August 2009

Him: Hey baby, did you leave an empty bottle of wine outside my building on Saturday?

Me: Yeah, that was me and [other guy friend] before meeting you at the bar – we took pulls because we are classy like that.

Him: What are you doing tonight? Wanna walk and then bax me? I’m in dire need so you’ll prolly get to hurt me more than usual or make me bleed.

Me: I was just thinking about you and how you were probably hairy. Aww, I know your hair schedule … I’m not sure about tonight, I need to clean because I have plans the rest of the week and I still need to take care of some things …

Him: The only thing you need to clean is my back hair and no you don’t have plans the rest of the week, [Firefighter] isn’t coming in until Friday so that gives you plenty of time to not eat or whatever you are doing to prepare.


She’s single again, the one they all used to want. In high school, she accommodated, and without drama or kissing-and-telling, she dated most of the group’s guys, however briefly. Save for one. I was fine with her favorite-among-the-guys status, as all the girls were, not only because she is so wonderful, but because I didn’t want any of them; none of them made me smile. Save for one.

In college, we would hang out on school breaks – the high-school clique– and pretend we were still friends. During one such occasion, The Bestest Friend and I secluded ourselves at the bar, whispering and calling dibs on the guys. She named her favorite, as he always was, and I named mine, as he always was. We were soon found in the dark corner, and being inclusive, we shared our giggling and tales of dib-calling with our discoverer. She took a turn, and re-called my dibs. The resulting uncomfortable undercurrent was enough to keep my distance from both of them, insecurities aflame, and not surprisingly, he slept next to her that night.

For whatever reason, he and I stayed close, closer than the rest. Eventually the group gave up the act of hanging out in groups during college breaks, but he and I still hung out, just as us, doing nothing things. We watched late movies, sharing the couch, or played darts in his parents’ basement. It was never anything more, and usually one or both of us was in a relationship –and happy in our respective relationships. He remained friends with her, too, but on a different level. When she was dateless for a wedding, she asked him to fly home to be that date; they went as friends, but he was disappointed to learn of a new boyfriend.

Last year, when she and I were both bridesmaids at a friend’s wedding, the four of us –her, him, me, her at-the-time boyfriend – shared a hotel room; come morning, he and I were in a different room. She never asked about that night, and I never told.

I also never told that he and I were planning a trip of international proportions. Unbeknownst to me, she was also planning an international trip with a girlfriend during the same timeframe, and even though I had lived in Italy, she never called for travel advice. Omissions weren’t deliberate; life was busy, and phone calls were few. Once we returned, trip details were displayed through pictures online.

Last night was the first time she and I have talked in a long time. I’ve missed her. He came up, as a byproduct of life experiences, and I continued to play the safe friend card, as he and I are. Didn’t mention anything more, not that I would lie, but as I was often draped over him in the Facebook pictures, figured the topic might come up. It didn’t.

She asked if I had fun traveling with him. I said yes.
She asked if I would travel with him again. I said yes.

She asked if the three of us could travel somewhere. Together. “Someplace like India or Japan – you, me and him should all take a trip to India, wouldn’t that be so much fun?”

The three of us traveling together. Fun might not be the exact word I would’ve chosen to use right there, and I am wondering in whose weird, awkward world that word would be a proper fit. She’s going to bring it up when he’s in town next week, to see if he’d be game, and I’m too irrationally vested and ingrained from historical patterns to not be scared of the result.

Was on the phone for two hours today with an IT guy to fix my computer – he spoke fluent dork and my little heart was all aflutter. Have no idea why my mom laughs when I say I plan on marrying someone handy around the house. IT COULD HAPPEN.

When I don’t make time to write, the voices in my head talk over each over in a disorganized dialogue. Is that weird – to talk about the voices in my head? It’s really just the one voice – you know, mine – but without a linear thought process, the dissonant threads seem like multiple voices. Or maybe I’m crazy. Either way my head has been crowded, and a lot of things haven’t been fully processed.

It bothers me. To a point. Some things I haven’t wanted to process (let’s not look at the heavily-skewed Avoidance:Molly Scorecard, shalln’t we?).

The Kid left for Europe a few days ago. He waited until a week before his departure to tell me about the trip, which wouldn’t be that weird except that we communicate in some form (now, don’t judge this part) every day. Typically email or instant messenger, and I have convinced myself that online talking isn’t real talking because it’s TYPING and proof that it’s obviously not real talking is that when we type, he doesn’t tell me things like three-week trips. It’s trivial – emails that pass time, like, “Sloan is way too hot for E. Discuss.” or “Cherry is one of the lesser pies.” He makes me feel less lonely and a little more sane, and some days –most days –I need that from someone.

I have three weeks before school starts again. With my nights available, I should be social or running or productive; instead, I’ve been averaging a book/day.

The Bestest Friend recently told me that I date wrong (true!) or that I go after the wrong guys (also true!) or something. Either way, from that conversation, she condescendingly told me, “Well Molly, you know you like it when guys like you for your personality.” She is my best friend and I adore her, but I still keep throwing that statement around in my head. Because I still can’t understand why she paired the accusatory tone with those words.

In the interest of beating this dead horse, three weeks is the longest that The Kid and I have gone without talking … ever. In eight years. Since the day we met, the first day of college. When I brought this up to him, he brought up my trip to Costa Rica, “That was what, two and a half weeks?” “That was ten days.” “Oh. It felt a lot longer.” After everything, we’re still so much apart of each other’s lives. He calls me his best friend.

The omission occurred because he felt guilty (and is a coward). The trip was originally supposed to be an us thing, something that we had planned to do after he was done with the bar (back when we were together). But now he’s off taking it with some law-school friends, people whom I’ve never heard of, and it’s good, I’m so glad he’s doing it, and I’m planning a winter trip, so I have that going for me (I might RV this winter. As a verb – awesome, no?) … but the whole thing bothers me, makes me feel … I don’t know … substitutable…

I wonder when in my life is the best time to work abroad. It’s on my life list, and I wonder when I’ll cross that one off.

The Realtor has a new girl – she’s at least his age this time. I’m honestly really happy for him. Reminds me that I am in the market for a noodle – I should look on craigslist.

In two weeks, The Firefighter is coming to town for a Friday wedding; I’m his plus-one. I’m taking a half-day to pick him up at the airport and to, because this is so me, primp (primping involves lying on the couch, drinking coffee, and watching bad tv for three hours, right? Ok, good, because that was my pre-wedding plan). It’ll be good to see him, and I love weddings, especially with him since he drinks and dances and is a good time, but I have to get up at 8am for a family thing the next day. Note to self: THE HOT MESS THING DOES NOT WORK WELL FOR YOU, MOL (especially around his family and early visitations with your family).

I think that’s all for now – thanks for listening as I attempted to lineate the voices. I’m going to try to write more often, but with that busy social calendar taking up my nights, the material might be lame (Can you tell I’ve taken many marketing/advertising classes? Way to sell it.).

While getting a beer with my favorite bartender, he sagely reviewed all my past and present dudes, eventually giving me this tidbit of advice, “Even if a guy has loads of great qualities, it doesn’t work like that. Dating is a checklist, and each box needs a check. Excess of one quality doesn’t compensate for the lack of another. It’s a checklist and when something is not there, it’s best to cross guys off from the start.”

Oh, perfect – because I really need to find more ways to be picky. My checklist is unwritten. Consciously known but unwritten. I was tempted to finish this post with it written but then I was afraid of what would be on there –my requirements and deal breakers. Some sound so trivial that I would feel the need to rationalize my own damn list. I couldn’t just say, Has left the country without adding, “because if he hasn’t by now, it’s not a priority –unless he’s been in medical school or something and doctors tend to cheat anyway so really, that’s a whole other problem; also, back to the country thing, it indicates that he is content staying put and not expanding to other cultures which is definitely NOT OK with me and I don’t think I could be with someone like that, and besides, he probably would have issues understanding my restless feet and Visa balance and therefore it would NEVER work.” Which would be annoying for us all to read. Go figure, my checklist is one rambling run-on sentence.

What’s on yours?