm placement" scenarios that arise when I cuddle with other people. I'm not entirely sure how it works... I find it's best not to over-analyze these things. Besides, if I thought too hard about it, I'd be trying to recreate the experience with every other cuddle-buddy I ever tried out, and that would ruin half the fun. (Besides, if extraordinary cuddling is to be had, I think it's something that has to arise spontaneously.)

And perhaps the best part about cuddling with Mike is that, because we don't get into awkward positions, there's never a time when either of us pulls away. I have a tendency to wake up a lot in the middle of the night (curséd insomnia). I wake up less than normal if there's good cuddling taking place. And with Mike, whenever I do wake up, he's holding me. That's a beautiful thing.

Now, I'm not saying that this is always for the best. I understand a "squeeze-roll-and-release" move if you're having trouble sleeping. That's cool. Do what you have to do. I understand. I'm just saying it's nice when you find someone you don't have to do that with.

Ex #2 was a self-proclaimed "sensational cuddler" (I thought that was a notable adjective, so I remembered it). But then when I cuddled with him? No. Not sensational. Not remarkable in any way. Actually pretty terrible. The body match was mediocre at best. He wasn't attentive at all. And he always ended up on the other side of the bed (which, in a twin bed, is a bad sign). And then he accused me of being a terrible cover-hog (which I am) and singing in my sleep (which I still don't believe that I actually do).

For the record, Mike has never accused me of being a cover-hog. Probably because I'm not tossing and turning all night when I'm wearing another person like a blanket. I wrapped myself up in Mike, so I didn't need to grab the sheets.

Ex #1 was a good cuddler, save for one thing: he always wanted to be the little spoon. Not good. I'm 5'6". He's 6'2". He was a bigger sort of guy, and I was a tiny sort of girl (at the time... that was before I packed on my hibernation weight). The spoon position is really only going to work well in one configuration. And him being the little spoon? That wasn't it.

It's also not good when people think that spooning is the only way to cuddle. I prefer to mix it up a bit. I have about 3 preferred cuddling positions, but to try to explain them in typed form would only prove inaccurate... They're really so much better when demonstrated. And since I can't do that here... I guess you'll just have to imagine.

I wonder if there's some sort of reference book for good cuddling. A "Cuddle Sutra", if you will. Maybe I should write one...

I hope I'm a good cuddler. I've never really questioned it. I mean, I love cuddling. And I'm sort of a connoisseur of cuddlers... But how can I possibly gauge my own abilities? I suppose it's impossible. Particularly since I have no idea what other people look for in their cuddle-buddies. I only know what I myself look for...

So, in case you missed the memo, here are Angela's rules to cuddling:
- Do cuddle with people that you have completely platonic relationships with, provided you're clear about intentions beforehand
- Don't try to cuddle with people who don't want to be cuddled with
- Do tell someone if you get into one of those "awkward arm" scenarios and your circulation is being cut off
- Don't attempt to be the little spoon if you're clearly the bigger person
- Do consider holding on instead of rolling over
- Don't feel like you have to stay in the same position all night long (it's okay to reposition... or to separate yourself if you're having trouble getting comfortable)


May you find someone who fits you.

~A~

So Close

(ETA: Recommended listening for this post: "Konstantine" by Something Corporate")


I almost got emotional on the L on my way home from work.

He called.

Ex-boyfriend #1 called.

On Valentine's Day, but not for the obvious reasons.

I haven't heard his voice since June 9th, 2007: the day I broke his heart. The day I set mine free.

Actually... I was the one who decided to break things off, but he broke my heart, too. By not being the person he had been. The person I thought he was. The person I wanted him to be.

I broke up with him over the phone. It may sound harsh, but it was a long distance relationship, and several of our problems stemmed from how infrequently we saw each other. We had been so close, but the distance had put too much strain on things. And I was ready to get out of that relationship. In many ways, I think it was holding me back and preventing me from enjoying things in life.

He was understandably very upset. He told me not to contact him. He said he'd contact me when he was ready.

At first, it was hard not to call him. He was, after all, my best friend.

Around September, I started freaking out because I hadn't heard from him. I actually wrote to a good friend of his to ask her how he was doing. She verified that he was fine, and assured me that he would call me eventually.

Since then, we've had a few mild touches of contact. A couple of text messages to send holiday wishes. A song dedication on Facebook. A birthday present. But that's it.

By the end of November, I was just angry. And I hated that people kept telling me to give him time. I hated that they acted like he was some sort of victim. The moment that hurt the most came from a girl I barely know. She knew my ex, and when I told the story about how he had sent me a CD for my birthday with a card that implied he wasn't ready to talk with me, she said, "Gosh, he's such a nice guy." And she did it with a facial expression that I read as, "How could you do that to him?"

I looked her in the eye and said, "Believe me, if there is ANYONE who knows how great he is, it's me. But we just weren't meant to be."

For some reason, no one understood how much he'd hurt my by cutting me out of his life.

I may have dumped him, but he disowned me.

He screwed up my life, too.

In the three months after I broke up with him, I gained 20 pounds. I dated his opposite. I spent a great deal of time throwing emotions in the general direction of his hometown. Grief. Pity. Empathy. Anger. All in silence, because he had decided to cut me off.

And finally, in December, I decided I just didn't care anymore.

I thought I was over him about a week after I broke up with him. But that wasn't true. I knew I didn't want to be dating him anymore. I knew I had made the right decision. But I was so angry. And the opposite of love isn't hate; it's indifference. I suppose I truly got over him then. In December. Six months after we had broken up.

I've heard that it takes half the length of a relationship to get over someone. I was faster than that. We dated for two years, and it took me six months.

And then something happened.

Something that terrified me.

Something that made it clear that I had to talk to him again.

You see, my ex is currently getting his Master's degree at Northern Illinois University right now. And his mother works there as well.

And on Thursday, Valentine's Day, there was a shooting there.

I read about it while I was at work. But what could I do?

My mother called me.

"Call him."

"No. I can't call him."

"Call him!"

"Mom, I'm not calling him. He doesn't want me to call him."

I sent him a text message asking if he was alright, not knowing whether that over-stepped any boundaries.

And then he called me.

"Hi, Sweetie," he said. Out of habit, I suppose. It shocked me.

He and his mother were both on campus at the time of the shootings, but they're both fine.

I told him I was glad that he was alright, and that I had to get off the phone to catch the L.

"That's fine."

"It's really good to hear your voice."

"Yeah. You too. I'll call you soon."

"I hope you do."

*******************************************

I don't really know if I want him to call. I don't know what I'd say to him. I feel like I'd have to censor out a lot. While we were dating, he always had a hard time hearing about other males in my life. Stories involving other guys hitting on me. Hanging out with other guys when he wasn't around. Or hearing about other guys in general. On occasion, I thought his jealousy was his way of joking, but I think it ran deeper than that. I think that on some level, he was terrified that he was going to lose me to another guy.

Part of the reason I broke up with him was that I was sick of censoring myself. He asked me not to tell him any stories about going to bars with guys in the cast of the play I was in. I wanted to tell my best friend, my boyfriend didn't want to know, and I had the unfortunate circumstance of having the same person playing both roles in my life.

I don't want to hurt him any more than I already have. So I can't tell him about ex-boyfriend #2 (whom I started dating less than two weeks after breaking up with him). And I can't tell him about Brian. And, well, those have been two pretty significant things that have happened to me in the time since we broke up. Especially the Brian part.

But it's not just relationships. I'd have to leave out Ian. And Ricky. And John. And half of my coworkers. And every other male presence in my life. And if I do that, well, then, I sound like a hermit with no friends, a.k.a. a person who's obviously hiding something.

I can't help it. I always have more male friends than female ones. It's just the way I operate. I remember the night before I left to move into college for my freshman year, I decided to have a bunch of friends over to my house. I called them all to invite them. Phil, Sean, Jeffrey, Nyal, Jim, Mike, Paul, Steve... and Whitney. I remember thinking, "Dear God, what have I done?!" I grew up with brothers. I'm not as good at being friends with girls as I am with guys (although I suppose it's worth pointing out that only a couple of the guys from the aforementioned list are straight... but still).

In college, I found the men. Luckily, there were a few handy co-ed colleges very close by, and so it wasn't difficult. And I can easily say that my two best friends in college were named Mike and Greg. They were the kinds of guys I needed to save my sanity. Greg once skipped going to a Blessid Union of Souls concert so that he could help me study for a test. Mike once took me out dancing the night before I had two papers due, because he could sense how stressed out I was. Greg took me to play mini-golf. Mike to me to an OK Go concert (before they were viral break-out stars). In retrospect, it seems we had all the perks of dating without actually having to make a commitment. And it worked out very nicely. For awhile, at least.

My ex quickly bonded with Mike, sensing that there was no threat there. Although I had a crush on Mike for about 5 seconds, it had quickly been crushed the night I found myself holding his forehead as he vomited in a drunken stupor, weeping about another girl. I used to refer to Mike as the older brother I never had. We fight, both in argument and wrestling. We make fun of each other. And the thought of us ever being anything other than just friends... oh yuck. Feels like incest. In summation, Mike is the definition of "As Good As Gay".

But my ex never bonded with Greg. Probably at least in part because he knew that I had been interested in Greg at one point in time (I used to write poetry about him in my diary-x back in the day. I was pretty crushed on him).

I began dating my ex while Greg was studying abroad (which is the reason I was able to get over Greg in the first place). When he came back from being abroad, it was as if neither of them knew what to do with each other. Greg had been my closest friend and the #1 male in my life. I suspect that, on some level, he and my ex both felt threatened by the presence of the other. As a result, Greg and I grew more distant. It's one of the biggest regrets I have from that time of my life.

I don't think I've ever had as close a friend as Greg, and I'm not sure I ever will again. I could listen to a song and know whether Greg would like it or not. He could gauge my reactions to movies we watched based on how my body moved as I stared at the screen. Not only could we finish each other's sentences, we could finish each other's THOUGHTS. There were literally times when we would look at each other and just start laughing, not even needing to verbalize the private joke that we knew had been triggered simultaneously in both our minds. The joke materialized without ever coming out of our mouths, and everyone else in the room just stared at us in confusion. And while Greg and I will always be able to call each other and pick up close to where we left off, I doubt we'll ever get back to the place we were.

I had very physical friendships with both Mike and Greg (not in a "friends with benefits" kind of way... I never kissed either of them). I spent several nights sleeping next to each of them. I cuddled with them while watching movies. I climbed on them. I sat on their laps. I danced with them at parties, in bars, and at the swing dancing classes I dragged them to. We had tickle fights, long hugs, back rubs, and piggyback rides. I guess that's where my life took a turn for physical dependency. I think they needed it as much as I did. Well, almost as much. That physical closeness helped me from going crazy more than once.

Now, I have a desire to make all my friendships sort of like that, but it's tricky. With Mike and Greg, there was sort of an unspoken agreement that nothing else was going to happen. Greg had gone head-over-heels for a girl back home many years before (which originally put him on the AGAG list... until he flipped the switch... long story). And Mike... well, Mike and I weren't attracted to each other. I love the guy, but it was clear that we were meant to be friends.

Starting new physically close relationships is more of a challenge. I think I've recently managed it with a couple of friends, but it's still very much in the "this could end up going horribly wrong" phase. People misunderstand my intentions. They think I'm flirting. They think it means that I desperately want them, and that I'm throwing myself in their general direction. Or, if nothing else, they think it means they have a chance with me. And then the switch has been flipped in their minds, even though it's still firmly in place in mine.

In fact, that's what my ex thought before we were dating, when I climbed onto his lap and promptly fell asleep. But that wasn't the case at all. In fact, I was declaring him "just a friend" with that action; I was treating him exactly the way I would've treated Mike. If I were at all interested in him (or if I had suspected that he might have been interested in me), I never would've done it. I would've analyzed every action with a little too much preparation. I would've kept my distance.

Sorry. I don't know how I got sidetracked there... Ah well.

The point is, there are a lot of things my ex wouldn't want to know about. In fact, that was one of the things that led to our break up. There were too many things happening to me that he didn't want to know about because he couldn't physically be there to witness them.

It was weird hearing his voice again. And him sounding exactly the same. And it feeling like the conversation had very little weight to it, despite both the subject matter and the given circumstances.

But none of that is the reason I got strung up on the L. No, that I blame on some unfortunate timing from my iPod. Some of the songs weren't even sad... but their lyrical content got to me.

(I've added all the following songs to my ProjectPlaylist above so that you can listen to them if you'd like.)

"You're the Only One" by Maria Mena
A couple of lines got to me. Like, "You're the only one who knows how to handle me," because I felt like that around him for a long time. Another was, "You're the only one who holds my hair back when I'm drunk and get sick." Suddenly I was transported back to the night of my 21st birthday.

"The Rain Song" by The Bangles
In which a woman says she's over a guy and claims she rarely thinks of him, but she remembers every time it rains.

"I Don't Need You" by The Pierces
"Never could look back/Never would look back/Because/I don't need you/And you don't need me"

"Konstantine" by Something Corporate
If you don't already know this song, YOU MUST LISTEN TO IT. Okay, I can't force you, but you really should. It's over 9.5 minutes long, but it's one of the most beautiful, haunting songs I know. And I love it. And I could cry to it without any other stimulation. The line that always gets me is "They'll never hurt you like I do."

Seriously, just bad timing on all of them.

I probably wouldn't have gotten that close to showing emotion, except that it's February, and my S.A.D. brings every emotion a lot closer to the surface. It's like being bipolar for a month every year.

I feel like I'm so close to being able to talk to him again. Something that I wanted so badly and for so long. And I'm not even sure how I feel about that anymore.


May you find the closeness you crave.
And may you get as close as you need.

~A~


P.S. Monday is the first day that graduate schools are allowed to start making offers. After that, there is a three week "offers period". Please say prayers for me. There are three schools that I'm really strongly considering, and I would be blessed to get an offer from any. But I'd love to have options. Pray for three offers. And also pray that if that happens, I become miraculously decisive. ;)

Something Better

Every few hours I realize it again.

I really think I'm going to grad school in the fall.

My life is going to be completely uprooted and changed. I'll have to quit my job. I'll have to leave my little hole-in-the-wall apartment. I'll be moving to a state that I'm completely unfamiliar with. I'll probably be living a plane ride away from everyone I love. My life will be consumed by theatre, as I've always hoped it would be. I'll have to work harder than I ever have before. But I know that my passion, dedication, and talent will carry me through. I know that I can do this. I have to do this. I want something better for myself than I have right now.

It's terrifying though. The idea of leaving everything.

Not that I live some sort of ready-made life. But I've never been truly, truly alone before. When I studied abroad, I knew people that were going with me. When I moved out to Chicago, I moved in with a guy I barely knew and another guy I'd never met. But even then, I sort of knew what Chicago was about, and I knew one of my roommates... And I'd known plenty of people who had lived in Chicago already.

But now... Three of the five schools I was interviewed by are intriguing to me. And they're all in places I know nothing about. Places that are no where near anything or anyone I know. And they seem to like me as well.

I really think I'm going to get an offer this time, and not just be left hanging like I was last time. This just feels right.

The waiting is the hardest part. I'm just waiting for an offer (or four) to come in. I want to hop on a plane and visit the schools. But I can't use any more vacation time from work until things start to look serious from these schools... Because if I don't get an offer (God forbid), I have to make my vacation time last until the end of the year. If I do, it only has to last until about July...

It's good that I didn't go to grad school two years ago. I wasn't ready. I had a lot to learn before going. But I'm ready now. And I can't stay here much longer.

Brian said something to me that I have to agree with: there's nothing else I can gain by staying where I am. I've dealt with rejections here. I've discovered how much I truly love Shakespeare. I've learned how to make my own money, pay my own bills, figure out my insurance, plan my 401k, go to the doctor by myself... I've learned how to pretend to be a grown-up. I've learned that my life is not nearly as fulfilling or joyous when I'm not in the theatre. I've learned that what flows through my veins is a solution of passion, creativity, and blood.

I can't get what I need here. I need to get out. Life is... Stagnant. Static. Still. I'm not growing through being here anymore. I've reached a plateau. I need to find the next incline.

I can't sit here waiting for something to happen to me. I have to go find it. I have to get out.

Maybe I'm just saying that because the wind chill put this city into the negative 30s today. Maybe it's because I'm in my apartment with layers of clothing on and freezing because no water seems to be flowing through my radiator. Maybe it's my S.A.D. busting in. But I'm nearing my Chicago expiration date. It's dreary. And cold. And miserable. And so very, very lonely.

Ian came out to visit me this weekend. He thought I was lonely. And depressed. And angry. He wanted to help me talk through some of the things I'm dealing with right now in person as opposed to over the phone. He thought he could help me. And he did. It was a short weekend, made shorter by hassles involving retrieving his car after it was towed. He made me watch Lucky Number Slevin. I made him watch Arrested Development. Good times.

We went to a "games night" party that a friend of mine threw on Saturday night. We played Apples-to-Apples until nearly 4:00am. And then waited in the way-below-freezing cold for an L train that took far too long to arrive. I don't remember the last time I was that cold for that long. I thought we were all going to die before it showed up. And then when Ian and I got to my apartment, it wasn't much warmer. I was shivering for another hour before I could get to sleep, even under a pile of blankets with two pairs of pajamas and a fleece on.

I was glad Ian came. I think he was right. I think I was lonely. I needed there to be someone else here. Someone just to sit with and watch television with. Someone to complain about the weather with. Someone to shiver with. Someone to discuss politics with. Someone to prevent me from sitting in my apartment silently freezing for the majority of my weekend. Someone to help me begin to sort out the problems without solutions. I think he may have saved my sanity. For a little while, at least.

My penless pal Ricky has been incredibly helpful in helping to keep me sane as well. Through our facebook video exchanges, I feel like I'm having face-to-face conversations with someone... even if the reactions are a bit delayed. And he came over last Monday pre-auditions and let me express myself and chill out for a while. It was nice to have him around.

I am lonely.

I'm in this city, surrounded by buildings and people and events and ideas... And I feel so alone. And stuck.

I don't get nearly enough hugs in my life. Or physical closeness in general. And it's not even about wanting to make out with someone or anything like that. It's about almost falling asleep on someone's shoulder between L stops. Or having someone close enough to stroke your hair in silence. Or being able to huddle for warmth in the dead of winter. I want more cuddling in my life. Romantic, platonic, whatever.

Someone recently told me I should buy those sun lamps they sell for people with Seasonal Affected Disorder.

What do they sell for people who suffer for physical attention deprivation?

I need that.

I need something new. Something different. Something better.


May you find something better for yourself.

~A~


P.S. Not really related to this post at all, but there's a great Natalie Imbruglia song called "Something Better" that I like. I'm not sure that it's right for this blog or for my life at the moment, but I've temporarily put it on my ProjectPlaylist. It's about someone staying in a fun-but-imperfect relationship until something better comes along.

Guilty Pleasures & Deadly Sins

I love bad movies. Some of my favorite movies are ones that I am completely willing to admit are terrible. I own Teen Witch. I own Win a Date with Tad Hamilton (although that one was a gift… but I’ve watched it more than once). I own To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar (I haven’t watched it in the last two years since buying it at a Wal-Mart for $5. Mostly, I bought it because I thought it was funny that Wal-Mart was selling it). I own Grease 2 (which I think I actually prefer to Grease… I hope that’s not blasphemous to my musical theatre buddies who might be reading this). And I own and love the movie “America’s Sweethearts” (highly underrated. It’s actually very funny).

Here’s the thing… I don’t think of these movies as “guilty pleasures” at all. I don’t feel guilty about them. If I owned Showgirls, then I might feel guilty about it (I watch it whenever it’s on television), but that’s because of both horrid acting and also the fact that it’s basically soft-core porn. Really, I think I just don’t understand the concept of guilty pleasures. To quote Sheryl Crow (oh no… WHY am I quoting Sheryl Crow?), “if it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.”

I recently had a conversation with a friend of mine regarding his newfound love of the Disney Channel. He says that it’s filled with happy material, and that it has a positive impact on his life. I don’t watch the Disney channel (which is in some part due to the fact that I don’t presently own a television), but I respect that. It makes him happy. Who am I to judge?

I got into a fairly heated argument with someone last winter about my love of the television show Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. She said it was self-important, and just a vehicle for Aaron Sorkin (the show’s creator) to vent about his political agenda. Here’s what I don’t get: why on earth would you go off unprompted on a tirade against something that I clearly love? Isn’t that just a whole string of comments that could easily be left unsaid?

I also don’t feel guilty about my preferences in music, which have recently come under scrutiny by some of my friends. I like Corinne Bailey Rae, Mandy Moore, and the occasional piece of Fefe Dobson or Aqua. I listen to Basement Jaxx, Fastball, Fountains of Wayne, Motion City Soundtrack, Jewel, Liz Phair, Semisonic, Something Corporate, and many other artists that others might scoff at for a variety of reasons. At this very moment, I’m listening to the song “Hang on, Little Tomato” by Pink Martini, which I find to be particularly lovely. And I don’t think I should have to be ashamed of that. That music cheers me. And a cheerful me is something that you should be encouraging. I’m quite fun to be around when I’m cheerful… not so much when I’m defensive. I’m just saying…

Also, take note: if you EVER say a negative thing about Natalie Imbruglia in my presence, I will most likely be unable to continue speaking with you. I’ve already told the fellow in my life that if he ever commits such a heinous act, it would surely be just cause for a break-up. My music is something that I wear close to my heart, and when people diss it and dismiss it, they might as well be putting down something that I have created myself. It breaks me down from the inside. I am offended to a point that seems almost irrational. Almost.

Anyway. I see nothing wrong with liking movies of questionable caliber, frivolous music, self-important television, and the like. And I hate it when people feel the need to change my opinions on those things, or try to make me feel bad about liking them. So please, if you are ever considering such a thing, don’t. Even if you’re just teasing.

As it turns out, I don’t take teasing very well. I don’t understand it. I was raised in a house where making fun of other people got you in trouble. I survived a childhood of constant mocking and oceans of tears. I don’t think it’s funny when people tease me. It just seems hurtful.

I will never understand how some people think that teasing is a good way to flirt. If a guy starts off teasing me, I assume he’s a jack-hole, and I don’t feel the need to ever speak with him again. Not a good way to start things off. Before we started dating, my ex-boyfriend started making fun of Canada (knowing full well that I have a great love for our neighbors to the North… I started watching Degrassi” back in the 80s when it came on after Ramona, and I’ve loved Canada ever since). He thought it was a good way to rile me up. All it did was piss me off (my mother hates it when I use that phrase… she says it isn’t ladylike. But sometimes, it’s just the right way to explain my emotional state. So forgive me if I’ve somehow ruined your opinion of me by saying something crass). It made me want to keep my distance from him.

I actually got into a rather heated discussion with a coworker a couple of weeks ago when he started teasing me about being a Shakespeare geek. You just shouldn’t do that. Honestly. I will never understand the thought process behind it. I didn’t understand it in elementary school when a boy would yank on a girl’s pigtail because he liked her, and I don’t understand this verbal equivalent to it. It just seems counterintuitive to me.

Shakespeare, by the way, is most certainly not a guilty pleasure. His work is really rather brilliant, and not overrated. Shakespeare is, in fact, one of a handful of topics that I could speak on for hours, if allowed. Other subjects that fall under that elite heading include Harry Potter, mythology (especially Greek and Roman), musical theatre, and names (I actually started writing a book on names once, but everything I wrote was lost. Apparently, I have horrible luck when it comes to things I’ve written suddenly disappearing. Anyway, I was never able to talk myself into starting it all over again). None of these subjects are things I feel guilty about. It’s not like they’re vices.

Why aren’t vices considered to be guilty pleasures? If ever you should feel guilty about something, shouldn’t it be drinking, or smoking, or gambling, or drugs, or what have you? Those all seem like things one might feel guilty over. I have had a couple of friends with serious pornography addictions. If that doesn’t sound like what a “guilty pleasure” should be, then I don’t know what does. Surely, wanting to watch Die, Mommy, Die is a far less noteworthy event. It’s not like it’s a deadly sin.

Speaking of which, did you know that Dante invented the seven deadly sins? They’re not actually in the Bible or anything. I mean, they are technically all in the Bible as things you should not do, but not in list form. And yet, somehow they’ve been adopted into general Christian dogma. It’s actually rather strange that something like that occurred, but I blame people for being stupid and confusing fiction with religion (a la Scientology. Or Jedi-ism. I hope I didn’t offend any Jedi with that. I’m certain that I offended Scientologists). But it is a tremendous list. I can certainly ascertain a connection from each item on it to fire and brimstone.

Let’s see how guilty I am…
Envy: Of course. I’m envious of other people’s appearances a great deal. Occasionally, I envy their talents (especially if they can play an instrument with brilliance). I don’t care as much about their possessions, but those can make me jealous every now and again as well.
Greed: Not too bad. It is a part of my life, but obviously not a big one, as I can’t even come up with an example.
Gluttony: I took four pieces of pizza at a work function on Wednesday, even though I usually only eat two. Why? Because they were free. Subsequently, I became ill (after only eating two and a half pieces… I saved the untouched piece and ate it for breakfast the next morning). My eyes were definitely bigger than my stomach.
Lust : The temptation exists, but I don’t really act on this one… But that deserves a blog entry all to itself. I will not be writing that tonight.
Pride: Check. I have a blog, which I think is proof enough that I’m prideful. After all, I think my writing deserves to be read. And I take pictures of myself a lot.
Sloth: I’m one of the world’s best procrastinators (I say “best” because I’m successful at it… I get my stuff done, I just do it at the last minute). That comes from my lazy streak, and also the fact that I work better under pressure (the pressure of a deadline seems to work especially well).
Wrath: I have my moments. Who doesn’t? It’s hard to be a passionate person without having wrath. My words can get downright violent. And I stay bitter about certain things for years. The way I think on it, bitterness falls under wrath.

In general, though, I’m not a big “vice” person. I’ve never picked up a cigarette. I’ve never touched drugs. I didn’t start going out and drinking until after I was 21 (well, 22, actually). I like to think that the D.A.R.E. program worked on me (if D.A.R.E. needs a spokesperson, I’m there). When I asked a friend recently if I had any vices, he answered by suggesting “chocolate?” But really, I don’t even eat chocolate very often (except when it’s in ice cream… like chocolate chip cookie dough… mmmm). Um, does cuddling count as a vice? Because I’m all over that one. Otherwise, I’m hard-pressed to come up with something.

Maybe that’s pathetic a little bit. Maybe innocence is a form of emptiness. I worry about that sometimes. Am I not living my life to the fullest because there are so many activities that I refrain from? I try not to dwell on it, as it could get depressing. Luckily, I have The Monkees, The Beach Boys, and Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass to cheer me up. And I don’t feel one iota of guilt about that.

May your days be guilt-free and bright.

Much love,

~A~

Pantslessness & Delayed Goodbyes

I promise you that I will not be updating this blog every day in the future (maybe every week or so... we'll see). For the moment, it still has its novelty. It’s remarkably cathartic. I forgot how much I truly enjoy rambling in written form. For those of you who don’t know (which I assume is most of you), I had an online journal in the past. I began it when I went off to college as a way for my friends from back home to be able to know what was going on in my life. I wrote for four years. I never allowed anyone I knew from school to read it, in case I wanted to vent about them without them knowing (I also wouldn’t have wanted a couple male friends of mine to know that I was completely crushed on them. Of course, I’ve since told them this, but it would’ve been mortifying at the time). I promised a couple of my friends that I would allow them to read the journal as soon as we graduated (because after that point, who cares?).

Then, tragedy struck. Just a few short months before I left college, my journal disappeared. Actually, lots of journals did. Curse you Diary-X and your server failure! I was heartbroken. It felt as though a part of me died that day. I believe I actually wept over it. And I’m fairly certain I made a couple phone calls on the verge of nervous breakdown to people who didn’t quite understand the magnitude of this calamity. I put gads of time into carefully chronicling my existence, and all evidence of that was gone.

I eventually realized that I don’t need those old entries (as much as I would like to have a record of them). I learned a lot from the book Dear Mr. Henshaw (it was required reading for me around third grade, I believe). There was a boy who kept writing letters to his favorite author, never receiving a response. As the boy grew up, he realized that he didn’t need one. It was nice to think that someone was reading about his problems, but the important thing was for him to be able to write them down. He was only truly honest with himself when he was writing. It allowed him to have distance from his problems, so that he could better solve them.

The same is true in my life. Writing things down created more vivid memories for me. I don’t need to rely on re-reading those entries in order to recall events clearly (although, rest assured, I have set it up so that every entry I create for this new blog is automatically e-mailed to me. And I’m saving them as Word documents for good measure). I don’t need anyone to comment on what I’ve written (allow it does add a touch of sparkle to my day when they do). I kept a journal in high school that was an actual book. No one ever read that to give me advice, and it was still worthwhile. Actually, I’d be horrified if they had. It’s lurking in my closet right now. I’m embarrassed just thinking about the things I did back in the day. For example, I was awestruck by certain boys in high school, and in retrospect I am perplexed by what it was that drew me to many of them. My point (yes, there is occasionally a point to my tangents) is that it’s not about the readers. It’s about the writer. This is all a sort of therapy for me. Anyone who’s willing to trudge through these waters, God bless you. If, by some fluke of nature, I gain faithful readers, I will do my best not to scare them off. After all, it’s rather flattering if people choose to become an audience for you.

I’m already somewhat of an internet celebrity. And by internet, I mean “intraweb”. At work, I am the current “Employee Profile” on the homepage (and I will continue to be for somewhere between 2-6 weeks, if past profiles are any indication). This means that every time anyone in my company attempts to go online for any reason, they are greeted by a particularly unflattering picture of my smiling face. I’ve been getting recognized in the elevator a lot. It’s always a bit awkward. After I admit that I am, indeed, the person they thought I was (and they take a moment to seem pleased with their own brilliance for making the connection), there’s nothing else to say. So we continue to stand next to each other for a few more floors, wondering if it’s best to make an attempt at conversation, or to just endure the silence. I’ve also been stopped in the ladies room, on the café floor, and in the lobby. Just this afternoon I chatted about it with a friendly chap while waiting for the L to arrive. I have had grazing acquaintanceship with him on account of us both previously being staffed by the same temp agency. Then the train came, he sat down with his book, and our fringe-friendly relationship returned to its normal “smile-and-nod” state.

As soon as I left the station, I came straight home to my apartment, giggled when the change in air pressure I created by opening the door knocked my fan over, and promptly took off my work clothes. We had to dress in business casual attire today, for reasons unbeknownst to me. Actually, they sent us an e-mail explaining it, which I chose to delete unopened, in favor of ignorantly grumbling about the inconvenience (there was another cause for grumbling at work today: a major protest encircled our building, the exits were blocked off, and we were instructed not to leave. I’ve never seen the café floor as crowded as it was today. I ended up skipping lunch and watching online video of Britney Spears’ phoned-in performance at the VMAs instead).

Honestly, taking off my work clothes is always my first priority when I get home. I have a completely different wardrobe for “me” time. I never wear socks when I’m alone (frankly, I don’t wear them to work very often either. Albert Einstein never wore socks because he said they cluttered his thoughts. He was a genius, so it was probably a little more acceptable for him to not wear socks… but I don’t care. I dislike wearing them if I don’t have to). And often, my around-the-apartment outfits don’t include pants. It’s a new thing I’m trying. Turns out, I’m happier when I’m not wearing pants. Walking around in underwear is both comfortable and liberating. It makes me feel like this space I pay hundreds of dollars in rent for every month is truly mine. I dance around in my underwear. I fold clothes in my underwear. I wash dishes in my underwear. I highly recommend it. Being stripped down to essential articles of clothing makes all activities slightly more enjoyable.


This evening, I cooked dinner in my underwear and a t-shirt. And by dinner, I mean I put 4 eggs, half a red bell pepper, and two slices of colby-jack in a pan, cooked it, and called it food. For me, that’s some hardcore cooking. I’m horribly out of place in a kitchen, which is unfortunate, since I adore food. One of my attempts at baking brownies resulted in a strange brownie-soup that refused to solidify. It defied all scientific explanation. Most of the time, I know what I’ve done wrong after I’ve done it. Like the time I accidentally put the Jell-O in the freezer instead of the fridge and ended up with inedible Jell-O-flavored ice. I can make sandwiches rather well. And I’m brilliant with all forms of pasta (I am, after all, half Italian). For most things, though, it’s better if I’m not involved with the preparations.

Evidently, I’m a finicky eater. I don’t understand how that’s possible, as I can think of a sundry of foods that I would delight in devouring. But apparently my tastes don’t align with the things most people are willing to eat. My mother actually has to keep a list of the things I don’t eat for when I come home to visit (she’s puzzled as to how she ended up with a child who doesn’t eat fennel, lentils, or gnocchi. I maintain that these foods are not found in the average kitchen on a regular basis). In case you were curious, I don’t eat any animals that I deem “cute” (so no pig, duck, or sheep, but I’m cool with chicken, turkey, and cow), anything that used to live underwater (with the occasional exception of tuna), most nuts (except cashews and peanuts, although I think peanuts are technically legumes), and oranges (which most people are especially disbelieving of. I don’t like oranges, orange juice, orange Creamsicles, orange candy, etc. I’ve never liked them, and I doubt I ever will).

I have cravings for combinations of food that other people would call “strange”. I think this originated in elementary school, where I had a penchant for mixing all the foods on my lunch tray into an unappetizing goulash and eating it so that the other kids would find me entertaining (I was willing to try whatever I could to make friends. It rarely panned out). I put condiments on just about everything I eat. I eat mashed potatoes with red wine vinegar and Worcestershire sauce. I eat slices of provolone with yellow mustard. I once ate a particularly odd concoction of Half-Baked Ben & Jerry’s ice cream (it’s chocolate-fudge-brownie crossed with chocolate-chip-cookie-dough), caramel sauce, hot fudge, and green olives. Yes, you read that right. Green olives. With pimentos, if that makes a difference. And you know what? It was sensational. Of course, I was sick as a dog all through rehearsal the next day, so I won’t be revisiting that one. Unless I’m ever pregnant, in which case, all bets are off (although it has been hypothesized that if I become pregnant, I’ll start eating like a normal person. I think that theory is more for entertainment than plausibility, but one never knows).

My mother is a fantastic cook. Seriously. If you know my mother and are ever near her, I suggest conning her into making you a meal. It shouldn’t be too difficult. She’s Italian. It’s in her blood to feed people. Of course, I’m half Italian, and I don’t cook… But even if I did, I wouldn’t cook for others. No one but me would enjoy the foods I make for myself. If I’m going to spend time with someone, we’re going to have to have an event planned that has nothing to do with eating something I’ve made. Let’s go to McDonald’s, order off the dollar menu, and waste a significant amount of time discussing absolutely nothing. That sounds like a much better way to spend an evening.

Some people have described spending time with me as getting lost in a vortex. You lose time (usually large chunks of it). It’s like being abducted by aliens, but without the nasty anal probe to deal with. I think the time disappears because I provide such an entertaining alternative to anything else you could've possibly done. After all, time flies when you’re having fun. And fruit flies like a banana (sorry… I felt the need to throw that in, despite the fact that it was an intentionally horrible misquote). It probably also doesn’t hurt that I have no concept of time myself (which is probably why I have a tendency to be late for things… I blame that lack of skill on genetics).

I think the real reason time disappears is because I manipulate it. On a level that is not entirely conscious, I distract people from paying attention to the passing of time. A possible reason behind this is that I have a difficulty saying goodbye to people. Well, people I like, that is. I’m fairly certain I could do without people I don’t like… Anyway. Whether it be at the end of a night of hanging out, or the end of a phone conversation, it’s something I struggle with. If I enjoy the pleasure of someone’s company, I don’t want our time together to end. If we were having a blast, then obviously I would want the fun to continue. If we weren’t, I feel like we need more time in order for the good stuff to begin. In addition, I am plagued by a fear of loneliness. When I leave at the end of the night, I’m going back to an empty room. I’m going to sit on my computer, check my e-mail, see if anything is new on facebook, and then lie awake in bed (darn cathemeral sleep pattern) for an undeterminable period of time, wishing that I weren’t alone. When I hang up the phone, I have no one to talk to but myself (and believe me, I talk to myself plenty), and I end up in this boring, suffocating silence. I feel as though somehow, when a conversation ends, I’m being rejected. I wanted to be around you for longer than you wanted to be around me. I’ve been abandoned in some way. Saying goodbye hurts every time, even if only a little.

So I try everything I can to stop that goodbye from happening. I start one last story. I ask one last question. I give one more hug. When I am successful in delaying separation even by a few minutes, I feel as though I have proof that the other person likes me, and wants to be around me (again, this isn’t completely conscious… in fact, at the moment I’m writing, this is the first time I’ve admitted it to myself. And I’m a little shocked that I’ve never noticed it before. This writing stuff is great for cheap therapy). I won’t say that I have a sense of accomplishment, but it certainly gives me joy, especially if the other person gives up all together for a short period of time. If they put down their coat, or if they decide they’ll crash at my place, or if they ask me if I want a drink. *sigh* I feel a little more content just thinking about it.

I guess I’m emotionally needy. I always knew I was physically needy. I’m all for hugs and cuddling… and I’m a completely indiscriminate cuddler. If the person I’m cuddling with leaves, I will move on to someone else. I will cuddle with a stranger. I will cuddle with people of either gender (see? I’m not sexist). I will cuddle with the nearest pillow, if necessary. And I often miss my friends’ physical presences despite conversing with them frequently through other means, such as phone and e-mail. And now, on top of all of that, I’m emotionally needy as well. I crave companionship. Perhaps it’s a form of reassurance that I deserve love. Or maybe it’s a cry for attention. But if you don’t have anything to hurry off to, and you decide to pry yourself out of my grasp instead of lingering, there’s a good chance that you’re hurting me without knowing it. And if you give me a few more minutes, you will have left me a little bit more satisfied. Just feel flattered that I want to spend those few extra minutes with you, and consider allowing me to do just that.

I rather like the familiar Shakespeare quote on the subject, from Romeo & Juliet:
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Alright, I’m off to go attempt to sleep and stop thinking about the not-so-abrupt goodbye I said earlier that clearly left me slightly disappointed for no good reason (why else would I have felt the need to write about this?).

Much love, sweet dreams, and lingering goodbyes,

~A~