A Little of What is Driving Me Crazy

Re-printed from a previous email: I had asked J to just let me try to see what of my stuff would fit and to not criticize me in the middle of it. (I left his typos intact)

"I wasn't THAT bad. Jeesh! The glasses I got a little testy over because we don't need them taking up counter space. But I told the same thing to P (and I'm taking this to myself too). Bottom line is, it's nice to have, but not practical. In Quincy, P has like 4 "mugs" in the freezer and I have like 7 pint glasses chilling. Wonderful and they're nice, but we can't have it. So I told him already...pick your favorite and put one in the freezer. I have one mug in there and I'm probably not even going to put any pint glasses. I'd like to Kate. And you know what, I'd like to think it's "my place" too, but it's "our" place. So we can't take too much room. I don't know what I'm going to do with a lot of my stuff. I know you think I don't care about it, but I do. And I'll probably have to chuck it or store it at my mom's because I'm making room for you guys. This isn't a lecture or anything even close to that. I don't want you to take it that way. I'm just explaining that while it seems that I was snapping just as you the other night, I'm doing it to everyone and knowing that I have to minimize the stuff I bring as well. If I end up being the bad guy because I'm being the "superego" of the apartment, then so be it. But I just am trying to make sure this isn't bad like when I had 6 roommates in college. "

My guess is that J has developed hs "Lord of the Manor" attitude due to the fact that he moved in on the 15th and have been there alone. He makes no sense. The freezer is empty! Put as many freaking pint glasses as you want! No, he wants to leave space for what MAY go into the freezer.

Ummmm what?

So this is where I am now. I can't use all the space we have because other stuff MAY have to go there some day.

Its like not wearing your favorite shirt even though you like it, because it may get ruined or dirty, or not eating the fries because you may get fat. Its just a waste!

I'm so frustrated I'm not making sense!

Are You Serious?

Piano Teacher/Web designer at work: "I was just meeting with Communications Director and your name came up."

Me, blank stare, "What did I do?"

He laughs, "Sorry didn't mean to sound ominous. We are putting a page up on the website that will explain the registration procedures here and we thought that we should have a picture of you meeting a family or shaking someone's hand or something, but there doesn't seem to be any families around today. I'll have to do it some other time."

I laugh, "You have to give me some warning so I can make myself look decent." I'm joking.

Him, completely serious. "Yah, you're not looking your best."

I freeze and wait for the chuckle or the "I'm only kidding", but it never comes and of course I feel the need to defend my hastily thrown back hair and less than inspired outfit.

"I'm in the middle of the move, I'm stressed."

"Oh I see, well good luck with that." Still completely serious and leaves.

Me completely stunned, even if it is true, did he have to voice it!

ALL BACK!

I take it all back!

I am NOT excited to move in with roommates at all! They are annoying and anal and are judging my every move! I had the most annoying conversation with J last night in he kitchen.

I must preface all this with the fact that I have lived on my own for almost a year. When I moved in on my own, I furnished a four room apartment. I love to cook and my mother likes to cook and we both love to shop; therefore, I have an extremely well-equipped kitchen. J does not cook, has never cooked and has no idea what is required to perform that think called cooking.

"I just want to remind you." J starts as I'm very neatly stacking my spices in the tiny cabinets above the stove. "That there are three other people moving into this place."

"I know." I continue to place the tiny spice jars in neat lines.

"Well its just I can see you creeping into the other side of the cabinet, and then I can just see you continue on to the next." He's trying to be calm, but I can sense his discomfort. "What is all this stuff anyway. Do you really need it all. I think we all have to make sacrifices."

Translation. You, Kate, have to make sacrifices, because I am OCD and don't like what you are doing.

"J do you cook?" Knowing the answer is no I continue. "Yes I need this stuff, or will eventually, so sometime now or later I will need this stuff I don't' see the big deal if they're put in the cabinet now or later. Do you have more stuff to put in the cabinets besides food?"

"No."

"Does P?"

"No."

"Does A?"

"Not that I know of."

"Then I don't see the problem."

"I'm just saying, like with the margarita glasses, you have six, who needs six margarita glasses at the same time! We all have to make sacrifices and maybe you won't be able to bring everything you have."

At this point I snapped. The cabinet I had been placing stuff in maybe one foot by one foot. There are so many other cabinets with nothing in them, I lose it. The two spices in my hand go flying into the shopping bag and I yell.

"I give up! Everyone has to compromise except you! I have given tons of suggestions on how to expand the space and make the most out the little we have, but you're not receptive. You can't move the kitchen table, we can't get a pantry because you have a rinky dink microwave cart. You don't like clutter, but was in such a rush to get in here that we didn't evaluate the fact that there is NO STORAGE. I'm not sacrificing stuff for the kitchen because you have some weird thing about clutter!"

I think I shocked him, easy going Kate has been pushed to her breaking point. I felt bad after I yelled. I rarely ever get mad , but I was stressed, hungry, and sweaty. I don't deal well with being sweaty, and I was tired of being a doormat.

We worked it out and he apologized.

I did not.

I asked my other friend, girl J, who had witnessed the whole incident, if I had overreacted and she said totally not. Girl J is the most level-headed person I know, so that made me feel better.

Bottom line: Don't fuck with my kitchen.

Serving One and Other Rants

The most exciting thing about moving in with roommates is that I will have people to cook for. I am awful at just cooking for one. I will usually make enough food for an army and have the left overs sit in my refrigerator until I remember they are in there taking up space. I can't tell you how many tupperware containers I have had to sacrifice to the dumpster because the smell of old food wouldn't come unglued from the plastic.

I have wasted so much food in the past 10 months that I have lived alone that I am ashamed just thinking about it. Right now I have half a casserole dish of macaroni and cheese rotting in my fridge. I've bought loves of bread and never even touched them. They would just turn to mold. I have dumped half gallons of milk weeks past their sell by date, but first I would have to pull of the plastic tab to open them.

The guilt is so bad that I will leave stuff in my fridge even thought I know I won't use it and wait till the sell by date has passed to put it in the trash. Every time I do so I vow to start using what I have before going out to buy new and improved food, but that never happens. I think it may be a sickness. I don't have the patience to scale down recipes. Its just weird to me to cook with such tiny amounts. It seems unnatural.

I'm thinking of this all now because I am preparing myself for the massacre that will happen as soon as I get home. I'm planning on cleaning out my pantry and my fridge. I fear I will have no mercy, anything that has been in there for more than a month MUST GO.

This moving stuff is turning me into a raving lunatic. I'm restless and twitchy and my mind is going a mile a minute.

Should I bring over the dishes or my shoes tonight? Do I have to wrap the glasses? Do I think they would break if I just lay them in a box and drive really carefully? Will the couch even fit through the GD door? Where in God's name am I going to put all my coats that I won't need for another three months? I can't believe I'm giving up an apartment with 5 closets and abundant cabinet space and a walk in pantry.

Deep breath, we don't need tears.

This move will get done and I will find a place for everything and it will be good.

Or someone will pay....

My Adventures in Pet Sitting

My brother and sister-in-law are down the Cape for the week so I graciously offered to pet sit for Cuddles, their 10 week old kitten. Why they didn't take him with them is beyond me, but I digress.

In offering to pet sit, what I really meant was that I would like to take Cuddles to my apartment and pretend that he was mine for a week. What they heard was that I would go a half hour out of my way to stop by and make sure Cuddles wasn't lonely, turn on the pool filter and take in their mail. Huh? Communication problems maybe?

Originally, I was going to stop in on Tuesday and Thursday nights and M's sister was going to do the rest, seeing she doesn't work and lives five minutes away. I didn't even want to commit to that much, seeing as I have a whole apartment to move sometime in the next 5 day; however, by the tone of big bro's voice, I wanted to avoid any "Kate is an ungrateful bitch of a sister" conversations.

Saturday morning I get the call that they forgot that M's sister is going away Sunday into Monday and do I mind, stopping by Sunday night and Monday night? I can't say no, so its four nights of trekking into the boonies of Massachusetts.

Last night was the first night, and I must say it was worth it when I opened the front door and was greeted by pitiful kitten mews and saw a distressed Cuddles behind the downstairs glass door. I opened the door and he was glued to my side for the first fifteen minutes that I was there. Poor little bugger was so lonely!

We were having a good time, I had turned the pool filter on and was letting it run for a few hours and Cuddles and I settled down to watch the Miss Universe Pageant. I'm not usually a pageant fan, but I am a Project Runway fan, and I wanted to see Kayne's dress on Miss USA.

While I was relaxing, Cuddles was attacking any appendage that moved and that included my nose, but eventually he fell asleep on my neck and we were very cozy. This is when I decide I should go outside and shut the pool filter off. It was after the evening gown competition and before the questions. I go to go out the back door, but it was pitch black and the outside lights are upstairs off the porch.

I head up stairs and go to open the sliding glass door, but its stuck. I then realize that there is a door stopper, decorated with Kitties holding the door shut, so I lift that, open the door and slide out shutting the door behind me. I get back, tug at the door, nothing. I sigh, keep tugging and then realize the door stopper had slid back into place!

No worries, I'll just use the back door. Locked!

I'm locked out!

I'm trying not to panic and cursing myself for being so paranoid as I circle the house looking for a way to get back in. There is nothing. I'm barefoot and my keys and phone are inside. Finally I see the air conditioner in the window below the deck. Of course there are crushed rocks and spider webs under there, but I asses the widow and start to bang on the air conditioner. All I can manage to do is break the plastic siding and create a hole only big enough for the kitten to squeeze through and of course he does and won't stay in. So now I'm sweaty, dirty, frustrated and bug bitten holding a kitten and I decide the only thing I can do is go borrow a phone from the neighbors.

I arrive on the door step probably looking like I just spent the week in the woods clutching a squirming kitten, but they are nice, if not a little confused, and let me use their phone.

I call my parents. It was one for the most frustrating calls ever! I couldn't get them to understand that bothering complete strangers was my last resort and yes I tried the front door.

Finally they get bro on the phone after me standing on the door step for 15 minutes while Cuddles calmly swatted at mosquitoes, and told me that the window near the back door should be open and I might be able to reach the lock from there.

The Neighbor offers to come with me and we head over to look at the "open" window. That window was locked tighter than Fort Knox, I sigh almost defeated and tell the neighbor about the air conditioner.

Its the only way. He agrees and goes home to get a crow bar, so we can wrench the window open.

Poor Cuddles is getting more squirmy by the second, so I spy the doggy door left over from the previous residents and figure I can at least put him down in there. Of course the doggy door is wedged shut, just In case the midget burglers came to the area, but I start banging it in frustration and it finally opens. I place the kitten inside and just for fun see if can reach the lock.

My fingers swipe against the door handle, but its the dead bold that needs to be released. My fingers are barely able to touch the bolt, so I get down on the ground and wedge half of my body into the doggy door, my face is squashed up against the door, the kitten is attacking my fingers and I am stretching as far as I can without dislocating my shoulder. This is how the neighbor finds me. He peeks into the window and exclaims how I'm almost there. I think he was happy at the fact that he may not have to use a crow bar on his neighbor's house.

I push one more time, hear my shoulder pop, and my fingers manage to twist the bold and it clicks open. My body sags in relief and exhaustion. I'm in!

I profusely thank the neighbor and rush inside. I am shaking with frustration. I HATE doing bone-headed things like that, but at least I didn't have to smash their air conditioner.

I had to tape up the window where I broke the air conditioner siding, and wedge the screw back into the pet door. I'm heading back tonight. I'm so scared that some how Cuddles managed to escape through the tape and is missing.

As I'm sitting here itching my bug bites and rubbing my bruises you better believe that my phone is going to be attached to my hip, my shoes will be on and my keys attached to my hand, I may even use staples.

Why I Am the Best Ex-Girlfriend

"This is going to be a weird conversation, but I want you to be completely honest with me." This is how my ex M starts the conversation.

That opening seems a little ominous to me and I'm get the feeling that I may not have it in me to be completely honest with him. "okay shoot" I reply a little hesitantly.

"Okay, this is a little long and complicated, so I'll try to make it short." He then launches into a story about his wisdom tooth and how he keeps getting food stuck in between and he notices how it smells bad. He's telling me how he's really self conscious about it and he just came back from the oral surgeon. He went to the oral surgeon to see about getting the tooth remover because getting the food stuck in it causes him to have bad breath.

Reason #1 why I am a good ex. I am listening to this whole explanation only interjecting with the required "okays" and "uh huh's" even though his vivid description of his predicament is slightly turning my stomach.

"So the oral surgeon told me that extracting this tooth, on a scale from 1-5 with 5 being the most difficult would be a 5+. So now I have to decide if I want to have it done. So what I need to know from you is while we were dating, did you ever notice me having really bad breath."

I take a deep breath, glad that this is an easy question. I can answer this one.

Him not showering on the weekends, that bothered me. Him constantly smoking and not tobacco that bothered me. The snoring, that REALLY bothered me. I wrack my brain thinking of any time I was turned off by his breath. I come up empty and I'm pleased and a little relieved that I don't have to lie.

"I honestly don't remember a time when your breath was an issue for me."

"Really? Are you sure? Well that makes me feel better, because I met this AMAZING girl last weekend and I've been worried about my breath the whole time!"

Reason #2 why I am the best ex: I let him go on and on about this 4'11'', red headed hairdresser he met last weekend and say nothing except "Really? That's great! I'm happy for you."

Reason #3 why I am the best ex: He goes on to tell me that she texts him all day saying how she can't stop thinking about him, and she misses him (have I mentioned that they met last weekend) and I don't say what I'm really thinking which is "psycho!"

I'm also relieved because now I don't have to worry about putting him off about visiting, because I know there is only reason why he wants to visit.

I'm probably able to be the best ex-girlfriend because we ended so amicably and I'm not remotely attracted to him anymore.

Taunted by the Band Geeks

I've just witnessed two band geeks making out.

It seems that since I am not getting any action of my own, aside from phone action, I must be taunted by a teenaged make-out session. It was all I could do to not yell, "get a room!" I'm much more mature than that.

I did almost deck one of them for calling me Ma'am. The first time it was okay, I almost corrected him, but what do you say. "Please call me Miss?"

How pathetic does that sound?

The second and third time I had to clench my teeth tightly to keep from yelling out, "I'm only twenty-seven g'damnit!"

I've been holding back a lot today!

If Only I Had A dowry

I'm heading over to my brother and sister-in-law's house tonight after work. I think he mostly invited me because I owe him $50 dollars for our parent's anniversary present. He is the oldest and most responsible (though that is debatable) he usually, or his wife usually, gets the present and then tells me and my younger brother what to pay him. I'm also going over because I will be checking in on the newest member of the family, Cuddles the kitten when they go on vacation. I love him and I want one of my own, but considering the fact that A told me if I got one it would mysteriously disappear, I don't want to put a defenseless kitten into peril.

Cuddles is the closest we have to a second generation in my family. We are all waiting with anticipation for the day when big bro and wife announce that they are pregnant, but that hasn't happened yet. They are my parents biggest chance right now. Well unless I get knocked up, but judging from my absent sex-life, that probably is a long shot. Though I have been screwing up my birth control lately .

I thought we were getting the good news a few weeks ago. I was at the bro's house for a barbecue and M's (sister-law) mother comes up to me.

"Just who I was looking for! Has M told you the exciting news?" She says looking at me expectantly.

Of course my mind flashes to PREGNANT! So I look at M with wide eyes.

She roles her eyes reading my mind and says, "Its not that exciting, I'm not pregnant."

Her mom looks at me again. "I found a young man for you! He's a fireman and lives right near you. You know I live in assisted living and the fire alarm is broken so they have to have a fireman on duty. He was on the 3-11 shift last night."

"Oh, did you?" I look helplessly to M.

M looks at her mother, "Ma , leave Kate alone."

"Well he's handsome, and has two jobs, can I give him your number?"

Me being polite, "Oh well, I don't know . How old is he?"

"Too old for you, but he looks 30."

"He looks 30? Is he 40?!"

"I don't know. I'll get his number for you. I called M last night to get your number, but she wouldn't give it to me. She said you were probably busy."

I silently pledge to name my first born after M. "Well you can get his number for me then."

"Okay, He's very good looking. I will do that." Have I mentioned that M's mother is legally blind. I'm taking all that description with a grain of salt.

I smile politely and make a bee-line for the basement where I know they keep the vodka.

After my own mother comes up to me.

"What did M's Mother want?"

"Oh she found a man for me. I guess he's a good looking fireman, but you know her eyesight."

"She didn't! I can't believe her! Tell her to leave you alone!" Her face is incredulous, but then I slowly see it turn to thoughtful. "Well Katie, you never know?"

Oh Christ!

Why I Will Never Date Again

I have no game.

It has become shockingly apparent to me today that I have no idea how to entice the opposite sex. I feel bad for My Crush, who has probably had to suffer through my lame attempts to let him know that I am interested. Not that there have been many, if any at all.

I think this morning I smirked at him. I have a decent smile, you think I could have unleashed that, but he took me by surprise and my smile came out like a smirk. I don't even think teeth were involved. It was 9 A.M. I think I had one sip of coffee and I had my faces smashed into my hands trying to hold my head up right. I saw someone coming out of the corner of my eye and turned to see who it was. It was My Crush.

Eye contact.

Him-Cute, sheepish smile.

Me-frighteningly smooshed, closed lipped smirk, most likely accompanied by dear in headlights expression.

He goes through the door and I groan audibly. Spinster-hood here I come!

On my lunch break the Band Camp was having a chamber music concert and My Crush coaches one of the chamber groups. (In case you were wondering, I have forgiven My Crush for working for the band camp because he incredibly cute, which negates the band camp geek factor.) So I spy My Crush standing in the back watching the concert with the roommate, so I saunter casually out to he theater to "watch" My Crush, er, I mean the concert.

When I was out there I did a wonderful job of looking interested, clapping at the relevant times and breaks in the performance and making conversation with a woman who works in the communications.

What I really was doing was communicating telepathically to My Crush that I was interested and available. It didn't work. I don't know why I can't just get the nerve to ask him out. It works in my head.

"Crush, we're two single, healthy adults, I think we should get together and have drinks."

Crush looks pleasantly surprised, "I could feel a telepathic connection with you, but your beauty intimidated me and I was afraid you were out of my league."

Me, blushing modestly. "Crush you flatter me! Saturday at 8?"

"That would be perfect!" Crush grins broadly, like he has won the lottery. Which is what going out with me is akin to.

Of course again, that's all in my head.

In reality I will probably just smirk at him again tomorrow. Let us all cross our fingers that there is no drool.

Apartment Woes

I brought some little things over to the apartment last night. I have only been there twice before, so I was excited to see it a little cleaned up.

The first thing that I noticed when I walked in was the heavy odor of cigarettes, Marlboro Reds to be precise. The next thing I noticed was a slight man in the downstairs bathroom with a thick salt and pepper mustache and a heavy white apron. This was Peter our landlord. The one that has yet to finish our apartment. The downstairs bathroom is gutted, but we were told we had to move in on the 15th or no go. I greeted Peter and ran up stairs to J's room. He's the only one who had moved in so far.

I'm very annoyed that apartment was ready for the date that they said, but J is playing Mr. Nice guy and having beers with our alcoholic land lord and gets annoyed with us when we have the gall to express our annoyance with the unfinished work. There is no hot water, there are no washer and dryer, there is no gas and the stairs up to the third floor are not finished. They are uneven and have rough edges that I'm sure, being the graceful lady that I am, I will probably go head over heals one night.

Heaven forbid we complain though! J acts like a petulant child, short of folding his arms across his chest and sticking out his lower lip, thought I'm sure he's holding it all back. I understand how he wants to look at the potential of the apartment, but he doesn't listen to anyone else's advice or suggestions. We paid for a service that we have yet to receive. That is unacceptable and I don't care if the landlord is like a "big puppy dog" and he doesn't have the heart to be mean to him.

The only solace that I have is that I'm not moving in until the 29th. That bathroom better be ready by then and those stairs better be finished. I'm twenty-seven years old, this is not a frat house, this is our home and it should be in the condition that we were promised.

The plus side is that my room is much bigger than I remember it. I'm excited to be moved in, the the physical act of moving that I'm dreading.

J, P and I went to a bar that J declared is his new favorite, The Thirsty Scholar in Inman square. It was nice, but sitting w/with J and P I got the feeling that I'm going to missing female company very soon. I don't care that the waitresses' ass is like a shelf, I don't care that when the colleges are back in session this place is going to be "crawling with girls". Their one-tract minds are already exhausting.

The first time I hear any of them having sex is going to be miserable. I'm going to have to learn how to sleep with ear plugs.

Boys are gross!

Feels Like I'm Seventeen Again

I have a crush.

I feel like such a dork, but that's the only thing that it can be characterized as. A full-blown crush. I actually blush and get nervous when I see him, and worst of all, he's a musician. Not a cool rocker type even, but a trumpet teacher at the place where I work. He's a coach at the band camp, and he teaches privately during the year. I've never really even seen him in this light until this week, but its very embarrassing. I would think I'm beyond this sort of behavior at the age of twenty seven, but apparently not.

I don't really know much about him except his roommate works here too. I snapped at his roommate last week because he called me a receptionist. G'damn it I am a registrar. That would be a GLORIFIED receptionist.

He's cute, tall and dark, and a trumpet player, so he's creative and musical and if you've ever tried to play a trumpet or anything that has a mouthpiece like a trumpet, you would know that he most likely has very strong...ummmm, hands. HaHa.

Leg-Cramps

For the past week my legs have been cramping up. Even as I type this I am force feeding myself dry apricots to up my potassium levels. Yes, dried apricots. I know you're thinking, "Why not bananas." Potassium and bananas go together like peanut butter and jelly, however I didn't have any bananas, but yes I had dry apricots. My last banana made an unceremonious departure from my apartment with me holding back the gags as I rushed to the dumpster. I'm not quite sure how the banana produced that much grossness, but I think its going to have to be a while before I purchase bananas again.

The apricots aren't that bad, once you get past the fact that they look like dried ears they're actually quite tasty.

I'm not exactly sure where the cramping is coming from. I wish I could list my rigorous exercise routine, stunning you with my cardio endurance and how much I can bench press, but alas the only thing I've done that burned calories this week in a walk on the beach and a marathon, bridesmaid shoe shopping expedition.

My best guess is that I have been dehydrated. I left work the other day realized that I had only gone to the bathroom once ALL DAY! That never happens, ever. I then realized that all I had to drink all day was my morning coffee. How that happened is beyond me. I had three bottle of water waiting in the fridge, but for some reason did not feel the need hydrate. Yesterday, to make up for it, I drank my weight in lemon-lime gatorade, which is my favorite gatorade flavor despite the fact that it gives me unpleasant flashbacks of summer basketball camp.

While I'm figuring dehydration, my mother is thinking much worse.

"Do you think your birth control is giving you blood clots?" I love how she pronounces birth control, like its a dirty word.

"I don't think so Mom, I've been on it for four years I don't know if they would just develop now."

"Well you never know, you should go see a doctor."

This conversation did lead me to laying on my couch last night reading and being distracted by the twinges in my legs, not full-blow cramps, but enough to notice. I couldn't help thinking that it was a clot that was slowly traveling to my lungs to kill me instantaneously and realizing that if that happens no one would probably find me for a while. That's a very depressing though, so I squashed it and went a long with my business. Thanks Mom.

I can't really blame her for her concern considering my younger brother has a kidney something-or-other and he has trouble absorbing the potassium in his blood; therefore, if he is not careful it will cause his muscles to paralyze temporarily.

He has a prescription for liquid potassium for emergencies, but my mom didn't find it humorous when I asked for a shot.

That's why I'm eating dried apricots like its my job. I'm sure I'll be regretting this later.

Update: OOWWWW, my stomach is killing me. I've actually OD'ed on dried apricots. This has to be a first.

Squashing the Boredom

Against my better judgment I texted D yesterday. I had not heard a word from him in about a month, but I was curious and another empty night loomed in front of me so I let it fly.

"Hey! Wassup? Have you vanished?"

I know very eloquent. I didn't really expect a response, but with in fifteen minutes he texted back.

"Hey! I'm alive and well. Just got off work!"

"I'm still at work" I wrote back.

"Give me a call when you get off!" Hmmm, interesting, we usually text back and forth for ever, so I was glad he suggested the phone call. I'm very brazen on the texting, but calling makes me so darn nervous.

I called him when I got home. Nothing too exciting. He had gone to Puerto Rico, by himself, to dive for a week. We talked about my moving and his moving. He moves back to Florida in six weeks, he took a position as a pediatric anesthesiologist at a Florida hospital. He has a real carreer.

I only have six weeks left of my D distraction. Oh well. I guess it was frustrating, I mean fun, while it lasted.

He was busy last night, but said that we should do something tonight or this weekend. We'll see if he calls.

I was kinda glad that he was busy last night especially when my phone rang at 9:30 with G on the other end. I know that G and I aren't together, but D is not something I would want to discuss. There's nothing with D at all.

We talked for three and a half hours. I couldn't even tell you what we talked about. I was in a hormon induced bad mood and he didn't want to get off the phone until I was laughing. Its nice talking to G and I felt bad for being a brat for a most of the conversation, but I redeemed myself towards the end.

I know better than to try and analyze the situation, but three and a half hours is a long time to talk to a cranky bitch like me.

It just reaffirms my belief that he SO wants me.

Selfish

Last night I told J he was selfish. It just sort of slipped out and after it did I immediately regretted it. He is in a way, but I didn't have the energy for an argument.

It all stemmed from the All-Star Game we were watching last night. During the game they honored Roberto Clemente and had his wife accepted the award. I noticed that she still had that last name Clemente and I wondered if she had ever remarried or had relationships after his death. I lamented out loud, but he couldn't seem to grasp what was wrong with her being alone.

"Nothing is wrong with her being alone all these years, but wouldn't it be nice if she could have or if she did find someone else. Maybe not a true love, but for companionship?"

"If its true love she shouldn't have found someone else."

"So you mean to tell me that if you died young, you would want your wife to mourn you for the rest of your life and not be happy by finding someone to spend her life with and to help her raise her children."

"Yes"

"You really are selfish."

"God you're really getting all out. Last week I was annoying (I had forgotten that I had called him that, but he is sometimes) and now I'm selfish. Does everyone have a problem with me?"

"No, maybe selfish isn't the right word. The thing is you just get so wrapped up in the things that you are doing that you don't really care about anything or anyone else."

I guess that was just a more diplomatic way of saying he was selfish.

"I don't mean to"

"I know you don't, but it happens and I just think you should be more conscious of this."

Awkward silence.

Its funny, J is constantly telling me I need to stop being a door mat, but I guess he didn't realize that if I did so it would affect him as well.

I didn't sleep well last night. I keep thinking about the move and how it would be to live with the three of them. I'm not getting good vibes, and I think the negative comments are finally eating their way into me and taking root in my subconscious. I'm a girl who likes her sleep too, so this is doubly frustrating.

If so many people think I'm crazy for making this move, then they must be right?

Right?

Band Camp and Random Thoughts

I've actually been a little busy lately at work. Not in a good way, but in an annoying, frustrating way. I work at a music school and yesterday marked the first day of our Band Camp. It is actually eloquently name the Summer Music Festival, but calling it "Band Camp" amuses me to no end, and therefore is always referred to as band camp by me. There is so little amusement at my job I have to cling to whatever little bit there maybe.

I had to be at work by 8 yesterday morning and was inundated by band campers and their equally annoying parents. I then spent most of the morning either running around adjusting thermostats, trying to figure out who owed me money, and yelling at the little band geeks who insisted on throwing their smelly lunch trash in my garbage can usually reserved for paper. ICK! I had to empty it three times before complaining to the director of the music festival, a short rotund Italian man who creeps me out to no end.

Yesterday my only amusement was sending dirty emails to G.

I sit here this morning wanting to post something, but coming up blank. Nothing is going on, the summer is slowly sliding by and I almost find myself longing for the fall, October not November. I think it might be the apple and spice air-freshener the custodian has placed in one of the bathrooms at work.

Moving is still looming on the horizon and waking me up in the middle of the night with anxiety. I hope I'm doing the right thing, but I don't want to move. Period. Every time I think of leaving my little apartment I get depressed. It was my space and I remember how excited I was to live by myself. Oh well, I guess. I just feel like I'm regressing. At least the room situation is straitened out and I got the one I wanted. That was an annoyance that thankfully worked out well.

Part of me is torn about the whole living situation. On one hand I am the only girl and I feel like as men they would make certain allowances, but no. I guess I should want to be treated equally, but the last time I lived with guys, they treated me like a princess, so I've been spoiled.

I just don't have a good feeling about the whole situation, because honestly they're more like girls than I am.

To quote G. "They all need to grow up, grow a sack and be men, and stop acting like little girls."

Okay maybe I'm just paraphrasing, his language was slightly more graphic, but what can you expect from a sailor.

Its cute he still cares about my welfare.

I'm Engaged!

Okay, well not really; however, G graciously offered to marry me if I'm still pathetically single by the time I turn 30.

He actually brought it up. While I was lamenting that my youth was slipping slowly away from me and I would soon have to resort to dating in the 40 and older age bracket, probably fat balding men who would be the only ones happy to have me, he said we would make a deal.

"Well we'll have to make a deal. What age do you think would be the last resort age?"

"Hmm, well I guess it would have to be 35, seeing after that pregnancy starts to get a little more difficult."

"Well we should give a little time before then, cause you don't want to be in a rush at 35 to get pregnant." (Note: Children must be had because G is convinced his parents would be more inclined to help with the house purchasing if there is a grandchild in the picture and in the SD housing market any help you can get is crucial.)

"Okay, what about half-way, say 32. On my 32nd birthday we'll meet in Vegas. Oh that means you'll be 34."

"Wait! That's right I will be 34, I will be old, and I'm already going grey, maybe we should say when you are 30."

"30? Are you sure? That's not too far away, at the rate I'm going, there is a pretty good chance you could get stuck with me!"

"I wouldn't be stuck with you."

He so wants me.

So there you have it. On May 19th, 2009, G and I are eloping to Vegas. I was told to bring my Uhaul because I would have to immediately move to SD after.

I can live with that.