Girl and City

It took a lot out of me to write The One about SG and MFL so this post isn’t going to be very exciting, but there are some things I just need to say:

• Did you notice how my grammar and writing got better/neater/cleaner over the years? I try not to edit my archives because I want to preserve the naivety of my childhood entries but MAN are they embarrassing to read! I mean, I’m all for being genuine, but could I make myself sound any more immature?
• Courtney: Believe me, it hurts me to read all that myself. Especially because I had to read those entries individually as I was collecting them – it was like a HUGE dose of emo that I wasn’t really prepared for. I couldn’t work after that. I just kind of sat there, zoned out. It was intense (and kind of trippy actually), but hopefully it’ll be the last time I ever have to go through the whole love-story-then-heartbreak, at least in one sitting. I also think I’ve consumed my weight in chocolate. =/
• Tiff: “Nothing worse than trying to piece together a relationship when it’s falling apart and then trying to piece together the pieces of a broken heart.” Great line! I’m incapable of describing things in compact ways, but you’ve just summed it up really neatly. If I had an award for Best Comment, I’d definitely give it to you! “Treasure your memories but don’t dwell on them” – well hopefully this is the last of the “dwelling.”

So that’s that. Now I have exams to focus on. But before I end this entry, I’m just going to do a little of the “tooting one’s own horn” and promote my services as an awesome email pal. So if you’re bored at work/school and want some amusement, you can look forward to conversations such as these:

so i’ve decided i should be a better female and take more care of myself. like cut my nails and comb my hair and shave and stuff. it really sucks but i don’t want to feel like a cavewoman standing next to some of the finer specimens of my gender. therefore, am trying to improve.
but it still sucks balls.

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Otherwise known as “The One Where SG Replays Her Saddest Moments.”

You know in that episode of Friends before Ross gets married, where Rachel is debating whether she should go to his wedding, and she has the flashback of their long and tumultuous but memorable relationship?

No, you’re thinking, I don’t know what this girl is talking about and I frankly don’t care! Will she stop it with the Friends references already?

But I don’t care what you think because this is my blog and here, I reign supreme.

So anyways, as I was saying.
Well, I’ve decided to write a “cast” list for my life, and when it came to MFL, I was suddenly unsure what to write. Now, I realize I haven’t mentioned him since March (yes I’ve been counting), so for those of you who are new here, you probably have no idea what I’m talking about (by the way, welcome to my life, have a cup of coffee, sit down and enjoy because you are going to feel loads better about yourself after you hear my stories). For the record, no, MFL does not stand for Midget Football League. It stands for My First Love, also known as The Big Boyfriend (not big in that way you sick, sick children), who was a major character in my life and well, my first love (duh). Obviously, we are no longer together, otherwise I wouldn’t be talking about him as if he was dead (which he’s not, but he might as well be because he’s alive, breathing, and dating some other chick).

The reason I haven’t mentioned him in the last month is because I kind of decided after my series of ridiculously melodramatic entries that I was going to stop tormenting myself and cut him out of thoughts. Which was sort of successful until I started re-watching Friends and then heard the Lobster reference and then wondered whether I’d let go of my Lobster. It also helped that I had a couple of boytoys to keep me distracted. But now the boytoys are gone and I’m sitting around watching Friends and eating chocolate and ice cream. And not that low-fat/soy/yogurt stuff either. The Real Thing!
But don’t worry, I’m still in shape. Round is a shape !

So anyway, instead of re-iterating the whole love story and its aftermath, I’m going to have my very own little “flashback episode.” Ooh. Aah.
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I have a love-hate relationship with Sundays.

Sometimes, Sundays are wonderful. I wake up bright and early to the sound of birds chirping away outside my window. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and the world could not be more saturated with possibilities. I roast a cup of coffee, make myself an enormous breakfast, and start planning my day.
Other times, Sundays are the worst. I wake up half past noon with a splitting headache and what must be the world’s worst hangover. My breath reeks and I look like a zombie because I didn’t bother washing off my eyeliner before going to bed. My room is a mess because I’d been looking for that one cute purse the night before and then had promptly ran out the door. I stumble towards the kitchen and down a vitamin pill and an extra-strength Tylenol with a glass of juice, then collapse into a heap, waiting for my head to remove itself from my body so I would stop feeling this unbelievable, pounding agony.

Today was one of those “Good Sundays.” What makes today even better is that tomorrow, I don’t have class! In fact, I don’t have class again until September!

So instead of studying for exams, I celebrate. In the manner of a true foodie, I cook, I blog, and then I cook some more. This must be what it feels like to be an addict.

I don’t usually take much notice of old couples. Well, let’s be honest, I don’t usually take much notice of old people in general. It’s nothing prejudicial, it’s just that I don’t have much in common with them except that we’re all homo sapiens sapiens, and I’m not going to apologize for finding H. s. sapiens closer to my age more interesting.

But today, as I was walking to the grocery store, I noticed a couple walking in the opposite direction. They were probably in their early 60s, so they were still quite robust. He was wearing a yellow and gray ski jacket, she was wearing a red parka. They looked like they belonged on “What Not To Wear.”

But that’s not what struck me about them. They were walking side by side, holding hands, matching each other’s strides.
And it made me think of Phoebe’s line from Friends: “He’s her lobster!”

According to Phoebe, lobsters find a mate for life, and when they’re old, they walk around their tank holding claws. While this claim is highly doubtful, it feels like it could be true. Up until a couple years ago, I believed that it was. I thought that if I could just find my Lobster, I would be content for the rest of my life. My Lobster would be there for me, holding my hand tightly, even when I started looking more and more like a corpse.

Then, life happened. Destroyed my only pair of rose-tinted glasses. I haven’t been the same since. I’m no longer a loyal advocate of the True Love theory. I don’t even know if I believe in happy endings anymore. And quite frankly, I don’t like seafood.

But today, I saw two lobsters holding each other’s claws, walking side by side towards their future, come what may. And a piece of my heart fell back into place.

Some people tell me I have nothing to complain about. “Sounds like you go on plenty of dates,” they say. Or, “you always seem to have one boy or another interested in you.” Not true. The truth is that it’s easier to find a monkey in a ballerina costume than a good man on campus. And dates really don’t come by as often as I’d like to think. Do you know how hard it is for someone as awkward and un-feminine as me to be asked out? Especially by someone who I might remotely be interested in?

I don’t understand it, really. All the good guys are always taken. And I have been waiting patiently in the wings, but it’s never my turn. They go from taken to single to taken again in a span of a few days, and honestly, how quickly do they expect me to swoop in? Plus, I vowed I’d never go for a taken man, so I usually don’t get my foot in the door until after I find out he’s single, at which point, he promptly enters into another relationship with some girl who flirted shamelessly with him when he had still been in a relationship.
Add that to the fact that I’m hopelessly attracted to the shyest of boys, and I have a fail-proof recipe for eternal Singledom.

Maybe you guys are right. I should stop worrying about it. The moment I do, someone will pop up.
And then I’ll start wondering if he’s my One and Only.
And then he won’t call or do some other classic guy thing.
And then I’ll start abusing my self-esteem again.
Vicious, vicious cycle.

I wasn’t always like this, you know. Well, I used to be happily in love, but even aside from that. I didn’t use to display such classic flaws of womanhood. I thought Bridget Jones’ problems were unique and funny, and I’d laugh and laugh and laugh.
Now that I’m dating, I realize – those problems are universal to all women, as common as getting a period. I’m not laughing anymore.

It’s ok, I’ve got a back-up plan. My dog loves me. She (!) can be my boyfriend. I know she’ll adore me wholly for the entirety of her life.