My Dear Delium

When I arrived at college at not-yet-18 years old, I was a smiley kid who looked people in the eye, with unironic Snoopy sheets on my dorm room bed and a Brother Word Processor (yes, I'm that old, it's true) under my arm. My plan was to transform my former dance accomplishments into full blown theater geekery, and with that I auditioned for a play. I was chosen, along with 9 other cast mates, and we all promptly became thick as thieves. One night during rehearsal, one of my new friends, Becca, said to me: "I think you should date Delium. I think he likes you." To which I articulately said, "nuh-uh! Really?" and left it at that.

I was having a super fun datey time when I arrived at college. I had a cool ex-boyfriend back home, and he had done the "you're moving away to college, go on without me, if you love someone set them free" schtick, but we kept in touch and also for the first 6 months he would show up at my dorm every couple of months so maybe it was more "if you love someone set them free but also I will show up sometimes in hopes of a booty call" which was the original draft of that Sting song. Aside from him, I was also just reveling in the fact that I was in college with all these new people and I was drowning in cute boy flirtations. When Becca said that to me about Delium, I was game. I liked him. He was a junior (automatic hottie points) and I remember that all of my dorm friends thought he was cyooooot. I am sure that I would have thought the same thing all on my own but at that age, what my friends thought was pretty much more important. Which, whatever. I was 18.

One day Delium called me on the phone and asked me to go on a date with him, which when I think about that phone call now I find it mortally adorable. He picked me up in his car and we went to some bar where his friends who were in a band were playing. It was some combination rock show plus sketch comedy thing. All I remember is that the band's show was about them travelling through time and there was one point where one of the guys dressed full Abraham Lincoln and rocked out. It is a weird memory.

Delium and I had this strange relationship after that. On the one hand, we were both really silly people and we spent much of our time together making each other snort-laugh with honest-to-goodness hijinks. Our senses of humor lined up exactly- my very first Comedy-Kindred-Spirit. On the other hand, Delium was the first boy I ever knew who was intense. I didn't have any experience with intense. I didn't know what to do with it. He would say things like "I'm going to marry you one day," or "I'm going to love you for the rest of our lives," which would make me think "I am 18 years old, don't be a nutjob, dude" but also "wow, that's cool. He is Lloyd Dobler." It was more than I could handle, for sure, but I pretended like I had it all in hand, even to myself.

That sort of intensity can only lead to a full-scale ride on the drama-trolley, and we were no exception. We had a few months of COMPLETE AND TOTAL RIDICULOUSNESS with jealousy! betrayal! declarations! tears on both sides! I shall spare you the details not because they aren't interesting but because OMG so embarrassing. Still, the weird thing was, that even in the midst of all that, we always made each other laugh. We would be having some exhausting conversation and one of us would, right in the middle of it, DO A BIT. And the other one would laugh and be like "that's funny, dude!" And then we would go back to being exhausting.

I can't really remember how we managed to transition out of intensity-land into something else. I feel like it just happened. We just snapped out of it. Delium is not at all intense like that anymore so maybe that's what did it. I left that school at 19 to go to Chicagoland to work at a theater, and Delium would come and visit me sometimes. I remember going to the Olive Garden with Delium and Nordic Boy there- the three of us. Then I moved to Madison, Wisconsin for a year and Delium moved there too because he was doing a grad program there, so we hung out some more. Then I went back to Fiji and while I was there, Delium switched grad programs to one in Seattle and needed to drive himself across the country. His driving pal? Nordic Boy. Look at how I bring a bromance together like that- those two are now straight up besties. I came back and joined up with them in Seattle, and we have all three been here ever since.

Delium is the busiest person I know. He has a day job, he acts, he dances, he goes on lots of trips. He has always been that way. But Delium is the person that Nordic Boy and I call when we need someone. With all that he has going on, somehow he is always there for us. (And do not even get me started about how Nordic Boy STOLE THAT BOY away from me). I don't know where we would be without him. He's our family.

Since my Dad died, Delium has called me pretty much every day. Every single day. Even when he is on a camping trip in Nevada. Even when he has work followed by a date followed by a performance. And he gets right up in my grill and talks with me about every last feeling I am having. And he remembers my dad with me. And he cries with me sometimes. And when I say "I'm so super tired, dude," he says "I know you are. I know," in the most gentle way. And we hang out and he still makes me snort-laugh every time.

He may not have married me like he said he was going to, but he did say he was going to love me for the rest of our lives. So, he was partially right.

All I Am Saying, Give Chauncey a Chance

It's still cloudy and sprinkly in Seattle, but spring has definitely sprung. I am one of the few people in this city that doesn't care about sun as much as I care about warmth. And the thermometer shows that we are not in danger of any freaking snow any time soon which is all I care about. Rain, I can handle you just fine. I just prefer spring rain to winter rain. Summer rain is even better.


I can't think the words "summer rain" without thinking of that Belinda Carlisle song. That is one of those facts that straddles the line between pathetically sad and unbelievably awesome.


Subject change! (I know. Great writing technique. Dispense with transitions and just yell "subject change!" at will).


I know this dude- well, I sort of know him. He knows who I am, is really the extent of it, but he probably couldn't pick me out of a line up, and to quote Madeline Kahn in Young Frankenstein, the feeling is mooch-ell. We nominally know each other. I'll call him Chauncey. Just because whenever Nordic Boy wants to denote fanciness in a person, he for some reason calls them Chauncey. It is a universal hooty-tooty name, I guess. Chauncey is bonafide fancy, for reals. Lots of fancy degrees, lots of fancy jobs. Like, a lot of jobs, simultaneously, which I sort of don't get. How do these fancy people have so many jobs? Chauncey holds a high post at the UN, and he also teaches regularly at NYU, and Wharton, and some business school in France. Each year, he is doing all these things. He is also a really active trustee on a few foundations and boards that you have heard of, but I don't want to name. He plays classical piano. He engages in polo and other equestrian type things. He's just such a...Chauncey.


Anyway, the fanciness is not even what I want to talk about. I want to talk about the busy-ness. So many things! So many places! I don't get it. And what I don't get, even more than that, is this dude's ability to be responsive. I have cause to email Chauncey maybe once a year or so. It's too complicated to even get into how the hell I even know this person, and plus it's boring. But whenever I email him, you know what? He emails me back WITHIN TEN MINUTES. Granted, his emails back are not wordy, but they are pleasant, and do not sound rushed, and always warm and personal. At first I thought maybe it was his people- like he had a secretary or something that was emailing me back for him, but nope. I can tell from the content of the email that it's really him.


This morning I emailed him and then closed out my email and started doing something else, but a couple of minutes went by and I started to feel like I had to get back in there to see if he did it again. And he did! By the time I logged back in he had already gotten back to me.


I hate to say this, but I live in a world where you email someone and you're lucky to hear back from them in a couple of weeks, let alone a couple of days. I am not saying we all need to be like Chauncey (who I suspect has a Blackberry grafted directly onto his hand), but I think we can all do a bit better with responding to people, don't you? I think I am above average on this front, but I flake out sometimes. I know I do. And I feel like it's not out of the ordinary for some folks to straight up make a habit of forgetting to ever get back to people. Or leaving their friends hanging but always having a breezy apology weeks later. As a matter of fact I just witnessed some straight up bullshiz on that front last week, albeit it was secondhand and not directed at me so technically none of my business but I was still silently offended on behalf of the person I saw it happening to. It was some serious flakage happening, people. Frosted flakage.


Anyway, Chauncey just made me think. If someone talks to you in person, you talk back to them. You don't ignore them for a month and then say oh hey girl, sorry about that, what did you say again? It should be the same with the technologies too, right? At least for the majority of the time, yes? Why do I feel like I am saying something too radical, and I need to tone it down?


At any rate, Chauncey blows my mind on this on an annual basis. Maybe the trick is to only talk to each person you know once a year.


Aw, I don't know. Let's just watch this Belinda Carlisle video and ponder this together.

Comeback Kid

It would be totally fair to say that I live in a cushy environment compared to the majority of the planet. I am not super wealthy, but I have all that a person needs. I have education, and am healthy, and get vacation time, and can buy Funyons whenever I want to, really. (When I was little, my parents didn't buy us junk food, unless it was like, our birthday or something. So I only got Funyons if I was throwing a party, which forever after makes me think of them as a Super Fancy Snack). I also have surrounded myself with hip friends and we all live our progressive lives with our do-gooder activities and our artistic pursuits and our sophisticated opinions. However, I just have to tell you this. Some racist shit happens to me on a daily basis. A DAILY BASIS. Not exaggerating. I know you probably know this stuff happens all the time to the melanin-blessed. But there is always a part of me that wonders if those who don't experience this really, really know this. Sometimes it is all I can do to not live my whole life starting conversations with the words: "You are not going to BELIEVE the shit that just went down five minutes ago!" And then regaling everyone with the details. Because I know that that is boring. And would get old fast.
But I just have to tell you this one. Because it's awful, but funny.

I was going down an escalator and the up escalator was directly adjacent. So as the people on the down escalator make their way down, they almost brush shoulders with the people who are going up. So on this trip down, this white dude is traveling towards me. And just as we pass each other, side by side, him facing up and me facing down, he turns his head toward my ear and whispers the following.

"Kamasutra, babeeeeeee."

And I keep heading down, not looking back, and he keeps heading up.

Come on, people. OUT OF BOUNDS.

Anyway, I told Biogirl about this, and she said: "You should have turned to him and whispered back: 'Pilgrim's Progress, babeeeeeee.'"

SERIOUSLY. I should have said that. That girl is a genius.

Aqua Dog

I am having the kind of week where I eat, sleep, and dream work. I have no social plans any nights this week, both Nordic Boy and Biogirl are out of town, so it's crickets around here.


So, I shall have to rifle through the brain archives to think of something to say. And what I have come up with is a true story from my life that I like to call Tucking in the Water Weenie.

Essential to this story is an understanding of the term water weenie. A water weenie is a plastic sheath the size and shape of a hotdog, and this sheath is filled with water. The result is that the water weenie is hard to hold onto, which is supposed to be fun and feel gross, I think. I am not sure in what context a water weenie is really necessary or desired, and I am not going to try to speculate about that here. I have actually never been in the presence of a water weenie ever, present story excepted.

Some years ago, when Biogirl was an undergrad, she went off on some marine biologist researchy training camp thing where they bonded over their love of anemones and sang campfire songs about seahorses (oh I don't know what it was, leave me alone) out in the boonies somewhere. They lived in dorms. Or barracks. Or something. I promise the details get better soon. Someone in the group had possession of a water weenie. And, as people who live in the woods with no media outlets and nothing to occupy themselves do (unlike us city folk who can fill up our time doing important things like watching the Kardashians), they made up silly past times, one of which was to secret away the water weenie, go into a pal's bedroom when they aren't there, put the water weenie in the bed, and then wait for the hapless victim to climb in, only to find the squishy disgusting feeling of weenie against thigh, which, if you were very lucky, could make them scream in fright/repulsion.

Let's set aside the fact that these are young nubile pre-scientists who clearly should have been using this time in the woods to get it on with each other rather than play water weenie games with badly disguised or rather glaring sexual overtones. Because we can all see that.

Months later, Biogirl was back in the city, living a normal life in an apartment, with no more weenies in her bed. At least, none that she didn't invite there on purpose.

One day, I got an email from one of Biogirl's friends from Bio-camp. He was in town (or maybe he was always in town, and was moving away soon, details are hazy about that dude) and thought it would be hilarious to break out the water weenie trick, in this setting, where she would never suspect! And could I help pull it off?

I told you we were putting aside sexual overtones, everyone. Just do me a favor and try to.

I think I had met that guy maybe all of two times, always in group settings. I didn't know that guy. So it was kind of weird that he was enlisting my help on the water weenie thing, but I can see why he did it, I guess. You want to get to Biogirl, you come to me. There's logic in that, I suppose.

This is the part where you can tell that I was young and stupid. If someone came to me with that foolishness now? I would get out of it. Tell him to take care of his own weenie caper. Say no. I am good at saying no now. But then? I didn't want to be mean. So I gave a half-hearted yes.

I was to be the instrument of water weenie delivery. First, he wanted me to come meet him somewhere for the weenie hand-off (oh jeez), but I really didn't want to go out of my way for this weenie madness, so I said no. Ok fine, he said, I will drop by her apartment in the middle of the day and leave it somewhere for you. But where? I don't know, I said. She has some plants on her front step.

Brilliant, he said. And he went to her place and stuck his weenie in her bush.

Ok, I admit I tried to make it sound dirty that time.
I was supposed to go over to Biogirl's that night. I enlisted the help of our pal Jenny, because I couldn't stand to be alone in this stupidity and Nordic Boy was having none of it. The plan was that we would swipe the weenie out of the bushes and put it in one of our purses before ringing the doorbell. But how would we get it into her room? I wasn't going to just go into her bedroom by myself for no reason. We should have come up with a plan ahead of time, but we decided to improvise.

Right before we were supposed to leave for the night, I thought that if I could get Biogirl to go into her 2nd bedroom, then Jenny could do the deed. I remembered that Biogirl had her camping equipment stored in the closet of the second bedroom. So I said this: "Biogirl, I am thinking about buying some camping equipment. Specifically, a good sleeping bag. What kind do you have? Can I see it?"

To this day, I can't understand why Biogirl didn't see right through that mess. ME, asking about camping equipment? The likelihood of me buying camping equipment is about the same as me buying a spacesuit for my next trip to Mars. But she totally fell for it. "Come on, I'll show you."

The two of us went into the 2nd bedroom, and Jenny went into the other one, and deposited the weenie into the bed.

To quote George W, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

Except Jenny is not one to believe a statement like that from our president or anyone else. She was under the impression that we had to see the mission through to the very end. Like, that we had to actually witness the shock and disgust when Biogirl found the weenie.

Why did she think that? I don't know. I thought our duty was done.

As we started to wind up the evening and get our coats on and such, I could see Jenny starting to panic. We were leaving! How would we know if the water weenie joke worked? I tried to make eye contact with her. We're out, I wanted to say, leave it alone! We are done with this weenie caper!

And then, Jenny opened her mouth, and with a complete straight face, she said this:

"You know, I think that before we leave, we should TUCK YOU INTO BED."

There was just a second of silence (because what else can you do but let that one sink in for a moment), and then Biogirl laughed. And then so did I.

Ha ha! Good one, Jenny! That's funny! Ok, let's go home now!

"NO REALLY. I THINK WE SHOULD. IT'LL JUST TAKE A MINUTE."

And then we all looked at each other. And then Biogirl got a look on her face that was equal parts suspicion, fear, and wanting to be a good sport to a joke that she didn't get.

Biogirl: Um, why would we do that?
Jenny: Because it would be funny!
Me: (making eyes at Jen that said ABORT! ABORT!)
Biogirl: What's going on?
Jenny: Nothing! I just think it would be funny!
Me: I uh...
Biogirl: Why? Why is that funny?
Jenny: Oh come on. Just do it!

I don't know what possessed her, but she said...ok.

So the three of us walked into her bedroom, and she- looking at us with complete mistrust and never turning her back on us the entire time- backed up to her bed, fully clothed in her daytime attire, pulled her blankets back, and got into her bed.

Let's just freeze-frame for a second. All became clear when she discovered the water weenie, as to why things had transpired thusly. But up until that moment, what did she think was going on? It was clear that she thought we were playing some kind of prank on her, but what? She couldn't have suspected the water weenie because we weren't at biology nerd research camp with her. And why did she comply with the tucking in business? And what possessed Jenny to think that tucking her friend in was a convincing ruse? And why didn't I just break down and tell Biogirl what was going on and fuck the water weenie joke, which wasn't even my joke to begin with but that I was taking way too much responsibility for?

It is kind of fascinating to think about what each of us was thinking in these moments. I don't think I can really explain any of it, even my own actions.

My only conclusions to draw from this story are the following:

1. Jenny should not be a secret agent.

2. If I ask you about camping equipment advice, I am up to something.

3. When in doubt about how to complete a caper, offer to tuck someone into bed.

4. If a dude wants to give his weenie to a girl, there really shouldn't be a middleman.

Sir Delium, Birthday Man

Today is my friend Delium's birthday. You may know Delium as the guy with the leisure pants, or the guy with the awesome helpy skills, or the guy who pulls planes around, but he's so much more than that. Delium has been an awesome friend to Nordic Boy and me for all of our adult lives. Let's list some of his awesomisity, shall we?


1. I met Delium as a freshman in college, when we were both cast in a play together. We cracked each other up immediately. Literally, within 5 minutes of our audition, we were insta-friends.

2. We dated for a short while and when I think of the drama that we put each other through it's kind of a goddamn miracle that we were still friends after that mess. Really, it was such a mess. I am not even joking you. HUGE mess. Have I emphasized enough how much of a mess it was? Ok. But after it was over, we were all, "I still think you're cool." And that was that. We totally became Jerry and Elaine after that, sort of seamlessly.

3. Delium is probably the busiest person I have ever known. He has a full-time job, he acts in plays, he does improv, he does voiceovers, he dances, he plays tennis, he does yoga, the list goes on and on. And yet, he's a person that we have always called in a crisis. He's always there when we need him, somehow.

4. Nordic Boy and Delium have what I think is the funniest friendship on earth. It's like they are Bert and Ernie. They are so very different, but get along so well. I think they would make a great reality show. Their adventures together could definitely be termed hijinks.

5. And ok, fine, over the years Delium has grown to love Nordic Boy a little bit more than he loves me. Nordic Boy doesn't have as many friends as me, but when he does have them, they always love him more. I even recently found out that in Delium's life, Nordic Boy is his In Case of Emergency person. Not me, even though I have known him longer. I have put in the time! And not me since I am the one who is always in town and available if needed, whereas Nordic Boy is often away on business. Oh no. It had to be Nordic Boy. That lovable bastard.

6. Delium is one of the few people (there are only 4) in my life that I can say anything to. I mean anything. Unconditional, he is.

7. Delium is known for his falls. He can do a grand fall down like nobody's business. This is something he shares in common with Biogirl. I don't know why my best friends have talent in the falling down skills. Sometimes, when they hang out, they have conversations about their falls. "So, have you had any crazy falls lately?" "Why, yes. Yes I have."

8. One time, years ago, Delium had a free gift certificate for a family portrait. I don't know who's idea it was (probably his), but we thought it would be funny to go get a photo taken together. Me, him, and Nordic Boy, our little family. It started out as a "ha ha, wouldn't it be funny if we did that" thing, and quickly escalated to where we actually went and did it. We got dressed up and went to this studio, and not one of us said A WORD about what our relationship was to each other. That poor photographer was SO CONFUSED. Was I a couple with one of these boys? Were the two boys a couple? Were we siblings or something? That dude had no idea how to pose the three of us. The result is a FUCKING HILARIOUS photo that the photographer came up with, of Nordic Boy and I seated next to each other, and Delium standing behind/above us, encircling us both with his hands on our shoulders like a proud papa with his two little babies. The photo makes no sense whatsoever. It is comedy gold.

9. Delium is, through and through, a good, solid, fun, friggin' hilarious, talented, A-1 tip top friend. I don't even really think of him as my friend. I just think of him as a part of my family. He's closer to me than my own brothers, truly. I can't imagine what it would be like to not have him around.

10. Yay, Delium! Happy birthday, you old goat.

Hair Drama

Delium came over AGAIN and rocked out with the help for like 6 or 7 hours this weekend. Now he is just gunning for Friend of the Year, methinks.

It's funny to have people over while you are doing something with your partner that you would normally only do without other people there. (Dirty!) Ok, this time I just mean that we were working on the house together with Delium there. Nordic Boy and I have been together for so long now that we pretty much have communication down pat and so working together does not raise ire or frustration or cause bickering that we need to quash in front of outsiders. And I am glad of that, because really, what is worse than being stuck at someone's house as a guest and hearing that mess from your couple-friends? So although the bickering doesn't happen, we do have quirky ways that we communicate, and having an audience can be kind of funny.

(Me, working with Delium).
Me: Where's Nordic Boy?
Delium: I think he went in the house for a drink of water.
Me: Oh. (hesitation)
Delium: Do you need something?
Me: Yeah. I, uh, just need to go express something for a second.
Delium: Oh. Um, ok. Go for it.
Me: (yelling) NORDIC BOY??
NB: (through the open kitchen window) YEAH??
Me: I COULDN'T FIND MY PONYTAIL HOLDER TODAY!
NB: WHERE DID YOU LAST HAVE IT?
Me: I CAN'T REMEMBER! MY HAIR IS IN MY FACE. IT'S MAKING ME MAD.
NB: (sounds of footsteps. Rustling of things. Drawers opening and closing).
(NB comes out of the house with a small ponytail holder).
Me: Thanks, but not that one. That one won't hold my hair. My hair is too thick.
NB: Oh. (Starting to go back into the house).
Me: You don't have to go search for it or anything. I just wanted to tell you I was mad about my hair. You don't need to fix it. I just wanted to tell you about it.
NB: Ok. You sure? I can get a barrette. How about a clip?
Me: No, really- no solution necessary. I just wanted to tell you.
NB: Ok.
Me: I feel better now.
(pause)

Delium: And that, ladies and gentlemen, is your demonstration of Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. Thank you for watching.
Me: Shut up.
Delium: You guys are weird.
Me: Get back to work.

Double Dog Date

It's been a while since I have regaled you with my childhood idiocy, hasn't it? Let's remedy that.

When I was in 9th grade, there was this kid. Let's call him Dolph. Dolph was, if not the most popular boy in school overall, he was up there. Particularly with the ladies. He had a sort of David Duchovny thing going on, which is apparently what the girls wanted a piece of back then. He had scads of girls after his bony behind. I don't really know why.

I don't remember being particularly into Dolph, like, for real. This was still back in the day when I sort of liked boys just for the idea of liking them, rather than liking them because they were making me feel a flip in my stomach. Real true likage didn't happen until 10th grade when I went kooky for Taco. Taco made my panties melt off whenever I looked at him. Dolph? Not so much.

Still, I was friends with Dolph. He lived in my neighborhood, and rode my bus, and we had lots of classes together. Particularly, we had German class together. I took German that year because my sister was living in Germany at the time and I basically wanted to do and be everything that my sister did so achtung, fraulein. Let's learn some German. Our German teacher was a weasley little guy with perpetual pit stains who made us sing beer-drinking German songs, many of which I can still bust out to this very day.

Ich bin der doktor Eisenbart!
Zwilli willi wick boom boom!

The class was taught in a lecture hall style room, where the seats were really close together. Dolph and I sat next to each other every day, and because we were literally hip to hip, this was conducive to non-stop note-writing back and forth and whispered conversations all hour each day. Dolph and I got pretty dang cozy. And then the flirting began.

The nature of the flirting was strangely aggressive. It was like we were still young enough to almost be in the stage where if a boy liked you, he would pull on your ponytail and run away. Almost in that stage still, but not really. The flirting would take place via these challenging statements to each other, given back and forth with lots of immature attitude.

Him: You didn't do your homework?
Me: No. So what do you care?
Him: You just think you can get away with stuff because you're PRETTY.
Me: Shut up! You just think that you can say stuff like that because you're CUTE.
Him: You shut up!

What the hell is that all about? He's telling me I'm pretty, but in a tone dripping with disdain. And I am telling him to shut up about it. Just you shut up about me being pretty! GOD.

It's like Lauren Bacall and Bogey. Or Hayes and Addison. Except, you know, stupider than that.

Each day the challenges got a tad more heightened. And somewhere along the line, not only was the kid-style attitude enough, but dare-like language got thrown into the mix.

Me: All these girls like you, but you are just too chicken to do anything about it!Him: Nuh-uh!
Me: Yeah-huh! You are. You wouldn't even know what to do alone with a girl. You've never even kissed a girl, I bet!
Him: Yes I have!
Me: What-EVUR.
Him: If we were alone right now, I would SHOW YOU.
Me: BIG TALK.

And on it went like this. Day after day, week after week. Things would get thrown into the conversation slowly, incrementally. It was like the momentum of our conversations had a mind of its own. I certainly didn't know what the hell I was talking about, and I doubt he did either.

Pretty soon, it started to morph even more.

Me: Funny how you only say that you know what's up when we're in school.
Him: So what?
Me: So you can't prove anything while we're in the middle of class, can you?
Him: So fine, come over after school! I DARE YOU.
Me: Don't you dare me!
Him: I DOUBLE DOG DARE YOU!

First of all, we all know, as a society, that there are no stronger words in the English language than Double Dog Dare. Am I right? If only we could translate the import of that phrase into other languages, we could Double Dog Dare world peace into existence I am sure. Second of all, Dolph whipped out the Double Dog Dare before he could think it through. I am 100% positive about that, because the look of fear that crossed his face as soon as it came out of his mouth is a moment I will never forget. And I am also sure that I had a similar look on my face as well. But what could I do? My honor was at stake! I was raised to not refuse a Double Dog Dare. That was absolute kid code. So what did I say?

Me: FINE. I WILL. WHAT DAY?

At this point, Dolph tripped all over himself coming up with an excuse as to why it couldn't be that very day. And I was so relieved that he was putting it off. Not because he was repulsive. I wanted to kiss him, in that young, inexperienced way. Just out of curiosity more than anything else.

Him: Um, well not today. Next week. Next Monday. Yeah. Next Monday.
Me; Fine. Next Monday. Sucker.
Him: Shut up.

So we had a...date? Sort of? It felt kind of like a date. It also felt kind of like I imagine it feels when someone says that they want to meet you after school in the parking lot so you can beat the crap out of each other. Scary anticipation. Dread.

The days went by, and each day, the trash talk continued. We would pass each other in the hallway between classes.

Me: Three more days, fool!
Him: Bring it!
Me: As if you know what to do!
Him: You wait and see!
Me: I'm so SURE!
Him: Psh!

The witty repartee, right? I know.

There was a fad that year, where the vandalism of choice was to break hood ornaments off of fancy cars and run away with them. Classy. The day before the appointed make-out challenge day, Dolph came by my locker and gave me a Mercedes Benz hood ornament. It was only then that I realized OMG I HAVE TO GO THROUGH WITH A MAKEOUT SESSION WITH THIS BOY. Not just one kiss, most likely, which is what I had done in the past. But a SESSION. At his house. Where his parents would not be. We would be alone. For extended smooching. He had double dog dared me and now the hood ornament! This was 9th grade courtship, for serious!

This whole story is just so romantic, I know. Like there should be Sade playing in the background the whole time or something.

Monday morning rolled around, and I got up early. I put my curling iron into overdrive and wore my best outfit. I still remember to this day what that was: a light pink sweater, a brown pencil skirt made out of a sort of canvas-like material, and low pink heels. (Yes, I was the type of girl who already wore semi-heels to school when I was that age. SO WHAT). I felt dumb dressing up. Were we really going to go through with the Double Dog Date? I didn't think so, but damned if I was going to be the one to blink first.

I showed up for school a few minutes early. My friend Donna had journalism class for first hour, and I knew that Dolph did too. I made a pretense of going to visit Donna before the bell rang. I walked in that classroom and SHIT, people. He was dressed up too! A nice shirt and sweater, with nice non-jean pants.

Me: (said like Seinfeld to Newman) Hello, Dolph.
Him: (said like Newman to Seinfeld) Hello.

And then we went about our day. I was freaking out.

Because A: he was dressed up too and was not blinking! The session was imminent! Abort! Abort! But maybe not! I think I want to go through with it! Shit, I don't know!

And also because B: I was dressed up, yes, but I was a dressed up-ish kind of girl, so that wasn't suspicious. But HE WAS ALSO. Would everyone wonder why the two of us were dressed up? Would everyone know that some lip action was forthcoming between us?

I trembled my way through the first half of my day. And then, at lunch, Dolph came over to my table, sporting Seriousface.

Him: Can I talk to you?
Me: Sure.

He pulled me aside, and informed me that um, it turns out that, um, my mom will be home after school today after all, and um, so it doesn't look, like, um, it will work out today.

Me: I KNEW IT!
Him: What?
Me: BAWK BAWK BAWK! HA HA HA!!!!
Him: SHUT UP!

It was off, people, and I HAD WON! IN YOUR FACE! In the Double Dog Staredown, I had emerged victorious as the one with the most balls.

Except, did that mean that he didn't want to kiss me? Aw crap.

It turns out that it didn't mean that. The following week we met up at a football game and made out like banshees (do banshees make out? whatever) during half time. And that was kind of the end of that (until a relapse years later when we were seniors at a party).

So me. CLEARLY THE VICTOR.

However, I swore off taking Double Dog Dares after that. It's just too much power in one phrase.

Zwilli willi wick boom boom.

Time, time, time, see what's become of me

I haven't heard from my friend Delium in a couple of weeks (other than when he sent me a link to jean-pajamas as a misguided attempt at defending his "leisure pants" days). He hasn't come over or called me for two weeks. To be fair, I haven't called him either. But (of course!) I have an excuse. My excuse is that, although Delium was my friend first, since we were baby teenagers, and we even dated in our early college years, slowly over time, Nordic Boy has stolen him away from me. That's right, I said it. Friendship theft! Right in my own home!

And before I go on, I don't think I have ever stated that my friend Delium is not really named Delium. Because, obviously that is not a name. The reason I call him Delium is that his real name is something like Richard Daly. That's not his actual name, and no I am not friends with the former mayor of Chicago (who I think is dead, right?) but it's something like that. And there was a period of time a few years ago where he got on some sort of junk mail mailing list with the most effed up misspelling of his name ever. The result was that for a few months, all of his junk mail was addressed to "Delium Ulrichter." How awesome is that? Instead of spurning this incident, I have embraced it and now call him Delium.

Anyway, back to the Friendship Theft. At first, Delium was most definitely my friend and just acquaintances with Nordic Boy. But as the years went by, I noticed a shift occuring. Not a subtle shift, either. Delium was totally falling in love with Nordic Boy, the more he got to know him. I, all of a sudden, was the side dish.

And can I just tell you, with no resentment in my tone whatsoever (ok maybe a little bit), that THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS TO ME? Nordic Boy is much less social than I am, and has fewer friends overall than I do, but dang. When someone puts in the time to get to know that guy? That is when I become liver of the chopped variety. People who take the time to get to know him, love him. No, let me rephrase. They looooooove him. Love, love, love. They become friends with him, and they also become fans of him. And Delium is no different. To this I say, yeah yeah, I know, Nordic Boy is awesome. WHATEVER. And also, humph.

The reason that I hadn't called Delium is because that dude doesn't call me no more. He only calls Nordic Boy. So now I have to hear news about my friend through him! The nerve. So I just wait for Nordic Boy to fill me in on what's new with Delium, or to make social plans for us with Delium. Hence, I don't call him as much anymore. Chopped liver does not know how to dial a phone, you know.

So Delium calls me yesterday to catch up and figure out when we can make a plan to hang out. We decide to meet up for dinner on Sunday. The question is: what time? See, Delium has a bit of an issue with time management. He is super busy, with back-to-back engagements, and no matter what time we say we will meet, he usually is late, or early, but not anywhere near the time that we agreed to. This is because he has a serious issue with interpreting what time really means. For example, if I say let's get together at 7pm to go get some ice cream, he hears that and might think "She doesn't want me to pick her up at 7pm, she wants me to leave my house at 7pm." Or perhaps "We'll probably have to wait in line for ice cream, so we better go early. I'll show up at 6:30." Meeting up at 7pm is not as simple as just saying we will meet up at 7pm. This is not news to him, by the way. I am not talking shit about my friend behind his back. He will be the first to tell you that he has a problem with understanding time. Hence, the following weird conversation that we had.

Him: What should we have?
Me: How about we go get a burrito?
Him: Ok. What time?
Me: Well--
Him: And I am talking about Food In Mouth Time.
Me: What?
Him: Food In Mouth Time. What time do you want the food to actually be in your mouth?
Me: That sounds weird. Food in Mouth Time? Really?
Him: Well, that way I know what to extrapolate. If I know what time you want to actually be eating, then I'll know what time to pick you up. Like, if you want to eat at 8, then I will come pick you up at 7:30.
Me: Can't we just say that we're meeting at 7:30? Or that you're picking me up at 7:30? Isn't that the same thing?
Him: Not to me. I need Food In Mouth Time.
Me: I just don't know if I can go with you on this Food In Mouth thing.
Him: Do you want me to be on time, or don't you?
Me: Fine. Food In Mouth: 7:30.
Him: Thank you.
Me: You're really weird.
Him: You wait, Food In Mouth Time will sweep the nation.
Me: Sure.
Him: Wait, Nordic Boy is coming too, right?
Me: Sigh.

Ain't Nothin' But a Groundhog

When I was in 11th grade, I was dating this dude. Well, dating. I don't know- that's a strong word. We didn't really date in high school. Either you were hanging out with a boy for a while and kissing (and perhaps other things), or you were Boyfriend and Girlfriend. When I was in high school, the couples that were bonafide couples seemed like they were friggin' married. Seldom did my friends or I venture into Boyfriend and Girlfriend land (or Boyfriend and Boyfriend land, as the case may be). Even if we were seeing/dating/getting physical with boys, I can't recall any of my friends calling anyone they were seeing a Boyfriend. That was sort of beyond us.

Anyway. I was "seeing" this dude in high school, which for a while mainly consisted of lots of flirtatious phone calls, and note writing, and conversations in gym class. And one day, after school, we kissed. And people? I had kissed boys before, but there was some sort of weird lining-up-of-the-planets in my hormones or something that day, because that kiss knocked me out. Heck, it was a kiss that was so good it nearly knocked me UP, if that were possible. It was like up until that point I was making out with boys in a "this is kind of nice" sort of way, and then this kiss was my first inaugural AAH-OOH-GAH kiss, where the Barry White music started to play in my mind and it was ON. So although it wasn't my first kiss, it sort of was. It was the first time that kissing seemed super delicious and sexual to me.

And that happened on Groundhog Day.

For the next few years, every time Groundhog Day would roll around, I thought about that. What a weird, weird way to commemorate a day about rodents, right? After a few years, I sort of forgot about it. Yesterday BioGirl and I were talking about Groundhog Day, and it made me re-remember my romantic Groundhog Day in 11th grade when that cute boy and I made out like we had struck gold in the Yukon. I've never been a big Valentine's celebrator, but maybe that's because my February heart belongs to Groundhog Day.

So, Happy Groundhog Day, everyone. It's a great day to suck face, take it from me.

"Where wolf?"... "There wolf!"

It's story time, lil chilluns. Gather round. Do you want to hear about the worst pick up line I have ever heard? Psh. Of course you do.

Many years ago, back in the olden days before electricity was invented, I was a dancer, and I was living in Chicago and doing some choreography for a small dance company there. The dance studio we used was affiliated with one of the thirty-six crajillion universities in that fair city. While there, I would sometimes wait for my studio time in a student lounge type area, with my book, a gigantic dance bag (it's required that dancers have bags that are at least two times their body weight at all times), and an exceedingly aggressive do-not-talk-to-me-please crease in my brow.

One day, a young fellow happened by and sat in the same area. He asked me what I was reading, because apparently he was deficient in brow literacy. And for all my brow bravado, I really am ok with talking to just about anyone (hello, future librarian), so I answered him. His name was Drew.

Drew started, from then onward, to show up pretty regularly to say hi to me. He was your typical art geek college dude, and was cute except for an unfortunate need to wear a red beret at times. Despite the cuteness and the opportunity to be with someone who I could sing "Raspberry Beret" to, I was completely not in-like with Drew. He just didn't do it for me, plus I was already seeing someone at the time. But if he wanted to stop and say hi to me from time to time after braving my no-talking face, that was fine by me.

After a few days of short conversations, our friendship took a bit of a turn. Here's how it went.

Him: Have you ever read Dracula?
Me: Yeah.
Him: Are you more of a vampire person or a werewolf person?
Me: Um...how do you mean?
Him: You know that vampires and werewolves are enemies, right? Like, mythologically speaking?

An aside: Most of that conversation is, admittedly, reconstructed from my memory. However, the one thing that I am positive I am quoting verbatim is the phrase "mythologically speaking." It was as soon as he said those words that I knew that this conversation was not something I needed to be involved in. If you want me to sort of want to check out of a conversation I am having with you, say the words "mythologically speaking" to me in a Very Serious Voice, and I will pretty much be on my way.

Me: Oh. Ok. I guess I sort of knew that.
Him: So, which one?
Me: Which one what?
Him: Which do you prefer, vampires or werewolves?
Me: I'm not sure. I guess I've never really thought about it.
Him: Well, if you like vampires, it's kind of cool, um, at least to me, but ah, I have lots of ancestry that goes back to Transylvania.
Me: Oh. Yeah. Ok.
Him: I mean, not that that means I have any vampire genes in me or anything. Not everyone from Transylvania was a vampire. That's just a sort of misconception about the place. But still. It makes me feel somewhat of a kinship to vampires.

ARE YOU GUYS HEARING THIS?

Me: Ok. Yeah, I see what you're saying. So, you're a vampire person.
Him: Well, I guess so. But other people I have asked this question to have disagreed, especially girls. So I'm wondering what you think. Am I more vampire or werewolf?

DANGER! DANGER!

Me: I don't really know you well enough to say. But I guess if I had to choose which was cooler, I guess I would say vampires. Better fashion sense. Ha ha.
Him: Yeah. I suppose so. But, like I said, most people assume I am more of a werewolf person. Especially girls.

DON'T ASK HIM WHY! DON'T ASK HIM WHY! FOR THE LOVE OF LISA BOOF MARCONI!

Me: Why?
Him: I don't know. I guess I'm just more...animalistic.
Me: Oh. (Oh noh).
Him: I have that side to me, you know?
Me: Ok.
Him: And the other thing is, well, I'm pretty hairy.
Me: ......
Him: In fact, I have a really hairy back. Really, really hairy. (Leaning in, seductively)...Wanna see it?

Ladies, I implore you. Have you ever heard such a thing in your life? Do you think he planned to say that? Like, in advance? Had he used this before? Had it ever worked?

I wish I could remember how I got myself out of this situation. Rest assured that I somehow said SHITS NO in answer to his question (although I think I said it nicely), and that I extricated myself from the conversation. Drew continued to stop by to say hello to me in the following weeks, and there were more weirdo conversations that we had, which I won't get into now because they don't top the vampire/werewolf thing.

So all I have to say about this, really, is directed to all those Twilight fans out there. I had a chance to be with a vampire/werewolf HYBRID, ladies.

Jellus?

I'm a Pecker, You're a Pecker

Do you have jokes that have been with you for years and years- so long that you don't even remember what they mean but they can still bust you in two laughing about them?

When I was in high school, my friend Michael and I thought that words that sounded like "penis" but weren't penis-related were funny. As most teens (and some adults, um, you know, like me) do. Like pianist. When we would warm up in choir class we would shout out "where's my pianist? I do believe I have lost my pianist!" and fall over laughing. Another one was peony. We would say things such as "I picked a peony last night and boy did it smell good!" We would slur these words as much as possible so as to make them sound like "peen-ist" and "peenie." Because we were raised to act a fool like that.

Related to this was the fact that Michael used to spend his summers in Georgia, and while there he had a job at the local McDonalds. He would tell us stories about a regular customer, an older gentleman who would drive up to the drive-through daily to get his Dr. Pepper. Only the old coot never said Dr. Pepper. He called it Dr. Pecker. Which, come on, comedy gold.

The combination of the Dr. Pecker thing and the pianist/peony thing somehow- I can't for the life of me remember how or why- resulted in the phrase "I'll have a Dr. Pecker and a small peenie, please!" said in the thickest southern accent one can muster. And we said it CONSTANTLY. I can't think of what type of situation would call for this type of tomfoolery, but we made it work. Heaven forbid you ask us any sort of question about what we would like, or what we would have, or what our preference was on any matter. You would be met with this phrase.

This resulted in the very strange conversation that I had with Nordic Boy this weekend. It happened in a restaurant and I hope to HIGH HEAVEN someone was eavesdropping on us.

Nordic Boy: You know Amy? She got one of those dogs. What are they called? Those small ones?
Me: I don't know. A poodle?
Nordic Boy: No. Fluffier than that. Um. A Peony?
Me: That's a flower, not a dog.
Nordic Boy: Are you sure? Those fluffy dogs? They aren't called a Peony?
Me: You mean a Pekingese?
Nordic Boy: That's it!
Me: A peony...as a dog...that's funny.
Nordic Boy: Well, I was close.
Me: (yelling) I'LL HAVE A DR. PECKER AND A SMALL PEENIE PLEASE!!
Nordic Boy: Wow. Did you just have stroke?
Me: In a sense.

Make Out Mania

Allison and Map came to visit me last weekend. And there were moments where I laughed so hard that I could have DIED.

Do you have any friends in your life that have known you your whole life? The friends where you can say anything about your life, and I mean ANYTHING, from your first day of kindergarten to your worst day of driver's ed to your First Time, and they will know every person you refer to, every teacher you ever had, every embarrassing thing you ever did? It is sort of awesome.

Can I ask you this in all honesty? Was there a lot of making out when you were in high school? Because there was a lot of making out when we were in high school. I mean, left and right. Sometimes when we talk about high school now, I wonder if we and our friends ever did anything else except for make out with boys. It's like we were in a permanent liplock for four straight years. Hormonal much? Yes, very, very much.

The upside of this now is that there are some FUNNY ASS STORIES that come out of the whole thing. Some of which we didn't share with each other at the time because we were Playing It Cool back then, dontchaknow. But now we know that we were not cool and were never cool and so why shouldn't we get some entertainment value out of the whole mess? Result: awesome stories. I shall tell you some now, shall I? I won't go into whether these stories are mine, or Alli's, or Map's. Because maybe they might not want a particular one attributed to them (in case one of us wants to still Play It Cool just a teensy bit) so I'll leave that a bit hazy. I'll just meld us all into one person and call us Liballimap, cool? Cool. Enjoy the teen madness.

One time, Liballimap went on a double date to the movies. Her date was Sam. The other couple was Mike and Jen. It was Liballimap's firstish date with Sam, and she was a bit nervous. And do you know that during this date, Mike and Jen were making out (or "mashing" as we used to call it) non-stop the entire time, right in front of Liballimap, and Sam, and whoever else happened to be loitering around them? This seems bad enough, but it was not just regular kissing that Mike and Jen were engaged in. Nope. Rather, every time they got a chance, Jen would CLIMB ONTO MIKE'S LAP and straddle him to make out. Right out there, BAM. Every two seconds! She did this at the movies, she did this every time Mike was sitting down, anywhere. Mike sits down, and whammo, Jen is friggin' mounting him. Sam and Liballimap were horrified, but didn't say anything. Because when you are in high school and Playing It Cool, then why would you say anything? Just turn red and don't make eye contact. It's in the Playing It Cool handbook. On the way home from the double date with the Sitter and the Straddler, they stop at a red light. Guess what? Jen hops on Mike for a full frontal make out AT THE LIGHT. Poor Sam and Liballimap cower against their respective doors in the back seat. And Liballimap happens to look out the window, and who is in the next car over? Her grandma of course. Nice. Liballimap scrunches way down in her seat and her grandma never had to know that Liballimap was in a car with the Sitter and the Straddler.

Liballimap, after a party, is kissed by her crush, Malcolm. It is a surprise-attack kiss where he sort of jumps on her the way PeeWee Herman did to Penelope in Big Top Peewee. After the kiss, which was pretty long and just might qualify as mashing, he disentangles himself and runs away. He actually, literally, runs away. Fast. They never speak of the kiss again and pretty much act like they don't know each other when they get back to school.

Another time, in 10th grade, Liballimap spent the night with her friend. After the friend's parents went to bed, they sneaked out of the house and went to a party. At the party, Liballimap meets up with a boy named Luke who makes the big move. They make out on a couch in some random room of this party. While making out, he blows his wad right through his pants. Only, it wasn't on his pants. Rather, it was all over his shirt. As no clothing was undone, Liballimap is confused about the physics of this scenario to this very day.

Maybe you have to know all of the players involved in these stories to think they are funny, but I keep thinking about them all week and giggling at the most inopportune moments. I don't know if having them here last weekend has just made me more giggly in general (which is quite a feat), but lots of things are making me crack up. Among them:

1. The 5 million stories we told akin to the ones above.
2. President Obama calling Kanye West a jackass.
3. A bumper sticker I saw this week that said "Nice Truck. Sorry about your small pee-pee."
4. Nordic Boy and I yelling "YOU LIE!" at each other every time something goes awry in our lives.
5. These earrings the Allison's husband found and told her I had to have. She brought them all the way from Chicago and I LOVE THEM.

There were so many to choose from...

Are you friends with any of your ex-boy-or-girlfriends? I am, with two. I've been friends with them for years and they are still funny, still great people, but I don't have any idea why I ever dated them. Two more wrong-for-me people I cannot imagine. And I am sure they feel the same way about me. Ah youth. Isn't it all about dating the wrong people? I am so glad that we are still friends though. Because now I can have conversations like the following that crack me up.

(when talking about a work situation)
Ex: You really weren't mad about that?
Me: Why would I be mad about it? That's not something to get mad about.
Ex: What would a situation be that would really make you lose your temper?
Me: I lose my temper sometimes.
Ex: But, like SCREAM at someone. Have you ever screamed at someone?
Me: Um, yeah. I screamed at you once.
Ex: You did? I don't remember that. Why did you scream at me?
Me: Because you were being a dick to me.
(pause)
Ex: Yeah, but which time?

Then he realized what he had just said and we busted a nut laughing.

Must Pay More Attention

You'd think he would learn, but no. It has become Nordic Boy's mission in life to make me laugh while I am brushing my teeth. The lastest? What he has termed "Brush Dancing." This means that he dances to the rhythm that is created when I am brushing my teeth. This mostly consists of a very weird shuffle, sort of like the MC Hammer shuffle. And when I stop the brush-action to laugh, he freezes. And when I continue brushing, he starts. Why would he do this, after the toothpaste-money-shot of '09? Hasn't he learned anything? I do notice that he now makes me laugh from far away. So I guess he has learned something. Next thing you know he will be doing his schtick with a plastic sheet in front of him, like the people who get front row seats to a Gallagher show.

So I was thinking about the fact that I am a very loud drinker (yes, I have not yet let that one go) and I have begun to really doubt my own powers of observation. This is based on two facts. One, the loud drinking, which I think I should have been aware of. If I am gulping like a frat boy doing a chugger, then I should have noticed this. And two, there is the unsolved case of the boy with uneven legs. Did I ever tell you about that one? I have been blogging for kind of a long time, so sometimes I worry I am repeating myself. Just pretend you haven't heard this one before.

I dated this guy when I was 18. He was a dude in his early 20s, in a band, who I mainly dated just to make my friends jealous (and it really did freak their freak), and who I never could quite believe was actually dating me, as our leagues were totally different, and who used to tool me around on the back of his motorcycle among other teen-swoonworthy things. It was just about the coolest thing I had ever pulled off up until that point. As my friend Alli put it: "the Cool-o-meter blew up!" (Alli has a knack for describing that whole time in my life. She also was so impressed by that relationship that she coined the term "Champion Cherry Popper" to describe him, but that's a whole other story).

Years later, I was talking to Alli's husband, who is older than us and was a contemporary of Band Boy. I think they went to high school together. And when the subject of Band Boy came up, Alli's husband says the following: "Oh yeah. I remember him. You guys all had a crush on him? That's weird. I always just thought of him as the kid that had one leg shorter than the other."

At which point I did the biggest Scooby-Doo impression of my whole life.

"ARRRRH????"

What did he MEAN, one leg shorter than the other? That dude was physically perfect, maybe not to me now, but in a teen swoonworthy sort of way. I demanded to know what the heck Alli's hubby was talking about.

"You know, his legs. One was shorter than the other. He used to have to wear a special shoe on one foot to even them out."

NAH-UH! He has got to be joking me. I dated that guy for a whole year. A whole entire 365 days. I saw him with his shoes off. I saw him plenty. I never saw no leg-lengthening shoe device anywhere. Trust me, I was looking at that guy. All I ever wanted to do was look at that guy. I looked at him and looked at him. In the way that only a teen girl can look at a dude that she is severely crushing on, with all of those hormones thundering through my veins. I was very aware of that guy's body. And you are telling me that that whole time, he was wearing one shoe that was a Pee Wee Herman shoe and I didn't ever notice????

To this day, this galls me. I am sitting here typing and shaking my head in complete denial.

This had to be something that Alli's husband is misremembering, right? Or maybe this was something that Band Boy had in high school when Alli's hubs knew him, but he grew out of it by the time I knew him. Or he got it corrected. Or something.

But there's always that thought in the back of my mind that no, there is no explanantion. Other than I just missed it. That my hormones were so on fire that I missed. that. totally.

If someone points out to me that Nordic Boy has brown eyes or some shit like that, I swear to you I will lose it.

Boys Next Door

Hey, remember the weird house that is next door to me? The one that should be on Extremely Crazy Home Makeover?

There is finally someone living there!

(If you want to remind yourself of The Crazy, read my post about it here).

To recap and bring you up to date, the house next to mine was a perfectly fine house. Then this lady bought it and went batshit with flip fever. Then she put a For Rent sign on it and tried to lease the gigantic shack for $5500 a month. It sat there for months and months with (what a shock!) no takers. Then she tried to sell it for one point one meelion dollars. Then it sat there for more months and months. Then she tried to rent it again. This time she got some takers who she didn't get a background check on and didn't get any deposit from and who never paid her a red cent in rent and squatted there for about three months. After they were evicted, the For Sale sign went back up. Then the fFor Rent sign went back up. Are you following all this??

Well last weekend, someone MOVED IN.

They are a group of guys- college students, it looks like. A parade of cars pulled up over the weekend and a bunch of boys and what looked to be their parents moved them all in. So now I think we have actual neighbors. Ones that might stay a while. I saw two of them on the sidewalk as I left my house this morning.

You know what will make you feel old, like a piece of cheese that has grown green and hairy? Looking at college students and thinking that THEY LOOK LIKE BABIES.

Seriously, these boys look three heartbeats away from a pair of Pampers. One of them is a dead ringer for Chunk from Goonies. The other one doesn't look like he can shave yet. Don't you have to have pubes in order to rent a home? Isn't that written into law somewhere?

I'm sorry I just referred to my new neighbor's pube deficiency. That was probs really inappropriate, huh?

Anyway, I guess new neighbors doesn't seem to be enough to get a whole blog post out of, but after two-plus years of waiting to see who was going to rent/buy the neighborhood monstrosity, we have a winner!

Subject change! Can someone please tell me what the hell that smell is that you get when you sit on a plane for a while? You know what I mean? There is that very specific, special plane stank. Nordic Boy got home from business in Dallas last night and the reunion was somewhat ruined by my having to tell him that instead of his usual deliciousness, he smelled of Plane. It's not something you can really smell unless you get way up in someone's koolaid, but still. It's not nice. Especially when you have a thirst for someone's koolaid.

Speaking of koolaid, there was this boy that Biology Girl used to like, back in the days of yore. And for some reason, Nordic Boy and I called him Purplesaurus Rex. It doesn't really matter why. Then, when we all figured out that he wasn't so nice, we called him Purplesaurus Rash. Which, let's face it, is a pretty good name for someone you don't like. Last week? Nordic Boy says the following.

Him: Remember that guy? The one BioGirl liked for a while?
Me: Who?
Him: Oh, you know. That one. Oh, what was his name? KOOL-AID STAIN?
Me: BioGirl liked someone named Koolaid Stain?
Him: Yeah, you know.
Me: Do you mean Purplesaurus Rash?
Him: Yeah. That's it. Same thing.

I'm kind of mad that that dude didn't stick around long enough for us to call him Koolaid Stain when we talked about him. He was gone too fast, and we never really talked about him again. But Koolaid Stain just seems like a nickname that has totally gone to waste.

Next time you think someone's kind of an a-hole, call them Koolaid Stain for me, ok?

Wow, how's that for a random post?

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

In Your Face!

Weekend tidbits:

1. What the hell is a tid and why does it have bits? Is this a dirty word I am using?

2. On Saturday, I asked Nordic Boy what he was thinking about having for lunch. He said he was going to make a sandwich. And when he went into the kitchen to do so? I heard him bust out into "Oh Sandy" from Grease. Singing to his sandy-wich! "Love has flown! All alone! I sit and wonder why-yi-yi- oh why. You left me... oh Sandyyyyyy." That dude is funny.

3. That dude, while funny, also has taken to telling me romantic things in a very aggressive way. Like, when he leaves for work in the morning, he'll call out from the door: "I LOVE YOU!" and then point at me and say "IN YOUR FACE!!" Is this what happens when you've been together for this long? You get loved and trash-talked simultaneously?

3. I went to a bunch of parties this weekend. And managed to make an ass of myself everywhere I went. Ready? Here we go.

a. At one party, I thought I was going to get out of it without any points of stupid flying forth from my pores. I made it the all way through the whole dang thing and I behaved myself just fine. Then, as I was leaving, I was making the rounds, saying goodbye, shaking hands, hugging where appropriate. I got to one of my friends, who I think was not really thinking I was going to go in for the hug, but then I did a HUG AMBUSH and surprised him. If you are a hug ambush person, you may already know that there might be some weirdness with your victim because they don't know which way you're coming in, and so you have to think on your feet about where your respective faces are going to go, or else the hug ambush could turn into an accidental makeout. Oh, oops, hugging is happening, which way to turn my head, which way, which WAY? Well in this case, we both decided to go the same way. Which resulted in us hugging, and pressing faces. Like the whole side of my face from temple to cheek to chin, was pressed right up against his face. For a kind of long moment. We were there, in tango-ready position, in a full-side-face press. This guy went from thinking he was going to wave goodbye at me all the way to a weirdo face invasion FAST. I'm not sure I can describe how uncomfortable this is if you have never actually been involved in an accidental face press. Next time you try and hug someone, maneuver yourself into a position where you are pressing their face with your face. And then hold it there for a minute. It is weirdly intimate. And mortifying.

b. One of the parties I went to was a wedding, where I did my nuptual duty by dancing my rear off in honor of my friends. On the dance floor, the lovely bride danced over to me for a dancey chat. I thought I would make a lame joke, because you know, hey, it's to be expected from one such as myself. So I said "hey, so are you nervous about having sex tonight for the first time ever?" because ha ha we are all adults and she lives with her honey and so...yeah...I told you it was lame but that's not even the embarrassing part. Somehow, the music swelled in volume right at the moment I said "for the first time ever" and so it just seemed like I said "so are you nervous about having sex tonight?" which...seriously, why would anyone say that to anyone, ever? She sort of looked at me and said "oh, uh, I don't know if we're really going to be having sex tonight, I mean we'll probably be pretty tired..." while all the while I'm sure the end of that thought went unsaid. Why is this crazy bootyshanker asking me about my private sexy bidness? She clearly had no hometraining and was raised by hooligans. Again, sort of mortifying.

Stop judging me. Or I swear to god I will face-press you.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

The Bridge to Bain

First of all, the other day, I was sitting out in public, minding my own business, and this random dude says to me...

Him: What's your name?
Me: (I tell him my first name).
Him: What is that...Indian?
Me: Well, it's Hindi, yes.
Him: I was given the Indian name Suresh.
Me: HA HA HA HA HA HA.
Him: Oh. I guess that means that you don't care.

Isn't that a weird conversation? I am not one to just bust out laughing in people's faces when they are talking to me. Ok maybe I am a little. But especially when it's something like THAT. His Indian name? This ain't no Dances with Wolves, Mister. My kind of Indian? We don't bestow names on people like that. Can you imagine? "Ah, yes Nordic Boy. You have brought my household honor. Henceforth, I shall knight you...Deepak." hahahahahaha. (That, by the way, might only be a joke that's funny if you're Indian. So hi, four Indian readers, that one was for you.) It just don't work that way with us. You have to be born in to get one of our names. Ooh la la, we are so keeping the names behind the velvet rope. And then? The response to the laughing? "I guess that means you don't care." What a funny thing to say. It made me laugh more.

He probably thought I was touched in the head. Which, let's face it.

Second of all, I have been staying up way too late this week, watching tivo'd speeches from the Democratic Convention. What a nerd. A sleepy, sleepy nerd.

Third of all, last weekend I realized that the sunny, warm, perfect Seattle summer days, they are numbered. It is dead summer walking. So BioGirl and I, we decided to get out there and enjoy it goddammit.

We got on a ferry boat and rode a half hour across the Sound to get to an island, just to go somewhere different for lunch. The island we went to was Bainbridge. It's very difficult for me to go to Bainbridge Island without singing the Ben Bridge jingle, by the way. Instead of the "diamond people" I sing the "island people." I is so clever I should have my own reality show, shouldn't I? I could never live on Bainbridge or else I would be singing that jingle all the livelong day. On the way there, we had a serious discussion about how, if you were a doctor like McDreamy, you could really live across the Sound and be expected to get to work if there was a dire emergency. Like you are really going to be hopping the ferry boat back and forth when people need their skullmeats worked on, right? There are lots of islands in the Puget Sound, and Bainbridge is the most accessible by ferry, so we figured of all the places McDreamy supposedly lives, it's got to be Bainbridge. We decided he must have an apartment in town too or something, because it's just not practical. Let's just put aside the fact that he is a fictional character and that we are mainly really annoyed by that show in general for many reasons, too numerous to go into here, and we just may have a point, don't you think?

Anyway. As we wrestled with these great questions of our times, we wandered through the ferry...



and then out on the deck, where we discovered that we were in a ferry Nascar (Nasferry?) race with another boat right next to us...



and we said goodbye to our city...


and hello to an island where fancy people live...


where we ate at a restaurant that was suspiciously full of only women customers...

no dudes allowed?

Walked around, and spent a little money on our respective favorite things (BioGirl got an ice cream cone, and I bought a dress from Sweet Deal).

And then headed home.


And on the way home, we sat in the ferry, and looked out through the window to the deck at the people...



and made up imaginary conversations that these people might have been having with each other. It was like a silent film where we provided the dialogue. A very snarky silent film.

Her: If only we could get paid for this.
Me: What?
Her: Like, I wish it could be our job to sit behind a glass and watch people, and like, make up dialogue for them.
Me: Huh?
Her: We're so good at it. We're funny.
Me: Would it have to be us sitting behind glass?
Her: Well, yeah.
Me: That's the part that I'm not sure about.
Her: I love that THAT'S the part of the plan that you're not sure about.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Hall of Shame

Can I just tell you that my co-worker has crowned me with the nickname The Queen of Calm? I love it! The Queen of Calm. You all may find that hard to believe as I am kind of spazzy in my writings here, but in person I am way tranquil. Really. Why am I getting the feeling that you don't believe me? I am calm. I AM CALM, GODDAMMIT.

Anyway. I just like the nickname. And I really am calm a lot of the time plus it's better than being the Queen of Ridonkulous, which would also be quite valid.

Still though, I am having a hard time thinking about something to blog about, other than the fact that my ovaries are a buncha assholes (hi Blue Soup, I know you feel me on that), so let's talk about me doing something stupid, how about that? I know, I know, there is no END to these stories. And believe me, what I have told you about so far? Tip o' the iceberg, laddies.

I got a little Irish there. Didja notice? See, the stupid just keeps on coming.

A long time ago, like many years ago, before becoming a librarian was a twinkle in my eye, I worked at an urban college that was pretty small. Small enough to where it kind of reminded me of high school, except unlike my high school, people actually did their homework, were engaged with academia, and didn't hit each other on the back of the neck and yell out "neck respect!" when they wanted to really burn someone. Since I was on staff at this school I got to take classes there. One class I took was a philosophy class and it was taught by a very nice, very smart, very kind professor. Let's call him Frances Bacon. Frances and I bonded a little bit, as I was really geeked out by philosophy at the time and he was quite young as professors go and so we felt maybe a little bit like contemporaries and we would do things like have these long conversations in the hallway about riveting things like whether or not one could find principles of Wittgenstein in the movie RoboCop (I am not kidding, we really talked about that once).

I have to insert here that there were no (as far as I am aware) amorous tingly feelings emanating from either of us and although we were friendly and talking about very sexy things like RoboCop there was nothing at all torrid about our interactions. He was just nice. A little awkward and shy, but I think we would have become outside-of-school friends eventually. If only I hadn't effed it all to shite.

The road to ruin began when my friend Palindrome came to visit me from the Midwest. I took her to school with me and she sat in on my Philosophy class. Or maybe she just was walking around campus with me and I pointed Frances out to her and told her that I thought he was cool. Something like that. The important thing to note was that Palindrome was single at the time and she thought Frances was cute, which yes, he totally was. Too bad she was leaving to go back home in the next couple of days or I am sure they would have made beautiful philosophy together.

Palindrome went home. This was also a time in my life where she and I emailed each other constantly. Like once a day for sure. And most of those emails were nonsensical inside jokes that meant nothing to anyone but us. One of the running jokes? She started to ask about Frances. She would say things like "How is my future boyfriend Frances? Do you think he noticed me? He would totally be hot in bed, you can just tell with those cute geeky types." To which I would reply "Oh totally. He would make your glasses steam up for sure. But he would probably want to talk dirty about attributes and modes while you were doing it though."

Of course as the semesters went by, the joke continued, and we made up dirtier and dirtier scenarios about Frances, always with some weird philosophical punchline involved. Of course. That's just how I be. This all culminated in one email where I wrote a dirty poem about Frances. And my friend. And maybe Kant too. You getting the picture?

I thought my poem was so genious, that I printed it out that afternoon to take it home and show my other friend.

You probably know how this story is going to end, but I'll go ahead and end it anyway. Just so you can be extra impressed with my idiocy.

On my way out that night, I walked by Frances' office. I happened to remember that I had an article that maybe he would be interested in. Hey! I'll just slip that article I have here, in my hand, under his door. Because I am so nice. And so thoughtful.

I slipped the article under his door, went home, looked through my stuff, and COULDN'T FIND MY POEM.

That's weird. Where's my poem? I printed it out all specifical so as to make all my friends laugh with me.

You guessed her, Chester. My poem? Was lying there, in the dark, on the floor of Frances' office. The article that I meant to slide under the door? In my bag.

Poor Frances. To imagine what it must have been like, to arrive at his office the next morning, see the paper on the floor, pick it up, SEE MY NAME ON THE TOP, and then read the poem. Sometimes I lie awake at night and think about that. You know, when I'm in the mood to die of shame.

Frances never really talked to me again after that. I was at a party once where he was, and I distinctly saw him look at me, do an aboutface and then march away almost in a sprint. What could I do? I just had to eat it.

Maybe I should be the Queen of Ridonkulous after all.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Burning Questions (They Make A Cream for That)

Daylight is coming back, people! The clocks are springing forward this Sunday and I am SO ALL ABOUT THAT. I haven't been this excited since Don Knotts went out west to fight "oral ignorance" in The Shakiest Gun in the West.

Ok, so I've been excited since then. I just wanted to throw in something about Don Knotts and his Oral Ignorance campaign because that movie is all kinds of awesome and I was trying to think of something awesome and that's the first thing that popped in my head and once I started thinking about it I kind of couldn't think of anything more awesome.

This is the way my mind works. I can't help it.

Okey dokey. As promised, I shall go back in time and answer those questions that you all were kind enough to ask me. Strap on that Flux Capacitor, friends!

Wow, a Strap On Flux Capacitor. Dirt. Ee.

Here goes. And depending on the wordyness that transpires forthwith, I may have to break this up into parts. If I don't get to your question this time, it's because I'm totally rejecting you and all that you stand for. Either that or I am too tired/lazy and I will get to the rest of it during another post. One of those.

Way back on February 19, someone out there wanted to know the following.

Question 1. Ahem.

Hey, Library lady, it is Palindrome. Mr. Fargo and I were discussing the movie Jumper on the way to work. Basically, the guy has the ability to jump through space and be anywhere. You know, breakfast in a Paris cafe, a hike in Rockies, a nap on a beach in Aruba, dinner in Rome, etc. No time travel appears to be involved. We discussed how we would have spent the day with such a talent. This also then led to the rule that this is a talent you will retain for some time so as not to try and cram all world travel in a 24-hour period. Like what would a typically Saturday involve? Your thoughts? By the way, I hear the movie sucks.

This one is so easy, because for many years now, I have been waiting for the Great Scientific Minds to invent a teleporter. WAITING. You know it is going to happen. All those Star Trek things are going to come along sooner or later, including the spandex jumpsuits, I just know it. And since so many of my close friends live so damn far away I would be jumping through space to visit all ya'll. It would be like What About Bob, you would be so sick of me knocking on your door. Sightseeing is fine and all, but seeing loved ones is much better. Also, I would go to Dollywood.

Josh says:
I sure do notice that different music changes my mood in different ways. Golly! I just have to ask - what kinds of music can affect your mood for better or worse?

I'm super duper excited for your reply! Gee wiz!

I watched this documentary about Pete Seeger last week. I admire him a lot, but you know what? I don't think he sounds good. I feel bad even saying it, because he stood up to MCCARTHYISM, and he wrote We Shall Overcome, and he cleaned up the friggin' Hudson RIVER, you know what I'm saying? I want to like his music because he seems like a super cool dude. But man. The sound.

You're probably wondering what this has to do with mood, right? Well the thing about Pete Seeger is that he was all about the Sing-Along. If you were to ask me my feelings about the concept of the Sing-Along, I would say that I was unequivocally against the whole idea of it. I hate the idea of coercing other people to do stuff that maybe they don't want to do. It's like, it's this democratic idea (hey, let's all sing together! every voice is important! everyone can participate!), but really? It's peer pressure. What if you don't want to sing? Chances are, I might not want to sing. That should totally be ok, you know? I am taking a stand right now and it is against peer-pressured singing.

So imagine my surprise when I realized that, as I contemplated Josh's question (oh that is correct, people, I said contemplated), the thing that comes to mind is the fact that what puts me in a good mood, song-wise, is a song that makes you just want to bust out into a sing-along with it. I don't care if it's a "good" song or a "bad" song. If it makes me want to belt it out, THAT puts me in a good mood. Examples: Barracuda, by Heart. Low, by Flo Rida. Bless Your Beautiful Hide from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Could You Be Loved by Bob Marley. At Last by Etta James. Pavarotti singing Nessun Dorma. I Love Trash by Oscar the Grouch. Good mood. Instantaneous.

Leah said

Who is your all time favorite pop band and why?

True confession time. This makes me feel even less human than not liking Pete Seeger. I'm not what you would call a Music Person. I don't seek out new bands, or go hear live music all that often, or really listen to music with all that much intention. I have an iPod and I listen to it, sure. But not that often. I don't have strong opinions about music, as it seems almost everyone else does. Like when I said up there that I didn't like Pete Seeger? That just means that I wouldn't seek him out. But really, I could listen to him just fine and have an appreciation for his talent. There are very few musicians out there that I don't appreciate on some level. So for me, favorites? I don't know. I think that I have always been this way, but have become more militant with my non-committal attitude after dating two band dudes in my formative years. These dudes were both professional musicians, where they didn't have to have another day job or anything, and they were the most musically opinionated effers you ever care to meet. Which made me think that that was all boolshizz and turned me into someone who is all whatevs about the whole thing. It's like hanging around with Foodies who just make you want to eat a casserole with Pringles crunched up over the top, you know?

Wilma said...
Who did you want Angela Chase to end up with - Jordan Catalano or Brian Krakow?
Ok, FINALLY. An easy question! I may not be able to come down on a side on many things. Jack or Sawyer? Betty or Wilma? But this? I KNOW. Angela shouldn't have ended up with either of those clowns. I mean really. THESE are her options? Don't settle, Angela! Don't you do it!

-R- said...

What is the most amusing thing someone has ever asked you to research?
Hmmm. Honestly, it may be that I don't get too many amusing questions, or it may be that I have been asked so many that I don't even recollect any more. My most favorite type of amusement at work is when a co-worker or I get into a sort of "Who's on First?" conversation with a patron. Where they are trying to explain something to us, and we are trying to explain something to them, and it all gets jacked up somewhere in the middle. This sort of situation can turn into Charades, or it can turn into a session where someone is drawing someone else a diagram. Doesn't happen too often, but when it does, it is high-liarious.

I feel the need to ask you a pop-culture-ish question too. Um, what TV show is better: Who's the Boss or Full House?

Oh my god. That is the best question ever. I contemplated making the answer to this question a whole separate post unto itself, because I have so much to say about it, but let me give you the highlights. Let's break it down into zones. Clearly, Full House had better hair. Although it also had many, many more catchphrases (Aw nuts! Cut, It, Out!, Have mercy!, How rude!, Whoa baby!, etc.) I think the simple, yet elegant "Ay-oh-ay-oh-ay" of Tony Micelli beats all of that. Also, although I do have a soft spot in my heart for Mona, the precursor to Blanche DuBois in oversexed granny land, I have to admit that Kimmy Gibbler was funnier, as unfunny side characters go. Also, I am much more partial to the dark, creepy lyrics of the Full House theme song ("Everywhere you look, everywhere you look, there's a heart! A hand to hold on to. Everywhere you look, everywhere you look, there's a face! Of somebody who needs you.") Who's the Boss was much, um, sexier, if you can call it that.

My head just may explode from this. I need to draw up a much more complicated matrix of scoring to truly handle this question. I may have to just leave it at that.

Added a few minutes too late: Blanche DEVEREUX. Not DuBois! For Jeebus sake. I do apologize.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

The Long and Winding and Ridickerous Road

Ok you guys. I really have to wrap this story up. Because I am getting bored with this story and although you are being really nice to me about it and I appreciate that, I know you are too. You know how, in movies, there are montages that show scenes that are happening to denote the passage of time? I can almost promise you that this post will have a montage. Settle in, because I am pushing through this sucker, right now.

Last we talked, I had told you that I had the Best Time Evah with Nordic Boy, but then janky old ex-boyfriend Poop Nugget shows back up and I took him back like a stupid cud-chewing cow. Regurgitating my bad boyfriend right back up.

Yikes, that was really gross imagery there. Sorry about that.

The following day, I walked back into work, and Nordic Boy smiled at me. And I thought I was going to melt from happiness. And cry because of Poop Nugget. And pee my pants at having to be an ass to Nordic Boy. All the liquid feelings, they were upon me all at once.

Again with the grossness! Sorry 'bout that.

Nordic Boy and I had made a plan to have lunch together that day. I went up to him in the morning and told him about Poop Nugget. You know what he said?

Nordic Boy: Oh. Ok. I get it. Where do you want to eat lunch?

Here's where I have to explain something. And anyone who knows Nordic Boy but at all would back me up on this, because these qualities about him kind of smack you right in the face.
1. Nordic Boy is not possessive.
2. Nordic Boy is consistent.
3. Nordic Boy does not freak out.
4. Nordic Boy is unconditional.

Now, being the immature 19-year-old that I was, and being in a relationship with Poop Nugget who was very possessive, and very inconsistent, and freaked out lots, and was very conditional (I mean come on, don't assy cheaters have to have standards??), I SO DID NOT UNDERSTAND THIS.

I totally didn't get this reaction. It would be fair to say that I thought Nordic Boy was maybe hard of hearing. Although he did look kind of disappointed, he was not being sarcastic, or condescending, or mad, or embarrassed at being sort of dumped.

I thought he was just trying to save face. So we went to lunch, and had another great time, and at the end of that lunch, I gave him the old "I hope we can still be friends" line. And I was so sad, because I wished that we could really be friends, because I liked him so much. So much it kind of hurt me in my gut.

And you know what happened? He totally WAS still my friend. He did not let things get weird, at all. He still joked it up with me, he still gave me rides home, he still asked me to lunch, he still watched movies with me, he just...acted NORMAL.

Remember how I said that I wasn't used to maturity? I also was not used to people acting so friggin' normal. Who DOES that?

So, from that day forward, Nordic Boy was the best friend I ever had. We were the type of friends where we never got sick of each other, or mad at each other, and we always laughed our heads off together, and we saw each other every day, and we always secretly had a crush on each other that just about killed us but we didn't talk about it. It was the only thing in the world we didn't talk about. We hung out just the same, we did everything just the same. Just minus the smooching. But we were always, unbeknownst to each other, ALMOST smooching.

I remember there was this one time? We were watching a movie in my apartment and Poop Nugget called. The purpose of his call was to pick a fight with me all the way from another state. And I sat there and had this fight with him over the phone, while Nordic Boy sat there with the movie on "pause." And after I got off the phone, drying my pathetic eyes and trying to pull myself together, Nordic Boy had me doubled over in laughter within 5 minutes. Because no matter what, Nordic Boy can make me laugh. You know how, when you are watching a scary movie and the stupid girl in the movie is about to go into the serial killer's abandoned cabin because she is just that brain dead? And how you yell at the screen, going all "NO! Don't go in there! The hockey mask pyscho is behind that door! STOP!" That's a similar feeling that I get when I think about nights like the night Poop Nugget called to pick a fight with me with Nordic Boy right in the room. I look at my young self and I think about Nordic Boy and I go "NO! The guy you should be with! IS RIGHT THERE! HE'S RIGHT THERE!!! IDIOT! Don't you see him? GAWD you are dense."

But I didn't see it. Or actually, it would be more accurate to say that I did see it, but for some reason, for once in my life, my ballsiness had run out. I couldn't let myself go there. I can't explain this.

This is where you all get to psychoanalyze me about how I obviously didn't think I deserved a good dude and that I had self esteem issues and that I must have thought that I needed drama in my life and blah blah blah. Go ahead, you know you're thinking it.

Well, that sort of explains it in the Poop Nugget era. But that era didn't last for very long. We broke up soon after. And then I dated some other dudes along the way, and they weren't bad dudes. They were nice. But I don't know why I didn't jump on the Nordic Boy train (does that sound dirty? I didn't mean it dirty. Well, not entirely) earlier than I did. Maybe I thought that I would lose him as a friend. But that doesn't make sense either, because every time I was single, Nordic Boy and I would hook up. And then when we weren't hooked up, it still wasn't weird. Still best friends, like always.

And to be totally honest with you, I was always in love with Nordic Boy. Like, CONSCIOUSLY. I knew I was. What's more, I knew he felt the same way. I knew it! And I knew that he knew it! And he knew that I knew. I knew that too. BLAH! I don't know what the hell was going on.

(Here's where you can insert a time-passing type montage. Nordic Boy and I, having zany adventures, sit-com style. Theme song from "Friends" playing in the background...)

Are you guys still awake?

Ok, let's cut to the chase. I started dating this other guy. He was significant, in that our relationship lasted about a year. I don't have a handy nickname for him so we'll skip that. He was a good guy, really. Just completely clueless about who he was. (I know, I know, from this story so far, who am I to talk? But truly, over the time that had passed, I think I started to know who I was a lot more. Just trust me on that). And when that relationship ended, I was exhausted. Not just from him, but from my life in general. I had been a stuggling artist-type for a long ass time, and I was POOR. Like, sometimes I didn't have enough to eat poor. Add to that some other Super Serious Drama in other parts of my life, and I was THROUGH.

Through with what, you ask?

America.

That's right, people. I was so over everything, that I was all BUMP THAT NOIZE and I LEFT THE COUNTRY. For serious.

I was going back to the homeland in the South Pacific, to sit on some white sandy beaches and let my relatives stuff me with curry and coconut milk. Did I mention that I made this decision to leave literally overnight? One day I was living (by this time I was in Madison, WI) and working and having an apartment and things to do, and the next morning my bags were packed and I had closed out my meager bank account and I was OUT. Ileft the few possessions I had in my apartment and left with one suitcase.

I told Nordic Boy I was leaving. And I said that I didn't know if I was coming back. Like, ever. And as usual, Nordic Boy was (a) not possessive, and (b) consistent, and (c) did not freak out, and (d) unconditional.

Then I left. For months and months.

Months and months- kind of like this story, huh?

So I went back to Fiji, and I got some sun. With just family around me. No friends, no dudes, no job, no car, no tv. I didn't even have a phone to call anyone. I was completely unplugged.

Nordic Boy wrote me every week. And I wrote him back. And it would be true to say that I didn't miss anything about America (well maybe Cool Ranch Doritos) but I did miss him. And eventually, I wanted to come back.

So I said something like "hey you wanna be my dude or something?" and he said "GODDAMMIT YES, LADY" and that was that. I got on a plane, crossed an ocean and it was a done deal.

See why I never told the story before????

I'm out,
Librarian Girl