Dodged a bullet, dodged a bullet, dodged a bullet. The guy was mentally instable and had a huge drinking problem. The only reason I stepped into this pile of shit was to not be alone this summer - which is exactly what I need to be.

Wow, I have not written in a while! Well, the guy - let's call him Russian Alcoholic - did call (unfortunately). And we had been dating for the last two months. Then, a few nights ago - poof! It's getting too serious, I'm not enjoying it, blah blah blah. I won't even qualify it with a post. I dodged a bullet. Moving on.

I am sick and tired of feeling so fat. I look in the mirror, I hate my fat face. I take a picture, I hate my fat face. I do anything, I hate my fat face. I want to disappear into nothingness. I don't even have an eating disorder anymore. I have nothing. All I have is disgust. I don't have that drive, that passion, that fear of food that consumed me for six wonderful months. I'm not purging. I'm still bingeing sometimes, but not purging. I've got to get that back in my life, and then I will have something to focus on.

My goal tomorrow: Gross caloric consumption of 900 calories. I think I can do it.
Oatmeal: 150
Luna Bar: 150
Frozen veggies w/sauce: 200
Apple: 100
Orange: 100

Total: 700, with 200 calories to spare. I can do this!

Note to self: next time I sleep with a guy, I will be SURE he is going to call the next day.
At least I had a fun night. I can look at it in that way: an amazing concert (for free), sexual tension and foreplay beyond belief, and finally some good sex. No surprises here. I wasn't really expecting anything else. It doesn't even feel that crappy that he didn't call. A little - but I was expecting that.

I officially have a massive crush on an itty bitty albino Russian who slept with my good friend. Oh, yes I do. Now that computer dufus is out of the picture, and by that I mean I never returned his one call and he never called again, I can fully focus all of my energy on this new pointless endeavor. I can make a very long list of why this guy is not right for me: short, Russian, undoubtedly antisemitic at least to some degree are just a few. Besides, I have just a LITTLE experience with Russian men, enough to know that, even more than Americans, they divide women into two categories: women they fuck, and women they marry. If you're in the second category, they are pretty straightforward. No games. Phone calls every day, emails, text messages. They can fall in love and fall hard very quickly. No American "let's see who can fuck with each other's minds the most" bullshit. And if they don't that, but prefer to flirt while drunk, you're pretty much guaranteed a place in the first category. Which is not somewhere I want to be.

To make matters even better, his antisemitic best friend with bad skin has a huge crush on me, and wastes no opportunity to grab my waste, attempt to kiss me, etc. (Do they even know that I am officially half and unofficially full-blooded Jewish?). And, of course, my good friend has a massive crush on albino Russian. What the hell is wrong with me??

I often think back to junior year of college, and I think the reason I was able to stay relatively detached was the focus on weight loss. At that time, I had fallen in love with my future husband, who was unfortunately dating my good friend. I relished the parties and separate occasions that we would hang out as a group and he would unabashedly flirt with me, but I don't remember the crush taking up mental energy. Same with Max. I pined for a few days until I realized he wasn't calling, and I tried calling once or twice, but that was that. And Daniel. Also, a few days of butterflies, and that was that. I think my mental capacity was so consumed with the weight loss, I just didn't have room for anything else. That's what I must go back to.

Today is officially my last day eating like a hryuk hryuk. I have until June 13th to make that little shit want to kill himself. Or at least smoke himself into oblivion. Besides, I am so tired of obsessing over guys who are not worth a second of my thought. And the only other viable replacement, since I can't seem to live without an obsession/distraction, is weight loss. Starting tomorrow: 800 calories per day. If I can manage it, no more than 500. A little bit of breakfast, a bar for dinner, gym in between. It sounds impossible right now, but I can do it. I know I can it. Even if not that extreme, I can at least do a bar before gym, and then some fruits or veggies in the evening. Lose weight or bust. The upside is I will be so hungry I won't have energy to focus on anything else.

The more I think about it, the angrier I become. I am just not interested in being treated like this, like I am just some unimportant sidebar to his friends and roomates, and I'm not meaningful enough to invite to a b-day dinner with friends.

I just stood up for myself! Yes! It feels empowering! Don't need to take this shit.

What kind of mother frakker tells you he is having a birthday dinner with friends and then DOES NOT INVITE YOU. And you sit there quietly, nodding and laughing, and agree to have dinner with him. This is now beyond the point of talking it out, this is kind of ridiculous. You really do have to come to a point where you realize - this is not what you deserve. This is not what I deserve. I deserve a guy who will invite me to his frakkin birthday dinner and introduce me to his friends and take me to parties and generally treat me like someone he would like to call his girlfriend. What, he isn't proud to show me off? He's afraid of turning this into something serious even though I told him that's what I wanted and by continuing to call me he's basically agreeing?? Need to calm down and go to sleep.

Why did I agree to see him tomorrow?

Just dyed my hair dark brown. One month after I highlighted it blonde. Sure sign that things with a guy are over. I change my hair, buy a sexy new top I can't afford, and look forward to making out with someone new. Well, in this case, someone old-new. Or new-old. New-old sounds better. Was invited to a literary shindig buy a quiet brooding type I used to make out with during sophomore year of college. I can't remember much about my feelings towards him, except I liked making out with him. I honestly can't remember if I talked about him, obsessed over him, or even had a crush on him. It's blank. I do remember talking to him about my boyfriend at home (I know, I'm horrible), and him telling me about a girl he had a crush on. Oh, the dysfunction! I also remember my roomate drunkenly accosting him at a party, demanding that he treat me better. Ha. At least one of us was concerned about that. I remember riding in the elevator with him and roomie a few days after. That must have been the template for the awkward elevator rides in Grey's Anatomy. I can't wait to see him. Not to see him, but to show him how much I have changed. Sometimes I think that chubby insecure college headcase is in the past, and I have this new body and new wardrobe and new confidence. The confidence of someone married and divorced at 26, with 4 serious relationships behind her. But situations like CG put me back in my place. I haven't really changed. The body is a front, the clothes are a mask, and inside is same insecure little me. But boy, I can't wait to strut in, miniskirt and sexy top and heels. The look on his face! He always thought I was good looking, even back then, but now...

Who am I kidding, and who am I trying to lie to. I am mighty pissed about CG. Sad and disappointed. In the grand scheme of things, he is really nothing compared to some of the heartbreak I have survived. But it still sucks.

Well, honestly. Fu, fu, and again fu. Again, frustrated. Again, disappointed. I think there is a part of me addicted to feeling this way. I thrive on it. Yes, I love relationships, yes, I love having a serious boyfriend and someone stable in my life. But this...energy? when you are starting something new and are not sure and are constantly on pins and needles. Infatuation may be the right word for it. I love it. It gives me something to obsess over, focus my energy on. It gives me a reason to wallow and forget about everything good in my life. My career, my friends, my family, the cool breeze flowing through the window - what is a little shit who can't satisfy me if his computer depended on it next to that? There are other areas of my life that fulfill me. I love my roomate. I am looking forward to a bright, bright next few months, and an exciting change. I love going to the gym. I love the music on my iPod. I love the books I read. I love that I have plans for Friday and Saturday. I love that I have plans for the weekend after that. I love that I am looking forward to work tomorrow (minus getting my ass up at 7 am). No, I really cannot complain.

I feel very empty right now. I remember feeling like this about a week after I kicked my husband out the first time. Kiko had not called, I was hanging out with Christina and a few of the Portuguese, and I came home feeling very empty, thinking "Is this what I gave up my husband for? Is this it? This is what I exchanged a family life for?" A few moments of butterflies and electricity. Life is not built on those moments. Life is build on feeling secure and feeling loved. Of course, I realize the dream life I built around my husband was just that: a dream. In reality, he left for Russia without giving me more than a days notice, came back weeks after he was supposed to. He made fun of me in front of family and friends. At the very end, he screamed horrible things at me and threatened my physical integrity. But that's beside the point.

With CG, I am constantly going against my instinct. He actually followed through and called me yesterday, wanted to go out and introduce me to his friends. I told him I would call him today, when I got back from my "spa weekend." I didn't. I texted him, inviting him to hang out. He promptly informed me how busy he was. If I had just called him, I would have probably gotten the same result. But I would have let him know that I at least appreciated his calling yesterday. Ach. Instincts exist for a reason.

I just received my divorce papers today. I don't know if I feel like celebrating or crying - a little of both. I feel a mess inside. At a time in my life when all of my friends are building their lives with someone, developing relationships, I am ending mine - and learning for the first time in years and years how to live on my own. One marriage, one relationship I thought would end up in marriage, and now it's just me. And it's hard watching my friends fall in love, have serious boy/girlfriends, while I am floundering in this mess. I am years ahead of my time, but so far behind.

As expected, CG did not call me today, did not make plans for tonight. It's fine. A disappointment, sure, but in the context of ending my marriage - eh. I'll deal. I just wish I could be strong enough to say "Disappointed one too many times - NEXT." And if he calls me next week, which he inevitably will, I wish I could be strong enough to say "I've had enough." I'm not interested in a casual relationship, and you cannot give me a serious relationship. All you give me is a headache and worry pains. Will he call, why won't he call, disappointment when he doesn't call - I'm very through with all of that. I'm very tired.

How and why does this boy manage to confuse me like this? Just had a very strange conversation about me leaving, and how it would be futile to form a serious relationship right now. But why do relationships have to be serious? I guess I don't really want a serious relationship with him - but I do want to spend more time with him, talk to him more, yada yada. But I think the only reason I want this is to have a warm body next to me, because I am so uncomfortable being on my own. When I look at it that way, it doesn't really matter what happens. If he starts calling me and seeing me more, great, because I am getting what I want. If he doesn't, even better, because I can start learning how to be me. On my own. How to sit with my feelings and listen to them and learn from my mistakes. Sometimes when I am facing the prospect of spending an evening alone with Lost, I get so panicked. And that panic makes me reach out to people when it's not fair to them. Instead, I really have to force myself to...just be. Panic and all. Me and panic, together forever. And if he follows through, great. If not, do I really need to be the one texting him tomorrow "What are you doing Friday night?" No. Because if he doesn't call me himself, to hell with him. I have to get up early on Saturday anyway!

One other thing. I am so uncomfortable just being with myself, I actually panic. I panic and I call guys I am not remotely interested in. I let them take me to dinner and pay for my dozen Lemon Drops and I give them the wrong idea, simply because being alone and bored causes me SUCH discomfort. I can't stand it. I do anything to escape it. I drink, I eat, I play the fool. I need to sit with it. Learn to sit with it.

Me: "We need to talk."
CG: "Ok"
Me: "I really like spending time with you. I really enjoy being around you. But when I don't hear from you for a week, and I see you once a week, it makes me feel like a booty call. And I don't like that. I want to feel more like a girl you are dating."
CG nodding: "Yeah, I can see where you are coming from." I've just been so busy with work lately blah blah blah my brothers blah blah blah."
Me: "No, I completely understand that. I'm not mad about that. It's just in general. If this is more than a booty call, act like it. Treat me better."
CG looking surprised: "Ok."
Me: "Is it that I am leaving? Is that the issue?"
CG: "No. I mean, it has crossed my mind, but no."
Me: "Ok..."
CG: "I can't come to any conclusions tonight because that's not the kind of guy I am. But I'll think about what you said."

Am I so insecure that I stay in these unsatisfying relationships simply because I need a warm body next to me? No matter that they make me feel like shit, make me feel used, make me feel like a booty call. I honestly don't even know what I want. Three Jo Jos and half a bottle of wine later, I still don't know what I want. I don't want a serious relationship - I want him to want a serious relationship with me. I want him to want me. I want you to want me.

My daddy left me with some serious issues. I go after guys that aren't that interested in a serious relationship simply to prove to myself that I can make them interested. I can make him love me for who I am: his daughter. Not because I am a skinny ballerina, or a beautiful Russian doll, just because I am. I am 18 years old again, and this is the situation with Zach. Desperately trying to make him love me make him want to stay with me. Except I don't feel half of the electricity with CG that I felt with Zach. Doesn't come close. So what makes me stay? Why can't I say You know what, I have had enough of you, I am a beautiful intelligent girl, and there are a hundred of you. I don't need to put up with this frakkin bullshit! Why can't I do that, huh? What frakkin void is he feeling?

The only solution I see to this is to give up dating. Not just serious dating, but all dating - including weekly booty calls for a 2 months. Force myself to be with myself. No warm bodies once a week, no cuddling for a few hours on Wednesdays. Just me. With me. That's the only way I see how to fix this...this brokeness I have inside of myself, that tells me I need to put up with is, I need to do whatever it takes. WHY? I am tired.

I really didn't want him to go with me tonight. It was all just obviously - too complicated, too weird, too ugh. And I felt in my gut that it wouldn't work out, no matter how much I was looking forward to it. But when he actually bailed - even though I didn't want him to go, it still sucks to be treated that way. As if you are nothing important, nothing special. And I realize that not every boy I date will turn into a full fledged, serious relationship, but that doesn't mean I should stand for this kind of treatment. So the question is: do I proactively end it, by email of course since I just deleted his phone number, or do I wait for him to call in a week and subsequently not return his call/break up with him then? Either way, I feel shitty right now. And I need to put on a happy face and go out with my friends because I don't want anybody to know that I am actually disappointed. I am worth so much more. He just totally fucked up - no mercy.

Had another date with mr. roboto last night. No need to recount how much fun it was, or how many times I took a nosedive into the Land of Awkward Moments. It was my reaction after he left that really surprised me. He was the same old Mr. Roboto - nice, funny, cuddly, affectionate, but refusing to spend the night and refusing to move this (stagnant) relationship forward. By refusing the latter, I mean won't take my bait and won't bring anything up himself. And although we have a date planned for Saturday (guess who invited whom?), I know after he leaves (because he inevitably won't spend the night) I will once again be thrust into my hated insecure-girl, why-the-fuck-isn't-he-calling mode. And he won't call, because he just won't, until I text him - or whatever.

I digress. The point of this post is that after he left, I became very sad. I mean really sad. On the verge of tears. So sad I had to call my mom and overanalyze things for an hour and a half. Ironically, the last time I felt like that was 5 years ago, after my first date with my husband. It wasn't really a date, since we were friends already. But he drove over 40 minutes just to have coffee with me, and it was the first time both of us were single and not hanging out in a group. We had a great coffee date, and I had such a crush on him, and then he just dropped me off. No hug, no plans, just dropped me off. I felt like somebody punched me in the stomach. Hope and hope and hope, and then same shit as always. Of course, I did marry the guy and then divorce him 4 years late, so either my instinct that night was terribly right or terribly wrong.

Will I ever learn from my mistakes?

What a mess I am right now. It is 12:30 am, and I am not...awake exactly. But my stomach is a knot, my breathing is shallow, and my mind is a collage of the past that almost was a future. My failed marriage, my failed relationship, my latest failed attempt at dating. When night falls, and my body and mind are supposed to tumble gently into sleep, I feel my most afraid. Alone. Afraid of being alone. The darkness and the quiet...and I panic. And my body and mind refuse to tumble, except into sadness and fear. I am almost certain I will be served my divorce papers this week. 25 years old. Most of my friends are pairing up, building their lives together; I am tearing one down. And this devastates me. It is not CG I am freaking out about, not those "interesting" Jdate boys. It is my inability to connect with anyone emotionally available. I did once. And because it happens so rarely, I ignored the obvious red signs: the drinking, the belittling, eventually the screaming and outright verbal abuse. Right now, I am so scared it will never happen again. The years will fly by, and I will wake up- old, tired, and alone.

Help me understand why I am so angry and bitter. I think I know. Computer geek got back from out-of-town last night, and has not replied to the text I sent a few hours ago. My mother and Roomie think this is because when asked if I see other people last week, my reply was "No, not seriously," in an attempt to play coy. Said attempt failed. Apparently, I came off as a whore. But honestly, if one stupid, off-handed, lame attempt to sound mysterious comment makes a guy who has been seeing a girl for a month and a half suddenly disappear...who am I kidding. I would still be sad.

Anyasim of the day: "I like them long and big." About earrings. In the middle of Nordstrom.

Roomie highlights of the night:
"Why is she with a black man? She's hot enough to be a white guy!" He kids!
"I'd totally do Steve Carell. He's such an awesome guy. I bet he's a better lay than half the women out there...wait, are you going to quote me on Facebook?"
"Lance Bass was your favorite?! If you take two retarded words and put them together, that's his name."
What's wrong with Riverdance, Roomie? "Come on, Anya...it's gay!"
For the record, neither Roomie or myself or racist, sexist, or homophobic.

I was taking a very long, very hot shower, and for whatever reason began thinking about Zach. He was the first boy I really loved, and the first one who broke my heart. It was the first time I felt chemistry - heart stopping, stomach turning fire between two people. Our first kiss was magical. My skin tingled. The candle next to us danced. He stroked my stomach and said he had never felt skin so soft. He inhaled my scent and said he wanted to buy a bottle of my perfume so that, after I had gone back to school, he could still smell me. I remember his smell: cigarette smoke and Calvin Klein Obsession. I have never in my life, not before and not since, been so entranced and turned on by a man's scent.

He made me feel excited, depressed, worthless, hopeful, beautiful, lonely, sad, ecstatic. With one phone call, he could make me feel joy. One broken promise, despair. So many misunderstandings. Years later, he admitted he loved me back then, wanted to hold my hand, take me out, but felt small and scared. Hearing that just made me sad. I already had my closure.

Last night, I understood the meaning of "bored to tears" and "eyes glazed over." About 2 months ago, I went on my first post break-up date with a very nice, although not very attractive, man. He picked me up in a nice car, took me to a nice movie and a nice dinner. But he didn't talk. He answered my questions with two, maybe three words...and then silence. At first, I went into therapist mode and asked question after question. Then I got tired, and simply listened to the faint ticking of my watch: tick, tock, tick, tock. When he ordered a second beer instead of paying for the check, I almost groaned. Then I went to the bathroom and texted my roomate. The neverending date from silent hell.

Last night, I realized that the neverending date from talking hell is even worst. I went on a very nice dinner with a very nice boy I met online. On our first date 1 week ago, I noticed he didn't really ask me anything, ate with his mouth open, and talked with his mouth full. Eww. Remembering my post break-up resolution to not be so picky, I decided to give him a second chance. He still didn't ask me anything, ate with his mouth open, and talked with his mouth full. Eww. Adding insult to injury, he KEPT TALKING. About his sports injuries, how he got into acting, what kind of personality his sister has. And there was no way to respond beyond smiling and nodding. Nothing to latch on to, nothing to go on a tangent about (mostly because I was SO disinterested). I finished dinner, thanked him, and ran away to buy a book. At least that would keep me entertained!

Seriously, where do these guys come from?

Reason for Living

As long as I can remember, I always had a Reason for Living. When I was younger, it was ballet. Or rather, becoming a successful ballerina. When I started high school, it was becoming a cheerleader. I was obsessed. With the outfits, the pom-poms, the girls who seemed untouchable out their in the middle of the field. I became a cheerleader. And promptly focused my attention on Jesse Collins. For 3 years, he was my reason for getting dressed, putting on make-up, and trying my hardest at games and rallies. The way I walked to class, where I had lunch, which bathroom I used, all for the sake of seeing him and hoping he would see me. If he did, I never knew.

And then I graduated. And moved to LA for college. And forgot all about Jesse Collins. But suddenly, oh so suddenly, I fell head over heels in love with my sometime high school crush, Zach. From more than 300 miles away. We talked online for hours, I spent every waking minute of vacations at home with him. Mornings, afternoons, evenings, nights...If he IM'd me first, I would be squealing for days.

But, inevitably, he broke my heart. In a bad way. And when I ran out of boys (cheerleading had long ago stopped being my Reason; all it took was to attain it), I turned to my weight. Bulimia and weight loss became my life for two years. Add in one more year of starvation.

And so, I always have to have a Reason for Living. Get my crush to notice me, get the boy I am dating to fall in love with me, get my boyfriend to marry me. And in the background of all that, LOSE WEIGHT. I desperately look for my Reason. I create one if I have to. And so I have created one in Computer Geek. But it has become less a Reason for Living and more a Reason to Hate Myself More.

Spinning Plates - 8 Women at a Time

Last night, I went to a free Johnnie Walker tasting with my roomate F, our friend D, and D's cute little girlfriend A. I was uninspired - call it one too many nights double dating with my completely platonic F and our happily coupled friends. Plus, I really don't like whiskey. So the highlight of the event had to be seeing my dream Miu Miu patent Mary Janes. On somebody else.

Afterwards, as usual, we all piled into D's house, drinking too-sweet concoctions that F made under D's watchful eye. And then the Kama Sutra talk. It all started with a group viewing of the 77 position book A gave her boyfriend...complete with comments from both of them: "That one takes strong arms" "That one is great for the guy" "You have to rub his balls." Right-o.

According to D, our local connoisseur of all finer things in life, a Indian man had to please 8 girls at once. Two with his hands, two with his feet, one with his mouth, and one with "that." Oh yes, and two masturbating. To further illustrate his point, out went the arms and the legs in a motion I can only describe as spinning plates. And, according to F, all the while dirty talking in an Indian accent. Oh my. And so forever this image ingrained in my memory: my two skinny white boys, spinning plates with arms and legs, bouncing in their chairs, talking sexy in weird accents. Oh my.

A good laugh can be worth some whiskey.

Diets and Diesels

I bought diet pills today. Oh yes I did. I have officially entered a whole new level of crazy. Gosh darn it, I will fit into the Diesel Jeans of my Skinny Summer by next week. I may resort to begging. Please, my little Diesels, please fit over my not so little ass!

Lately, I seem to be ruining every perfectly fun eat-dinner-dessert-at-my-place date with Computer Geek by taking an unnecessary detour to Insecure Girlsville. And not in the straightforward, where is this all going kind of way. More of the whiny, "are you seeing anybody else hee hee hee" variety. The last three dates and phone conversation have included at least one moment of me watching myself from above screaming "NOOOOOO - Don't Go There!". And I go there. I'm my own personal train wreck.

I'm very bad at the retreating phase of the whole dating game. Advance, Retreat, the key to "being irresistible." Well, I can do the Advance. It's the Retreat that gives me a headache. I think I am afraid they won't follow. I will retreat....and that's it. I will retreat into myself. My Abandonment Issues letting themselves be heard. My train of thought carries me from planning out my moves of psychological seduction to he won't call me anyway so I might as well have fun while I can. And, if nothing else, at least sex burns calories!

Release

What a familiar release. I have missed you. Called for you, thought of you, dreamed of you, spoke to you. You make me feel better like nobody else does. When you are there, I do not think about computer geeks, or perfectly good dates I ruined with "Are you sleeping with anybody?" "Are you seeing anybody" blah blah blah. Make me sick. Sometimes, I think that you are all I need. You give me satisfaction, purpose, punishment - all in one like nobody else can. Without the accompanying shame and I Am A Whore self-inflicted speeches. I just wish you wouldn't leave me. Sometimes you do, and it feels so lonely. I have nothing-nobody-to hold on to. Just my fat ass and love handles.

I wish it wasn't so. I wish I didn't hate my body. I wish I didn't look into the mirror and see a fat face, taking up the entire room, or hips so wide they shouldn't be legal. I wish I could see a normal, 5'9 size 6. But what do I see? I see nothing. I want to be a size zero. I don't want to see at all.

Your Voice

I wish I could tell you what your voice means to me. How it brings me back to that magical summer. How it painfully reminds me of a fling that should have been more but never quite was. When you left, the last thing I expected was to ever hear from you again. But there it was, the little window on my computer screen that delivered a message from Kiko Lisboa. Two years ago, that window would send me into convulsions, panic, heart racing, flushed face. Two years ago, I was 10 pounds skinnier, dancing every night, drinking red bull vodkas. Two years ago, every time I saw you or touched you my stomach dance and my throat would constrict, mostly because I knew how very wrong of me it was.

After I went back to him, that little window was a reminder of what I gave up, and a reminder of what I shouldn't have given up. After I left him yet again, that window appeared less frequently, as you continued to see your little whore in H-Town E-Bay. But you couldn't stay away, could you? That last month, we saw each other twice, right before you left. And we...I...realized I was going to miss you terribly. I was going to miss that electricity, that feeling of heat and racing heart when you called or messaged me. I suddenly realized I would be very lonely without you. And where would I be without those occasional messages leading to "movie" nights? I said good bye and walked away and knew in my heart I would never see you again.

And then, when you were far away on another continent, something funny happened: that window reappeared. And kept reappearing. I tried very hard to understand what was happening. This was supposed to be a fling. An affair with a foreign hottie with the smooth latin accent. What was going on? I became friends with you. One year of IMing nearly daily, weekly text messages. Crying to you about my pothead asshole boyfriend, hearing about your two girlfriends (and your little American whore visiting you for 10 days). And the butterflies slowly went away whenever that little window popped up, to be replaced with the comfort of talking to a good friend.

Now you called. And I remembered the butterflies, and the movies, and the touches, and the size 4 jeans. The day-to-day waiting with held breath for a call that would usually never come. Your voice, with that smooth latin accent.

It was wonderful to talk to you. I missed your voice. You told me about your girlfriend and I told you about my computer geek. We talked about work and sleep and the weather. I desperately wished I had told you back then how even your IM name ignited every nerve in my body, and maybe we would have had something more than a brief fling. But now we do have something more. Without the butterflies and racing heart and trouble breathing: friendship.

My MBF

Just had midday coffee with Married Best Friend. I think I am slightly in love with my MBF, in a very platonic, big-sister kind of way. Always look at her and think: she is a study of marriage. Pros and Cons. What should you forgive/give-up for security purposes? Sure, her husband is short and unattractive and doesn't let her go out to clubs, but he is kind and supportive and does VERY well for himself financially. Is that enough? Should it be? How many guys have I turned down because they were under 5'10, did not have visible muscles, or lacked that elusive and vague "attitude." How many guys that were 6'1 (or higher) with hot arms and chests and that burning look in their eyes have bitterly disappointed me? How many evenings have I spent waiting for that little pink phone to ring?

I am not yet ready to give up quite so much.

Exchange of the Day
MBF: "My (Orthodox Jewish) cousin is complaining about her suitor because he is too blond. He looks very Russian. He has a ski-jump nose."
Me: "He's blond and has a little nose...?"
MBF: "Maybe he's not really Jewish?"
Me: "Too bad she can't make sure!"

DUI

Dating Under the Influence: not recommended. Just remembered that while drinking vodka cranberries and watching so-bad-it's-good reality show, ALSO invited Skinny Soccer Player to be my date on Saturday. Why oh why? Must break date. Or lose 20 pounds in 4 days: is that possible?

Maybe he won't wear a ratty t-shirt and old jeans and get crumbs all over his face when he eats. Maybe I won't break apart every nice guy who shows interest in me. Maybe I won't become bitch on his ass and stop returning his phone calls. Maybe he will bulk up? Before Saturday? Maybe I will stop feeling like a fat Amazon...all the fucking time?

Planes and Mountains

Last night, downed a few vodka cranberries while watching a so-bad-it's-good reality tv show about tool girls competing for an ever bigger tool guy. Night was difficult - for some reason, lots of weird dreams. Not exactly nightmares, but...heights and planes and mountains. Me climbing a mountain.

And failing because it was too steep and slippery.

Now, this might apply to the current status of my love life. But I would rather think it refers to the paper I am supposed to be working on right now. There is something blocking me from starting, and that something is my fear of heights and climbing a mountain and falling down.

Incidentally, getting up this morning was one of the more difficult accomplishments in the past few weeks.

Smite!

I can easily say that college sucked. First two years much more than last two. Last two years consisted of studying in Sweden, a family tragedy, losing weight, and meeting my (ex) husband. First two years are a blur of tears, cigarettes, heartache, heartbreak, toilet bowls, AIM, and sleepless nights listening to Live and U2. Sometimes I think the only things standing between me and a bottomless pit of depression and despair were my Marlboro Lights and my spunky best friend.

Sometime during sophomore year, said best friend broke up with immature, irresponsible boyfriend and hooked up with immature, irresponsible (but much better looking) Lacrosse player. I'm not sure about the details, I know they they hooked up about twice, both times leaving her feeling about as good as a non-paid hooker. And then he didn't call. And didn't acknowledge her in the dining halls. And didn't answer her phone calls.

One fine, lovely evening, we were walking back to the dorms and passed the field where the Lacrosse team was practicing. My skinny, blonde, oh so cynical roomate squinted her blue lookers at the field and said:
"I wish...I wish I could just...just..." raising her fist in the air "SMITE them! Smite this field! I SMITE you!"

Well, my future ex boyfriends: "I SMITE YOU!"

Not in the Mood

Not in the Mood for:
Long, drawn out conversations with wonderful and well-meaning mother who swears to castrate all my exes and future exes
Repeating my relationships over and over again, like a bad song in repeat mode
Checking my phone every five minutes (seconds)
Checking my email/IM account every five minutes (seconds)
Waiting
Knowing I am waiting for nothing
My current mantra: advance, retreat, advance, retreat...Please give me something to retreat from!
Current object of my obsession who would rather fool around with computers than live me

Humph.

Sunday night

Fuck you, Sunday night. Fuck you, Monday morning.
Highlight of my night: watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding with my roomate and him immitating the accents. Does anyone else realize how intensely unrealistic that movie is? He falls in love with her and proposes after a few weeks. Please. I DARE you to tell me she is less desperate than me!

Me: "I wish it could go from being tonight to tomorrow night."
Roomate in a Funk: "I wish it could go from tonight to Thursday night."
Me: "But I want to watch The Bachelor."
I would much rather watch blond bimbos make fools of themselves than do it myself.

Socially Challenged Computer Engineer or Current Object of My Obsession

How should I refer to to the current form of male species giving me a headache and a stomach ache and a craving for chocolate? I think I will call him Computer Geek. Either CG has an aversion to the phone, an aversion to a relationship, or does not appreciate the benefits of getting laid regularly. What started out as an attempt to have dinner and distract myself from 1-year Boyfriend moving out of our apartment has resulted in days and weekends immersed in "Why hasn't he called me?" angst. Roomate (let's call him R) suggestion: "He hates the phone." Now I understand a dislike for the phone: the mere thought of scrolling to someone's name and hitting the green call button has made me hyperventilate, hop on one foot, and chain smoke. HOWEVER. WTF?

CG and I have been dating/seeing each other/hanging out for over a month. This consists of one or two phone calls/week leading to one or two dinners+ fooling around but never staying over each other's place. Friday, I did what all others warned me against: I slept with the guy. Now: he's not that cute, not that funny, and not that rich. And may I add...during our little romp, my mind wandered to what book I was planning to read next.

Me: "I never expected to develop feelings for you."
CG: "Sometimes the best things in life happen when you least expect them to."
Me: "Do you?"
CG: "Do I what?"
Pause.
CG: "Do I have feelings for you?"
Nod.
CG: "Well, I enjoy being around you." Blah blah blah I'm a happy-go-lucky nothing can make me worried or upset kind of guy. "So...I guess...yeah, I do."
Me: "It would be nice to hear from you more." Call me you idiot! And not once every 5 days!
CG: "Ok. I'll call you tomorrow."

Tomorrow (Saturday) comes with a message from CG around 11 pm, listing what he did and what he plans to do. Basically, a non message. My R in a funk informs me nothing can make me happy.

Sunday
I have a date with a very nice soccer player who resembles a much shorter and much skinnier version of his online profile. Granted: I am a much larger version of my profile (I don't lie about my model height though! Although I guess I fail to mention I lack a model weight as well). Soccer Player is nice enough. Either very shy, not good at dating, or completely self-absorbed, as does not ask one single substantial question about me. Good move, really, when you are trying to engage a girl in a conversation. I walk back to my car, check my phone. I already know: No missed calls, no texts. I guess "I wouldn't mind hearing more from you" has been translated into I better call her tomorrow so she doesn't think I am one of those guys who sleeps with a girl then doesn't call her the next day!

Against my better judgment, I call CG (I know I know!). And enter: awkward conversation about our weekends, how hot today is, blah blah blah. My pathetic attempt to throw in hints about how much I would like a pool or how relaxing his hot tub is. His answer of "Um, I think I'm just going to stick with basketball today. Maybe I'll go in the tub later." Wha? Huh? Do you not want to get laid again?! CG: "Later." Me: Fuck you, fuck computer engineers, fuck the male species.

Humph.

Did I just ruin my future chances with that one silly phone call? Why am I so paranoid and afraid of failure and...well, paranoid? Why can't I casually date?

I think I will go watch my R in a Funk play video games some more...

Oh Lazy Sunday Crappiness

Lounging around watching my roomate play video games, waiting for Desperate Housewives and Eli Stone, feeling a familiar knot of anxiety form in my stomach after a conversation with the boy I am dating, I realize something: writing is therapeutic. What better way to chronicle my adventures in single-land, my awkward dates from an online site, and to vent at various forms of God's mistakes?

Let it be mentioned that I am 25, and have not been single for 5 years...nay, 6. Not much of a dater in high school....developed a 4-year relationship in college, had a fling with a very sexy James Frano look-alike Portuguese, got caught up in a 1-year relationship with my best friend (Very. Bad. Idea). And now, finally, I..."date."

My Roomate in a Horrible Funk is...in a horrible funk. I am going on 5 dates a week to get out of similar funk, but with each failed attempt to distract myself from Socially Challenged Computer Engineer I don't want to be distracted from, the funk grows and envelops and sucks me in. One month ago, RHF and I made a plan: fancy reservations for 4 at a swanky bar. Double dates with fun company = him getting laid and me...getting my ego boost. Date searching? Not going so well, and we have a week left.