A wee respite

My dearies,

I hope your 2012 has started with a bang! Mine has--both the good and the bad kind. I filled my heart with a visit to Montreal, and am currently wanderlusting on the west coast. But yesterday I got the other kind of bang. It came in the form of me logging into His Facebook, which caused a total downward spiral. I hate myself for it. Needless to say the past 24 hours have been quite an emotional rollercoaster, filled with emotional emails back and forth, a loving Skype conversation, and tentative plans to see each other in the summer. The subtitle of this blog--the rollercoaster that is life after him--is ringing quite true (and loudly and annoyingly in my ears).

So much to share with all of you lovelies, but please be patient with me just a lil' while longer, while I gather my thoughts and the strength to write without tearing up. I think I know what'll do the trick: I'm hoping to continue to fill my heart on this week-long visit with my best friend in Vancouver, then retreat for four days in an artist's loft in Seattle, then re-toxify with good friends in sunny San Francisco for another week. All that, I'm telling myself, will cure my worries and my overactive imagination, which conspired against me to keep me up all night long (despite my superior ability to sleep soundly under any conditions) and made me want to hurl at the sight of food.

Love.
Me 

The numbers game

I don't know what possessed me to give out my number to an Usher look-alike last night, but I did. After refusing no less than four times, I just felt super bad for the guy ("Do you have a pen? I'll at least give you MY number!").  Not to mention that his friends were watching. So I punched in my number and got outta there.

Bad move. Let's tally the damage in the past less-than-24-hours: 

1. A phone call (which I did not pick up), shortly before 3:00 a.m. the night that I met him (and too long after I gave him my number for it to be one of those, "So you have my number too" sort of calls)
2. A text at 3:00 a.m.: "Good nights princess" (which I did not respond to)****Men, please heed this advice: don't call a female who is over 7 years old a princess--unless of course she is actually a veritable princess.
3. A text a minute later "Is my Joel usher" (which I also did not respond to) [Yes, he actually said that. He introduced himself to me as Usher. As should be expected, I laughed in his face. This did not, apparently, deter him.]
4. A phone call (which I again did not pick up) at noon today.
5. And finally a follow up text, which, out of courtesy, I finally responded to, initiating the following exchange.

Usher [8:30 p.m.]: Hey How are you [Rollercoastess]

Me [9:08 p.m.] Hi joel. I'm good, but overloaded with work. It was nice meeting you, but like i said i'm not interested in dating. I'm sure i'll see you out, and it would be nice to dance, but i'm not looking for anything more. Take care.
Usher [9:26 p.m.] Thank you're a beautiful girl but I can be your friends

Me [9:28 p.m.] Glad to hear that. Just wanted to be clear. Thanks and take care.

Usher [9:33 p.m.] Thank you for talking with me

Usher [9:35 p.m.] [Rollercoastess] and you a very petty

Usher [9:36 p.m.] Woman

Okay, so English isn't his first language, but we'll forgive him that. I do hope he meant that I'm pretty and not petty, though. I guess I'll find out next time I see him.

I shared the text exchange with a super duper awesome lady friend, and here's her super duper awesome response:

Maybe you just remind him of someone he once knew

Or maybe he's just tryin' to make love up in the club

Or maybe he just wants to leave the one he's with

To fake Usher's credit, he's not as bad as this dude, whose cringe-worthy 1605-word letter to a date that stopped answering his calls made its way into Jezebel today. Nor is he as bad as either of these two desperate, emotionally unstable psychos (at least she's drunk, but the dude...what's his excuse?).

Gittin' some

Boys and girls, it's time I get laid.

I'm sitting in the library, trying hard to concentrate on my work, and all I can think about is mounting Salsa Instructor. It didn't help my cause that yesterday we talked about other people having sex. It especially didn't help when he was acting out the motions (oh myyyyy!).

It's been four months. And four days. (Yes, that also happens to be my breakup anniversary. Hush now.) The point is that it's been loonnngggg enough.

That said, I'm still at the stage where I'm selective about the men I will bone. (It's only a matter of time before I throw that strategy aside and just bang the first male that says hello.) But for now, I do have some criteria. Those criteria are: You're hot. You're over 25. You're somewhat interesting. Preferably, you can move your hips. Umm, that's it.

Salsa Instructor happens to fulfill all of those criteria, as well as a bonus one: he's not looking for a relationship. In his case, this is because he's already in one. Now before you start calling me a home wrecker, allow me to clarify: I don't plan on banging him. I just want to...really badly.

You'd think that plenty of other people fulfill those criteria, but I'm not so convinced. Criterion 1 (hotness)--and especially criterion 1 in combination with criterion 3 (interestingness)--is difficult to find around these parts.

What this boils down to is the following: I'm cursed to not getting any work done because I spend all day thinking about getting my freak nasty on. It shall be an interesting finals season indeed!

Cheater cheater pumpkin eater!

Where did we leave off? Oh, right, I had just gotten back to Midwestern City from Chicago and figured that I wouldn't be kissing anyone for a while. Two days later, I was making babies on the dance floor with my salsa instructor, then exploring his oral cavity (mouth, people, mouth!), then learning that he has a live-in girlfriend.

I learned that lesson when I showed up to his house the next night for a lil pre-party before heading out for more dancing, and his girlfriend opened the door. His girlfriend who is in my salsa class--that he instructs--by the way. Yup. We did the whole, "Oh, hiiiiiii!' and hug thing, and all I could think about was, "Thank the good Lord in whom I don't believe that I brought a friend with me tonight!" There was only one other dude there except for The Couple, so I was thanking TGLIWIDB double! Time to act normal. I walked over to him and said my usual hello, noting the slightest look of nervousness on Salsa Instructor's face as we greeted each other with a hug and a heeyyyy.

A minute of small talk goes by, and I wander into the living room where there's some art on the wall. "Who's the artist?," I ask teasingly, since it's obviously an amateur. Girlfriend: "My kids. There's a picture of them over there." At this point I'm still not tuned into the fact that they are living together; after all, she was nowhere to be seen the night before when we were sipping cocktails at his place between party spots. I am, however, thinking, "Shit, dude, this is pretty goddamn serious if you have pictures ny her kids up on your wall!" 

We make our way over to the couch, and the four of us -- as in, me, my friend, Girlfriend, and random dude -- chat. Salsa Instructor is conspicuously absent. Keeping himself busy in the kitchen, he is. Those snacks that I brought over should not have taken that long to unpack, but whatever. He comes to serve the snacks, but right back out he goes to attend to nothing in the kitchen. He's there (out of sight) doing I don't know what.....for the next 45 minutes? hour? A long fucking time. 

In the meantime, I'm learning all sorts of things! They're going to Indonesia together in a couple of months, and guess what -- her kids are coming along, too! Aw, what a nice, big, happy family! 

WTF, dude? I mean, I'm not into the guy....although I do want to bone him. But I don't want to create enemies in this place where I moved just a year ago. And I'm wondering if he's told her, since she keeps making references to "The crazy night that you guys had last night!" "Yeah, it was fun!", I play along. Whatever.

More people show up. He enters the room, finally. He's at least acting normal. 

I get drunk. I don't mean to, but I do. I shit talk Girlfriend's dancing skills to my friend. I take off my jacket and prance around in a skimpy tank top with my zebra bra straps showing. I talk to him one-on-one a couple of times, and a couple of times Girlfriend comes over to interrupt. 

I don't want to have "a talk" with him. There's really no need. But I do want to communicate, "Dude, I got the message. You've got a girl. That's fine. We barely got to second base anyways. I'm not going to out you. And you better act the fuck cool and not turn awkward on me, because I intend to continue talking salsa lessons from you." I think I communicated that effectively. At least I hope I did.

So the night is a fun one. We end up staying at his place instead of going out to the place we had planned. My friend and I end up at another bar. I make out with another dude and we get yelled at by the bouncer to get out of the staircase. The next morning I put myself into self-imposed makeout slut rehab.

Oh, did I mention that since then all I can think about is sleeping with Salsa Instructor? Yeah. I want it. Badly.

Makeout slut

The first step is admitting that you have a problem, correct? Well, this last week I turned into a bit of a make out slut. Yesterday I entered a self-imposed rehab, and I'm happy to report that last night my tongue did NOT land in anyone's mouth. That was actually my goal for the night. No, I'm serious.

 It all started last weekend, when I road tripped it over to Chicago with some friends from Midwestern City to fete a friend's big and dirty 30. The weekend was a f*ing blast, though I felt less like a human when it was all over since I had seen less than an hour of daylight all weekend. We partied silly.

Friday night I had lost an earring that He had given me for my birthday just a few weeks ago. This was the day after we had a heated Skype-typing debate over an article that recently appeared in HuffPo. He wasn't in my good books. And so, when Dirty Thirty's Chicago friend started putting the moves on me, I rolled with it. And when another guy started doing the same, I rolled with that too. There was a bit of an altercation between the two groups, sure, but no black eyes the next day. The second dude --who was probably barely 21 but so goddamn cute I couldn't take it -- ambush-kissed me out of nowhere while I was asking him to chillax and not deal out black eyes, so that doesn't really count against me.

Chicago Boy and I had a hot and steamy make out session...well, three... in a mini-kitchen of a Veterans of War Club, on his roof (which I think had a great view of the Chicago skyline, though I didn't really get to take it in), in the staircase leading from the roof back to his apartment where all of our friends were, and again in his room, while he was asking me to stay over. Oh, I  guess that's four. But, boys and girls, I'm happy to report that I showed some self-constraint and did not stay the night. That made the taco breakfast that we ate at 3 p.m. the next day more digestible, I'm sure.

I haven't decided what I'm going to do with that. And by that, I mean him. I don't want to date the guy, though he seemed to be treading into that territory ("So, how often do you come into the city?" "You know, sometimes I visit [town close to where I live]"). I think I sent that message loudly and clearly in my text the next day: "Hey. Had fun this weekend. Thanks for showing me a good time. Will give you a ring next time I'm in the city. Take care." To that he wrote back "Had a good time too. Do let me know next time you're in Chicago. Don't hesitate to call or text. Hope to see you soon." We'll see where that goes. At least I have a place to stay when I'm in Chicago now. :-)

So that was nice. Even nicer was making out with my salsa instructor a couple of days later. And then going over to his place the next night for a little pre-party and being greeted at the door by his live-in girlfriend (whoops!). But that's a different story, for a different time...

On a roll....

I can't help it. My salsa teacher is hawt.


And he tastes good too. ;)

Lots to update on...later.

I kissed a boy

                    ...and I liked it.

                         Actually, I kissed two. 

                                       More details to come...

26 things I've learned in 26 years

How does it feel to be [insert age of latest birthday]? It's the typical question you get asked on your birthday, and I usually answer the same way each year: "It doesn't feel much different." But that's not exactly true. Even though I wake up every November 1st feeling much the same as I did the morning prior (well, maybe a tad hungover from the Halloween party the noche before), I'm not the same person. A decade ago, freshly-printed license in hand, I wanted to fast forward to 19 and then stay there forever (19 is the legal drinking age in Ontario). How happy I am that wish didn't come true (my liver couldn't take it)! Each year for the past three years I've felt like, "Ahhhhh, this is it! I've come into my own," only to think the next year, "No, this is it! I've really come into my own." I'm taking that as a positive sign. 

And this year, after 26 years on this planet, I'd like to reflect on a few things I've learned. In no particular order, here they are...

1. It's really not that big of a deal.
2. Everything is more manageable after you get a good night's rest.
3. On those days when you feel totally gross and spend all day thinking about how you should really take a shower, but can't bring yourself to step into the shower ("I won't be seeing anyone today anyways"), just do yourself a favour and take a frickin shower. You'll feel much better about yourself.
4. Vitamin D is the best drug. Period.
5. Silence is a gift.
6. Don't buy the alright-looking jeans just because they're on sale and you could use a pair. Buy the ones that you're totally in love with because they make your ass look fabulous...even if they are out of your budget.
7. You really don't look like an entirely different person without makeup on.
8. Travel whenever you have the opportunity.
9. Let it go.
10. Know when to break the rules. (And when not to.)
11. Talk less; listen more.
12. Busy times are not the times to cut out social activities and exercise. They're the times when you need them the most.
13. You are not a loser if you eat dinner alone at a restaurant or go to the movies solo. You're simply someone who is eating dinner alone or going to the movies solo.
14. Some people are right for you at certain times in your life, and not in others. It's fine to let them go, or let them back in.
15. Just do it.
16. Not everybody is going to like you, no matter how awesome you are. Don't waste time trying to figure out what you're doing wrong.
17. Waiters and customer service representatives are people too.
18. Good food is one of the joys of life. Spend time making it, and sharing it with people.
19. Music is another joy of life. Listen to it often.
20. There's no substitute for family. That said, move out of your parents' house 0as soon as possible. You'll have a better relationship with them if you do.
21. It's cool to be cool, but it's cooler to be nice. 
22. Don't miss the things that matter in order to get that assignment in on time.
23. Humans are inherently creative. It's important to find your creative outlet, whatever it may be.
24. It's liberating to admit your flaws. It even makes you more likable.
25. It's important to have regular conversations with yourself. 
26. Tell the people that you care about that you care about them. Better yet, show them. Do it regularly.

New obsession

You really shouldn't read my current state of mind into this post. The tune is simply too good not to share. (And you won't find me saying that often about Rihanna.)

Wanderlust-ing

So, I won't be going down to Gautemala with Him over the winter break.

...we might, however, be traveling through South America together next summer.

I'll be kind and rewind: 

As you know, both Him and His Maman invited me, on several occasions, to come to Guatemala over the winter break (yes, post breakup). I was holding off on the decision, and holding off, and holding off. Then, just a few days ago, He shared the most recent news: His brother would be coming to Guatemala over the break, too. This little bit of information effectively made the decision for me. My immediate thought, which I managed to verbally suppress (yay! I'm an adult!) was, "Hey, wait a minute! What about me coming down to visit?" We revisited the conversation today, and kinda together decided that it'll probably work out best if I don't come down over the holidays, leave them to their brotherly/family bonding...and perhaps join Him in the summertime, and together visit His Maman somewhere on the continent to the south of ours. 

I'm still very much processing this information, which came up about ten minutes ago. Bear with me, and this diary-like post. 

I guess my first reaction was excitement. I've been to Central America and the Caribbean, but not yet South America--and I want to, badly. And duh I want to see Him. We're not finished. But oh yeah, I've got weddings and a preliminary exam next summer and can't just follow my wanderlusty instincts...But whoaaa that'll be possibly a full year since we last saw each other. A YEAR! And sure my 25-year-old self now knows what my 5-year-old self did not: a year really isn't that long of a time..........except it kinda IS when it refers to the amount of time that I will not have seen Him in person.

As I've been doing up until now, I plan to figure it out once I get there. 

For now, I'm letting my biggest headache be figuring out what I want to do with my five weeks off over winter break! Do I hear the West Coast calling?

Project Breaking Sideways

A wonderful ladyfriend brought my attention to an article that was recently published in The Atlantic titled All the Single Ladies (By Kate Bolick). It starts like this:

IN 2001, WHEN I was 28, I broke up with my boyfriend. Allan and I had been together for three years, and there was no good reason to end things. He was (and remains) an exceptional person, intelligent, good-looking, loyal, kind. My friends, many of whom were married or in marriage-track relationships, were bewildered. I was bewildered. To account for my behavior, all I had were two intangible yet undeniable convictions: something was missing; I wasn’t ready to settle down.

....

IN THE MONTHS leading to my breakup with Allan, my problem, as I saw it, lay in wanting two incompatible states of being—autonomy and intimacy—and this struck me as selfish and juvenile; part of growing up, I knew, was making trade-offs. I was too ashamed to confide in anyone, and as far as I could tell, mine was an alien predicament anyhow; apparently women everywhere wanted exactly what I possessed: a good man; a marriage-in-the-making; a “we.” 

I checked the author line again. The details were a bit off, but it was pretty much my story. I had a wonderful guy--someone I could see myself spending my life with--but I was restless. I wanted something else, something different. What exactly I wasn't sure.

As difficult as the immediate aftermath was (exhibit A: posts from the early days in August), I simultaneously felt excited for what was in store: Flirting! Making out with all sorts of boys! Dating! New forms of stimulation (and not just the intellectual kind)! In sum, new experiences.

That was the whole idea of this Project Breaking Upwards thing. But now, nearly four months later (gasp! can it be?), I'm wondering if a more appropriate name for this blog would be Project Breaking Sideways. Sure, I need time for myself. And yes, I'm super duper busy with work-related things. But really, at the bottom of it, I'm not letting myself move on. And I've convinced myself that what I'm doing is perfectly fine. I'm perplexed when people find it odd that I'm considering joining Him in Guatemala over Christmas or talking about taking a vacation together next summer. And I was pretty stumped when my girlfriends responded with a shocked, "Wait, whattttt?", when I told them that last week we exchanged gifts on our would-be anniversary ("Well, I mean, they weren't that sentimental. It was just a little something.")

Thing is...I don't have much of a desire to change right now. I like how things are.  So does He. So I think I'm going to follow this (necessary?) detour sideways for a lil while...

Girls nights always do the trick

I'm alive. And busy from morning to night, which is why I haven't said hello. Forgive me, please, and accept my belated "hello!"

It has been a hectic week indeed, but last night I recharged my batteries with a good 'ol girls night--much needed and long overdue. Four of us ladyfriends got together over tasty food and tastier pitchers of wine (can you say favorite restaurant in town?). We set one rule for the night: no talking about work unless it's something fabulous. And because I have fabulous ladyfriends, there was plenty of fabulousness to chat about. As we were swapping most embarrassing poop stories (surprise: our conversation didn't revolve around boys or babies!), I looked around at these highly intelligent and accomplished, beautiful, and just plain awesome women and realized how grateful I am to have each of them in my life. Just over a year ago I didn't know any of them. And now here we were talking about dream careers and pubic hair preferences and raising our glasses to remaining in each other's lives for years and years to come.

I thought back to the early days of August, when I first returned to Midwestern City and everything around me appeared so bleak, so unexciting. "I don't want to be here," I would repeat to myself, and entertain the thought of picking up and moving to San Francisco or Mexico or just about anywhere. Now, just two months later, I'm finding myself thoroughly happy in just about all areas of my life. Things are on track. I'm excited about the future, but also what I'm doing right now. And in moments when the excitement fades, I've got wonderful ladyfriends--both near and far--to jolt me back on track.

Whatever happened with Teenage Heartthrob, you ask?

Let's just say I've been eating out a lot more lately. I'm not exactly avoiding the grocery store where he works. Just kinda.

Since our pseudo-date, we've run into each other a few more times. He always looks heartthrobby, and I'm usually dripping with post-yoga sweat and mentally repeating the following mantra while approaching his cash, "I will not be a Mrs. Robinson. I will not be a Mrs. Robinson. I will not be a Mrs. Robinson."

Our conversations were friendly, and I felt like we were out of the danger zone (the twine was not a declaration of like!). But then we stumbled into pseudo territory again last week, when he casually asked, "How do you feel about more bike rides? The group has started to ride Thursday nights now." Looking back, this clearly seems like a "Do you want to hang out again?" query. But, of course, I didn't interpret it as such in the moment, because I'm a little obtuse about these sorts of things, and only realize that I'm being asked out (or pseudo asked out) half an hour after the fact. In any case, I put the final nail in the coffin with this response, "Thursday nights? Umm, I don't think that'll work. I  started taking this class that meets Thursday nights, and, so..."

So that's that, I think. I haven't been back to the grocery store since. And I'm getting sick of eating oatmeal.

You know when...

...your mom comes to visit for the weekend (for the first time since you moved to Midwestern City), and she brings along her digital camera, and has stored on it pictures of you and Him from last summer, and last Christmas, and all the times the two of you have visited her this past year? Uh, yeah. djfladk;lkj;iaj;oieja;klemndkndlk;ld;ak!!^#$#@

Here's the upside: I haven't touched a dish all weekend, and my growing pile of recycling magically disappeared.

Really broken up...question mark

Broken up or not broken up -- that is the question. As the two month mark nears, I find myself wondering whether we actually broke up. I mean, we said words to that effect. But since then we've been talking every day. And though we've dropped "I love yous," our conversations are still punctuated with sickly pet names. Just before we hang up, He sends me a kiss (the substitute for "I love you", I suppose).

And I downplayed all of this, even when Male Friend provided his telling analysis of the situation, the gist of which is that by talking everyday we're basically keeping tabs on each other, and making sure that no one else is in the other's life. But today it kinda hit me--that we might not actually be broken up--when he ended the conversation with a "Bye, darling." Darling. Darlin parlin. *Right in my gut.*

Darling got to me even more than the "big" news, which broke a few days earlier: He reiterated an invitation to Guatemala over winter break. "My mom must really like you or something," he teased, "She mentioned again that you're invited to Guatemala over Christmas."

"Mmhmm, your mom loves me. E'rbody knows that. And what about you? What do you think about that?"

Affirmative. He'd like it if I came. But, "We'd obviously be together while we're there, and then go back to not being together. Thar'd be kinda weird."

Maybe. Or maybe we'd be all enlightened about it and shit. Probably not, though.

(In case you're wondering, folks, I don't plan on making any decisions until well into November.)

For now, the only plan is to not follow The Rules. You know, those post-break up conventions that we're supposed to subscribe to. Instead, we've agree to just do what feels right (read: what feels good) in the moment. And if that means calling--for the second time in a day--then so be it.

So far, it's working. And, as Woody Allen once said (well, named a movie after), whatever works.

I've got a crush

...on Ryan Gosling. **swoooooon** Okay, so it doesn't really count, since it's a celebrity crush. But allow me to explain: except for George Clooney, who is just hot damn sexy (and serves as the prototype of my salt and pepper man), I haven't had a celebrity crush since seventh grade (Leonardo DiCaprio).

Sidenote: Ryan and George are co-starring in a movie that's coming out real soon, and I can't hardly take it!

Seriously, people, I have spent an inordinate amount of time over the past two days watching YouTube videos of Ryan Gosling.

Here's one of my favourites: Sexiest Canadian (sorry, Canadians, this is only viewable in Ame'ica).

Thinking of you...

I had been hitting the snooze button for well over half an hour, and just as I reached to silence the alarm for the fifth time, I caught a glimpse of His name on my caller's display. I picked up, and did my best I've-been-awake-for-hours-Hello?

"Good morning, bubs! Did I wake you up? I 'm standing at the base of the Washington Monument and thinking of you. Okay, well I don't want to hold up the group I'm with, I just wanted to tell you that."

And that's when my heart--which has been doing pretty damn well--melted. You see, for the year that we lived in The South, we had always talked about taking a trip out to D.C., but we never made it out there. But we also talked about going to India, and to Spain, and honeymooning in Greece, and checking out Belize and Honduras, and taking a road trip across the U.S., and going to the Eastern Townships in Quebec, and so much more. Why did we break up again? Maybe we should be together after all. We work well. He knows me better than anybody else on the face of this planet, and same goes the other way around. We still love each other deeply. Maybe we should at least go on a trip together sometime in the next few months. The other day when I mentioned to him possibly going out to San Francisco later this year, He surprised me with, "Well, maybe I'll be there, too."

I know it's best for us not to be together right now, but I just want to see Him and have a few days where we're back to us. How much do tickets to East Coast City cost anyways....

Screw it

This weekend I went into the hardware store to get me some brackets and screws to install shelves that I've decided are going to look absolutely fabulous above the couch in my living room. I'm pretty eager about DYI (mini) home renovation projects, and I've been known to undertake quite a few of them in the past...then get stuck and not know what to do next, and have to call my uncle to finish up (or, that time when I tried to rewire all the light switches in my house, a professional electrician). But now that I'm several hundred kilometers from home, and surrounded by people whose toolkit mostly consists of critical thinking skills, I'm forced to adopt another strategy.

So I'm soliciting advice from this 80-year-old man working at the hardware store about how not to screw up installing my shelves. "Well, they're going to bare books, so I know I've got to find studs, but how exactly does one do that?" "Oh, and how do you actually use a level?" [I usually eyeball it.] So he's setting me up with the correct sized screws, and I'm asking him questions along the lines of the two above, and he turns to me and says, "Don't you have a boyfriend that could help you out?" Silence, as I think about how to answer this suddenly not so cute geriatric. "Well, I did until recently, but you probably don't want to hear about that." [nervous laugh] "No, I don't," he responds, and shakes his head to reinforce or perhaps emphasize the point. But he presses on, "Well, what about a daddy or an uncle?" I thought about teaching this man a lesson, but figured at 80 he's an old horse (how does that drawn to water idiom go?) and set in his ways. So instead of replying, "Well, my father's long dead," I replied, "Yeah, but it'd be a long ways. They're up in Canada."

Anyways, I ended up posting an ad to Craigslist--which, come to think of it, sounded like an audition call for a low-budget porn flick: I'm looking for someone to screw in my shelves. You need to bring your own drill and stud finder. Hmm, maybe that's why I got three replies in the first hour. Well, just as I was typing a response to one of the men that answered the ad, I thought, "Screw it! I'm going to install dem shelves that will look fabulous in my living room myself. And if they're a bit crooked, well, then they'll be crooked!"

So, y'all, tomorrow evening the shelves are going up. I'm doing it myself, without the aid of a man. And they WILL look fabulous.

Hot commodity

I can't help but feel like a hot commodity these days. It feels as though persons who have a penile appendage seem to believe I've gone through my appropriate mourning period (all 1.5 months) and should now date them. Or, really, allow them to stick their penile appendage inside of me.

Now I've been known to unsuspectingly accept a date in the past (while dating Him). I'm sorta naive to those sorts of things, and this naivety served as a constant source of teasing while I was dating Him. He taught me the way of men -- "of course he wants to sleep with you." So I like to think that I'm more alert to that sort of thing these days. But guys seem to have evolved in the past five years since I've been off the market. They don't ask you out in such a straightforward manner, it seems. They're more sophisticated about the whole thing, which leaves people like me wondering if they just want to hang out or if they want to hang out with the possibility of inserting their penile appendage in you at some point. Take suitor #1, who is a colleague that I bump into at parties or in the hallway. He asked me, when I bumped into him, whether I would want to "grab a glass of wine sometime and chat". Well, how can I say no to that? After all, he offered, "I know breakups are hard, so if you want someone to talk to..." And then there's suitor #2, also a colleague, who was a bit more bold. I got this email (we never email) from him yesterday:

[Rollercoastess,]
Let me know when you are up for going to the XXXX bar this weekend. I have a number btw, but was not sure whether you still use it... Its ### ### ####?
[Guy who wants to screw you]

Let me add that I haven't hung out with this guy one-on-one either...ever. We have hung out extracurricularly in a group setting, like the time when he told me "I would dance over her dead body" (yeah, it's that guy!).

People, I don't know how to deal with these situations! So I did what any adult in this position would do: avoid it. That is, don't reply until you see the person who emailed you in person, then leave the room before you have to bump into them, then send them an email that says you're busy and maybe you can get together in a few weeks. That gives the message that you just want to be friends, right?

The pseudo-date

No, he didn't murder me. Nor have we been rolling around in bed for the last few days. My blogosphere absence (sorry!) is totally unrelated to my pseudo-date with Teenage Heartthrob, who, by the way, I feel teeters uncomfortably close to the teenage end of the teenage heartthrob spectrum. All the power to Mrs. Robinson, but.....no.

I managed to bracket the "this is so wrong" feeling and to have a good time, even after he informed me that he hasn't yet chosen a major in university (the bottle of wine that we dutifully downed definitely helped in this regard).

I spent a good deal of the pseudo-date trying to figure out if it was more pseudo or more date. When I first showed up to the event and he asked me if I had come with anyone else, I thought "oh, not date." But when he started asking me about my hobbies in that weird, first-datey, getting-to-know-you-way ("So, what do you like to do in your spare time?" *cringe*), I figured it was a date. As we split and talked to other people in the group, I thought "not date" again. But when we split off, and sat under the full moon drinking a bottle of wine (straight from the bottle), and ended up in a kiddy park where he proceeded to give me a "twister" (it doesn't involve nipples, but it does involve a tire and a sickening spinning motion), I thought again, "ohh, definitely date." And I could've sworn that when he dropped me off at my doorstep he said, "okay, a kiss goodnight," but we ended up doing that awkward hug thing instead.

The next morning, I found something tied next to my bike, on my porch. What is this piece of twine doing tied to my railing? And then I remembered that he had asked me the night before if I had a piece of twine so we can tie our bikes together.

*ShitShitShitShitShit, I hope he's not into me! I want to keep shopping at my grocery store!*