Home- Days 1 and 2
I don’t want to be a moaning myrtle… But did you know that all it does in Central New York is rain? Yes. That’s right, folks. It rains. ALL THE TIME.
I guess that’s not true. The other ten months of the year, it snows. So really, what am I complaining about? HA! Let me give you the list.
1. I am no longer in Manhattan. This alone is condition to make me miserable. And then today, Renee didn’t answer my text and Christine called me and it made me hate home and miss New York. And then Maxine wrote on my wall and all I can think about is how awful life is off that island. Also, did I mention? It is STILL raining.
2. I’ve been home 48ish hours and Grandpa is in the hospital, not breathing well. Do you know what THAT means? It means that I get to spend all my extra time in the ICU this week. Woot woot! Because what kind of a granddaughter doesn’t spend time with her grandfather when he’s in the hospital, unable to breathe? The ungrateful, wretched kind, that’s who. Besides, honestly, there is NOTHING BETTER TO DO AROUND HERE. Which leads me to…
3. I AM BORED OUT OF MY MIND. I tried running, but all it does here is rain. And my sneakers? White. Mesh. Not, obviously, designed for CNY. Designed, obviously for a New York Sports Club. And curious to know why I thought it’d be a good idea to release my apartment and try to go to Europe. I tried running on the treadmill instead. That was a stroll down shin-splint memory lane. Howdy-ho, excruciating pain! Man have I missed you! Walking on the treadmill, perhaps? (After some ice and a serious round of ace wrapping? Because I STILL have too much nervous energy? Because I AM BORED OUT OF MY MIND?) That was working, until my laptop, playing 300, the best workout-to-me movie EVER, went crashing from the table I had it propped up on down to the ground. Thank God I have a Mac, because it survived the fall without even skipping the DVD. I do, however, have to buy a new charger, as it took the brunt of the downward pulling.
4. “I’ve missed your column so much!” I am a literary prodigy. My life is a riot if you’re not forced to live it. I’m so cute when I talk about boys and life and God and my propensity for drenching myself in coffee in front of the hot stock brokers. I know. I KNOW. My shenanigans are a hoot and a holler. I am making mental notes to myself about all the things I have to write, and I’m going to kick Missives back into gear as soon as I get a new charger. For the laptop that is slowly dying in the living room, wishing I was typing THIS BLOG into its loving keys. *tear*
5. “You should really talk about your feelings.” This conversation with my mother lead to me not being on speaking terms with Chris anymore, who, oddly enough, spoke to me today. After we got into a huge, contact-ending fight yesterday. I, being very mature and zen, ignored the kind, thoughtful thing he said when he was checking to make sure I was OK after finding out about Grandpa. I am not his girlfriend anymore. I don’t want to talk about him, or Drew, or Mike, for that matter, or how I feel, or what I think. I want to sit here, hating all men, being angry and miserable because I’m 5&1/2 hours away from my life, in the wilderness, AND IT IS STILL RAINING!
At least I get to do my laundry for free.
Please don’t misunderstand me. I’ve missed my mother and father and sister and Kristin. I don’t like the new dog, I want Dutchess back, and I’m glad that I get to spend these few fleeting moments with my grandfather, because it really looks like he might be on his last leg right now. “Bronchial Pneumonia.” Everyone says it with hushed tones. We know what it means, and I’m glad that I’m not frantically trying to pack and catch a train to get here in time from New York.
That said, my wellies are locked in storage down near the Seaport and my stupid ass forgot my favorite umbrella in the bathtub of the apartment that I don’t live in anymore. I’m homesick for a home in New York that I don’t even HAVE anymore, and I hate moving, and I’m wretched in transitory periods.
I do have some wonderful photographs to publish and some really deep insights into what it means to come home after being away for so long. I’m also seeing Drew again for the first time tomorrow night, so we’ll see how that goes. I need to start working out and not eating shit (more on that at the close) and I think I’ll be in a better mental place. As tomorrow is Monday, I’m also hammering out goals that I want to complete before I head back to the City. Including launching a new site that I can put all my writing into– columns and a blog, complete with Aliases. Aliases! Because what fun is life without Aliases? It’s not. Aliases make everything better.
This will teach me to responsibly record everything that’s going on in my life, while writing for *hopefully* an audience. Because, let’s face it… It’s not as fun to blog shit about people if they’re not reading it. With Aliases! Yes, I intend to capitalize that every time I use it.
Maybe I’ll even edit this post and throw it on the new site, launching… Hm. Tomorrow? Sounds good. ALIASES!
Good GOD I am bored.
For giggles:
Things I Have Done Since Being Home:
- Eaten 10,000+ calories, all in crap-food and baby back ribs.
- Drank decaf coffee on accident.
- Broken 1 laptop.
- Broken 1 stereo.
- Broken 1 heart.
- Laughed too hard over a mojito that I drank THROUGH A STRAW.
- Watched the So You Think You Can Dance? marathon on MTV. (Don’t judge me. IT IS BORING HERE!)
Things I Haven’t Done Yet Since Being Home:
- Faced Drew.
- Faced Grandma.
- Heard from Mike.
- Had a proper workout.
- Been able to turn down an ice cream sandwich.
… Oh hey! Look! … It’s still raining…
Soggy,
Ms. Mox
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Farce.
I’m finally sitting on the train home for the first time in five months and let me just say– getting here? No small feat.
I had to move this morning, the rest of my things into storage. I did this, logically, before having packed everything. You see, I’m trying this new thing. I call it “testing my sheer dumb luck.” Other people may misinterpret and call it: “Being a total jackass.” I, naturally, am equally good at both endeavors.
But I was standing in Penn Station, trying not to fidget too much (as it has been a very long and tumultuous morning, as you are about to find out and/or may have guessed, as I had to move and now travel in one day, and we all know how I am). Cue eye rolls. Cue uncomfortable fidgeting.
Max was supposed to be at my apartment at 8am, and thank GOD he waiting until 9:45 to get there, because by 11:30, we were ready to roll. I spent $30 on a cab down to storage, which makes even the most thick-walleted New Yorker balk. Regardless– $30 more in cab fare still makes this a very inexpensive move for me. In fact, it has cost me, sum total, $30. I love my parents and friends. Oh, I lie. $30 + $11 for a summer locker. $41. And I’ve moved, packed, and am now heading home. Oh! Train movement! We have train movement!
The day started at midnight, like it always does for me, on the phone with Mike, who waited until 11-something to text last night. After the run-in in which I looked at my shoes uncomfortably several times while trying to be witty in jeans that did not fit me. I’m not really bringing my A-Game this… er… lifetime? It was an awkward week.
He’s sweet, though, and very patient when my cell phone takes on a life of its own and does clever things, such as hang up on him and then refuse to let me call him back. Oh, Crackberry. How fond I am of you. I’ve been good today not thinking about him *too* much. I did have a semi-pornographic flashback this afternoon on the way home from storage with Maxwell, and it almost ended badly for all parties concerned. Because, you know… Once you get me thinking about sex…
Right, so, let’s talk about Chris. (Not sexually related, at all, and therein lies the issues, people.) Here’s the issue with me being on the train. Now that I’m on the train, I’m exhausted. I want to do nothing but think dirty thoughts and sleep for four hours. Which, if we want to get technical, I am perfectly allowed to do. However! I want to write, because it’s been a long day and I had many a clever thought flicker through my slippery little mind.
I wonder if it’s inappropriate to tell Drew I couldn’t bring my FAVORITE boots home because of his coat and hoodie. Probably. We’ll see. I fully intend to play nice with him when I see him. Well, him and all 90 people of entourage I’m bringing to act as my buffer zone.
Ok. Let’s talk about Chris. We were supposed to have lunch today because the other day, he sent me an e-mail telling me that we’re great together, but that he thinks we should still have minimal contact throughout the summer. As I’ve managed to hook up with… well… As I’m not dating him exclusively (and he’d demand that of me, because that’s how he is) that sounded fine to me. But he wants me to talk. About my feelings.
Feelings! I am trying to open up and not be so callous, and to do the honesty thing, and to really like him like that but… For all his perfection, he’s still Chris. And for some reason that I can’t figure out– for a reason that my angry little mind finds awful and unfair and wretched– I just… the passion just…
Dude. I had a guy push me up against a brick wall the other night. A BRICK WALL. And he cushioned my head, to make sure I didn’t end up with a concussion, and he kissed me in a way that I felt IN MY TOES! I was wearing flip flops and it was cold out. I couldn’t even FEEL my toes at that point in the night. And then he was kissing me, and THERE THEY WERE! And I was a happy camper.
Chris kisses me and I run through my list of things to do for the next day. Alex doesn’t kiss, apparently. Unless it’s on the cheek as he or I are running to our next appointment.
Chris really is everything that I gripe about not being able to find in a guy. The problem is that I really don’t know what I want– except, that it’s far too soon for me to settle down into happily ever after. I DO know that, even with three months of constant self-improvement and mental stilling, I will not be settled or well-adjusted enough to want to get into THAT KIND of serious relationship.
And his stupid hair is ALWAYS PERFECT. I know, I know how absurd that sounds. What girl DOESN’T want to date a guy who wakes up and looks fresh-faced and perky for breakfast with your mother? Me. I’m that girl, that girl who would rather have a guy who wakes up looking half-human and disheveled, who will do little more than smile vaguely and give my mother a peck on the cheek until he’s had his second cup off coffee. While handing me my third.
I don’t want someone that I have to STRIVE to be with, and with Chris there still feels like there’s pressure to perform. To not be reckless or haphazard with my heart or his. And, not for nothing, I feel like that’s how normal functional adults contribute to normal, functional relationships. That said, I think it’s time we acknowledge once and for all that I’m not a normal human being, and I don’t think “functional” comes anywhere near me. It flees in terror at my wake of chaos.
Chris very much feels that if things are going to work out, they’d be working out already. And as much as I hate to admit it, maybe he’s right. If I wanted to be with him THAT BADLY, I’d find a way to make it work. I certainly found a way to make it work with Drew, even when it was all going to hell. I still made time. I made a lot of sacrifices, too, but I still made time.
Ok. Apparently, I must nap. More later.
… Cue passage of time. My jeans just tried to call my voicemail– happily the called failed. I’m officially out of Manhattan; my cell phone has no service. It hasn’t for quite some time now. You’d think it’d be a relief to be able to just disconnect for a couple days, but the truth is that I love my life and don’t want to be so far away from it.
I’m trying to remember how to be the girl I was before I realized that getting dressed was as much fun as it is an art, that independence and I thrive when we hit our stride together. Before I traded my Steve Maddens for my Rudolph Dasslers.
I, as always, have too much nervous energy, and am fidgeting like I make commission off each restless movement. When I’m too tired to move my body (or if I’ve managed to find a position of comfort) I take it out on my iPod. I should have put more country on it to brace me for redneck impact. I’m content now with Foo Fighters.
Megan sent me a text to let me know that she misses me already. I told her to let me know if Chen doesn’t work out, that I’d be more than happy to come back, mess up the living room, fill the bathtub with sand and bake cookies. Lordy, am I going to miss living in Midtown West.
It was definitely a coming-of-age year. I might be young and stupid enough to spend most of my income on designer shoes, but I’m old and jaded enough to appreciate an emotional growth spurt once I’ve bitten down and suffered through it. I’d hate to think that what’s happening with Chris is a transitory bi-product of emotional development– Then again, I’m not sure what other role he fills better than “emotional casualty.”
Christine asked me today (via text message discussion of Grey’s Anatomy, and how Meredith I am and how Christina she is) if Chris was my McDreamy. Mmmm no. I told her that he was more like my McVet, the unassuming nice guy who accidentally thought the cute girl was normal and then found himself amidst an emotional shitstorm that, really, had nothing to do with him at all.
I have this theory. I told Chris about it and he bristled, because he hates when I generalize him. But here’s the theory, in general, and then later how it’s specifically applicable. Boys love girls like me because we give them a run for their money. I talk loud and move fast and am independent, and unafraid to grab the check right out from under their hands. I shoot pool, shoot the shit, and love me a good slasher flick. You need a girl who can rock a cocktail dress while discussing the pros and cons of running vs. walking zombies with your weird cousin right after helping your mother table a haute cuisine brunch? I’m your girl.
In a perfect world, a world void of emotional baggage and dark-and-twisty hearts, I’d be the ideal girlfriend. I’m pretty, smart, witty, a great kisser and a snappy dresser. I know all this about myself. I also know that I could take or leave having a boyfriend, and that I don’t define myself by who I’m dating. And so, I’m picky.
Guys look at me and they see a whole-She-Bang girl who has standards. And they want to meet them. They want to meet my standards, and then get my pants off. I’m not STUPID– that’s part of my allure. They know they can’t fool me, so they appreciate the challenge in wooing me. Where most girls would be knocking themselves over to get at a lot of the guys who come at me, I’m steady on my 4-inch heels. It takes more than a nice dinner and a few rehearsed lines to knock this little miss off her designer pumps.
And so, they try harder. Because they want to be the kind of guy who can tame a girl like me. Slow her down, turn her into a girlfriend. The problem is that they don’t WANT a girlfriend, they just want me to want to be a girlfriend. To them, I’m nothing more than a glorified trophy. A shiny trophy, who looks pretty and smells nice.
The friction arises when they get bored after I’m conquered. And when I get restless after feeling too complacent. And once the battle has been fought once to put me on the shelf, they have little interest to go through it all again once I shimmy myself down.
I am a conquest and a trophy. I am a great idea in concept and a disaster in practical application. And that’s fine with me– I know better than to try and date me. I’m just worried that I’m going to meet a great guy, the great guy (because, bare with me, people, small miracles DO happen)… and I’m going to fight him off, tooth and nail, assuming that he’s like all the rest. The other danger, the more real danger, is that I’ll let one of all the rest fool me into thinking that he’s a great guy.
I think what I need is a guy who comes in waving the “I’m an asshole” flag, lays all his cards on the table, and plays it straight for once. I think with Chris it’s a simple case of me knowing that I’m not what he wants me to be, what he thinks I am. He’s too quick to forgive and too willing to overlook.
And then there’s Mike. (Alex, being in the DR, is completely off my radar, and so, is not a topic of conversation for at least another two weeks. Also, staying with Max means I can’t see him, as he’s a Top Secret endeavor– off limits to all powers of KD.)
Mike… he really does seem great. And like he probably would not tolerate even a fraction of the crap that Chris just shovels into a basket and then admires, because hey! I gave it to him! My crap! Wee!
I said to Kristin in an e-mail earlier this afternoon, waiting for the train, “And I would still much rather hang out with Mike, who called last night and totally made my day. I’m just not sure that he’s sure he knows what he’s getting into with me, if anything. Hopefully the “getting into” will stop with “my pants” because he did a bang-up job of that last time, and I’m looking forward to more elicit relations in the future. But if he wants a relationship?? I might have to plop him down in front of Grey’s Anatomy and make him watch all four seasons, pointing to Meredith the whole time going, ‘THAT? That train wreck of an emotional shell of a human being? The dark and twisty, scary and damaged girl? that’s me. That guy? McDreamy? The one she’s emotionally TORTURING in between all the hot sex? That would be you. Just in case you were curious about your odds.”
If that doesn’t send him running, I don’t know what would. I’m sure I could come up with something. It’s never TOO too hard to scare these boys off nowadays.
Right, am fully home and have lots to write about with my morning cup of coffee, but for now I must pop off to bed. Itchy bed.
Did I mention I’m allergic to Upstate New York?
Stay Fab,
Ms. Mox
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In which I break a nail.
That’s not true. I didn’t break it. I chewed it off. Ravenously.
Why? Well. Heh. Where to begin.
Dates last night went well, and I was right to hang out with the guys in that order because getting home by 11:30 somehow translated into 2:30am and I gave the limo driver medical advice on how to clear up his congestion so he could work his second job as a sound man on the weekends. Stuffy ears? Not good for listening.
Mike exceeded expectations on every level. I don’t know what I expected– some sort of smartass badass tough guy punk, perhaps. And I guess that’s not too far off, except we spent the first two hours of the night discussing some of the greatest American Literature I’ve ever read, and he’s incredibly witty, and well-educated and motivated, now holding a degree in Finance from Pace U. He’s 26, can hold his whiskey, and had me laughing almost the entire night.
AND! We played connect four. I know this sounds absurdly juvenile, but we bar-hopped a bit in Brooklyn, and I didn’t mind a bit, because the conversation was good and I was nursing my drinks, anyway. So, we end up at this little place– and his friend Bob came as a wing man, and then left, and then resurfaced, and then left again– and we grabbed a beer and a board game from a pile of games that were sitting on the window and played connect four. And the first time, I just let it go to stale mate, because I wasn’t TRYING to win. And he was all, “Come on, you have to try! You can’t just play defensively.” And I was all, “Oh, it’s not about winning, blah blah.” And he was all, “You’re so full of shit, let’s see what you’re made of.” haha.
And then I beat him.
And then he handed me my ass in two other games.
And then, right there in the back of the bar, he kissed me. And all I have to say is… wow. And I’m leaving it at that.
And then I ran into him today on the street, accidentally, because trust me, I would have put on clothing that FIT and done my hair and makeup– and I couldn’t tell if I was awkward or not. I was in the middle of eating peanut M&Ms for lunch. At 3pm. And he was smoking a cigarette out front of Pace, presumably getting ready to head back to BK after work… Platonic hello, platonic goodbye, hardly looked at me twice. Of course, I was doing a convincing impression of a hobo. A frumpy hobo. Oh, was I ever Ugly Ponytail Mallory today.
Here’s what I know: I thoroughly enjoyed hanging out with him. It was the first time in a very long time that I wanted to hear from him the day after. It was the first time in the better part of a decade where I made out with a boy in a bar, that’s for sure. And.. heh heh… then again against that brick wall…
But I have yet to hear from him, so I have to assume that he’s going to end up being just the same as the rest of the guys. Which means… I’ll be bored in another couple days? Who knows.
At this point, I don’t think my heart is for sale, even if the bids are higher than ever. There certainly SEEMS to be something different about him, but I feel like that’s the kiss of death to the single girl– we think that there’s something different about ALL the guys we meet. And then we end up wrong and damaged. The end.
I guess we’ll see. I’m just content tonight to finish packing up all my shit, get it ready to move into storage tomorrow morning, have lunch with Chris and be on my way. The good news is that Grey’s Anatomy is on this evening, so I’ll get a soul-soothing dose of “Hey, you’re not the only one who drinks too much and kisses inappropriate men.”
Oh! Total scatterbrain, because I’m watching CSI, too. I liked Mike because he wasn’t at all intimidated by me, but he WAS impressed. And there’s a very important distinction there.
I think it’s just been a really long day, and I should have left my apartment more, and run into less people that I know.
Ok, wrapping this up and taking care of this gnawed-off nail. Home tomorrow. Lots of writing to follow.
Ugh. I have a crush. Shoot me now.
Ms. Mox
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Fine. Let’s talk about Drew.
I yelled at my mother about a month after Drew and I broke up, because her heart went out to him and I was stuck in NYC while he was getting sympathy from all the people in MY support system. I avoided Kristin, I avoided my mother, my father wasn’t even sure I was still alive. I didn’t want to talk about it.
I still don’t like talking about it. However, everyone seems to insist upon talking about things like feelings, and heartbreak, and all that shit. I don’t buy into that school of thought. I’d rather just ignore it until it goes away, like bronchitis. If I don’t do well in love, I REALLY don’t thrive in heartbreak.
Regardless– let’s talk about Drew, once and for all, so that the record can be set straight, and I don’t have to have this conversation ever. Ever. Again.
I feel foolish for it all now, but I really, truly loved him. Anyone who wants to tell me that it wasn’t REALLY love, that it was just bullshit… They can take it up with me, and I will kick them in the teeth. Hearts don’t break the way mine did over things that aren’t real. And, apparently, he and I have different stances on the validity of the relationship… Whatever. Any classic writer will tell you that unrequited love is still love, and it is completely debilitating to lose. So, if he didn’t love me back, if it was all bullshit to him, if I really WAS the WORST GIRLFRIEND EVER– well, then that’s how those cookies crumbled.
I’m the first to tell you that dating me is a bad idea. Every guy who even begins to look like he might express romantic interest in me gets the “I am scary and damaged and dark and twisty, and I hate relationships.” talk. Every one, indiscriminately. So when they turn me into their girlfriend and I go a little crazy and they’re all shocked, I am always a little tempted to remind them that I warned them.
Drew called me out on the fact that I was mean to him. He called me that a lot– MEAN. Yep… busted. I’m a bitch. (I am not, for the record, being sarcastic.) I know this about myself, though, and so do all my friends. You’d think the man that claimed to love me would understand that when I have a bad day, I yell. I yell for a couple hours, and then I watch a movie, and I’m better. I don’t like being coddled, or pushed, or probed. I just like yelling, and then vegging. Or at least, that was the old routine.
Drew, however, got really upset when I would yell (thought it was because he loved me and therefore didn’t want to see me upset. Who knows what the real motivation behind it was) and told me that he wasn’t my emotional punching bag. Fair enough. I promised him I would do everything I could to get my temper in check.
And you know what? I busted my selfish, angry, uncontrollable little ass to step it up and not take my bad days out on him. I missed him, all the time, and I was busy, all the time. I could never keep up with my life, but that was my fault, and he was right. I shouldn’t take it out on him. So I changed. At least, I did my very best to change. My very, very best.
I also did my best to keep him abreast of what I was up to. I run roughly 5 small errands a day, in between 3-4 big appointments. I’m NOT running errands right now because I want to write this. That means tomorrow? I’ll have to get up at 7 to start my day and make up time. Always fun. I’m busy. Busy is just what I do, and I do it very well, and it works for me. I don’t put errands into my schedule, but they always take longer than I expect them to, which is why I tend to book them toward the end of the day.
And then if they run over, the only thing I lose is sleep, and who needs that, anyway, right? I learned fast not to book them during meals, because a cup of coffee won’t save you if you forget to eat for two days. It WILL save you if you don’t get more than 6 hours of sleep between two nights. (Well, several cups, anyway.)
Drew hated my schedule. I’m not sure if he was jealous of my life or what– but I could never keep him up-to-date enough. Things change, my life changes so fast. I’m just used to it. London fell apart on a Friday night at 6pm and by start of business on Monday, I already had three backup plans. My life doesn’t ever slow down because I’ve just learned to keep up and damage control as I go. Drew… I don’t know. He just didn’t feel like I was honest with him, because things would change and I’d just roll with it, and then when coffee with the girls (always a serious conversation about how we’re going to be successful for the rest of our lives, how we’re going to navigate the sorority, where we’re going to travel, eliciting advice… Things girls NEED on a weekly basis in this city) would run late, he would get so so angry.
Don’t get me wrong. I gave Alex enough attitude to kill a normal boy the night he made me wait for an hour and a half. I was really annoyed, and none too friendly when he finally got there. He, luckily enough, was smart enough to put wine in my hands as soon as we got to the restaurant, and so, I softened up a bit. I don’t like people messing with my schedule, so I understand how easy it is to get impatient when you just want to go to bed and you can’t because you’re waiting on a phone call.
Drew would just always get mad. Always. Life changed, and I’d roll with it, and if I didn’t notify him immediately about what was different, he’d get angry. And claim that I never, ever tell him anything, ever. I suppose somewhere along the way, he transposed that into “She lies to me.” Which, I guess in itself is enough to doom a long-distance relationship. If there’s no trust, there’s no foundation, and you can’t build castles on bases of sand. They just don’t hold.
So, Drew was mad at me almost all the time, and my sorority sisters were annoyed with me, because I was always anxious about plans changing, and I would never go out, because I worried that he’d think I was up to something… I sacrificed a long semester with my best friends. I missed the Date Party because he was in town and didn’t want to go, and from the photographs and stories, boy do I regret that. And then again, maybe I don’t.
Drew taught me a lot of really important lessons. I need to be more careful about how I invest emotionally, that’s for sure. So, somewhere along the way he decided that I lie to him, which… I’m not sure, this is just speculation… I have to assume transferred into “I’m cheating on him.”
This, to me, is just laughable. I feel like boys who worry about things like this are just asking for trouble. I never once, faithful readers, and you know this, even considered cheating on Drew. I was never out of contact with him long enough TO cheat. And if I was, I was at coffee with Max and Tine, talking about how perfect my boyfriend was. I, for that what? Six-month-stint? Was a faithful girlfriend.
Maybe that’s why it hurt so much. At any given time, even now, I could easily be hooking up with any number of guys. Sex is not hard to find in this city, especially not for a girl with as many guy-friends as I have. I tend to stay on good terms with ex-hookups, and being a sorority girl? Please. I could spend my entire day having orgasm after orgasm after orgasm, should that be what I want.
It’s not. And it’s just that simple. It’s not what I wanted then, and it’s not what I want now. Then, I just wanted to be happy, and in love, and spend the rest of my life with Drew. Now? Now I just want love to stay the hell away from me, out of my life, and off my business.
I don’t know what the tipping point was, but Drew ended up using my online accounts to make me think I had a hacker stalking me. And listening in on my phone conversations. I, obviously, didn’t know it was him at first, and spent two months running around in a panic, thinking someone was close enough to overhear my phone calls, maybe even watch me in my apartment.
I function down here because I’ve convinced myself that it’s safe. I live in decent neighborhoods. I don’t take the subway at night. I can run in heels and know how to properly place a punch or two to defend myself. I’ve even considered getting mace. I live here because I’ve never had anything bad happen to me, because I’m usually a very smart person when it comes to acknowledging that I’m 5’2 and 110lbs on a fat day. I’m tiny– I don’t put myself in situations where I could be attacked because I know my odds. They’re not good. Obviously, better to avoid.
I always thought that if I left the seedy underbelly of Manhattan alone, it’d pay me no mind. And then suddenly, it was as if the city was coming AFTER ME. I had someone FOLLOWING me. Mentally tormenting ME. And he brought Chris into it, which was just… Ugh. (Chris, of course, was amazing through the whole ordeal, because if patience and charisma were going to come to earth in human form, he would be the physical manifestation, because he’s just so even-tempered and level-headed and understanding. And if any of you have an ex like that, you know how irritating that can be sometimes. Hah.)
Regardless, I spent probably a month and a half having panic attacks every time I had to check my email, walk on the street alone, or fall asleep in my big, scary apartment. Drew was the ideal boyfriend– properly outraged that someone was doing this to me, exhausting his resources to secure my accounts, there EVERY NIGHT when I would SOB myself to sleep.
And then it turned out to BE him.
And I’ll never forget the moment that I realized that it was him. I was standing in AT&T in Times Square, getting my own separate phone line, because the hacker had gotten into our online account and accessed the list of people I had been texting. I was on the phone with Drew, who DID NOT want me to sever accounts with him. He was really upset, and I was really upset, and getting impatient, because all I wanted was to feel like I was safe in my own life again, and he let slip, “You’re messing everything up! It wasn’t supposed to work like this!”
And it was so fast, and the store was so loud, I almost didn’t hear it. And then it hit me what he had said, and it sank down to the bottom of my gut and just SAT THERE for the rest of the day. And then it all started coming together… How he had known my passwords. How he had had access to my computers. How he had been the administrator on our phone account. And it hit me, that the man I loved more than anything had been the one behind all the terror and suffering in my life for the past two months.
And that night, I ended the relationship.
I wasn’t perfect as a girlfriend. I was probably an awful, awful girlfriend. But I tried. I tried to support him through every depression, every family obstacle, every health issue. I tried, so so hard. I asked my parents to open their house to him, and my friends to open their hearts to him. And when we broke up, he was still friends with my friends, and living with my parents, and had all their sympathy.
And so, I did the only thing I could think of. I just cut it all out and shut it all off. Because I get that he was sorry, and that he was hurt, and that he knows he was wrong. I get it.
What no one from home got to see was MY broken heart. I know that I left him, but I also lost. Whether or not he was the one behind all those awful things doesn’t change the fact that he was also the man I really thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. The man that I loved with a part of my heart I didn’t even know had existed before I found him again. He was supposed to be my fairy tale, and my happily ever after, and my storybook ending.
And I wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t care. And then a couple days ago, he made it pretty clear to me that I was awful to him, and that his hacker stunt was, essentially, just his way of getting back at me for being so wretched to him without me knowing.
So there we have it, ladies and gentlemen. The story of how Drew and I broke up. I’m not pointing fingers or placing the blame solely on him. I know that I’m hard to deal with, but there was something else going on. I’m sure if you ask him, he’ll happily tell you about all the times I had panic attacks and screamed at him on the phone (after I tried to end the argument-conversations for half an hour before he finally pushed me off the edge, mind you). I’m sure he’ll bring up that time when I “hit” him (when he was threatening to leave, really looking like he was going to push me out of his way to get out of the apartment, and I didn’t know what else to do, and lost it, and threw myself at him.) Or the time I screamed at him that I hated him. No one ever has nor ever will affect me the way Drew did. And, at the end of the day, our undoing stemmed from the simple truth that I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t give him enough. I gave him all the love and attention and time I could… I bent over backwards and ran myself into exhaustion and just… I just tried so hard. And I didn’t cut it. He needed more– more talking, more time together, more focus, more love.
Story of my life.
At any rate, make all the judgments you want, but keep them to yourself. This is the last conversation I want to have about Drew and I, referencing us as anything but people who are now recovering from one another.
We were a couple, we are not any longer. I loved him in a way that I don’t think I ever expect to love anyone again, I don’t any longer. And I have officially talked about Drew, so let’s not any more, shall we?
To end on a positive note, I’d love to be friends with him eventually. It doesn’t look like I’ll be moving home, though (that was the plan with Drew, and now it’s not the plan anymore, and so, I’m keeping my distance for a couple more years before I consider it).
And apparently, I’m dating. I actually have drinks and dinner with two different guys tonight– two dates, two guys, two different neighborhoods. I’m insane. In all fairness, they’re both just friends, and I’m pretty sure that that’s how it’s going to stay. Another grand romance is the last thing I need right now.
My life is full and beautiful and crazy and colorful and chaotic and unpredictable. It’s just how I like it, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. If love doesn’t fit in the form of a White Knight, so be it. I have enough guy-friends to eradicate the need for a BOYFRIEND.
And, you know… wouldn’t want to get into a functional relationship or anything. I don’t know if I’d even know how to handle that. I much prefer being the WORST GIRLFRIEND EVER. Sets the bar low and makes it simple to maintain that standard.
I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually. Until then, I’m happy. Very happy. It’s very possible that I’m still too young and selfish to function in relation to another human being, no matter how badly my mother would like grandchildren. My life is just on a different path– one I’ll talk about more tomorrow, as I’ll know more details about the future and where it’s taking me.
I do know this. The one shining moment in the recovery from Drew (and yes, neglect the one incident of him angering me the other night, I’m over him completely, which is why it’s finally OK to talk about him this one last time) was the realization that he wasn’t the end of the line for me–
That is, I was perfectly content with the idea of spending the rest of my life with him, once upon a time. But that story’s over now, and the ending? Well it left off in a place that sets me up for a marvelous and lovely new beginning.
I realized I was going to be OK without him the day I woke up smiling at the realization that he wasn’t my last first kiss. 
Because, really, if there’s a silver lining to a break-up cloud, it’s the prospect of having more knee-weakening, breathtaking, Hollywood-worthy first kisses with new boys.
And if that’s not a sure-sign of a heart on the mend, I don’t know what is. <3
Stay fab,
Ms. Mox
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Oh, the naivety.
Let’s just do a fast catch-me-up so that I can resucitate this blog and turn it into something useful.
The biggies:
- Drew and I broke up after he had me running around, terrified for two months that I had a stalker. I know, I know… I seem so normal. For the record, I maintain to this day that I truly loved him, that I would have– at one point– happily given it all up and spent the rest of my life with him. He threw it all away. Just like the rest of the exes who always realize too late what they had, and then turn it into emotional turmoil for me– At any rate, I’m making an effort to be amicable with him now, because I’m fully- recovered (and– ugh– dating). But, kiddos, lesson learned? DO NOT HAVE BOYFRIENDS. I’m sure I’ll go back and read my past posts and bury my face in my hands, regaled with shame. Shame because now that I have all my elabroate, fabulous dreams back and no one telling me that I should reconsider, I’m happy again. I’ve got my moxie back. And thank God, because I’m just such a whiney pussy when I’m in a relationship.
- Getting my degree. In December. FINALLY. Writing a thesis and lots of satire in the meantime, and am writing for the Pace Press this coming Fall. Should be a hoot. Or a holler. If we’re lucky, both.
- Puma is talking about promoting me. Because they are gluttons for punishment, and because I look hot in their shorts. That’s not true, I bust my ass and have decided that I want to make it in fashion. And then write about it. While eating, and watching movies, and writing about that, too.
I’m going home for the first time since January on Friday. For nine days.
I plan to be sober for roughly two of them, and they’re the days when Kristin and Ryan are moving Katie into or out of college– I was only half-listening.
I still have the social habits of Meredith Grey and the spending habits of Carrie Bradshaw. *Sigh* The more things change. The good news is I’m still willing to make all the mistakes if you’re still willing to read all about them. Oh, Bloggy.
How I’ve missed you.
-Ms. Mox
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Train Ride Home
- Social Security Card: Call, see if there’s an office in NYC. Get that taken care of by Thursday.
- Blockbuster Online: Change card information.
- Credit Cards: Cut ‘em Up.
- Do expenses for Spring 08.
- Finish pitches for Nick: Oh Those Puppies.
- Papers: Outline for Seminar in Horror, Make-up Work for ENG201
- Hand in Paperwork to HR (salary)
- E-mail Matt from Puma. Or call. Whatever. Let him know about Friday.
- Do itinerary for Pass It On. (And your report.) Also– Lisa, Steph, Amster.
I’m on the train home, listening to the jovial voiceover narrating Dr. Seuss’ timeless classic Horton Hears a Who. I wish I could claim that this was some glamorous psycho-analytic portion of civil rights or socially-minded homework. It is not.
I’m being a baby because I just left Drew at Utica, and I’m sad. So I’m watching Cartoons– Dr. Seuss cartoons, to be exact– because if that doesn’t cheer me up, well… Can we just say ‘lost cause’? Fantastic.
I am also being that girl on the train who’s simultaneously watching her neighbor’s movie, as well as the movie playing two rows up and an inside seat over. Anime, and something about a troubled young man named Jonathan. It’s all very enlightening, but doesn’t detract from the almost mind-numbing realization that I’m heading back to New York City, and I have to make the most of the last two weeks of the semester or I am in BIG TROUBLE.
Let me also just mention that I’m thrilled to report that Horton Hears a Who is coming to theaters again– Steve Carell and Jim Carrey being the headlining voice talents.
Horton has great subthemes of gossip and racism and judgments that we make on others for their odd practices. Oh! Which reminds me. Le Festin from the Ratatouille soundtrack– worth a second listen.
Right. OK. To-Do list for this week:
Horton just said “bastardly, dastardly…” Can they do that? Can they say “bastard?”
I feel like they can’t. Right. I e-mailed Drew. I feel like I should say something huge and profound about how he and I are going to end up being fine, but it’s increasingly hard to think about anything productive. This week, I also have to e-mail that Elizabeth chick from AIFS to see about summer internships.
Right. There goes my concentration. Perhaps, more later. But for now. Horton.
Stay fabulous.
Ms. Moxie
It keeps coming back to what it comes back to. It keeps coming back to being torn between two lives. I’m sitting here on the train, upset because I’m not with Drew, and worried that when college is over, I’ll lose the friends I’ve made in the City.
And yes, yes for the love of God, true friendships endure. I get it. But the realization that one life is going to come at the expense of the other still looms in my future. I can’t imagine life without Drew and Kristin– it doesn’t make sense, without them I don’t even know who I am. At the same time, I get calls from Christine– it brings me back. Back to New York and the glamour and blessings I’ve found there. Not that my life is particularly glamorous, but it certainly feels like it’s going somewhere. At least, there are lots of pictures to take and prose to construct… Capturing my life as it exists now before I wish it all away into a future of security and love and warmth.
The problem here, is that I take both incredible options for granted. I don’t lose. I can’t lose. I go home, to Drew, and I’m back in the arms of the love of my life. Cry me a river, I know. And… if I wait?
Well, then a summer internship in London appears to be in the cards for me. It’s hard. It’s a hard choice to make. If I don’t go to London, I forfeit the professional experience I need to make the life/career that I want. Even in CNY. If I go to London… Well, that’s three solid months without Drew, something I’m not sure I’d be able to do gracefully. (I say that because he and I are great, and I know that it’d take more than the Atlantic to create a rift between us.)
There is a tiny part of me that secretly thinks he assumes I’ll either 1. Cheat or 2. End up hacked into a million pieces, presumably by one of the local werewolves, as they’re particularly vicious from what I can make out of British Films. I feel that the odds of both are very slim, but if I had to place bets on what his bigger concern should be– it would be the werewolves.
The girl I’ve been for the past 21 years is the girl who’d hop on the plane to London without giving it a second thought. She’d rock out a simple wardrobe stylishly, sending literary convulsions through the European print media spheres, making London wonder how it ever lived before her presence. And she’d do it with cute shoes.
I feel like the girl I’m gravitating toward at home… Well, she wears a lot of sweatpants. And her hair is always half-done because she was 1. too rushed or 2. too tired to care that it looks like crap. She is frump girl, the same girl I used to be in high school.
And it could have something to do with this new haircut that I don’t particularly care for, and it could have something to do with the fact that in CNY, great hair, make-up and boots aren’t factored into personal worth. If anything, they’ll get you judged faster. In New York they’re weighed into your value as a person. It’s a cruel world, but it’s well-accessorized.
And the vapid, shallow elicitations of this world never phased me until it occurred to me to return to a world without. I see the gorgeous faces of my sorority sisters peering back out at me from my scrolling photograph gadget-thinger that Drew has on his desktop– I don’t think these women would think less of me for wanting to be home. Or elsewhere. Except I know Tori feels I’m selling short the potential of my life by going home. I need to investigate the job market so I know what I’m competing for– what I need to prepare for.
The thought of going to Graduate school is almost as terrifying as the thought of not going– either way it’s going to be an overwhelming amount of money to pay. Perhaps my mother is right to worry the way she does– it’s exhausting, sometimes. All the things it requires thinking-about. Whatever happened to the days when the girl who lives in New York and the girl who lives in Canastota were one in the same– a slight affinity for fashion, a love of the written word…
When did it become so grand? I feel like I can’t look at integrating myself into an “establishment” without eyeing the top position first, then making a beeline for it. You know, in all the getting-to that I’ve done, the getting-to-the-top has always been the least satisfying. I can do. I’ve established that. Now it has to be more of an examination of What do I want to do.
I mentioned something about moving to San Francisco to Drew yesterday, or perhaps earlier in the day today (they seem to blur together and break apart when we’re together and then separated). He kind of laughed it off– I didn’t mention that San Fran has always been a dream of mine. It’s not that it isn’t anymore– I just have new dreams, too, and it’s a challenge, finding the balance.
And I guess that in the end, that’s what this whole internal grappling match comes down to– there doesn’t need to be a winner, there simply has to be a resting balance. Between the two girls, between the two places and times and lives. I have to look at both and assess what’s staying and what’s being carefully immortalized in the words I put to paper now, being stored neatly in my past, in case I ever need to summon these moments-as-memories further down the road.
I know this: There is enough room in my heart for Drew, Kristin, Christine, Renee, Maria, Sandra, Megan, Maxine, and Bettina. Forever and ever. Max and Julia. Mom and Dad. Kar and Nick, I suppose.
Also to do this week: get stamps, set up payments for CCs. Call key and request dispersement. I think I want to write something, something just for Drew, but don’t know where to start and certainly cannot brainstorm for it in here. As I’m fairly certain he’s the only person who reads The Blog. The Capital Letters, of course, indicating Importance. The Importance, of course, being directly in reference To Me.
These are days you’ll remember.
Never before and never since, I promise,
Will the whole world be home as this,
And as you feel it, you’ll know it’s true.
That you, that you are blessed and lucky.
It’s true, that you’re touched by something
That will grow and bloom… in you.
These are days we’ll remember.
To be part of the miracles you see in every hour.
You know it’s true that you, that you are blessed and lucky.
It’s true, that you are touched by something,
That’ll grow and bloom in you.
These are days…
These are the days you might fill with laughter until you break.
These days you might feel a shaft of light make its way across your face.
And when you do, you’ll know how it was meant to be
See the signs,
Know their meaning.
It’s true, you know how it was meant to be.
See the signs,
And know they’re speaking to you.
To you.
This is probably one of those things that will not seem as-big when it comes right-down-to-it. I can do this, I can handle the future. Eventually, I’ll pay off my entire over-priced, under-useful education, and sooner or later, Drew and I will have a place to keep all our possessions and call “home.” Preferably with lots of shoe-sized shelf-space in the form of A Loft. Preferably of the Franklin Square variety, but he seems hesitant about that.
His mother thought I was high-maintenance. Drew tried to tell her that I’m not, but I think my statement about wanting a small engagement ring did the trick. There are a lot of undesirable things that I am. Greedy is not one of them. I’m always interested in making more money; I am never interested in free handouts. That’s not how I work.
All things being equal, I think I need to take a nap right now. We just left Albany, and my tired little brain is all, “iPod and some sleep, please.”
It’s asking nicely, I had better abide.
Ms. Mox.
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Reeling, and the Mind
The term “the mind reels” comes to mind when we talk about Drew and I over the past 48 hours. Why are we talking about Drew?, you ask. Well, that’s simple. It’s my blog, and I am always always always talking about Drew.
Kristin said to me, very plainly, that once you think you’re ready to get engaged, wait about six or so months, and then think about it again. Kristin, of course, is brilliant. And I should call her and run everything by her before I make any life choices, ever. Her and my mother. She’s pretty, too, did I mention that? Kristin is smart, and pretty, and she’s better at Life than I am most times because she’s had more experience, whereas I feel like I’ve spent more time as a Disney Fairy Princess, prancing around with my head in a cloud (or a book, because they’re really the same thing).
Either way, Drew and I have been bickering, which is annoying. And I was sleep-talking on the phone last night (worse than drunk-dialing because when I sleep talk, I’m just blatantly honest) and I think we ended up “discussing” getting engaged.
Which, in all fairness, is more dramatic than it needs to be because I decided last week that I don’t want to go to London, then realized last night that I have to, or I’m not going to be marketable at all in CNY. Which is annoying. London will be good for me, for sure, but I have a bad feeling about it and Drew because every time it comes up, he has something that mildly resembles one of Will’s meltdowns and we end up yelling at one another.
We’re fine now, but I really feel like I have to come up with something to show him that he has nothing to worry about when it comes to me leaving him. I’m not GOING anywhere. I feel like getting engaged would… I don’t know, instill a level of security, perhaps… for both of us, not just him. Kristin is probably right, though… Now would be rushing it. In a couple weeks it’ll be, what? Three months?
I guess fairy tales don’t come together the way I always thought they did. I’m just so foolish… I thought I might be getting engaged this year for Christmas– because I’m stupid, and don’t listen, and get far too far ahead of myself– and instead it looks as though I’ll be getting a camera flash. That I won’t know how to use. Life… is not as romantic as the movies. It’s not even as romantic as my little imagination.
I suppose that’s fine. I always have my writing for the big, passionate love affairs of the mind– like Ugg boots and kittens and cookies, and the other things I sit around dreaming about when my tired mind is too void of energy to do real thinking.
Not better, not worse. Just different. Oh, crap. Running late.
<33 fabulous
Ms. Moxie
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Change in Plans!
I had half-written a post about all the things I really want for Christmas, and… I’m nixing it. Why? Because Drew just called, and he’s out, with Meg and Danny and Freeze and Brendan just turned 21 and I just realized that I don’t like the idea of binge drinking and passing out under cars and chasing skunks and puking and … you know. All that other stuff that comes with drinking. Including, if not especially, all the ridiculous sex I used to have with the guys I was seeing back in the days of Party-Girl-Mallory.
And I know it’s a non-issue, and I know he’s staying over at Brendan’s (which means, yes, I have to find a way to fall asleep tonight without talking to him) and he just sounds like he’s having so much fun– of course I’m nervous. Fun leads to death and prison! Ok, maybe that was more of an “Of course I’m Catholic!” statement but still! If you knew the stories, you would completely understand.
I should call Kristin, she’d get it. Kristin is great with things like this. She’d pipe right up with, “Don’t worry, this one time, Ryan… blah blah blah. And you have nothing to worry about because Drew would never be that stupid.” And then she married Ryan, proving to me once and for all that stupid boys can’t be avoided and that it’s ok to love one wholeheartedly. Especially if he can fix computers like Drew and make fettuccini alfredo like Ryan. We’re not stupid girls, that’s for certain.
So why am I being such a wrecking ball? Probably because I haven’t seen Drew in over three weeks now, and I’m going a little (translate: VERY) nuts. Possibly because I’ve heard the stories, and I’m sure that there will be photos, and I know how he used to be (translate: exactly like me! except I never slept with a married man… heh heh. My boyfriend is so badass. <3)
I digress. His bad-ass-ness doesn’t deflect from the fact that drunk to me still means “too much tequila and then someone pulls you into a closet and the feverish making out ensues.” Which is why I don’t drink tequila or hang out with JSP anymore, and especially not both at the same time. See Also : “Reasons why I don’t listen when Kristin promises me that 8th drink won’t make me sick and that Roger/Ian/Pat is a really nice guy.” See Also: Reasons why Kristin and I no longer drink at SUNY Albany. See Also: Reasons why Kristin and I have had enough kicks to last us a lifetime and enough experience to make Ryan and Drew VERY LUCKY MEN.
See Also: Reasons why Drew is going to be pissed at me in the morning: This Blog Post.
Ok, time to damage control. Kristin and I were not drunk whores. She was dating Ryan most of the time. And then she MARRIED him, the end. The best way for me to carry my liquor will forever be in a plastic container– preferably one with a lid so that I can’t spill or drink from it. What can I say? I’m 110lbs soaking wet and incredibly sensitive to substances. Except for last Fall Semester, when I was drinking four nights a week and hungover the rest of the time. See Also: Why I no longer drink tequila, hang out with JSP, and especially do not do both at the same time.
An hour ago, I was about to rattle off the shallow list-of-things-I-want. Now I’m pouting (quietly and to myself, without ruining Drew’s night in the process, which is an improvement, believe-you-me!) in Deb’s office and going to bed early because he’s not calling and he’s out having so much fun and I’m looking at recipes for STRUDEL because I think he’d probably like it, and cream puffs seem too boring, even if they are my specialty, cause he deserves better than that.
Which also means, he better keep his pants on, or else! Ugh, there’s that evil little voice in the back of my head, reminding me how fun he is and how much fun I’d be having WITH HIM if I were HOME, WITH HIM right now. Now it’s reminding me how phenomenal he is, and how it probably won’t take long for some big-boobed, bubbly, blonde-hair, blue-eyed College Freshman to realize the same thing and snap him up.
This is me, strangling the Blonde chick and the voice with my newly manicured fingers.
Debra has all the answers, and the perfect cures. We spent hours (and I do mean MORE THAN TWO) at the spa today, I got a mani and a pedi and she got a sensational manicure that I hope lasts forever, because it looks that good. I’m very fortunate. The spa day was on her, which is great because I don’t have any extra cash to spare.
Why’s that? Not because I’m not GROSSLY overpaid. I am. And then I’m given manicures and pedicures and baking supplies and a huuuuuge kitchen and free time and leisure time and Martha Stewart’s Holiday edition and Vanity Fair and told not to worry about William, who spent most of the day in time-out for hitting, anyway. It’s because I’ve been killing myself to get everyone the perfect Christmas presents– because nothings says, “I love you.” like the best gift EVER! And so my credit card bills are huge, and I still will not be getting what I want for Christmas, because people have yet to figure out how to read my mind and I still suck at communicating what I want. Example, What I want to get more than anything this Christmas is… I can’t tell you! HAH! Like I can’t actually make myself type the words. I’m such a mess.
It’s 10pm and what have I done today? I wrote a children’s story. I’m pitching several other ideas. I was pampered. I baked. I ate. I read magazines. What’s that? Oh right. And I’m getting paid.
… Why am I giving this job up?
Oh right. The real world awaits me.
The real world being “that place where the love of my life is getting trashed and playing guitar hero without me, where the BLONDE GIRLS exist, and where I’m not getting phone-calls goodnight.”
… Yeah, I don’t know what my rush is, either.
I know he loves me. That’s never a question. I just…
I don’t know. I just need to pout a little cause they get to see him and i don’t and I love him the most so that’s not fair. Damnit!
I need to bake something.
<33fabbbbbulous.
Ms. Moxie
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But… uh… er…
I can’t talk this week. The words stick to the roof of my mouth like molasses. I can’t write, either, obviously… And spelling? Please. I’m all stressed out, I know, over money and moving and quitting and school. There are days it certainly seems like I can’t do anything right, and those days are now.
I sent Drew an e-mail that was supposed to say, “This is one of those days when I’m having a harder time making the adjustments than I expected.” Apparently, what it said to him instead was, “I don’t know what I want to do about London.”
I don’t know. I had a point but I lost it and now it sounds like Will is awake. Must jet.
Oh, right. Moral of the story being: I love Drew.
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Christmas Lists.
OK! Time to make the Christmas list:
Mom- Stereo, electric razor?
Dad- micro fleece, sweater, boat thing with Mom and Kar? Titanium wire cutter things? (Note to self: Ask Drew if we can go to Bass Pro Shops… uh… sometime. Wednesday, maybe? Or Saturday? Except that’s like suicide.)
Drew- iPhone
Kristin- Vogue
Karlene- Gas Card ($50?) we’ll see.
Nick/Debra/Rosanna– William Calendars.
It’s so much easier to decide what to get people, than it is to decide what I want. And, of course, now there are several things that I do want, but I can’t just… you know… SAY them. Mom and Dad are letting Drew and I go on vacation with them… Eventually I’ll have to get tanning sessions, probably at Hollywood Tans again, and I’ll just tan the month before we go so that I don’t burn and die.
I have a lot. I have more than enough. With this photography class coming up, I might want a polarizer for my camera and a new flash, a soft-glow one, one that doesn’t cast an uneven shadow. Maybe I’ll ask Kar for the polarizer because they’re not overly expensive and I know she wants to do the exchange-gifts things, but also that she doesn’t have a lot of money.
It’s harder to tell Drew what I want, because… well, to be honest, I can’t say in all honesty I know. It came up in a conversation (translate: bickering session) the other day that the Holidays would probably not be the time he pops the question, which is ABSOLUTELY FINE, but I didn’t realize how strongly I had guessed it would be around Christmas. You know, until he said it probably wouldn’t. And then it was like, this huge wave of disappointment that washed over me, and it has nothing to do with him– I just constructed this great little scene in my overactive imagination that centered around the holidays.
Which is completely unfair to Drew. I know how stressed out he is over money. I’m the exact same way. If we want the life together that we’ve planned, we both need to reign in our spending– me more than him, of course.
And I know his big fear is disappointing me. And let me make one thing abundantly clear– I’m not disappointed in him at all to hear that this Christmas isn’t going to be when we get engaged. I’m disappointed in myself for drawing those conclusions in the first place. I had no right, and I suppose that a lot of girls would do that– speculate as to when he’d pop the question.
I suppose it really doesn’t matter when all is said and done. I feel like, as long as I get to marry Drew at the end of it all, then we’re fine. I’m fine.
I can’t lie, though, if we’re planning on getting married on New Years (and as far as I know, we are, because I am spoiled rotten)… How great would it be to propose at midnight, too? I’d be willing to wait until Dec. 08 to have that happen, I think. Maybe not.
Poor Drew. Dating a fatal fantasist.
Don’t care how it happens, or when it happens, I guess, since I’ve come to terms with the fact that I was wrong about Christmas. As long as I get my happily ever after with him, I’m good.
<33 I’m fabulous.
Ms. Moxie
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