Finally emailed Mr. Brown. He responded, quickly, and added a facebook-friend invite, which I appreciate in a guy because then I can be the creeper undercover-like –acting so stealthy I should be wearing a trench-coat and monocle.

Besides being a REPUBLICAN and signing his FIRST AND LAST NAME to an email REPLY and giving me a TOLL-FREE PHONE NUMBER that is not the same as the cell his grandmother gave me, he seems … and I want to be careful with this because I don’t actually believe this to be true, but you know, first impressions … relatively NORMAL.

I KNOW, right? When does that HAPPEN?

He has a CAREER that he LIKES, participates in EXTRACURRICULAR activities and is social with his FAMILY and FRIENDS. And, Internet, the weirdest part: he’s actually CUTE.

Unfortunately the whole living-in-Chicago thing puts a damper on identifying exactly how he is not normal (besides evidence listed above), but for now, I have a penpal and that’s kinda fun.


The cashier at the grocery store wants to set me up with her grandson. She doesn’t know his actual age (“in his thirties”) and he lives in Chicago (“Mol, it’s only an hour away!” –yes, by PLANE) but also, his last name is Brown. So when I marry Mr. Brown – because who are we kidding, I obviously will – my married name will be Molly Brown, as in the Unsinkable Molly Brown from the Titanic. Upon marriage, I think I will change my entire name to include the entire title: The Unsinkable Molly Brown from the Titanic. It’s catchy.

I didn’t think a last name could get worse than that of The Kid’s (his starts with an M and sounded HORRIBLE with my first name; think Molly Maguire, Molly Malone, Molly Mercer, etc.) but alas, I have found it. And since I can’t imagine a name that could feasibly sound even worse, we’re obviously meant to be.

I have his “computer numbers” (email address – bless her heart, the cashier is in her eighties) and am supposed to make the first move. The Brother thinks I should open with the bit about his last name because guys find it endearing and not at all scary when a girl tells tales about impending marriage and future plans. I think he’s right.

Giving the recap to The Bestest Friend the next day:

Me: “Dude, we didn’t hook up.”

Her: “Like at all?”

Me: “If it was some, it would’ve been all.”

Her: “Was he drunk?”

Me: “I hope not. He was our driver. It’s weird, right? Tell me it’s weird.”

Her: “No, it’s weird. Who would turn that down? Was he tired?”

Me: “Not particularly – and usually he was a fan of mornings. Maybe there’s someone else. Or if he thinks I want strings – could he be paranoid that I want strings? I don’t want strings.”

Her: “Someone else? But you said he wasn’t dating someone. What if he’s holding out for [newly-single high-school friend]?”

Me: “Thanks for that thought.”

Her: “You were already thinking it. It must be he thinks you want strings … or something. I don’t know.”

Me: “Maybe I’m just a bad lay.”

Her: “You can’t be.”

Me: “You don’t know.”

Her: “No, I mean, girls can’t be. Like in general.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Her: “Well, really, they just have to lie there. And that’s pretty much good enough. I mean, there’s varying degrees of good, but no one is really like, BAD because you know, at least the guy is getting laid.”

Me: “This doesn’t seem logical.”

Her: “No, it is. Unless you like cry or something.”

Me: “Hmm, I don’t cry.”

Her: “Then I promise you’re not a bad lay. He must just not like you.”

Me: “This has been very helpful.”

Her: “You’re welcome.”

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?

My friend asked why not, and I didn’t have an answer. Well, I did, but because felt annoyingly insufficient and flippant for all the gut-reasoning composed within that one word.

She pushed for more surely-hidden details, positive that I was holding back something tangible, something that, as a best friend, she was entitled to hear.

“You’ve NEVER slept with him? He’s single AND you’re attracted to him AND he has made blatantly sexual remarks but you’re STILL not going to sleep with him. Not even a trial run?”

She read our text conversations, searching for unsaid clues, not understanding when I could only shrug in response to one of his recent texts lamenting a ‘transitional period’ and how I’m ‘different’ than his usuals and how I should be ready to be asked out on dates when he finally pulls his head out of his ass.

“It’s all crap. He’s crap. I don’t know, he says things. Words, whatever, that don’t mean anything. I don’t want to be apart of that –of his –world. He sometimes makes me smile but other than that, it’s all such crap.”

“You’re going over there – at midnight on a Wednesday –and you’re not going to sleep with him? You’re just going to what, hang out? Not even a little make-outage?”

The answer to that damn why not I still couldn’t articulate.

That night, he and I had a good time, was like G-rated slumber party, as if he and I had been friends at one point within the last year, almost made me doubt my reluctance and simply-stated because. Almost. With him, I never have to wait long before he proves me right.

Two days later, his ex-girlfriend wrote, “I love you.” on his Facebook wall.

Oh yeah, that’s why. Because.

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