1. WaltzBoy and I are going out tonight. That’s exciting.
2. I made a CareBear costume for a post-Halloween Halloween Bash tonight. Woo!
3. I’m FREEZING. It’s so cold here in el Carolina del Norte.
4. I registered for classes next semester. Whew. Tough semester.
5. I need a hair cut.
6. I need winter clothes.
7. Thursday’s Grey’s Anatomy was amazing.
8. Did I mention it’s cold?
9. I have written NO words of my novel. Gah.
10. Okay! I’m off with WaltzBoy. See y’all tomorrow!
adjective.
“An enjoyable disorder characterized by feelings of excitement, anticipation, high hopes, recent memories of interludes, giddiness, and physical over stimulation which occur simultaneously when experiencing a new love. These feelings take over without warning, usually at odd times (such as at a check-out line), with or without the partner present, and make it difficult to concentrate on anything but romance. They interfere with work and safe driving, but should be experienced at least once in every person’s lifetime.”
we waltzed in the middle of campus.
just because i didn’t know how.
sigh.
What is it that leaves me feeling this way? Why have I always longed for it, and somehow, never been able to get enough? Every time I watch a TV show where it happens or read a book where it’s done, I ache for it.
I was watching Grey’s Anatomy and it was happening. Meredith and McDreamy, all cute and cuddly. Yes, I said cuddly. (Get your mind out of the gutter.)
I ache to be held. I am a cuddlebug. I enjoy spooning. I like kisses on the forehead and hands in my hair. I like to snuggle. I like to sit, somehow intertwined. My feet across your lap, my head on your shoulder, my hand in yours.
Sometimes, I think the reason that I want to get married so badly is because of this desire. I hate going to sleep alone. Virtually every night I do, I glance over at the empty half of the bed and think: there could be someone there to snuggle with. But there’s not.
And I go to bed alone.
It makes me sad every time. I wonder when the day will come that I’ll curl up next to my husband. (Yes, I said husband. Yes, I want to get married. Yes, I understand I’m young. No, I don’t care.)
Does everyone feel this way, and just not talk about it? Or am I in the cold on this one, all by my lonesome?
I just spent three hours(!) grading Algebra I math tests. The Favorite Math Teacher (FMT) and I went to dinner ($2.50 pint night at the local draft house) and he was less than thrilled about the prospect of grading 75 tests.
Well, being the stellar girl I am, I offered to help. So, we finished dinner, stopped off for coffee, and then settled down at his dining room table to work. I had to fiddle around while he made the key for the A test and the B test. Red sharpie in hand, I was soon off, grading like a mad woman.
The grades I was writing down – 14/100? Only one kid out of 75 made a 100%. I drew TWO smily faces and wrote GOOD JOB, I was so excited. It was sad and tedious and made me feel for those kids, even though FMT is out of patience. I also blew the whistle on a cheating ring! 10 out of 12 kids all had the EXACT same answers on their tests. Including the wrong answers. Do they think we’re stupid? That we’re not going to NOTICE you all put down (-18) when the answer should be 49? Seriously!
I discovered that my FMT is completely overwhelmed in his job. The kids are disrespectful and don’t care. They’ve lost hope for success. They don’t care. Many of them gave up half way through the test. I jokingly tossed a peice of paper into FMT’s hair and he looked at me, sadly. “Please don’t disrespect me right now. I get disrespected all day and I just can’t handle it.” (Of course, I practically cried, I was so sad for him.)
That’s not just sad; that’s incredibly tragic. He’s been a teacher for a month. How can he be this overwhelmed? Any advice for my FMT, all my teacher pals out there? Does it get better?
(Also, I managed to solve a math problem that FMT just couldn’t figure out, since he didn’t design the test and it was a stupid question. I didn’t do it in the correct way, but I got the correct answer. Yay, me!)
I have this friend. Well, I guess she’s not really a friend these days.
I have this girl I went to high school with. She’s obsessed with guys. Not in a dirty way, not that she sleeps around. In a way that drives her to buy books like “He’s Just Not That Into You” and constantly have away messages that say things like, “I’m so over boys, they’re yucky.” Followed hours later by, “Why won’t he just love me?”
I have never known anyone so boy crazy. She’s nuts. It’s all she talks about, all she thinks about. It’s inane, it’s obnoxious, it’s really just… it seems like a waste of time to me. How are you supposed to find a guy who IS that into you if all you’re doing is talking about boys? Go out. Do something. Be something. Figure life out!
However, I am boy crazy, too. In a different sort of way. I don’t babble about what evils the
current Crush O’ The Moment has done to me, or lament the lack of good boys in the world. No, I just quietly long for a stable relationship. I pine for long-term comitment that involves sparkly diamond rings and regular Saturday thift store dates and the weeding of books that both of you own. (Who needs two copies of “A Rumor of War” or something similar? Seriously.)
I don’t really know what to do about this. I don’t want to date. I want to be in a Relationship. A Long-Term Relationship. (LTR, if you will.) It’s frustrating, and it makes me sad. Not in a… hang-out-in-bed-and-eat-ice-cream-all-day sort of way. More in a sigh-and-shake-my-head-when-I-think-about-it sort of way.
All I want is to get married, have a little house, buy organic vegetables, have a baby, and live happi
ly ever after. And I don’t mean happily ever after in that way that some people mean happily ever after. I mean… The kind of life where you disagree and compromise. The kind where you sit in bed on Sunday morning, and read the New York Times and the Washington Post together, passing the two back and forth, trading quips and reading aloud from time to time. The kind of life where you weather tough moments and yell and then come back and make up. The kind of life where you raise great kids and love on your neighbors and build the Kingdom of God. That kind of happily ever after. Maybe I am boy crazy. But I think I’m okay with being this kind of boy crazy.
Until then, I’ll keep vintage shopping alone, pining for the green and purple (!) bungalo
w for rent down the street, and reading parenting books. Because, one day, I’ll find him. And he won’t be Prince Charming. He’ll have warts and issues and baggage, just like I do. But, I’m optimistic that between the two of us, we can manage the baggage we both carry. I’m optimistic that there’s someone out there who’ll love me like I deserve to be loved.
But waiting’s a bitch, isn’t it?
Title comes from the following exchange in Cinderella:
Cinderella: It’s midnight.
Prince Charming: Yes, so it is.
Cinderella: Goodbye.
Prince Charming: Goodbye? But you can’t go now.
Cinderella: Oh, I must, please.
Prince Charming: But why?
Cinderella: Uh, well, uh… the Prince. I haven’t met the Prince.
Prince Charming: The Prince?… but didn’t you know…?
(Sometimes, we miss what’s right in front of our very eyes, no?)
I wonder if you notice me. I mean, I just wonder what you see when your eyes fall on me.
I think I’m just another girl that you’re casually friends with.
You have no idea what you mean to me.
That’s okay, I think.
It hurts a little less every day. Mostly, it’s okay.
It has to be okay.
Because you don’t notice me.
(Also, if anyone can name that song, you get a cookie. A virtual cookie.)
I thought I was over you.
So why do I keep imagining scenarios in which I comfort you? Why do I keep imagining myself making it better? Why do I imagine the way it would feel to be the one who was there for you right now?
I thought I was over you.
Why am I imagining that you’re here? Why am I thinking this way? Why on earth can’t I just get you out of my head?
Seriously?
I thought I was over you.
i thought i was over you.
i thought it didn’t hurt anymore.
i thought i was stronger than this.
but then i saw you cry.
and it made me cry too.
why does it feel like this?
A Man of Character
October 9, 2006 · Filed under boys, church, friends, social commentary
There is something that has been bothering me for quite a long, long time: How is it that women feel so completely free to bash men, when if a man did that for a woman, every woman in the world would jump on him in rage?
Example:
“He’s such a jerk – men are such jackasses. They just have absolutely no sense of right and wrong and they’re SUCH hounds!”
Now, if a man said, “She’s such a bitch – women are such idiots. They have absolutely no sense and they’re complete brats.” Every woman in the world would be furious. How can you put women down like that? Why would we tolerate that?
We wouldn’t.
But somehow, it’s just fine for women to do it. All the time, we do that – we insult them, we belittle them, we insult their character and their manhood.
It’s just not acceptable. Tonight, I sat on the couch of a good friend of mine, and cried. I’ve been working through a lot of stuff, and he’s been helping me. He wrapped his arms around me, and held me, while I wept. He told me it was okay, that he was there. He told me that what I was hurting over hurt him too, and he’d help me through it.
That’s not a jerk, a jackass, or a hound. He’s a good man, and I know more like him. If women are upset with how men carry themselves, how men act, then we have to freaking STOP treating them like that. We put men down and they rise exactly to our expectations.
So, here’s to a man of character. A real friend. A brother in Christ.
I’m a lucky girl.
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