What's going on with me?
Happy Halloween and welcome to the history of my random making-outs!
“Do you want to make out?” is a GREAT icebreaker, Brando. Incidentally, this was not even the first time in my 26 years that a boy has seduced me with that exact phrase. Long long ago, when I was a senior in college, I had had a crush on this one punk rock star since meeting him in the dorms freshman year. He was cute and smart and a drummer and had had the same girlfriend since high school.
Well, one night at a party where everyone was wasted and sweaty and slamdancing to, like, 80s Guns N’ Roses, he asked if I wanted to get out of there and hang out somewhere else with him. I jumped on it. Once outside, he told me that he had broken up with his girlfriend and was missing having someone to make out with, and he had always thought I was cute, and he knew I was single, so did I want to walk to my apartment and make out?
Well yes, yes I did.
I should furthermore say that this is all against the backdrop of this class we sat together in at the time - The Psychology of Human Sexuality. It was all about the importance of intimacy and communication and honesty in your relationships, so of course all night we were joking about how the professor would be so proud of us in our whole “open, honest hooking-up-thing,” and maybe we should tell him about it and possibly get extra-credit? Of course we did not, but it jazzed the whole thing up a notch.
Subsequently, of course, I fell for this guy HARD CORE, and continued in our Honest Thing by telling him so (which was excruciating). He of course was in no position to be dating someone else, having just gotten out of a four-year thing, which I understood. But then in the next months I fell the fuck apart, you guys.
I eventually had to go to a few sessions of College Counseling, which helped a great deal, and I learned that I had somehow linked not having him with being really anxious about my upcoming graduation, and did I get everything out of college I should have, had I made the most of it, was I ready to be out in the real world, why was my family so hard on me about everything from my choice of major to my choice of hairstyle, etc etc. And that my depression was only about him a teeny tiny bit.
So I guess the moral is, if you have to go through a bout of depression, try very very hard to time it to while you are in school, so that you’ll get free counseling.
And…there you have another chapter in the Days of My Lives.
PS – I very much hope that I do not fall the fuck apart quite so spectacularly after this, increasingly similar, hook-up situation.
10.24.2005
Crush Monkey!
So I have been totally flipping out lately. I have my first review (our program has three total) coming up next week, so I have been frantically tweaking all my assignment paintings up to this point and also trying to do a bunch of personal works, on top of just keeping up with the current class projects.
I put in a ton of hours this weekend and today, and I think I will be in good shape to take slides of everything tomorrow, allowing a week for them to get developed, and then next Wednesday all my slides and statements are due. Then my committee of three takes them and looks over everything without me, and two weeks later I get a full page of typed critique, plus a box checked - Yes I passed, or No I suck. I am hoping for the Yes box.
Also, on top of the emotional rollercoaster that is me trying to churn out non-shitty paintings, there was that whole KISSING OF THE CRUSH thing, a week ago already, and wow have I been busy that I haven’t had time to write about that. But here is what happened:
Last Monday I had an awesome critique (on a piece the teacher called “Very good” but then two days later gave me a C+, and thus my emotions plummeted accordingly, but anyway) and convinced Crush Monkey to come out for a beer. ONE BEER. Yeah, right.
Damn you, happy hour! We had an amazing four hour conversation, along with three beers (for me, four for him I think). We were feeling good. I drove us home, which, I know, is bad. I rationalize it such: the town is two miles across, and no children are out at 1am on a Monday. Please don’t yell. So, we got to his house, and he got out and was talking to me through the window, and suddenly just said, “Do you want to make out? Come upstairs with me.” And I was like, “Um? Well? OKAY, YES.” And went upstairs. And then we kissed and I ended up sleeping there and he turned out to be a big snuggle bunny spooning freak, which was cute.
In the morning we talked for a while again, although not about anything germane to what had just happened. So when three days had passed abnd we were still just our usual friend-banter-hanging out in the studio selves, I convinced myself that he had never really been attracted to me at all, he was just drunk and I happened to be there, he wanted to put it behind us, etc etc. Worst case scenario stuff.
However Saturday night we met each other out, very late in the night, I drove him home, he invited me up, and again I agreed. I did sort of protest though. I think I slurred, “I don’t think is such a good idea; I’m really trying to make better interpersonal decisions lately.” He sort of blinked and was all, “Uh huh. Come on.”
We fell asleep watching Orange County, so I still have yet to see it all the way through. It was so late that we actually did just pass out with no making out at all, which was sort of anticlimactic (ha!) as I had been to a friend’s Sex Toy Party earlier in the night (it’s like tupperware, but it’s fuckerware). (Don’t ask.)
In the morning we talked/fell asleep/talked in a continuous cycle for about half the day. It was nice. Finally when I left I bit the bullet and brought up the fact that I liked him liked him, and we had a big talk, the major points being:
1. He is not sorry about what happened.
2. However he is not over his ex-girlfriend yet (DAMMIT).
3. However I am “what he is going to want, as soon as he lands from his spiral of stupidity over her.”
4. When I thought he wasn’t attracted to me after all and I was just another one of the people he flirts with, I was being paranoid.
5. He thinks I am awesome.
6. He considers me one of his best friends (aw). (Me too.)
So, that is where we are right now. I feel so much better now after talking. It’s funny, you’d think I’d be bummed to hear that he wasn’t ready to date anyone (me) yet, but I honestly did think that it was just me he wasn’t into. So to hear that it’s a timing thing is actually a relief to me. Anyway, he is adorable and brilliant and it’s not every day you find someone you can talk to for four straight hours, so I’m pretty lucky, really.
G’night!
10.22.2005
I am rico suave
Oh you guys. I am returning home from my new second job (of which I will explain in detail, just not at 2am), and I have, in my pocket, one hundred and seventy dollars. And it is mine.
I am rich! I can buy non-generic american cheese the next time I go grocery shopping! Ah, the joy of being a waitress.
G’nite all.
10.19.2005
!Attencion!
I am doing some internal/web/technical switchy stuff right now. So things might appear and disappear for the next few days. Hopefully it’ll be fixed soon.
Best to you! Be back as soon as I can.
(Edited: Also, apparently I lost that last post and now your comments are tacked onto this one. Surreal!)
10.16.2005
Oh wow
Okay, you guys are awesome. I think I am going to change my site into a free-for-all autobiographical extravaganza, where people can just write about their daily routines and we can all read and be blown away by how infinite the possibilities are.
I started a second job this weekend. I know that sounds crazy, and like I am dropping out of grad school to be a professional restaurant worker, but I totally have a plan worked out, which I will explain soon. Right now I need to go to the studio and spend about eleven hours painting, since that IS technically what I came here for. Have a good afternoon! Feel free to include more stories, such as how often you floss or paint your finger/toenails.
(I hate flossing. I think it stems from when I had braces, and fell out of the habit for about three years.)
10.13.2005
My mom is practically hairless, but I did not get that gene.
I find, from Kitty’s, Peter’s, and Cate’s comments on the last post, that I am fascinated by other people’s secret grooming behavior. Am I just now realizing that everyone has different levels of personal hygiene? Not really. But I am curious about it. It’s like housekeeping - some people are tidy but not clean, some vice versa. Some don’t mind a dirty kitchen but are compulsive about the bathroom. The same principle applies for personal toilette behaviors, and this enthralls me.
Personally, I always washed my hair every day because I used cheap (drugstore) shampoo. Every time I got a haircut, the stylist would OF COURSE recommend their fancy stuff to me, and I’d be all, “Pshaw! Mama didn’t raise no fool!” while I ran off to buy more Garnier Fructis or whatever it is.
But for some reason this hairstylist I now have in Savannah just seemed trustworthy, so when she suggested I buy a specific brand of expensive shampoo but just use it every other day, I went with it. And honestly, while I expected to look like I had black roots by the end of the second day (Cate, nice chicken-fried steak image, btw), it’s been working fine. Is this the nice shampoo, or a placebo effect? The world may never know.
There are certain things I am very big on, personally. I like my eyebrows to look very good. Every so often I decide to get them waxed, and that does necessitate letting them, er, grow out, but that is the sacrifice one has to make in order to get those perfect salon brows. So I don’t mind this at all.
Also, I am very good about washing my face and using spf 15 during the day, and zit cream at night. Even if I come home wasted, I will stumble to the bathroom and be all, “WHERE’S MY FACE-WASHING HAIRBAND I NEED TO WASH MY FACE OOF DRINKY DRUNK.” And I will proceed to wash my face like the Proactiv champ (chimp?) I am. But there are some things I am very lax/lazy about. (Peter, I know for a fact you are going to run off and hurl in like twenty seconds, because I know what your hot buttons are, so I am just warning you.)
I don’t give a shit whether my legs are shaved or not.
I mean, I REALLY DON’T CARE. And not in the sense that most girls say they don’t care, when what they mean is that they go for like two or three days in between shaving. I mean that weeks will go by and I’ll feel my leg and think, “Wow, it’s been a while,” and then four seconds later I’ll be back to sitting on the couch, watching Law and Order. Not running off to the bathroom to shave shave shave and then, like, flagellate myself for my unfeminineness, like I think a lot of girls would.
(By the way, I totally am not being uppity or condescending to any of you who ARE obsessive about keeping your legs shaved. I’m just pointing out how you could possibly gain more tv time in your life, is all.)
I just shave my legs when they get really hairy, but not necessarily for any special event. When I have a boyfriend, they figure out pretty quickly that I’m not going to go shave my legs every time we’re about to Do It. What’s the point? My theory is, at the point of actual intercourse, the guy should be really glad about the actual intercourse. My legs should be, like, 986th down on the list of thoughts going through his head.
The other thing I am sort of slack about is dyeing (coloring?) my hair. Let me give you an image: right now I have sort of ash brown roots and the rest of my hair is a joyous explosion of reddish/blondish/sun-bleached/slightly punky hot pink strands. Generally I realize that it doesn’t look too hot, but not enough to make that big ole trek to the drugstore to get more hair dye.
What can I say? When I first cut my hair short, in about 10th grade, my friends dubbed me a “boy-girl.” I guess I took it to heart. Now, you guys. Be nice and tell me your odd practices, so I don’t feel like such a freak.
10.10.2005
Watch me draw you into my web of neuroticism!
I had a friend from high school, and his girlfriend, in town on Friday afternoon and night. They were the first people to come visit me since I got here, so I was excited to be able to show them around town. They were on a “Southern Comfort 2005 Tour,” or the “SoCo 05 Tour,” as we dubbed it - wedding in North Carolina, beach at Hilton Head, touristy days in Charleston and Savannah. I was their last stop.
We had a very nice time - I took them down to the river during the day and we walked and had a beer. Then we drove around the squares and oohed and aahed at the extensively-pierced undergrads walking around. We did the Gallery Hop of different painting grad exhibitions, they treated me to tapas and wine in City Market, and then we bar-hopped.
The last stop was this Irish pub that the painting grads all seem to go to. My friend/crush called me to say he was going and that I should come, so of course I showed. I have no game.
So we had another very nice conversation about movies and books, and discovered YET ANOTHER favorite author we share - Richard Russo. I swear, if this guy is not charmed by me yet, I don’t know what else to do. I am being my wittiest! Actually it did seem like something is going on on his end, as he was doing more of his weird ambiguous touching. Namely, he was massaging my hand as we spoke. I mean, weird. I could barely focus on the conversation because I was freaking, and running steadily through my head was Holy crap he’s holding my hand in public! I looked across the table and my girlfriend who knows I love him was cracking up behind her beer, presumably at my terrified/ecstatic face.
Later on that night he also went to stroke my hair, and I jumped away as if cattle-prodded, because I am trying this new experiment where I only wash my hair every other day, and this was the bad day so my hair felt not-so-fresh. He was like, “Ooh, you’re so nervous. Don’t be nervous,” and I sort of chuckled weakly.
Perhaps on our first wedding anniversary I’ll let him know why I really jumped away, and why I tense up when he comes up behind me and strokes my upper arms (to make them seem flexed and less flabby).
I know, I’m insane. All you girls out there understand though, right? Please say yes.
10.5.2005
Thank you, random peoples
Hey you guys. Thank you for the outpouring of support and ass-kicking! I was feeling really bad all day yesterday about the tension at home. The more I thought about it, the more fired-up I felt, about the incident specifically and also about what sort of future I would have in an environment with a landlady (because Jane OWNS the house, did I tell you that?) who didn’t see the need to compromise. I was obsessing on it all day and evening and couldn’t wait to get home and talk it out again. (But sort of dreading it at the same time, to be honest.)
In the end, we finally all three sat down late last night. As I thought, it was much better having Chris there too. He sort of moderated. And he is a very gentle, sweet type of guy, so whenever Jane said something sarcastic and petulant to me, he’d sort of…rest his hand on her arm, like you would to to quiet down a spooked horse. If I hadn’t gotten the impression he was holding her back from lunging at me and tearing my throat out, it might have been sort of charming.
But yes, things are better and out in the open now. The whole thing was that she claimed to not have known/remembered that the talking from room-to-room was what kept me up, so she thought that I had just jumped down her throat after ONE night of being disturbed, whereas I had remembered mentioning it to her a few times before, so I felt like it was this personal attack that it kept happening.
So now we get where each other was “coming from,” although I HATE that phrase; it is so overused and, um, Real World-y. We agreed to try 1) them being quieter in the kitchen and bathroom, and 2) me trying a fan. If that does not work I can try sleeping in Chris’s room to see if I want to move there.
Interestingly, neither of them really wanted me to leave them alone with the whole back part of the house. They didn’t want me to be physically separated from them; they thought it would be this weird manifestation of how I already am the non-coupled one. Which is a nice sentiment. Anyway, we will see. I’m not packing my bags yet.
And for real, thanks for the kind words! It was so nice to get home and see all these comments from Internet Strangers reassuring me that I was not an intolerant mouse-loon.
10.4.2005
The Real World, my house!
So, did I tell you that my roommates are dating? (This is the guy who moved in about two months ago, not the chicken salad guy.) They’ve been together since about five minutes after he moved in. Now, I knew they would be before I okayed him to move in, it’s not like I was blindsided or anything. However things are getting more and more annoying around here.
It’s not like they cuddle on the couch in front of me, or make out in the kitchen, or call each other Hunny Bunny or anything. Nothing that bad. However, they WORK TOGETHER TOO (that’s how they met), so they are just always together, and when they’re home they’re always talking about things that happened that day at the restaurant, or whatever. The part of that that really concerns me is when they come home after I’m asleep, because they are sooo loud. Our house is small and all one level, and they both just have loud voices naturally and both walk pretty hard, and when they make food they slam the cabinets and fridge door open and shut.
Now, I am a pretty quiet person when it comes to getting ready or going to bed. If I know someone’s asleep, I don’t consider it a sacrifice at all to open and shut doors carefully, or to keep my voice at a lower-than-normal tone if I have a visitor. It just seems like the natural thing to do. I’ve told Jane before that when they speak to each other from different rooms of the house, I hear it as clearly as if they’re in the room with me, it wakes me up, and I have a really hard time going back to sleep. She seemed to understand. But it just keeps happening.
Saturday was the worst. I had to be at work at 8am on Sunday for a meeting, which is stupid, but anyway I was in bed and when they came in at 2am I could hear their conversation clear as a bell. And the slamming-of-the-cabinets thing was out of control. I basically did not go back to sleep all night, which was, um, annoying.
So Sunday night when I got home and Jane was in bed, I told Chris (that’ll be the guy roommate) that they had been really loud, and I would appreciate it if they could just, you know, not yell from one room to another when both of those rooms are RIGHT NEXT TO MY HEAD. If he didn’t mind. And he was totally apologetic. Now, I didn’t tell him that I would talk to Jane myself, even though I planned to, which was my mistake. Because when he joined her in her room (right next to mine) later on that night, I heard him tell her what I’d said. Making it look like I was a huge wimp who couldn’t speak to people myself.
When I got home last night, Jane came in my room with me and was basically all, “I’m really annoyed that you went to Chris and were talking about how I’m ’so loud,’ ” “I’m not going to walk on eggshells in my own house,” “you’re just a mouse-quiet person and that’s not how I am,” “Chris and I talked about it and we both feel you’re being really intolerant,” “you’re free to live your life and I don’t get annoyed if you wake me up, I just figure that’s part of living in a small house and I think you knew that when you moved in,” “I’m just going to live my own life and if that involves coming home and making food at not-that-late on a Saturday, then it does,” “why don’t you just move your bed to another part of the room and buy a fan, that way the noise won’t bother you.”
I just felt kind of shellshocked after the whole litany of I’m doing nothing wrong, your expectations are crazy speech. And I really had no response for anything she said. I began to think that maybe I WAS intolerant and having too-high expectations. This is why a) I could never have been a lawyer, and b) I avoid confronting people. Because they always have counter-arguments and I lose all ability to reason and end up getting snowballed by everything they say.
At one point, I did have the presence of mind to say, “Well, if it’s okay for you guys to be normal-volume at 2:00, then when ISN’T it okay? Is there any time, day or night, that we should all just be quiet?” And she was like, “See, I don’t want to have to have Quiet Rules or anything like that. I just don’t want to have the structure that you want.” So that was that.
Argh, it made so much sense in my head! To my mind: they knew I was home and asleep; there’s no reason why you can’t speak quieter and open and shut doors gently; when you live with other people you sometimes CAN’T “live just how you want to live;” the fact that it wouldn’t bother her isn’t really the point because I’m not being loud and waking her up in the first place, blah blah blah.
One thing I am definitely tempted to do is to ask Chris if he and I can switch rooms. Right now Jane and I share a bathroom and our rooms share a wall, and I hear them talking in bed and laughing. Also one will go to the bathroom and the other will stay in their room and they’ll yell to each other that way. But Chris’s room is at the front of the house and he has his own bathroom, so that wouldn’t be an issue. They could just have the whole back half of the house to themselves, which makes much more sense I think.
I don’t know. Am I being ridiculous about all this? I am so mixed-up. Also, why I am such an idiot that I can’t hold my own in an argument?
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