OK Computer

My stupid computer's stupid hard drive died over the weekend. Cursed thing. For the most part, I didn't lose anything of value because I had most of my music stored on my iPod, but I lost some stuff I was writing for myself. It wasn't that great, but still. Now I have to completely redo it from scratch. Rawr.

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

I gave my salsa instructor cookies for Christmas. He seemed pretty happy about that (as well he should because they were damn good cookies), but he was much more excited about a scheme he hatched to see his ex-girlfriend. I have to wonder if he isn't attracted to her primarily because she isn't interested in him. It makes sense, in a twisted way. He's used to romantic relationships coming easily to him (I assume), and she presents a challenge. So, obviously, if I want him to fall in love with me, I have to go out with him, dump him, and then refuse to get back together with him. Foolproof!

Come On, Bartender, Could You Be More Tender?

I think my salsa love interest may be a bit of a shithead. Along with a group of other students from my salsa class, I went to his recital last night. He acted like he couldn't have cared less that I was there, he didn't come over to say hello to the table of students (who were obviously there primarily to see him), and he declined to dance with the mutual friend who introduced us in the first place. I was obviously hoping for special attention from him, but I didn't even get what I would describe as common courtesy. I am heartbroken.

Burning Down the House

I hope they let me write from jail because I'm about to go on a murderous rampage or possibly an arson spree. My complaints against the world in general are so numerous as to require subheadings.

The Only Living Boy in New York

That motherfucker. I confirmed with a mutual friend that, as I suspected, he had indeed broken up with his girlfriend. I emailed him back last night in response to his friend request and said, "It's been about six months. To what do I owe this surprise?" He said that he had only recently noticed that I removed him as my friend and asked how I was doing. I said, "I'm great. Thanks for asking. I don't want to sound like an asshole or like I don't care about you, but there was a reason we stopped talking six months ago and that I de-friended you, and if that situation hasn't changed, I don't think our trying to be friends now would turn out any differently." His entire response was "Ok." I mean, seriously? I figured that if he was emailing me now, it must be because he and his girlfriend broke up (correct) and he was interested in giving a romantic relationship between the two of us some kind of chance (incorrect). I didn't even bother to respond to his two-letter email. I'm congratulating myself for being adult enough to nip that in the bud.

Work

Work was not super-busy this week, which was kind of nice but kind of boring. Then, all of sudden today, probably because it's Friday, the shit hit the fan. I ended up canceling lunch with a friend and my career counseling appointment (might have been nice to go to that since I have a fucking job interview on Monday). Then, the bitch who tattled on me and got me the bad review asked me to meet her at 4:15 to talk about stuff, and I ended up having to cancel my hair appointment to stay and figure out some bullshit. So, now I have a rat's nest atop my head right in time for a job interview for a job I desperately want. And then she wanted to know what I was doing this weekend (many things!) and basically rain on those various parades by asking me to do a shit-ton of menial, clerical bullshit for work. And, not that she knows this, but I'm doing all of this with even less job security than my compatriots. In this economy, it's tough for anyone to say he or she has job security, but I have been specifically told that I might be fired, so I think I have less. And I have to do all this shit for the very person who caused me to be in this situation to begin with. Fucking shit.

This Other Dickface

Then, I have this other "friend." We used to work together, and we were very close at that time. He moved to go to graduate school, and I moved to take another job. Over time, we've grown less close because we're not in constant contact like we used to be, but we still chat. The other day, I sent him an email and said that I had a dream about him in which he said he missed me, so I figured I would email him and see how he was doing. His response was to tell me that that was creepy and that his girlfriend wouldn't appreciate him getting messages like that. Dude...whatever. Look, I can see how that could be taken in a creepy way, but he knows me, and he knows that it wasn't meant in any kind of a creepy way. So, it was shitty of him to say that it was creepy. And I don't understand why he brought his girlfriend (a girlfriend I didn't know he had) into the situation at all. Like, are other people not allowed to dream about her boyfriend? I mean, it's not like I told him I had a sexual dream about him. We're friends. He said he missed me. What's the big fucking deal? I told him to stop being a jackass and that he knew I didn't mean it like that. Ugh.

I hate everything.

The Seventh Thing I Hate the Most About You: You Make Me Love You

The Only Living Boy in New York resurfaced. He invited me to be his friend on a popular social networking site. We used to be friends on this site, but I dropped him after this incident, and I hadn't heard a peep out of him until today. And now I don't know what to do.

If You Were a Castle, I'd Be Your Moat and If You Were an Ocean, I'd Learn to Float, All I Want Is You

So, my friend and I went to visit my salsa instructor/soul mate (who is in increasingly dire need of a blog name) on Monday at his bartending job, and he seemed sort of underwhelmed to see us. He wasn't rude or anything, but he didn't hang out and talk with us very much. We weren't sure if it was because he was at work or because he wished we would stop coming to see him.

Last night, I had salsa class with him. I said that my friend said we couldn't go back to see him anymore. He wanted to know why, and I said that it was because we were worried that we were bothering him. He said he thought we saw him doing stuff (i.e., he wasn't ignoring us, just doing his work). I said that I told my friend that she could go back but that he just didn't want to see me. Then he pressed up against me and gave me some look that involved sex lasers shooting out of his eyes, and he said something (I think something to the tune of, "I'm always happy to see you") but I have no idea what it was because my heart was pounding in my ears and I went temporarily deaf.

C is For Cookie, That's Good Enough for Me

I have been up to my eyeballs in work this weekend, which sucks for many reasons, not least of which is that I was dying to write in about the updates with my salsa instructor.

So, after Tuesday's very weird day with him, I decided that I would respond to his suggestion/demand that someone bring in a snack for the class by making him cookies. I, in fact, made him my brother's favorite cookies.

When I brought in the cookies, we had a very cute interaction that went thusly (imagine his voice being cute and flirtatious, not standoffish as it may seem he was in the transcript):

Me: I brought you something.

Him: Cookies?!?

Me: Yeah, well, last class, you demanded someone bring a snack.

Him: I did not demand.

Me: You insisted.  You said you would make us do spin drills the whole time if no one brought you a snack.

Him: I just said it would be nice if someone brought in food.

Me: I think you were faint from hunger, and your memory is wrong.  You said you would make us do spin drills until we threw up.

Him: Maybe we should ask the others.

Me: They won't remember.

Him: Are these for me, or for the class?

Me: For you, but you can share them with whoever you want.  They're your cookies.

Him: For the class.

So, then, during class, I could feel him watching me more than usual. It's expected that he would watch me some of the time since he is a teacher, and he is supposed to be correcting my abysmal footwork, but I think he watches me more than he has to. It's strange because I'm very aware of him and when he's watching me, and that has never been the case with any other guy I've been interested in. Maybe he just has a particularly penetrating gaze.

On our break, he busted out the cookies for the class. I had worried that he might not eat them because I think he tries to keep things pretty healthy, but he threw his face right in the cookies, and he said how good he thought they were. I don't think he was just being polite because: (1) the Known Associate can bake the heck out of some cookies and (2) the rest of the class fell upon the cookies like a pack of dogs on a three-legged cat, and they would have no reason to eat them out of politeness. (One girl nearly got her eyes clawed out for asking if the cookies were from a mix. She only avoided that fate because I gave her the benefit of the doubt for not knowing how I roll and because I didn't want the object of my affections to see what a temper I really have.)

After class, I was getting ready to leave to walk to the train, and he called me back over to him. We were talking facing in opposite directions with my entire side pressed around his entire side and my hand on his ribcage. I have noticed that when he has his druthers, we talk completely pressed up against each other, which suits me fine as well but seems like maybe not something a guy who just wants to be friends would do. So, then I told him he had to take the rest of the cookies home because they were his cookies, and he said, "Oh, I'm taking them home." (Never have I wished so fervently to be cookies.) He went to walk out into the waiting area where the cookies were, and I followed behind him, and rather sluttily held on to the waistband of his jeans while we were walking. In other words, I totally had my hand in the back of his pants like a big old skank (and it was awesome). Then, I proceeded whorishly to run my finger down the crease of his shirt and ask him if it was new, leading to a discussion of how it wasn't but it just had creases from being folded up in his closet. For the grand finale, he grabbed me and pulled me over to him to kiss me on the cheek.

Melt.

Put On Your Red Shoes and Dance the Blues

Okay. It's time to start drinking again. Possibly in some kind of bender situation.

This afternoon, I gathered my courage and went over to the restaurant where my salsa teacher bartends at lunch. At first, he didn't seem that excited to see me, and I felt awkward, but he warmed up quickly before I had a chance to escape without asking him to my friend's party. We chatted about a wide range of subjects: my recent trip, work, how he always wanted to be a lawyer, money and why it should be saved, and some other stuff. Finally, I just said, "If you don't have any plans on Saturday, my friend is having a party, and you should come." And his response was, "I do have plans." He's going with his co-instructor for salsa to something, which he proceeded to tell me about in great detail and basically reveal he was a little leery of going. However, at no point did he suggest that even though he was unavailable to hang out with me at my suggested time, we could hang out another time. I completely believe that he has these other plans, especially since it would be pretty retarded of him to invent fake plans with someone I also know that I could easily verify if I were so inclined. But I felt like he was horrified that I asked, and then I felt overwhelmed with awkwardness. Like, he's always so nice to me and acts excited and happy to see me, so why is he acting so appalled that I would invite him to a party? I mean, it's not like I asked him if he wanted to elope.

And then things got even weirder. After he finished telling me all about the plans he has that preclude him from being my date for the evening, he said, "There's something different about your eyebrows." Just take a minute to soak in that statement. There's something different about my eyebrows? Then he was like, "They look thinner." As my face increasingly displaced a "What the fuck?" expression, he added, as an after thought, "They look good though." What the fuck? Obviously, that means he thinks they looked weird. If he thought they looked good, he would have led off with, "Your eyebrows look nice," or some such thing. I wanted to kill myself. Especially since I haven't done anything to my eyebrows beyond routine maintenance, and I'm now wondering if Teh Doggeh is messing with them while I sleep.

So, I totally did not want to go to salsa class tonight or, indeed, ever, ever again, but everyone I told this to acted like: (1) he was giving me a compliment with the eyebrow remark, unusual as that compliment may have been, (2) he probably just didn't think to suggest alternate plans for Saturday, and (3) not going to class would make me a giant baby. I debated with myself until the last minute what to do but ultimately chose to go.

Class was not overtly awkward, but I felt weird anyway. I didn't say hi to him when I came in. Instead, I glued myself to my Blackberry and refused to look at him until he chased me out of the waiting room and into the studio a full ten minutes before class began like an imperious jackass. He flirted with me a little in class, but he mostly flirted with his co-instructor. I am trying not to hate her because she is actually very cool and nice, but between the fact that she already nabbed him for plans on Saturday and the fact that they have such a playful relationship and the fact that I am immature, I am really having trouble maintaining warm, friendly thoughts toward her.

I don't even know what to do with myself at this point. I have gotten much more invested in this man that I ever intended to, and now I feel like he's blown me off and criticized my appearance, and I feel like I'm too ugly to live and too lame for him to hang out with. I pretty much want to throw up, then cry.

And You Thought He Was Cute Before, Look at This Peacoat, Tell Me He's Broke

Oh, Cedric Diggory playing Edward Cullen. I basically hate Edward Cullen in the books, but Cedric Diggory is so freaking cute that he kind of wins me over in the movie. I needed to put this up here to cheer myself up.

When You Call, I'm Pressing Seven, Don't Want to Hear Your Messages, I'm Trying to Erase You From My Mind

I am in a self-esteem free-fall. I have been thinking of asking my salsa crush to my friend's annual holiday party this weekend. Half the world is invited to this party. People fly in from around the country to attend. I figured it would be a low-pressure, low-cost way for us to spend time together and get to know each other outside the scope of his employment. It's all well and good to dance with him and visit him at his bartending job, but, at some point, if the relationship is to progress even to a real friendship, we need to hang out when he's not being paid to be with me. Otherwise, he's, like, my gigolo or something, and that is unsavory.

Anyway, I have worked myself into a complete tizzy over whether I should even invite him to the party and, if so, how I should go about doing it. A crush is supposed to be fun. A friendship is supposed to be fun. Putting a heap of pressure on myself is not fun.

On top of that, I am about ready to murder Catalano. Catalano, for those who haven't known me long, is a guy I went on a couple of dates with in my old city. Basically, he would call me to hang out when he was on the outs with his girlfriend. She was (and, I think, still is) very into the make-up-break-up routine, and I guess he is too since he continues to participate in whatever games she wants to play. He eventually reconciled with her for a sizeable chunk of time, and I called him out on sending mixed signals. He apologized, and we resolved to be friends. That went fine as long as he was still with her, but they broke up again recently and, true to form, he started calling me a lot more often. He even said on several occasions that he planned to come visit me between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I emailed him to suggest two possible weekends (this weekend and the following weekend), and he didn't say anything to me about that, even though he responded to other aspects of the email.

At this point, I feel like he treats me like the runner-up for his affections and calls me only because he can't stand to be alone for five seconds. It's not flattering to feel like a guy is only calling because he can't be with the person he really likes or that I would be dropped like a hot potato as soon as his ex-girlfriend decided she wanted him back (which I am convinced she will because in the two years I have known him, they have broken up and gotten back together about four times). I am fine with our being friends, but I do have feelings for him. Those feelings don't get in our way as long as he's being clear with the message that all he wants is friendship, but everything is in a tumult as soon as he starts hinting that he might be interested in more. Then, of course, I get my feelings hurt when he doesn't follow through with those hints. I wish that I could just stop having those feelings for him so I wouldn't get my hopes up when he starts hinting, but as much as I've tried, that hasn't happened. I care about him, but I'm wondering if the only solution is for us to go our separate ways and stop trying to be friends.

If I Told You You Were Beautiful, Would You Date Me on the Regular?

Justin Timberlake is a poet, y'all. Not at the level of Miley Cyrus or Taylor Swift, but a poet of formidable talent nonetheless.

So, I am a little worried about my growing interest in my salsa instructor/acquaintance-cum-friend. I had a bunch of different dreams about him last night, and I thought about him constantly while I was in South America. (The fact that he is from South America probably played a part in that.) I have been keeping tabs on him through a well-known social networking site (what? that's why that site exists), and his status updates suggest he is having lady troubles. Now, the Known Associate does not like to have to cut bitches, but the Known Associate is not afraid to do what must be done.

While I was gone, my love interest was talking to our mutual friend (the one who introduced us) about me. Said mutual friend went to the restaurant where he tends bar for lunch, and she said he was talking about me before she could get her coat off and mentioned I was unable to attend salsa class last week because of my vacation and that he was having fun in class. This led me to believe that he might be at least a little bit interested in me, but now I am scowling skeptically at my computer and wondering if he is, in fact, interested in some other lady. He toys with my emotions!

The Truth Is, I Never Left You...

...Or at least my luggage didn't. I flew back from Buenos Aires this morning, but my luggage opted to remain there for an extra day because it just loved the airport so much. Fucking luggage.

Argentina was amazing. It was my first time going to South America, and I really didn't have any expectations of the trip or even know what to expect. One of my friends studied abroad there and returns as often as he can, which is a ringing endorsement, but another woman to whom I spoke basically called it a shithole. I thought it was fabulous, and I completely understand what people mean when they call it "the Paris of South America." My enjoyment of the trip was aided greatly by the fact that my mom and I spent three of our four days with a good friend of hers who had moved back to Argentina the weekend before we arrived and who generously gave of her time and language skills to help us navigate the country. (In return, I bought her a fancy steak dinner at Cabana Las Lilas, which is a fucking awesome restaurant that I highly recommend if you're down South America way.)

I think the greatest part of the trip was the food. I have had empanadas before in New York, but the empanadas I had in Buenos Aires were a whole other level of culinary delight. I ate every emapanada that was foolish enough to get anywhere close to my gaping maw. We spent Thanksgiving Day in Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay (as one does), and, on the recommendation of my mom's friend, ate something called "chivitos" that is apparently a popular Uruguayan dish. Chivitos is basically some type of beef with ham on top of it and an egg on top of that and maybe some cheese in there, all served over a bed of French fries and potato salad. I shudder to think how many Weight Watchers points were in that bad boy, but I bet I could crash the Weight Watchers site trying to calculate it. My mom thought it was vile and repugnant, but I liked it.

If anyone is looking for Argentina-related advice for a future trip, I felt like the three full days we spent in Buenos Aires were sufficient to see everything but not get too bored. We ate at a fancy steakhouse (the above-mentioned Cabana Las Lilas), went to a tango show, visited La Boca, saw Evita's grave, visited the Recoleta area and did a ton of shopping. I also thought the day trip to Colonia del Sacramento was fun, as it is a beautiful town and it's just fucking cool to say you've been to Uruguay. I commend both the Argentines and the Uruguayans for their fondness for stamping passports (unlike, say, the Europeans, who never want to stamp my passport so I have only anecdotal evidence to prove I was in most of the European countries I have visited). In the course of a four-day trip, I racked up six passport stamps.

The only blight on the trip, and it is truly minor, was the fiasco with my lost luggage. I was told upon arrival at my final destination that my luggage is being sent tomorrow, so at least they know where it is, so I'm going to wait until then to have a complete meltdown about it. Mom and I arrived at the airport two hours early for our flight, and that was just insufficient time. Three hours early would be much better. We waited in a long line to check in, a long line to pay our airport departure tax of $18, a long line to go through security and then another long line to have our passports stamped again so we could finally get the hell out of their country. Oh, and then there was another line to have our hand luggage checked before we could board the plane, and I thought my mom might get arrested for assaulting airport personnel at that point. It was pretty ridiculous, and it all requires more than two hours to be done without rising feelings of panic over the possibility of missing the flight (especially if you have even a faint hope of having enough time to reclaim the taxes you paid on whatever you bought there, which Mom and I did not).

Anyway, I had a great time. I highly recommend these destinations for anyone thinking of going.

Lawyers in Love

The Known Associate is in love, y'all. Still with the salsa dancing guy. I went to my first salsa dancing class with him last night. He kissed me hello and danced with me a couple of times even when it wasn't his turn or I was supposed to rotate to a different partner. He even refused to let go of my hand once so I would stay with him instead of switching. Squeeeeee!

Conspiracy Theory

I'm starting to think that all the guys in the world who don't want to go out with me formed a guild and named the website for their guild "Match.com."

If I Could Do Just One Near-Perfect Thing, I'd Be Happy; They'd Write It on my Grave or When They Scattered my Ashes

Things are going better at work lately. I've been pretending to be cheerful and enthusiastic to the point that I have become the fakest bitch on the planet. I am like Little Suzy Cream Cheese. Anytime anyone gives me something to do, I practically do a backflip for them to demonstrate my joy.

The thing is, I actually do like my job for the most part. I mean, I don't love every aspect of it, but I love it enough to keep doing it if given that choice. But my natural personality is wry and sarcastic. Even when the topic is something I genuinely love -- like cashmere or international travel -- I find it difficult to express sincere, direct enthusiasm. So, it's obviously very challenging for me to express enthusiasm for something like working on a weekend or until midnight, which no one could possibly enjoy. That said, I'm doing my damndest. And I think it's working. My nemesis has been telling me how much she appreciates my help a lot, so that has to be working in my favor. Fingers crossed.

Who Was That Masked Man?

Okay, my fleeting success on Match was a blip because now I'm back to winking at people without success (even a few ladies, thanks to my sexual identity crisis).

However, all is not lost! Hilarity can still be found! The photo to the left is the profile photo of one of the users on the site. I was like, "Wow, that guy is cute. I like the hair." When I clicked on the profile and took a closer look, I was like, "Wow, that guy is mothereffing Jon Stewart from The Daily Show." I kind of love the person who posted this.

I Remember When, I Remember, I Remember When I Lost My Mind

I'm back on Match. I know, I know. But things are progressing slowly with my Colombian crush, and I thought I'd give it another shot. Surprisingly, I've been slightly more successful on this go-round than I have been in the past. I haven't gone out on any dates yet, but more guys are winking at me, and some of them don't have a physical appearance that makes me want to retch. Small victories.

You Some Kind of Star, No, I'm a Comet, I Just Want You

I signed up for the salsa classes so I can spend some more time with my current love interest. I'm excited to spend more time with him, especially time that involves touching, but I'm incredibly nervous about doing something I'm not good at that he's really good at in front of him. I have heard that a lot of guys enjoy flirting with a girl by teaching her to do something athletic, but I have never been comfortable with that. I'm too much of an uptight perfectionist to believe that a guy I like will like me if he finds out I'm not perfect. (I actually didn't really realize I felt that way until I just wrote that.)

I'm not sure what, if anything, will end up happening with this man. But one thing I will say for him is that after knowing me for about a hot second, he has lured me more outside of my comfort zone than any other man I've ever liked. For this, he deserves many snaps.

Let's Hop a Cab and Split It, I'm Kiddin', We Both Goin' to Where You Livin'

I can't stop thinking about this guy I met the other night. He has bewitched me. What right does he have to be so entrancing? I'm trying to resist the urge to Facebook stalk him too much (so far, only once since Thursday, which is superhuman resistance, and I was elated to notice that his relationship status was "single").

I don't know what it is about this guy. I mean, he's obviously good-looking and nice and funny, so it's not like I'm pining over some loser, but I don't know why he has rung my bell quite so much. Maybe because we're so different? Maybe because I met him when I was stepping outside my comfort zone and he makes me want to step even further outside my comfort zone? I mean, I had a dream the other night that he and I had a daughter together, and I was so happy about it. I hate children! I have had dreams about being pregnant before, but I've never had a dream where I had the baby, and even in my pregnancy dreams, I was miserable about having a baby. It was so strange because I saw our daughter, and I heard her name (her name was Anna, and she had his last name). I just don't even know, but this guy has really done a number on me.

If I Were You Then It Would Be Me That I'd Go Home With

I met the most amazing guy the other night. A friend of mine has been taking salsa dancing lessons, and she talked to me about her instructor and his amazing smile. I thought she had a crush on him, but she suggested that I might want to meet him. (He is exactly my brand of heroin, to paraphrase Edward Cullen -- dark-haired, thin, younger than I am, poor, and not from the United States.) She invited me to her last salsa class and their graduation party at a club.

Normally, my answer to her invitation would be, "Thanks but no thanks." However, I have been considering what my work mentor told me about habits and how the habits I have got me to this point and are no longer useful. He was talking about work when he said it, but I see a broader applicability. I think when it comes to dating, I need to get outside my comfort zone to be more successful. In my experience, when I'm doing something outside my comfort zone (i.e., when I travel), I'm more open to meeting new people because I'm already doing something that makes me feel more open. So, I decided that since my knee-jerk response would be to decline her invitation, then I should accept.

I am so glad I did.

This guy...wow. He has a gorgeous smile and big brown eyes that made me finally understand what people mean when they talk about getting lost in someone's eyes. But there was something else about him -- beyond his scorching hotness -- that drew me to him. He just had the greatest energy. It made me feel excited and safe at the same time. I looked at him and thought, "Mine," and I've never thought that about any guy before. He coaxed me into dancing with him during class (by which I mean I scarcely restrained myself from flinging my body against his chest when he beckoned).

Unfortunately, this amazing man seems to have a more serious involvement with a girl we encountered when we went to the club. She, of course, is a talented salsa dancer as is he, so they have that in common. I talked to him a little, but there wasn't much for us to do since I don't know the dance.

The following day (Friday), my friend made me go to the restaurant where he tends bar at lunch to get take-out, and he and I talked again. He seemed happy to see me, and I was proud of myself for not leaping over the bar to throw myself into his arms. We talked for five minutes or so, and he encouraged me to take his beginner's salsa class.

I don't know what it is about this guy (other than the vague, unsatisfying and New Age-y explanation of his energy or vibe), but he has spun me right round like a record. I dreamed about him the last two nights. I really like him, and I don't know why. My friend thinks that girls throw themselves at him all the time (he's young, sexy, and an amazing dancer so that makes sense), so the way to get him is to play the long game and give him a chance to get to know me. I don't even know what to do with myself. I feel swept away, and I think I'm alone in that feeling, and I just don't want to get hurt or be disappointed.

The Less I Seek My Source For Some Definitive, The Closer I Am To Fine

There have been some small indications of progress on the job front this week. I met with a head hunter who is going to submit my resume to two good firms here in town, and I badgered a partner into saying he would put me on a (non-billable) project of his.

I don't want to leave my current employer, but I see no real downside to seeking employment elsewhere. At worst, I won't get any interviews and the resumes will be wasted bullets. At best, I'll get a job offer or two, and I can go to my current employer and say, "Fuck you. These places want to hire me. Do you want me to leave or will you guarantee in writing that I can stay?" It is better to create more options for myself. At least it makes me feel proactive and forces me to update my resume.

We Did Nothing, Absolutely Nothing That Day, And I Say, "What the Hell Am I Doing Drinking in L.A.?"

I've been spending all my time working my tuchis off trying to save my damn job. Several partners at work are probably down at the courthouse filing for restraining orders against me because I've been pestering them so much for work. My mood ricochets dangerously between being certain that I won't lose my job to despairing that I'm going to be ringing in 2009 shaking a paper cup for change. I'm not sleeping well either, which is unhelpful to my state of mind.

On top of that, I have a crush on my fitness instructor, who is a woman. As am I. And I'm not gay. Or at least I wasn't. Maybe I just need a good night's sleep.

Two Face

I had to work on a project today with the bitch who tattled on me to Mr. Harsh Reviewer. This is the person I hold primarily responsible for the precarious state of my job, so she is lucky to be alive right now. I would have loved to push her down a flight of stairs or pick her up and throw her through her office window, but I restrained myself. Right now, she has the upper hand, but once I save my job, we'll be on equal footing again. In order to save my job, I need to get along with her. Thank goodness that the first thing every good Southern girl like me learns at her mama's knee is how to fake being nice to bitches you cannot stand.

I will be killing her with kindness now, but I will be killing her with other things once my job is safe. Oh yes.

People Have Problems That Are Worse Than Mine, I Don't Want You To Think I'm Complaining All the Time

Last week, I did a lot of work toward shoring up my position at my office. I also stressed out about it to the point of being unable to sleep or move my neck comfortably. I'm trying to keep up the former while abandoning the latter.

I know that I'm good at my job, and I know that I can continue to do it well given the chance. At a certain point, I think I have to trust myself and my abilities and rely on the fact that I can turn this situation around without needing to make myself insane over it.

Poor Me, Why Me, Oh Me, Boring, The Same Old, Worn-Out Blah Blah Story, There Is No Good Explanation For It At All

I talked to a friend of mine today about my crap job situation. This friend is not only a super-cool lady; she's also the headhunter who placed me in this job (that's how we met). It is by no means her fault that things have taken a downturn, but the fact that she played a role in finding me this job probably gives her more of a vested interest in my success with this employer than the average person would have. She gave me some tough love, let me tell you.

She started by giving me exactly 15 minutes to vent, and then she cut me off. She assessed exactly what points were raised in the negative feedback, and she went step by step through what I need to do to address those points. If I get a new project, I feel prepared to tackle it with new savvy. That was the good part.

The bad part was that she thinks I need to explain to the two negative reviewers that I'm at risk of being fired based on their feedback and guilt them into giving me a new project that will generate another evaluation. She also told me that there is no way they don't remember exactly what they said in their evaluations and their claims otherwise are just passive-aggression and that I shouldn't believe anything they say because of the aforementioned passive-aggression. That made me feel like I wasted my time going to talk to them to begin with, but my mom pointed out that it still cleared the air and gave them a new reason to respect me and admire my chutzpah.

I haven't slept well in about a week, and I think the muscles in my neck are tensed so tightly that I'm at risk of my head snapping off. I need a good night's sleep or I'm going to burn out in week one of a three month sprint.

I'm Gonna Show Him What a Little Girl's Made Of: Gunpowder and Lead

I talked to Mr. Harsh Reviewer today, and it was both positive and unbelievably frustrating. I'm starting to worry that I'm more likely to be fired for assaulting a co-worker than for poor job performance. (At least the assault charge would be based in fact.)

Mr. Harsh Review and I actually have a lot of things in common in terms of our career backgrounds, and we hit it off really well (go figure). I subtly emphasized throughout the meeting that he hasn't had a chance to get to know me (read: his entire review is based on hearsay) or work directly with me (read: his entire review is based on hearsay).

He brought up the fact that "a couple" of my colleagues had found it a struggle to work with me, and I mentioned that I was pretty sure I knew one person he was talking about and that I hadn't enjoyed working with her on that deal either but, basically, that I just worked through it on my own (read: I'm professional and not a two-year-old and don't think it's right to whine to the partner because someone else is annoying me). I added that this person (read: fucking bitch) and I are working together on another deal now, that the relationship has been much stabler and that even though I didn't like working with her before, I felt that I might have misjudged her (read: I'm going to fuck that bitch up the minute his back is turned).

The part that really made me want to hulk out was when he ADMITTED that he should have talked to me about all these things before he put it in my evaluation. I said, "That would have been appreciated. I'm glad we're at least talking now though." It was all I could do not to put my fist through his window in rageful frustration. I mean, I've talked to both of the people who gave me negative reviews, and neither of them seems to have given the slightest thought to how impactful their review was on my career. Both of them basically just spoke off the cuff, and I'm over here fighting to keep my job.

Unreal. Un-fucking-believable.

Take This Job and Shove It

I met with one of the negative reviewers today (the less harsh one). The meeting was positive yet frustrating. Ms. Less Harsh conceded that the negative points she raised in her review of me arose from my lack of experience and her own lack of clarity in giving instruction. I wanted to lunge across the desk and choke her while saying, "Do you realize that something you said off the cuff that is not even my fault has been so impactful on my life and career?!?!" I mean, seriously. Do people not think about this shit when they're writing it in the first place? It's my formal evaluation, for fuck's sake. On the up side, she actually gave me some useful tips for next time (information that might have been more helpful six months ago, but better late than never, I suppose). I emphasized how much I appreciated her taking the time to meet with me and how much I would like to work with her again in the future. She doesn't have any projects in the hopper right now, but she said she thinks things will kick off again in November. She also offered to be available to answer questions for me if I work on another project of the type in which she specializes in the future, which seemed like it went beyond mere politeness. So, I hope that some progress was made there even though I kind of wanted to beat the little idiot to death for fucking me in the first place.

Tomorrow is my meeting with Mr. Scathing Review. I'll be happy to get that over with, and I'm hopeful that he admires me for having the cojones to meet with him after he blasted me. I'm also hopeful that the complete absence of character he demonstrated by waiting until my formal fucking evaluation (am I the only one who appreciates the gravity of that besides the people who have the authority to terminate me?) to tell me he was dissatisfied with my performance will also prevent him from having the balls to be rude to me to my face. In other words, I hope his cowardice works in my favor, and I hope I'm able to conceal my contempt for him for at least thirty minutes.

There's so much about this situation that I can't control (e.g., global economic collapse means that there isn't a ton of work pouring in the windows that would enable me to get some more reviews to counter these negative ones), and for a control freak like myself, that is agonizing. I try (with mixed results) to comfort myself with the knowledge that I'm doing absolutely everything within my control to help myself.

I Was Looking for a Job and Then I Found a Job and Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

My job threatened to fire me last Thursday. In the current economy, I'm sure most people are concerned about the possibility of being fired, but my job's threat was focused on my performance rather than the economy. I unexpectedly received two negative reviews (and three positive reviews), and I was told that if I don't shape up in the next three months, I'll be asked to ship out. Consummate professional that I am, I promptly burst into tears during my evaluation.

Since then, I allowed myself the rest of the day on Thursday to wallow and have since commenced phase one of my plan: Kick Ass. Phase two is: Take Names. (Neither review was fair, but the one completely premised on fiction was the result of some slander of my good name by a colleague of mine. Once I save my job, I'm going to fuck that bitch up.) I've been beating the bushes for my projects (so as to generate more evaluations, which will ideally be positive) and have reached out to the two asswipes who gave me negative evaluations so we can talk about how I can better meet their expectations in the future (read: so I can disguise my contempt for them and their execrable managerial skills while kissing their asses).

I'm waffling between feeling like a basket case over this situation and being not terribly worried about it. Obviously, I don't like receiving negative feedback or being criticized, and I especially don't like it in the worst economic climate since the Great Depression. On the other hand, this is not the first time I've had to fight for a job, and it's certainly not as difficult as the other time I had to do it. Also, I faced down Satan's meaner sister at my last job without blinking (like Sarah Palin, I guess), so none of the pussies at my current job scare me in the slightest. Besides all that, I had been thinking awhile ago about going into a different branch of the same field (doing career services for students), and this stumbling block made me think that it's time to start thinking more seriously about making that transition. I don't intend to leave my current job until I'm damn good and ready to do so, but I'm a bit soured on it now, and I might be damn good and ready to leave sooner than I would have thought prior to last Thursday.

I'm a fighter, not a lover, and I'm ready to go to battle over this job. I deserve it, and, to quote Dream Girls, "I am telling you I'm not going." At least not until I decide I am. Fuck them.

"Why Are You So Far Away?" She Said "Why Won't You Ever Know That I'm In Love With You?"

It was hard to be in my old city and not contact The Only Living Boy in New York. I thought that maybe if I thought about him hard enough, he would appear out of thin air, but it turns out that that doesn't work. I guess all that reading of Lois Duncan books in my youth did not help my psychokinetic powers develop.

I keep thinking that it's going to get easier and I won't miss him so much. Some days, I feel fine, but other days, I think I'm going to have to break my hands to keep myself from emailing him. It helps that I don't know what I would say. I've already said (twice) that I basically love him and want the two of us to be together and his response (twice) has been, "Bored now." What else is there to say? The same thing, only louder? The same thing, only more desperate and pathetic? Lie to him and say that I don't still want the same things I wanted before, which will inevitably lead us back to saying the same thing again only louder, more desperate and more pathetic?

I wish that someone in real life would develop the technology from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind so I could just erase him from my brain and not feel sad and miss him any more. I'm proud of myself for staying strong and not emailing him, but I wish that I would magically feel better. I wish that I could find someone else to replace him, and I thought Snowflake might be that person, but he seems uncertain about whether he would like to apply for the job.

Ugh. I just want to scream.

I Can't See New York

I'm going back to the city where I used to live tomorrow and Tuesday for a continuing education class. I'm hopeful that The Only Living Boy in New York will be there as well, though the chances of this are kind of slim.

My Mind Has Changed My Body's Frame, But, God, I Like It

The weight loss slowed down a little bit this week. I lost only 0.4 pounds, but it still beats gaining.

In other news, Snowflake and I went out for another cookie today. When I asked him about his plans for the weekend, he mentioned that he is going out of town to visit a girl he is "sort of" dating from his hometown (located no fewer than six hours away, so not exactly right around the corner). He indicated that although she is "nice" and "a cute girl" (lovely lukewarm sentiments), he isn't so into her because she's not "intellectually curious" and "the conversations are blah." I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him while pointing out that his conversations with me are scintillating and effervescent. Despite the fact that I had to spend some of my Weight Watchers points on eating the cookie, it was worth it because I found out why he's been sending me these crazy mixed signals. If he doesn't know what's going on in his dating life, how can he possibly send out any kind of clear message one way or another about his level of interest in me?

There's a Party in My Pants

I went on a little pants-buying spree at Filene's Basement tonight to buy myself some new stuff that actually fits me. (Side note: Whoever Filene is, she is a saint because her Basement is full of amazing bargains.) I've lost 24 pounds now, and the pants that fit me when I was heavier look terrible on me now. I was wearing a pair of khakis today, and when I caught a glimpse of myself from the rear, I noticed my ass looked like something from IHOP. And by that, I do not mean it looked rooty-tooty, fresh and fruity. I mean that it looked like a pancake.

I realize that the musician in charge of the world's smallest violin is playing right now as I'm complaining that I'm just swimming in all my clothes. However, I'm kind of at a weird juncture in my weight loss because I've lost a significant enough amount that my old clothes make me look frumpy-dumpy but I still have more to lose, so I don't want to spend a shit-ton of money on new stuff (thus, Filene's Basement). I think it's important to buy new clothes to show off the new shape I've worked so hard to attain because it gives me encouragement to continue in this positive vein. Also, it would be massively unfair to be eating diet-type food and yet looking worse than I did when I was eating a steady diet of butter sticks and bacon grease because I'm wearing bag lady-sized clothes.

So, I bought two new pairs of work pants and three pairs of jeans. Two of the pairs were from Seven, a brand I have never before worn, and I was able to buy the jeans TWO (yes, two) sizes smaller than I wore when I started Weight Watchers. Frankly, had the jeans cost $700 a pair, I would have bought them, and it was just my good luck that they were reasonably-priced.

The Incredible Shrinking Woman

I am glad I decided to join Weight Watchers. In total, I've lost 22 pounds (at least since I bought my scale, which was two weeks after I started, so I have probably lost more than that). I have more energy than I used to, which is probably some combination of being physically lighter and feeling better about myself (or, you might say, being mentally lighter). On the weekends, I actually take the trouble to put on something halfway decent to wear instead of yoga pants. I'm not even really attracted to bad food anymore because I am seeing how much better being thin feels than eating the bad food feels. So, yay!

If I Call You, Don't Make a Fuss, Don't Tell Your Friends About the Two of Us

Snowflake is officially a fuckwad. I thought he might contact me either to apologize for not returning my call or suggest alternate plans or both, but he didn't. I felt stupid, but as my mom pointed out, you can't assume people are lying every time they say something, at least until they prove themselves untrustworthy.

20 Years of Snow Falling...20 Years of Strangers Looking Into Each Other's Eyes

So, of course Snowflake acted like a jerk today. That must be Rule #1 in the manual The Only Living Boy in New York hands out at his Mixed Messages seminars. I got one joking email from him this morning, which was directed to two of our other friends at work as well as me. A little after two, I decided to call him (since he really isn't so great with email), and he said that he might have to get on a conference call between then and three, but he would call me back. For the record, his stupid ass must still be on that conference call because I haven't heard from him. Jerkwad.

Skinny Bitch

I have now lost 22 pounds! I am very proud of myself.

The cute guy from work (who probably ought to get a blog name, so I'll call him Snowflake) and I got a cookie together yesterday (he paid), which cost me a few Weight Watchers points but was worth it for the delicious treat and company. There was definite flirting, and we went for a little walk together and he stood so close to me that I was thinking, "Leave room for the holy spirit! Not." Today, we talked on the phone, and there was discussion of getting a cookie again tomorrow so I can treat him this time. I don't know if it will really happen, and I don't want to get my hopes up since Snowflake seems to have attended The Only Living Boy in New York's award-winning seminar on sending mixed signals, but we shall see. We're going to have to start making out soon so that at least if I'm cramming high-calories snacks into my maw, I can be counterbalancing it with the earning of activity points.

New York, I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down

I miss The Only Living Boy in New York. I miss him so much that I think he can probably feel it all the way in his city.

It has been almost two and a half months since we last spoke, and I think I'm growing less okay with it as time passes. At first, I felt the triumph of standing up for myself, and I kept myself busy with self-improvement. Now, I'm twenty pounds lighter, and I feel an empty space in my life where he used to be. I miss telling him things. I miss his opinion. I miss his sense of humor.

I don't miss feeling crushed every day that he didn't finally tell me that he broke up with his girlfriend and realized he was in love with me. I don't miss feeling misled or led on. I don't miss his indecision or being his emotional crutch.

It's not that I think I made the wrong decision in distancing myself from him. It's just that it's hard to be away from him because I really cared about him a lot, and I miss him so much more than I thought I would. I think about things like whether he misses me too.

I know that all I can do is move forward. There's very little chance that he misses me enough or cares about me in the right way to reach out to me and tell me the things I want him to say, but the only chance that that will happens is if I maintain my distance and make him come to me. I've always gone to him, and I shouldn't have made things so easy for him. I let myself get too committed to him without requiring the same commitment from him in return. I just miss him though. I wish I could talk to him again.

One on One, I Want to Play My Game Tonight

The cute guy at work has become a real thorn in my paw. Today, I had to talk to someone two doors down from his office, so I stopped by to chat with him for awhile. Later, we talked on the phone, and there was a lot of flirting and giggling. So, I thought that it might be okay to suggest, when we were emailing in the late afternoon, getting food together sometime soon. After all, we've gotten food together once before, and he acted like he might be interested in getting to know me better. His response to my suggestion made it clear that he would be okay with doing that as long as it was a group thing -- in other words, he doesn't want to spend time with me one-on-one. Jackass. Why did you call me and flirt then? Idiot.

Bad Dog

Teh Doggeh is trying to ruin my life. You would think that having a super-cute dog would be serious man-bait, but not in this case. He hates good-looking men, and he is even cantankerous with good-looking women, just in case I decided to try new things, I guess. He used to snarl and growl at men, but he is refining his technique. Today, this cute man was giving me the eye, so Teh Doggeh promptly took a giant poop next to his foot and then tried to clothesline him with his leash.

Strike a Match

My friends are peer pressuring me into joining Match.com again. Please God no.

Life Is a Mystery, Everyone Must Stand Alone

I started reading some of the new young adult vampire novels I bought today, beginning with Companions of the Night by Vivian Vande Velde (good book but way too short -- I hope she writes a sequel). My sole problem with the book, aside from its brevity, is that the main character's little brother has the same name as the cute guy from work I'm trying to avoid. Seriously? Seriously?? Why can I not get away from this person?

Like a Prayer

Dear God,

Why are You punishing me, Your humble servant? Why is it that, in the past (the past known as "last week") when I wanted to run into that cute guy at work, I could not have done so if I were sitting in his desk chair or stalking him, Edward Cullen-style. Now, I can be assured that I will run into him every day. Is he the Edward Cullen to my Bella, stalking me secretly yet avoiding actual interactions (such as when he turned down our mutual friend's invitation to lunch and then ran into us outside the restaurant anyway)? Please make him go away.

Thank You.

Should I Give Up or Should I Just Keep Chasing Pavements, Even If It Leads Nowhere?

I ran into the cute guy from work again today. When I wanted to run into him, I would not have been able to do so if I lurked in his bedroom. Now that I want to avoid him, he's suddenly everywhere. Fucking of course. Lord, why are you punishing me, Your humble servant? What have I done to offend You? I must add that he (the cute guy from work, not the Lord) seems no more interested in making out with/getting to know me than he has at any point since we went to lunch. Maybe I wasn't as interesting at lunch as I hoped? Maybe he doesn't understand that when both of us are conversing and also laughing that that is what is called "fun" here on Planet Earth? Maybe he doesn't think that co-workers should date, so he avoids me because otherwise he might, to paraphrase Blanche Devereaux, succumb to the Vesuvius of passion about to erupt between us? I've lost 17 fucking pounds, and I look fantastic. I think he owes it to me to at least buy me one dinner and make out with me once.

Lunch Hour

I invited a group of people to lunch tomorrow, including the new cute guy at work, and he turned down my invitation. He says he has other plans, but he didn't suggest alternate plans, which makes me think that even if he does have other plans, he's not that interested in hanging out with me.

I need to meet a nice vampire or werewolf to date. Human boys disappoint me.

Life Goes On, Long After the Thrill of Living is Gone

Things seem to have already dried up between me and the cute guy from work. I haven't heard from him since we had lunch together, so he clearly is not pining for me. He is, as they say, just not that into me. Poo. My only hope is that this leaves the window open for my Edward Cullen-like vampire admirer to stop lurking in the shadows and declare his love for me.

Why'd You Have to Run Your Game on Me? I Should Have Known Right From the Start You'd Go and Break my Heart

The cute guy from work and I had a fun time at lunch today! There was lots of laughter and witty banter. Yay!

Heartbreaker, You've Got the Best of Me, But I Just Keep on Coming Back Incessantly

I am having lunch tomorrow with a super-cute guy at work. Yay!

When It's Summer in the City and You're So Long Gone from the City, I Start to Miss You, Baby, Sometimes

I really miss The Only Living Boy in New York. Today, I was at such risk of emailing him that I chose to email a mutual friend of ours, bring him up, fill in the mutual friend on the details of the end of our friendship, and intimate to the friend that I miss him. I admit that it was a dubious choice to spew my crazy all over our poor, unsuspecting friend like he was a citizen of Pompeii, but I decided that it was preferable to spewing my crazy all over The Only Living Boy in New York himself.

I keep reminding myself (with the help of Miley Cyrus, that poetess, my patron saint) that I have to go forward, not backward. If I contact The Only Living Boy in New York, that is going backward because the absolute most I can hope for is that we'll go back to the way things were, and I didn't like the way things were. I want him to tell me he loves me, that he's changed his mind, that he's been missing me every day since the last time we talked, but if he wants to tell me those things, then he needs to initiate the contact. If he feels those things, then he will, but the truth is that he probably does not.

When we were still friends, he was the person I wanted to talk to about everything. Whenever anything happened, good or bad, I wanted to tell him first. His opinion mattered the most. I wanted him to be my real-life boyfriend; he wanted me to be his workplace girlfriend. That hurts. That aches. Missing him feels like dissolving from the inside out.

If You Realize What I Just Realized, Then We'd Be Perfect For Each Other and We'd Never Find Another

I miss The Only Living Boy in New York.

Doctor, Doctor, Gimme the News 2

I'm still at home, still uncomfortable, and bored slap to death. I'm catching up on my episodes of Myles of Style on HGTV, which I highly recommend. Kim Myles is five kinds of adorable (plus, she and I have some of the same clothes, so we need to start shopping together), and Anthony Gilardi, her carpenter, is equally winning. My mom said I need to do whatever I have to do to ensnare Anthony so she can get his help with things around her house.

Doctor, Doctor, Gimme the News

I survived my surgery. I'm sore and uncomfortable, not to mention tired, but my mom is here taking care of me as is Teh Doggeh. Teh Doggeh knows something is wrong with me, and he has refused to leave my side unless dragged away, kicking and snarling, by my mom or his dog walker. He will go only on the briefest of walks. The dog walker tried to haul him around the block but said that after Teh Doggeh pee-peed, he just lunged at the house until he was brought home.

He's Oh So Good and He's Oh So Fine and He's Oh So Healthy in His Body and His Mind

In honor of my surgery tomorrow, I bring you...Michael Phelps's 14-time Olympic Gold Medal winning abs. They are Diana Ross, Michael is The Supremes.

Blue Jean Baby, L.A. Lady

I got back into my thin jeans today. Hell yes.

Featherweight

This Weight Watchers program works, people. I am telling you, it does. I have lost 17 pounds since I started. I still have quite a ways to go, but I am very pleased with my progress thus far.

All My Friends are Vampires, Didn't Know They Were Vampires

I am super-excited for the new Twilight movie to come out in December. I keep waiting to get tired of those books, but it has yet to happen.

Nip/Tuck

My surgery is scheduled for Tuesday. My mother is coming to take care of me afterward, though I think she is overreacting.

I'm Not Coming Back, You're Taking Seven Steps Here

I went back to my previous city of residence from Sunday to Tuesday, and I found myself missing The Only Living Boy in New York so much that I almost started to cry. Even worse, I almost emailed him. The great poet Miley Cyrus helped me to avoid falling into that trap. I reminded myself that I could go back to that relationship but I didn't enjoy it before and there is no reason to believe that it would be different now. It would be disingenuous to go back in the hopes that he would change his mind. I gave him ample opportunity to change his mind, and he didn't. If he were to come to me, which I admit is a long shot, then maybe it would indicate the possibility of something different, but all I can do is keep pushing forward.

Welterweight

Wednesdays are my weigh-in day on the Weight Watchers plan (it's not Wednesday for everyone -- that just happens to be the day I started the program), and I was excited to note this morning that I have lost a total of 13 pounds since I started. I don't think anyone I see on a daily basis has noticed yet, but I can tell the difference in the way I look and the way my clothes fit. I'm proud of myself.

Honestly, Weight Watchers hasn't been as hard as I thought it would be. They let me eat as much microwave popcorn (the 94% fat free kind) and Diet Coke as I want, and those are my favorite foods. I'm not crazy about all the water they want me to drink (at least 48 ounces per day), but I'm sure it's doing something beneficial for me. The only thing I really mind is that I'm supposed to eat two servings of fat-free dairy per day, and plain, non-fat yogurt is a vile substances and skim milk is not much better. I've discovered that if you mix the yogurt with applesauce (natural applesauce is permitted), it disguises the taste. You can also disguise the taste of skim milk with instant, fat-free vanilla pudding mix (note: pudding mix + yogurt = disgusto).

I have lost more per week than Weight Watchers recommends (meaning more than two pounds per week), which I assume is normal at the start of a new nutrition program because the body is shocked by new habits. It's frustrating to contemplate losing weight so slowly, but I have found that Weight Watchers' inspirational articles actually do inspire. One article pointed out that losing weight, even slowly, is better than gaining, and that is for damn sure. Another got at the idea of losing weight slowly to give yourself time to adjust to a new routine. That addresses some of my concerns about the psychological implications of losing weight. If it takes a long time, it gives me the opportunity to develop a new relationship with food and find new ways of easing the pain of boredom, loneliness or sadness. Plus, as another article pointed out, quick weight loss plans advocate unsustainable diets while Weight Watchers (and perhaps other plans, but this is the only one with which I am familiar) champions a more sensible and broad-based approach.

So far, I am happy with my progress, but I still have a long way to go.

Your Love Is Like a Shadow on Me All of the Time

I finished Breaking Dawn, the last book in the Twilight series. I could not state my feelings about the book more succinctly than this author, so I will just link to her post. Suffice it to say that I vastly preferred the first three books but that Jacob Black has ruined all other men for me. Jacob is the also-ran love interest in the series, but he is, to my mind, vastly superior to Edward Cullen. Jacob is tall, sexy, young and evidently allergic to wearing shirts in addition to being poor and having pretty hair -- all things that weaken my knees to the point that I am thinking about trolling our nation's Indian reservations for a reasonable facsimile. He is also kind at a level you usually don't find in men not afflicted with a gruesome skin disorder or an abiding love of Magic: The Gathering. If I have learned one thing from the Twilight series, it is that while the male characters in the book are idealized romantic figures, there is no reason to settle for a man who is any less sure of his love for me than Edward or Jacob is of their love for Bella. Life is too short and relationships are too hard to accept less.

My other takeaway point from the books is that I need to take a serious look at writing for real. Stephenie Meyer writes books that I enjoy very much, but she doesn't always do what I want her to do with the characters. If I write my own book, I can write the characters the way I want to. I'm not confident in my ability to write a fiction novel, but I should try to write something aside from just this blog.

O Canada

Montreal this weekend was not all that interesting. Maybe I don't really like traveling by myself, or maybe it was that Montreal, while beautiful, does not have that many things to do for a person on her own.

I couldn't get over the fact that in less than an hour of flying time, I was in a totally different country. I didn't really expect it to be so different from the U.S., but it was a lot more like Europe (the slogan I came up with for the Canadian Tourism Board was "Canada: It's Like a Whole Other Country," which narrowly beat out "Canada: Being a Superpower is Overrated" and "Canada: We're Just Like Americans Except People Like Us"). Also, after a lifetime of cursing Canadian pennies in my change, it felt weird to actually seek out Canadian money. Anyway, it was okay.

I'm About to Lose Control and I Think I LIke It

Yay, Breaking Dawn comes out tomorrow! Yay!

Here's what my friend had to say about the forthcoming fourth novel in the series: "Oh Jacob. Jacob Jacob Jacob. If you ruin this for me I will kill you. I will hunt you down in fictional book land and kill you. No, seriously."

I'm So Excited and I Just Can't Hide It

I am sofa king excited for Breaking Dawn to come out! I'm rereading Twilight right now and reveling in the deliciousness of Edward Cullen. For now, I'm overlooking the fact that Edward and I permanently broke up in New Moon for reasons I won't reveal in case anyone who reads this actually listens to me and reads these awesome books.

Slightly Less Heavyweight

I have currently lost 7 1/2 pounds on Weight Watchers. I think I may have lost more than that (not tons more, but maybe as much as 10 pounds total), but I didn't have a scale at home until about two weeks into the diet.

It is both easier and harder than I thought it would be to make this change. On the one hand, it feels good to do something healthy and positive for myself. Weight Watchers doesn't have a policy of starving participants, so I'm not any hungrier than I used to be. I also like a lot of the foods on the list of "core foods." On the other hand, eating at restaurants is a minefield. Even the salads contain forbidden cheeses, bacon bits and fatty meats. I also have to eat foods that I don't like, such as dairy, in incarnations I like even less, such as the vile substance known as plain non-fat yogurt. The biggest "other hand" of course is that I feel like I still have a long way to go before I get to a weight I'm told is healthy for my height.

The point of Weight Watchers (and of all good diets) is to effectuate a lifestyle change, not to reach a magic number on the scale, so it's wrong-headed to focus so intently on getting down to a certain size. But still, it's daunting to think that I've only come about one-sixth as far as I want to go.

Look Me In the Eye and Tell Me You Don't Find Me Attractive

I returned from my friend's house this morning after a great weekend. None of my concerns about how the weekend would go came to fruition. On the contrary, my friend and I had a great time, did some sight-seeing and laughed a lot.

I had worried that my friend and I might make a mistake and sleep together, but I wondered whether we might rekindle a relationship. We did not. I figure that if you get drunk with someone, sleep in his bed (without him) and swan around his apartment in your jammies and nobody tries to kiss anybody else, you have made the transition to friendship successfully. He looked great, as always, and he was as funny and charming as ever, so I asked myself why I didn't feel that tug toward him that signifies the yearning for romantic closeness, particularly in light of the fact that both my friend and I have tried very hard to keep the friendship together through a lot of ups and downs.

The reason, I think, is because he and I are very much alike in ways that enable us to understand but not complement one another. We have the same insecurities, so we can feel protective of each other and identify with each other, which makes us love each other very deeply. We understand each other in a way that only people with the same soft spots can. But we can't bolster each other. We can't be a team the way a boyfriend and girlfriend or a husband and wife should. I'm glad that I have learned that and that I went to visit him.

Mamma Mia, Does It Show Again? My, My, Just How Much I Missed You.

Tomorrow is the big day -- I'm off to see my friend, or whatever he is. I forgot to buy new pajamas to wear, which is probably a good thing, as I couldn't quite figure out how to be sexy enough to make him regret breaking up with me without being so sexy as to make him think I'm trying to lure him back into my sweet embrace. I really need to get busy packing my suitcase but, for some reason, I can't quite get the motivation to do it.

What I really want to do is read The Vampire Diaries, which arrived from Amazon today. They are not as good as the Twilight books (if you have not read them, I need you to explain why that is), but they will slake my (blood)thirst until the final book in the saga comes out.

Mamma Mia, Here I Go Again. My, My, How Can I Resist You?

Friday, I'm going to visit my ex-boyfriend, who I haven't seen in three years since we graduated from school. As I have probably mentioned (I'm too lazy to review my own archives), we were friends, we argued for six months over whether or not to date, we dated for a hot second, then we fought about that for another year and a half. We know how to make the magic last. When we graduated, we were not speaking, but we patched things up that fall, and we've been more or less in touch since then. We've also been living on opposite sides of the country, which has probably helped us get along better, but it means we haven't seen each other.

I'm excited to see him, but I'm nervous as well. In the fullness of time, I concluded that we were better off as friends, but he broke my heart when we were in school. Repeatedly. He broke my heart right before I met Doug Funny, but that wasn't the only time. I once cried about him every day for a month. He probably changed me more (through knowing me and being friends with me, not through active efforts on his part) than anyone else, including Doug Funny, I met in that phase of my life. We loved each other desperately, but in a platonic way, I guess.

Given all the emotion I invested in this person and all the emotion he invested in me, I'm anxious for this visit to go well. I'm also anxious for it to remain strictly at a friend level. I have not had any indication from him that he hopes for anything more significant, and he was the one who ended the romantic phase of our relationship, but we are both single right now (I think), and we used to date, and accidents happen. One of my Muslim friends says that when a man and a woman are alone together, the third person in the room is the devil, and I'm hopeful that that won't be true in this situation.

It's really me more than him that I worry about. I talked to him on the phone today, and his voice made me feel a little fluttery. (He has a mellifluous, radio-friendly voice well-suited to his career, which involves a lot of public speaking.) Part of me was all twittery, and as my mother would say, "That part of you needs to shut the fuck up." We're friends. That's it. (I'll keep telling myself that.)

Heavyweight

I finally got the scale today that I ordered to monitor my weight loss progress, and I already hate it. I told myself when I ordered it that I was getting it to measure my progress in a quantifiable way, that it is merely a scientific instrument, and that I would not let it dictate my self-esteem. I have not really succeeded in holding onto those ideals. For starters, I weighed 16 pounds more than I estimated I did when I entered my starting weight on the Weight Watchers web site. That was discouraging to begin with. I was even more depressed when I realized that to get to what the scale's handbook and the people at Weight Watchers consider the "normal" weight for my height, I need to lose 63 pounds.

It's hard for me to imagine losing 63 pounds. I don't feel obese now, just that I'm a little bit heavier than what I'd like to be. I was thinking that I might want to lose 10 or 20 pounds. I look at myself in the mirror and wonder where 63 pounds would come from, or whether I would look like a scarecrow if I lose that much weight. There's obviously no law that says I have to get down to the weight anyone else says I should be if I feel healthy and look good to myself, but it's disheartening.

I'm also starting to feel discouraged about how much time it's going to take to lose weight. Weight Watchers (in agreement with most other diet sources I've read) suggests losing no more than two pounds per week, which seems like an agonizingly slow pace at which to slenderize. The thinking, I heard, is that the longer you remain in the process of changing your body, the more completely your brain will process the change. That would explain why crash diets rarely succeed in the long run -- not only is your body in an artificial state of starvation but your brain isn't processing the healthy change. So, I get why you should take your time losing the weight, and I get that it isn't healthy to lose 20 pounds a week, but two pounds a week just seems like nothing. I could lose two pounds going to the bathroom or sweating profusely. To lose 63 pounds would take, at a minimum, 31 1/2 weeks, which is just over 7 months. I wouldn't be done losing weight until next February.

Mostly, I'm just whining right now. The truth is that February is coming whether I lose weight or not, and it would be nice to be feeling better about myself when it gets here. I'm not saying that I think I need to lose 63 pounds to get to that point, but even if I just lost the 10 or 20 pounds I originally had in mind, it would be a good thing. And I know that I need to take my time losing weight or else I'll be right back to where I am now before I know it. I have to remember that it was my choice to do this and I can stop anytime I want but that it is a decision I have made to live a healthier life and do something good for myself. I'm showing myself how much I care.

I was thinking today that dumping The Only Living Boy in New York was one of the best decisions I've ever made because it spurred me to make some big, positive changes in my life. I'm eating healthier and trying to lose weight, and I'm having some surgery to aid my, um, social life. I'm just taking better care of myself over all, and I'm trying to be more attuned to what I need and show myself more respect. I'm sorry that I couldn't get what I needed from The Only Living Boy in New York, but I'm glad that I used the end of that relationship as a launching pad to do something nice for myself. It isn't easy, and it isn't usually fun (plain non-fat yogurt is one of the most disgusting substances I have ever eaten), but it is worth it.

Things Are Getting Desperate When All the Boys Can't Be Men

I'm still thinking about the theory I arrived at last night, and I can't believe I never thought of it before. It makes so much sense. All this time, I thought I was attracted to emotionally unavailable guys, but now I realize that they weren't emotionally unavailable, they were sexually unavailable.

When I think back to a few such relationships, starting with The Only Living Boy in New York and moving backward chronologically, I realize that these guys were emotionally very much there for me. The Only Living Boy in New York was, in fact, a very good and supportive friend when that was all I was asking from him. It was only when I started to push for a real relationship -- a relationship that would have, by definition, contained a sexual component -- that he resisted. The Only Living Boy in New York, not coincidentally, has an injury that I would assume makes sexual activity difficult or maybe impossible for him. I already mentioned the issues Doug Funny and the virginal guy I dated had.

I always heard that guys are sexual animals, and that it's easy for women to find men to have sex with them because men want to have sex all the time. I never found that to be true. In fact, I was always puzzled by the fact that most of the guys I liked acted like they liked me too, but they never seemed to want to have sex with me. It just seemed so strange. Why would they want to have this deep, emotional intimacy with me, but never even want to kiss me? Why would they act like they were attracted to me (and have this deep, emotional intimacy with me), but never want to take it to the next logical step? Their answers to these questions was always that I had misunderstood their intent, and that they had never wanted to be more than friends. They may have believed that to be true, since it would be easier than admitting that they couldn't perform sexually or were afraid to try. I took them at face value, and I blamed myself for reading more into the situation than was called for or not being attractive or appealing enough to make them want to be with me in a more physical way. Women blame themselves for impotence or male sexual dysfunction all the time, and it isn't anyone's fault. By the same logic, it wasn't my fault that these men had sexual difficulties, and it really wasn't their fault that they wanted emotional closeness with someone they liked very much and thought was special nor was it their fault that they couldn't weave sex into the relationship. I always thought they were cads who were leading me on, and now I think that, at least for most of them, that probably wasn't true. (For a few, it probably was, but not for the major guys.)

This conclusion frees me. I see now that these relationships were not my fault nor were they the products of my imagination. I also see that the guys I chose didn't have emotional availability problems but rather sexual availability problems. (I should note that some of these guys had girlfriends, which complicates things, but Doug Funny's girlfriend, as mentioned, had her own sexual dysfunctions, Puffy's girlfriend lived in a foreign country, and The Only Living Boy in New York's girlfriend...well, I don't know about her, but I'd be willing to bet there is something going on there.) I also see that I did not imagine their feelings for me, just that I did not understand everything that was going on with them. Men are more sensitive than women, I think, about sexual problems because an inability to perform is an indictment of their masculinity whereas women are almost seen as more feminine for being reserved and indifferent toward sex. I can't believe it never occurred to me that as I was choosing men to suit my own issues, they were choosing me to suit theirs. To paraphrase Mimi in Rent, each of us was looking for baggage to go with our own.

This also solves the big mystery of why, after years of therapy to stop choosing men like my father, I still couldn't find a healthy relationship. My mother kept saying that it was because I was still choosing men like my father (emotionally unavailable), but that rang false to me. My father, like everyone else, is a complex individual, so there are certain traits of his that could be found in other guys I liked, but only in trace amounts and only coincidentally. The Only Living Boy in New York, Doug Funny, Puffy and many others were not at all like him. Now I see that I was right in thinking that my mother was misunderstanding the situation in some fundamental way. I wasn't choosing men like my father. I was choosing men who wouldn't make sexual demands on me, and who didn't want me to make sexual demands on them either. (I don't really want to tie that last part in with my father because that goes to a gross place.)

Now that I'm resolving the physical problem that made me sexually unavailable, I'm excited to see what happens. At whatever elemental level that attracts humans to one another, I will be different. Instead of giving out a vibe of sexual unavailability, I will be giving out the opposite vibe. It stands to reason that I will start to attract men who respond to the new signals instead of men who would have responded to the old signals. (It really is incredible the way that we, as humans, sense these things about each other. It's like how, in Twilight, Edward Cullen initially didn't think much of Bella Swan until he got close enough to smell her blood, and then he fell in love with her. Could someone please read the Twilight books and then email me so we can discuss it?) I think it's going to be a new chapter in my life, a new adventure, and I welcome it.

Raspberry Swirl

I was walking Teh Doggeh tonight and thinking about my upcoming surgery when something strange occurred to me.

I was considering whether (and this is not the strange part) my predilection for emotionally unavailable men is tied in with my physical difficulties with sex. It seems certain that this would be so. Back in high school, you could date someone for months, maybe longer, while not needing to consummate the relationship. As an adult, the general rule of thumb is three dates, which could mean anything between a few days to a few weeks. Knowing that the issue of sex is likely to arise quickly (heh), and also knowing that it is likely to be a painful and frustrating experience for both parties, it is understandable that I would be drawn to men with whom I unlikely to reach an intimate point because of their emotional unavailability.

The strange part is that it occurred to me that as much as these men are a pattern for me, I might be a pattern for them.

Doug Funny, during our brief romantic entanglement, told me that he and his girlfriend of four years had never had sex because it was painful for her even to try. Looking back on it, it sounds like she had (or perhaps has) the same problem that I have. I didn't then and don't now understand why she didn't go to a doctor to find out what was causing this pain, but that is neither here nor there. What I noticed is that he was in love with two women who had the same sexual dysfunction, two women unlikely to make sexual demands of him. Maybe our patterns (emotional unavailability and sexual unavailability) dovetailed, bringing the two of us together.

I initially dismissed this idea, reasoning that it is unlikely that Doug Funny could know at a glance that I would be sexually unavailable to him. But then I thought of something Humbert says in Lolita, talking about looking at a photo of young girls and knowing which one is the nymphet, and I realized that we all use subconscious cues or psychic impulses or scent or something to choose the people who offer us what we need. If someone who did not have my set of particular weirdnesses saw Doug Funny in a crowd of other men, he would not turn her head, but something in me recognized something in him and vice versa. I dated another guy once who turned out to be very sexually withdrawn because he was still a virgin in his mid-twenties. I would never have assumed that, but I was drawn to him for some reason, and maybe that was it. It makes me wonder whether some other guys I've liked, like The Only Living Boy in New York, have sexual issues of which I am unaware. It would explain a lot.

I made that last remark in jest, but it really would explain a lot. Most of the men I like share an atmosphere of emotional intimacy with me, but they are willing to go only so far with it and no farther. As soon as I want some kind of real investment from them, they tell me that they like me only as a friend and that they are sorry if I got the wrong impression. I am left feeling rejected and slightly crazy, as if I somehow imagined that there was something between us. But now it occurs to me that I may have trod on a major insecurity and that by pressing for an emotional commitment, I made these guys think I wanted more from them sexually than they could give. This may not be true in every case. Some of these guys may genuinely have seen me solely as a friend and unintentionally given me the wrong message, but not all of them. I can't believe it never occurred to me before because it makes so much sense that these guys would be choosing me because I could offer them the right amount of emotional closeness without physical demands and that they bolted when they discovered I wanted more.

It's weird and oddly comforting to think that my romantic problems could have a physical solution, or could at least be given a strong shove in the right direction by a procedure on my body. If I feel like I could have sex comfortably, what would that do to my confidence or my demeanor with men? Maybe I'll turn into a big ho. Here's hoping.

The Vagina Monologues

If you don't want to have too much information about me, I suggest you stop reading immediately.

I went to the gynecologist today, which is never happy fun time for me. I suspect it is not happy fun time for any woman in a non-pregnancy situation, but I have particular difficulties on which I will elaborate in a moment.

I used to see a gynecologist regularly in high school because I was getting my period twice a month for 8 days at a time (meaning that I was menstruating about 50 percent of the time -- yay for me). I went on birth control, so I had to keep up with my yearly visits to keep getting the prescriptions. By the time I was a senior in college, I had been on and off of birth control pills for about seven years, and my periods had normalized. The last type of birth control I used made me so depressed that I threatened, in all seriousness, to kill myself, so, needless to say, I am wary about ever going back on them. After I stopped taking birth control, I pretty much stopped going to the gynecologist. I didn't go for over five years -- maybe more -- until last summer when my mother finally filled my head with enough concerns that I could be secretly dying of cervical cancer to make me go. I was not rewarded for this. The "doctor" I saw examined me with fireplace tools and generally did not seem to be on the up and up. But this time, I went to a doctor who came recommended by three different friends.

My problems with the gynecologist are not the fault of any doctor in particular -- not even ol' Fireplace Tools and certainly not the competent medical professional who examined me today. My problem lies in the fact that the exam is incredibly painful to me, and I'm usually choking back (or not) screams throughout the pap smear. Today's doctor basically told me that my, um, lady area is very narrow. It's so narrow in fact that it hurts me for her to be poking around in there even with the smallest instruments. This explains a lot about my rollicking social life, let me tell you. Anyway, she suggested that I have some minor surgery. She's going to put me under and do an exam while I'm anesthetized and see if there's any excess stuff down in that area that she can snip away to create more space. So, now we've gone from assaulting my lady-bits with a fireplace poker to taking actual knives to the area. Poor lady-bits. I'm not thrilled about this idea even though I agreed to her proposal, but I am hopeful that the benefit will be worth it in the long run. At the very least, I would like a gynecologist to be able to do a real exam without being distracted by the sounds of my shrieking in pain. If she isn't able to hack away at the underbrush down there and clear a path, I'm going to have to use a dilater, which basically works the same way as those expanders people put in their ears to make the earring holes bigger. I am truly the luckiest girl in the world.

Aside from that, the visit was pretty good. She put me on a low dose of anti-depressants to help regulate my moods during my menstrual cycle. I hate to admit that I am pissier around my period because it's something men and my mother like to bring up to evade blame, but it's true. I'm curious to see how the anti-depressants will work and whether I'll actually be a little more stable throughout the month.

Interestingly, she also tested me for a thyroid problem. I don't think there is anything wrong with my thyroid, but she thought she felt an irregularity of some kind, so she ordered blood work. If I do have a thyroid problem, it is probably causing me to have a lower metabolism, which would explain a lot. I looked up the symptoms indicating a thyroid problem online, but, like most medical symptoms, they are sufficiently vague that I have them all depending on when you ask me. (I could probably look up testicular cancer and have all the symptoms for that. Honestly, how do doctors ever manage to diagnose and cure anyone?) I should have the test results back on the thyroid early next week. Like I said, I doubt there is a problem, but if there is, at least I would know so I can start taking medicine or whatever I need to do to cure it and maybe get the old metabolism up to speed.

Will You Be My American Boy?

So, no word from Irish Toffee. It has been a few days with no response, so I conclude that I'm not going to hear from him. Realistically, it's the summer and he works at a demanding job, so he could be on vacation or just really busy and may fully intend to respond. I doubt that an unsolicited email from a friend of a sister of a friend ranks high on his list of priorities. But usually, if people don't respond to an email within a day or two, they kind of forget about it, or they worry that too much time has passed and feel awkward about responding, so they don't.

I don't know why I'm so bummed about not hearing back from this person I have never met. Certainly it would have been nice to, as Blanche Devereaux once said, get him on a couch made out of Corinthian leather. It's also the fact that, as I mentioned, friends of mine are moving away, and I haven't replaced them as fast as they're leaving. And it's also the fact that I really meet very few heterosexual males, and it's almost too exciting to have one dangled in front of me and too cruel to have him snatched away.

Maybe this is a sign that I need to find a way to put myself in the path of more straight dudes. This is something that is a constant problem for me (me and every other single girl) because I haven't met anyone at work, my volunteer group is exclusively for women, and I don't go to bars or church. I have tried on-line dating several different times, most recently last fall, and I did not find it to be a rewarding experience on any of those occasions. I'm just not an on-line dater. My ideal situation would be to meet a guy through friends because then I can be pretty sure that the guy is who he says he is and is neither a rapist nor a serial killer. The problem there is that if my single female friends knew any great single guys, they would be dating them (and I cannot fault them for that). My paired-up friends tend to know only guys who are also paired-up because couples attract other couples. The other guys I know are not interested in me for reasons ranging from a lack of interest to religious differences. Given how hard it is to meet someone, it's a wonder that the human species hasn't died out.

Anyway, this line of thinking is kind of dumb because there was never an expectation that Irish Toffee and I were meeting to make a love connection (as far as I know). The expectation was that we would help each other pass the time. I said yesterday that I didn't think he probably needed help whiling away the hours between waking up and going to sleep since he has an exciting job and has lived in this area long enough to have a solid coterie of friends, and it seems that I was right. I'm just feeling lonely and bummed out about not hearing from him.

I'll Show You to my Bedroom, I'm Liking this American Boy

A friend of mine is trying to fix me up with her brother's college roommate. I'm not sure whether her goal is for us to be friends or to date (she did not mention if he has a significant other -- she may not know -- but I'm certain that she would have mentioned it if he was gay), but I sent him an email anyway.

This friend and I have known each other since our freshman year of college and, over the years, I have developed a small but independent friendship with her brother. Both of them are very nice people, and it should be mentioned that her brother is a hot piece. (Okay, it wasn't strictly necessary to mention that, but he is.) Based on the brother's hotness, I suspected that the target of this fix-up would be attractive as well since the comely tend to be pack animals. I researched the target on a prominent social networking website where he has posted photos of himself (yes, that is slightly stalkerish, but since he posted the photos himself and erected no barriers to prevent the entire world from viewing them, I assume that he would not mind), and...damn. That is one tasty piece of hard Irish toffee. I was practically fanning myself. I'm not sure if Irish Toffee is everyone's flavor, but he is most definitely mine. It doesn't hurt that he bears a resemblance to my friend's brother who, as I already mentioned, is good-lookin'.

I doubt that Irish Toffee is going to respond to my email. He has a demanding job in politics and he has lived in this city for five or so years, so I doubt he is really in the market for a new friend. But I'm sitting here thinking to myself, "I am dieting myself into an even more hotter body! I am lots of fun and a sparkling conversationalist! Please email me and perhaps also touch my butt!" Hear me, Irish Toffee. Hear me.

I've Been Trying to Get Down To the Heart of the Matter

Heather Graham played a psychiatrist named Dr. Molly Klock on Scrubs who chose her profession because of her ability to zero in on people's insecurities. A college roommate of mine was her evil counterpart.

Kolly Mock and I were best friends for probably two or three years in college, and we lived together for a lot of that time. I'm not totally sure why I was friends with her because she enjoyed making me feel bad about myself way too much. I'm sure she only did that because either she was jealous of me for something or because she was covering up her own insecurities, but it was still hurtful. By senior year, I had started to throw myself into therapy pretty intensively, and as I started to gain more respect for myself, I stopped wanting to associate with her as much. Almost simultaneously, she started dating the man she ultimately married a few years ago and I left for my study abroad program. Strangely, even though we were inseparable for years, I haven't laid eyes on her since I left for my study abroad. We didn't even talk all that much after I left. We had been growing apart for awhile, and I decided I had lost patience with her superior attitude toward everything I did when she was considering going to graduate school for the same thing I went for and I emailed her to share some of my thoughts with her about it, and she was incredibly snotty to me. Right. Like, why would I know anything about that type of grad school program considering I fucking got into one of the five best programs for it in the country? Anyway, she didn't end up going to grad school for anything. Then, she got into a huge fight with a few mutual friends of ours, and that pretty much cemented the severance of ties between us.

Today, I got a wild impulse to Google her, and even though I am certain that I would rather be leading my life than hers, she managed to make me feel bad about myself. That's right. The bitch managed to make me feel bad about myself from another state, using only the internet, without even needing to talk to me. I have a good job, I am a home owner, I have a cute dog, I make sweet moolah (without even needing Uncle Rico), and I basically do whatever I want. But she has two things that just stick in my craw: she's married and she's thin. Mind you, she is married to someone I would not look at twice (and I'm not saying he is or is not a good guy or right for her, but I met him once, and he was just not doing anything for me personally, and the mutual friend Kolly Mock had a fight with said Mr. Mock was a fucking asshole), and I am now doing Weight Watchers, but of course that bitch would have lost weight since college and would be married. Fuck her. I can't even believe I'm so annoyed about this.

It probably wouldn't even annoy me as much (yes it would) except that even earlier today, I had another wild impulse to Google my very first boyfriend. I sort of expected I wouldn't find much about him because I didn't think that whatever gas station employed him probably posted personal information about its employees online, but to my chagrin, the motherfucker is in a sketch comedy troupe. It's not a sketch comedy troupe of which I have heard (meaning, it is not The Kids In the Hall or Upright Citizens Brigade), but they have DVDs of their work for sale on Amazon, and they had a film accepted to a film festival in New York. The last time I talked to this guy, he was a jerk and he smelled like Pert Plus. Now, I'll grant you that that was when he was 15, and he may have changed some in the ensuing years, but still.

I don't know why I'm so annoyed by the successes of people who I once cared about. I'll admit I'm not so fond of either of the above-mentioned people anymore, but I once felt close to both of them. And yet, I begrudge them their successes when I should be wishing them well. After all, it's not as if I'm doing poorly and it's not as if I want to trade lives with them.

In the case of Kolly Mock, I think part of it is being angry with myself for having such a long-standing (i.e., longer than five minutes) friendship with someone who treated me so shabbily. This is not to say that Kolly Mock spent all of her time punching me in the emotional gut; there were times when she was really there for me, and she could be a lot of fun. But overall, she just was not that nice to me, and I probably should have found a way to bow out of the friendship long before I did. By the same token, I should not now hold an image of her in my mind as this relentless bitch when there were lots of times when we had fun together. Being friends with Kolly Mock was a lot like being in a shitty romantic relationship, and even though I've had more than my fair share of those, I have not found a way to accomplish the goals of letting myself off the hook for participating in the dynamic and to accept the other person as a complex individual possessed of good and bad qualities who just was ultimately not a health association for me. If I could say anything I wanted to Kolly Mock now, I would probably tell her that I didn't like the way she talked to me a lot of the time, that she should have treated me more respectfully, and that I think she beat up on me to feel better about herself and that that was a crappy thing to do, but I would also thank her for the fun times and the laughter and the listening to me complain about the loser guys I dated.

I'm not very good at processing the end of a relationship or dealing with the idea that not every relationship, of whatever type, is meant to last forever. I remember that when Doug Funny and I broke up, I told a friend of mine that he must never have cared about me at all. She said that if I needed to believe that to get past it, then I should but that she doubted it was true. She was probably right. Doug Funny broke my heart and he treated me poorly, but, looking back, I believe that he and I were in love and that he cared about me very much and probably still cares about me at some level. Doug Funny and I had a relationship with more than its fair share of tears and whisper-fighting, but we had some good times too, and he made me laugh. But the relationship went as far as it could go, and that's likely the end of it. For some reason, I find it hard to hold in my mind the image of someone who had so many positive and alluring qualities and the image of someone I no longer want in my life and who no longer wants me in his. The same kind of goes for Kolly Mock. It's hard for me to remember that she could be fun and charismatic and yet also prey unfairly on my insecurities in a way that ultimately makes her someone that I don't choose to continue to have as a friend.

I think it all comes down to the issue of forgiveness, which is something I have always struggled with. I think part of accepting someone who has hurt me as a complex individual who had good qualities as well and not just thinking of him or her as a "bad guy" involves forgiving that person. It requires accepting that that person is human, is going through his or her own journey and probably grappling with lots of things, and probably either did not intend to hurt me or did so more because of something going on internally than because of something that I did. And of course, the person I find it hardest to forgive is myself (an issue I want to explore as part of my desire to deal with some psychological things that have gotten me to the Weight Watchers point in my life). It's hard for me to look back at, say, the friendship with Kolly Mock and not think that I was an idiot for letting her mistreat me instead of thinking that it was part of growing up and learning how I would and would not tolerate being treated and that we obviously shared a lot of fun times or I wouldn't have stuck around as long as I did. It's also hard for me to look at the relationship with Doug Funny and not think I was an idiot to get involved with him at all instead of remembering that I fell in love with him at first sight, that I still believe he is my soul mate (bearing in mind that I believe people have many soul mates and that the fact that Doug Funny and I are not going to be together does not dash my hopes for future romantic happiness), and that I would have regretted it if I hadn't made an attempt to see where the relationship could go. Forgiveness has gotten fractionally easier as I've gotten older, but it's still a struggle.