[Dating Papers]

On Saturday, I was very efficient. I got up rather earlier than I would have liked because Tabitha (the cat) woke me at 3:45am. What the hell was she thinking? I had to shut her in the bathroom so I could get some sleep. Still, I was up before 8am.

In the morning, I tidied the house, folded some laundry and ate breakfast. At 12:30 I walked myself to the neighborhood yoga studio for a free “Yoga Week” class. It was ok, but irritated my sore right wrist and shoulder.

I stopped by the library on the way home in search of the book group book, but it was not to be found. I also picked up my dry cleaning.

Once home, I had a light lunch and roused myself to drive to Baltimore to meet a friend for the Orioles-Mariners game. (The Mariners and my brother (the one from Israel–he”s in Baltimore a couple of times a year for business) are the two things that will get me to Baltimore reliably.) I got going about 15 minutes later than planned, but still in plenty of time. When I went out the back way, this is what I saw:



I turned around and went back into the house to get my camera. I also got some food for Mom, because she was out there too–hanging out underneath our gas grill, where the kitten retreated when I approached.



There were actually two kittens (I used the flash so the colors are completely different).


The grey and white “mommy” has been hanging around our back yard all winter along with a black long hair (daddy?). I saw both of those adult cats today, but not hide nor hair of the kittens.

I was over an hour late to the ballpark, but it was because of horrendous traffic on the Parkway. It was slow enough that I was able to take this pic:



The game was good fun and I enjoyed seeing my long lost grad school acquaintance, Nancy. She is funny and kind, but I can only hear about half of what she says because she speaks so softly. Ah well. It was good to have good company. You never have the best conversations at the ball park anyway.

The good news: Mariners won!

For today, I had big plans. I was going to get up early, go for coffee, drop in on the “Save Darfur” rally and then make the second game of the ultimate frisbee double header.

Well, I did go for coffee, rather later than planned. When I got home, I was so exhausted, I could barely move and I crossed my two other plans off the list (sorry Travis). I did manage to nap, mop the kitchen floor and cook some dinner. I MUST go to sleep early tonight so I can get in a full day”s work and a full evening”s rowing practice on Monday.

And if the Kyle moratorium is ever lifted, there is an even funnier story to tell. We did talk on the phone, very briefly, but since we haven”t met, I”m not going into detail yet. The fact that this mini-non-saga is still going on amazes me.

Grateful for : a decent weekend.

Drop me a line.

How many good decisions have I made?




I don’t mean things that ended up being good decisions. I mean active choices. Sometimes it’s more important to make a decision than what that decision is. Sitting on a dilemma and not moving is a bad place to live. As I like to say, sometimes any decision is a good decision.




I don’t know if going to grad school was a good decision—but once I decided to apply, it gave my life focus and direction. I took the GRE, I took a couple of night classes (demography and stats). I interviewed people in my future discipline. The decision to leave Seattle, though, inevitably ended the best romantic relationship of my life (so far).




Joining the rowing team in grad school was a great decision. It would seem to be one of the dumber things I’ve ever done, but I have zero regrets. It insured that what I got from grad school was only partially a function of my course load.




Starting to row again is definitely a good decision. We’ll see if I keep it up, but even if I don’t, reconnecting with the sport has put me in a great (if tired) mood.




My thesis and dissertation topics were good decisions. MA: racial differentials in US infant mortality. PhD: how does living in public housing affect working for pay? Even though the topics are completely unrelated, I still find both of them fascinating. I lived with the thesis topic for over a year and never got bored with it. I lived with the dissertation topic for more than five and I’m still interested. If I had the motivation to turn the conference papers from the dissertation into journal articles, I could live with it for many more years. (I still like the topic, but I find the mechanics of doing the writing and analysis tiresome and I can’t get motivated to do the work.)




Changing advisors in grad school was a very good decision and extremely difficult to do. So many politics. I am convinced that I never would have finished if I’d stayed with my original advisor (who thought I was stupid). The woman who accepted me as her student was one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I’ve ever had the privilege to know. Even after I moved to DC, with a defended (but not accepted!) dissertation proposal, she never questioned my commitment to finishing. I never got one whiff of doubt from her. And, she was sick with her third round of cancer for about half of our time together. It killed her not long after I graduated. I am very grateful to have had the chance to work with her.




I wonder if I should add something like “breaking up with Tom” (my important grad school boyfriend) to the list, but it’s a negative, and it wasn’t completely my choice. It’s hard to prove that the absence of something is good because what is the comparison? How can you say if you were better off doing or not doing something? Is life without Tom better than life with Tom? Well, it’s certainly different. I’d like to think I’m better off without him, but how can I know?




I can imagine my life without rowing because I know all the things I learned from it that I wouldn’t have gotten any other way. I can imagine how I would have felt if I’d hated my dissertation topic; I probably never would have finished. But I can’t imagine if I’d chosen some of the things I didn’t choose.




This is why social scientists like random-assignment controlled experiments. You may observe what happens to one group of people under “business as usual” conditions and compare them to a similar group of people who receive some sort of intervention. Then you can draw inferences about what would happen to similar people under different circumstances.




I am also deciding, on an every-other-day basis, NOT to call Tom. He’s been on my mind lately, perhaps because I associate him with rowing and also because I feel the need for some reassurance. (Why is it that this reassurance must come from someone who, not only finds you attractive, but who you find attractive?) Over the last several years, I’ve convinced myself that it’s ok to call him and keep in arms-length contact with him. But I’ve changed my mind. As much as I enjoy speaking to him and as much as it soothes me to know I could have him if I wanted to (but I couldn’t really, now could I?), I’m deciding not to call him and weather the emotions life rains down on me on my own. Well, it’s not really on my own. I’ll do it with the support of my real-life friends and my internet friends and trust that this will be a very good decision.




Sometimes I think I’m too passive in my approach to life. That I let things happen. I was not very aggressive when I searched for jobs, I didn’t try that hard in my classes, and sometimes I succumb to pursuit. But when I get a hold of something I want, I don’t let go. I’m not really sure what that is. I guess I just have to trust myself to know which decisions are worth the trouble.




P.S. I wrote the original version of this post back in January and it was rather more heavy with musings about relationships and what-might-have-beens. I find myself not thinking about my past relationships very much these days, with the exception of the most recent ex-boyfriend. And even those thoughts are fleeting. As you know, most of my head space for the last couple of weeks has been taken up by rowing. I must say, it’s a refreshing change.






Grateful for
: trusting myself to make good decisions.










Drop me a line.

I chatted with a guy who sounded ok. We were supposed to meet at 5 at

a mall which was sort of on my way home from work, since I don’t have

a car. The guy called and cancelled, and then rescheduled for later

that same day, which meant that I had to stay later at work, but I

didn’t really mind.




We met at the mall, and we decided where to eat. I ordered a bowl of

soup. He ordered a beer. Just a beer. I thought that was kind of

strange, but okay… I like to give the benefit of the doubt.




Then I said I wanted to wander around the mall, and he said that was

ok. We went into a few stores, and anything that interested me, he

totally ignored. Then he went to ask in-depth questions about some

kind of pen. The whole time he was talking to the salesperson, he

ignored me, and didn’t really bother to see where I was when he was

done, either.




Then he took a phone call from some friend and he said he was going to

split to meet up with this friend. I checked my bus schedule, and i

saw that I didn’t have a bus from there, but only from somewhere about

5 miles away. I mentioned it to him, since he was there with a car,

and not only did he not offer to take me, (although I’d spent an extra

hour in transit to meet him) but he didn’t even bother to walk me out

to the bus stop when it was dark out, despite several hints from me

that I don’t like being outside in the dark alone.




This was one of the few times that his not calling the next day was

way more of a relief than a disappointment!




- L -

I don’t remember feeling this way.




You’d think, the way I’ve been raving about it, that it was obvious that I love rowing.




But my memories of rowing aren’t exactly happy. I remember feeling tired for about a year. I remember feeling determined. I remember the adrenaline rush of racing and the frustrating last semester with my first coach. I remember being the last one in from the run every time for a year. I remember having one or two friends, if that, on the team. I remember the shy pride I felt when one of the coaches told me I was tough.




But joy? Happiness? They don’t quite fit. I was always ready for practice to be over; I always dreaded it a bit. I always felt frustrated–either with myself or with the rest of the boat.




Last night, I rowed like crap. I’ve forgotten tons about technique, my timing was terrible and I had no compression. And how did I feel?




Happy. Really happy.




I wanted to row more. I wanted to go faster. I wanted practice to last longer. When our coach said, “I thought we’d have time for one more piece, but we don’t. Take it in to the dock.”




I thought, “I was hoping we’d have time for one more piece too.”




Really? I thought that? I can’t tell you how unlike me it feels to have had that thought.




But the whole thing was great. Being on the water was fantastic. The conditions were lousy. It was windy, we hit rough water and got splashed all over the place. The guy behind me kept chatting–there should be no talking in the boat, and I prefer it that way–but I didn’t care.




I got my port seat and, as predicted, I was in 2—making me part of bow pair. Port felt so much better than starboard. Fantastic. I need to stay on port side. My right hand still bugs me, but not as much. The whole motion felt better, smoother, and more comfortable on port. It’s what my body remembers.




My back was sore, again. This time it was the lower back, which means I’m doing something right, because my back always bugged me a tad when I was rowing. I did my little PT (physical therapy) back exercises the whole time I rowed at UNC. It’s time to start again–I did them tonight when I got home, along with the stretching. I may have to start icing down my knees, though they don’t hurt. I used to have to do that after every practice as well. I forgot how rucked up my body got from rowing. At the end of my first year, I was a big mass of overuse injuries.




I’m achy, exhausted and I can’t wait to go back tomorrow.




Who knew?




P.S. This morning, I wasn’t sore at all, except for a twinge in my right shoulder (that’s from the biking/rowing combo). However, my quads were tired because I felt them complain on my very easy bike ride to work. That means I’m doing something right.






Grateful for
: finally enjoying rowing.



Drop me a line.

Things I managed to tell to a complete stranger upon first acquaintance:

• My last boyfriend was separated-but-not-divorced and we broke up when he decided to reconcile with his wife.

• I didn’t go to high school (or, as I think I’ll start saying, I skipped the minors and went straight to the show).

• I can’t remember the rest, but I’m sure I said other equally inappropriate things.

I was going to write more about my rowing career, but why do that when I can relate an amusing dating-related story? I think I could write a book about my rowing years at UNC. Maybe I will. Would anyone read it? It’s so hard to tell what folks would find interesting. Any thoughts?




Last night, I went to another City Paper singles thing, this time with Pele in tow. The event was held at a semi-upscale pool place in Arlington. We decided to go a couple of weeks ago, so it took priority over rowing.




We had a heck of a time finding the place since the entrance did not front on the street for which the address was given. Once inside, we were surrounded by very unhappy looking people who seemed to be thinking, “I think I should be here, but I don’t really want to be here. But, look, here I am.”




Before we got in I told Pele, “I’m going to ignore you when we get there, so don’t be offended. You find a place to sit at the bar and I’ll walk around.”




That’s exactly what we did. I claimed a bar stool and Pele got some free snacks. I ordered a beer. She came to the bar, took the seat and I circulated. We both spotted two cute guys sitting at the end of the bar—one reading every single word of the City Paper (we never spoke to him); the other relentlessly text messaging. (They did not appear to be friends.) Pele tried to make eye contact with them and I got up and roamed around. Eventually, I was invited by a CP staffer to join a pool game.




When Pele tired of sitting alone at the bar, she came to the pool table where I was playing. Our group of pool players was most objectionable. There was an eager not unattractive guy with the name of a popular video game system. What the? Another guy was all together too tucked in for my taste—and apparently balding, though I didn’t notice.




I noticed a spot had opened up at the bar next to the text-messaging guy. I wanted another beer, so I went and sat right next to him. No luck. In fact, as soon as I got my beer, he left. I thought, “I drove him away. Damn.” I went back to the extremely unsatisfactory pool game.




Then Pele needed another glass of wine. (You girls and your wine.) Text message guy was back at the bar, in a different spot. I said, “Go over there and sit next to him.”




And guess what? She did! And they actually talked to each other. Ten minutes later, she brought him back to the pool table. In a classic aside moment, she said, “He’s all yours. I can’t do anything with him.”




See, the guy, Kevin, was very shy. VERY shy. And Pele is shy about meeting new people. It was hard work for her to get him talking. But once he came over to the pool table, he loosened up a bit. We played together; Pele was paired with a crazy old guy, who knew very well that he was not an appropriate match for her (so he wasn’t that crazy). Kevin and I won. I made the eight-ball shot. I am terrible at pool, but after two beers I am slightly better than after none.




After the free pool ended, the three of us hung around and chatted for another half an hour. I liked Kevin, though I wouldn’t say I was interested. In an aside to Pele, I said, “There is one small problem in this scenario [pairing me up with Kevin]…” She said, “That he’s barely 22?” I said, “Yes, that would be the problem. But what do I care? I’m not prejudiced.”




It turned out he was 28ish. Still young for me, but certainly acceptable for Pele. Though she’s not sure if she likes him either. Why not? He was tall, dark and handsome. Funny, a little glib (by his own admission) and sweet (underneath it all).




Kevin and I walked Pele to her car and she drove us back to the metro. He asked for Pele’s number and I programmed it into his phone. That was highly amusing. (It seemed that he was interested in Pele, but he flirted a little with each of us.)




Kevin and I took the metro together and he offered to drive me home. He lives in Bethesda. I said, “Um, no. I live near Union Station. You are not driving me home. It would cost you more than an hour.”




“But, I don’t want you to have to walk…at night…”




I said, “No, I won’t walk. I’ll take a cab or the bus. The bus goes right by my house.”




“But I…”




“I really appreciate the thought. It’s not that I don’t want a ride home. It just doesn’t make any sense.”




We got off at metro center and went our separate ways. I called Pele and we decided that our plan to separate worked well. We were mighty impressed that we managed, between the two of us, to pick up one guy—we have never done this before. When we go for a drink, we never, ever talk to other people. I told Pele that there was no reason the three of us couldn’t hang out if she winds up not being interested in him.




Hey, if she turns him down, maybe I’ll take my shot. You never know.






Grateful for
: courage.



Drop me a line.

I can never figure out if I’m more productive if I do my post first thing in the morning or wait until the afternoon. If I do it first thing, I can fiddle with it all day, tweaking, editing, etc. If I do it last thing, I spend less time on it and free up more time for actual paid work. But if I do it last thing, I spend all day thinking about it and sometimes have to skip the gym or end up being late to whatever has to happen after work. Or, I skip important work things because I MUST publish before I leave the office.




Oh, wait, I don’t blog at work.




Of course I do. And I will be doing it even more often because if I keep up with rowing, I will be too tired when I get home to think coherently enough to write a post. Speaking of which…




Rowing was great.




I mean, it wasn’t really great. The people were not very friendly. The coach was late. I didn’t get on the water for a long time because I, and another new woman, had to watch a safety video. After the video, we got switched into the boat—the coach picked us up in the launch (small motor boat) and two rowers got out of the shell and we crawled in and she took them back to the dock. Because I’m short (for a rower), they stuck me in the bow. I hate bow.




In a rowing shell, where everything is backwards, being in the bow feels like the back of the boat. You are the furthest person from the coxswain. But that’s not why I hate bow. I hate it because the boat tapers at the bow, making it the narrowest seat (the coxswain’s seat, in the stern, is equally narrow–but the coxswain doesn’t slide around). Even at my smallest, my hips rubbed against the gunnels (the sides of the boat). (Remember, the seat slides in rowing.) And there are always interior ribs in the gunnels to bump against. Sitting in bow hurts and causes me odd bruises. But I’ve always gutted it out.




The other problem is that bow is a starboard seat and for the majority of my rowing career, I rowed port. I prefer port. I have a slight overuse/soreness problem with my right forearm/wrist (tendonitis? carpal tunnel?) and it’s easier for me to row port (as I was reminded last night). When you row starboard, the right arm is the “pulling” arm; it’s the left arm when you row port. Plus, you never have to sit in bow if you row port.




But, I can hang with bow. For my first year, or at least my first semester, at UNC, I was in bow. Bow is a technique seat and I had more experience than the other novices. You need to be steady in bow and I can do that, even if I’m not comfortable. I will try not to complain to the coach, but I’m going to do my damndest to get out of bow. However, I was not surprised that it’s where I ended up.




Other than that, 2-seat (the person sitting directly in front of me; bow is 1–yes, I am number one!) splashed me but good. I was rather stinky when I got home because we were rowing on the Anacostia. Don’t fret—I took a shower.




It was also a good thing I brought my bike light because it was dark when I rode home from the boathouse. I would have benefited from a jacket as well, but I didn’t get too chilly.




I got more exercise from biking yesterday than rowing. My loop, home-work-boathouse-home, was about 7 miles. I only rowed for less than 30 minutes. I was beat when I got home, but it was the good kind of tired. I didn’t want to go to bed, but when I finally did at 12:30, I slept straight through.




As predicted, my legs are not sore today, but my right shoulder/arm are a little achy. And I can feel it in my back, which means I wasn’t doing things quite right.




I’m looking forward to rowing a full practice, perhaps in 2 seat, and getting little coaching on Wednesday.




Like I said, rowing was great.






Grateful for
: a plan.






Drop me a line.

Someone (not me) needs to learn how to do the redeye correction. Geez.

Not sure how long I”ll keep these up, but enjoy them while they last.

Both this pic and the one below were taken on Saturday night.

After the comment fest on the last post, I’m starting to feel sorry for Kyle. Poor guy—he didn’t know that his every word was going to be dissected by internet strangers.




I didn’t mention this, but last week when he told me he’d been on a date and I gave him a hard time about it, he explained that the date was with someone he’d already met and had been long planned. Also, he has a work schedule that makes it hard to meet during the week, so he hadn’t attempted to schedule anything with me. To that I say, real life people should always trump internet strangers. He still probably shouldn’t have mentioned the date to me, but that just shows that he’s not smooth. And I like not smooth.




And what’s this business about rejecting poor Kyle? There is no rejecting because there has been no accepting! Has he acted perfectly? No. Have I? No. He didn’t follow through on making plans. I jumped to the conclusion that he’d moved on because he didn’t follow through.




You might argue that our inability to communicate this early on in the game is a “bad sign.”




Of course it is. But until we actually talk or meet, I don’t see it as a particularly illuminating sign.




Then again, I haven’t heard from him since yesterday, so that may have been the end of that. I have no interest in continuing to prompt him.




Boring. In fact, this whole non-saga is so boring I can barely stand to write it. I can’t believe how much space I’ve devoted to someone I may NEVER MEET.




I declare a moratorium on all things Kyle until after we meet. If I ever do meet him, I promise to tell you about it.




Moving along…




I was a little grateful that my ultimate frisbee doubleheader was rained out on Sunday. But I was a little sad because I would have liked to play one game—but I was rather dreading playing two.




Instead, while I spent most of yesterday lazing around the house, I did work in the yard for a good long time, weeding our tiny jungle. I haven’t even bothered to tell the condo-mates that I did the work. Whatever. It looks a little better out there, but I hope I didn’t kill the ornamental tree I pruned (I had to, it was blocking our gate). Anyway, I’m a touch sore, so I count it as an official work out.




And, in just about an hour, I’ll head out to row for the first time in many years. I’m nervous and excited. I hope it works out. If it does, this blog will get very boring because I will probably never date again.* And I REALLY won’t care.




*No, I don’t actually think that. My blog could never be boring.






Grateful for
: first day jitters.



Drop me a line.

A pet peeve of mine is the opaque post. If you are going to write, let me know what the hell you’re talking about–don’t make me guess.




Another peeve? This business about whether or not you should let your (new) significant other know about your blog and playing the “it’s my diary” card as a reason not to tell him.




For a few, very few, of you, your blog is anonymous. Your friends and family don’t know about it and you don’t tell them. You don’t meet other bloggers. No one knows who you are. If that is the case, you have my permission to keep your blog from yourboyfriend/girlfriend.




But many of my friends know about my “diary.” I told some of them and then they told others. That’s fine. Then, I went and introduced myself to other bloggers, so they know me now, even if they don’t read. Fine. And I told my brother. But he’s not reading, right? Then I told my mother. And she found it, but she’s not supposed to read. Fine.




The upshot? The whole frickin’ world knows about my blog. Fine. That’s what I wanted. I want my writing to be read. That’s why I’m posting the details of my life on the INTERNET and not scribbling happily in my paper journal.




What is my policy about telling boyfriend candidates about the blog? As soon as I think the guy is going to stick around, I will tell him. I HAVE to tell. It’s just not fair, considering that my friends, who he will meet (awkwardness!!!), have read all about him. Making that decision inevitably will affect what I write. What can do you?




The problem I keep bumping into is that the stories I’m good at writing, the feelings I enjoy expounding upon, must occasionally be made opaque. I can’t directly discuss such things on the blog because you never know who is reading.




Sigh.




On to funny boy stories!!




Last night, I went to a party with CK. It was in Sterling, Virginia. On the drive back to my car, I said, “I am done with Sterling this year.” I actually went to a party in Sterling a month or so ago. I wanted to write about it, but it was right before I went to Israel and I didn’t have time. Let me just say this: it was not fun. I spent most of the evening talking to a woman about her new cat. My favorite moment might have been when a fellow asked about the fruit salad I made, “It’s really good. What kind of cheese is that in the salad?” I answered, “Cottage cheese.” I mean, it wasn’t some mystery secret cheese. Just plain old cottage cheese. It was small curd, though, maybe that threw him.




Last night, something similar happened. The party was full of swing dancers, but I spent most of the evening talking to a cool young woman, Dani, who did not dance. We were corned by a couple of friendly African guys who, without many preliminaries, insisted on getting our phone numbers. We both consented and regretted it. I expect a call and an invite to H2O this week. Not looking forward to that. (The guys were fine, but we didn’t talk to them much before they insisted on getting our numbers. I didn’t like the vibe.)




Later, we hid upstairs, where we were joined by CK and Dani’s dancing friend, Kurt. Not her boyfriend, mind you. We read the questions off of Scruples cards and had a good time laughing at our disparate answers. CK declared that I was the conscience of the group. Well, it’s not like I haven’t been there before.




Would you like another funny story about a boy? Perhaps, you would like to know what the hell is going on with Kyle (the internet guy I’ve been emailing with for a couple of weeks)? I would like to know that too.




We had an email exchange on Wednesday that lead me to believe that we would get together on Saturday.




Here is part of the exchange:

Jamy: If you wanted to get together, Friday evening is free and maybe Saturday afternoon is too, for coffee. I’ll even be in [your area] if that makes it easier.





Kyle: I would very much like to meet you. What time do you think you’ll be in [my area] Saturday afternoon?





Jamy: [Bunch of unnecessary details about my schedule, errands, etc.] I can meet you any time after 11am somewhere in [your area], I just have to be back in DC by 6pm. We can have coffee or whatever. I’m flexible.

Friday night rolled around and I still hadn’t heard from him. I can’t say I was upset–that would have been an overreaction–but I was annoyed. I got another offer for Saturday afternoon, and I promptly accepted.




Saturday was spent picking up the new red chairs, doing a tiny grocery shop, meeting a friend for lunch and dropping by a museum (about damn time). When I got home, I had a quick dinner and a little relaxing before heading to goddamn Sterling.




I did manage to send Kyle one last email:

Since I haven’t heard from you, I have to assume that you don’t want to get together. I’m disappointed that it didn’t work out; I was looking forward to meeting you.




Best of luck.

You may say I was too easy on him, but I was going for the guilt and I wasn’t keen on letting him completely off the hook. And it’s not like I hated him or anything.




Then I drove to goddamn Sterling and had the above mentioned fun.




Today, Sunday, I received this message from Kyle:

Oh, Jamy,




This is not the case at all. I’ve just been overwhelmed between work and this online “dating” thing. I’m sorry I haven’t called.




I am most definitely interested in meeting you. I apologize if I’ve been rude, and if you don’t want to meet me, I understand.




But if you still have interest, please write back.

Well, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, and I told him so:

Hrm. I don’t quite know what to make of this situation. I thought we had a plan, though not a time and a place, for Saturday. When I didn’t hear from you on the where and when, I gave up.




I’m still open to meeting, but the ball is in your court.

And he responded:

We didn’t have a plan, did we? I remember I got an e-mail from you at some point saying you might have some free time yesterday to squeeze in a cup of coffee or something, but you were otherwise booked, right?




God, I hope I’m not just confused. If I told you I’d do something and didn’t call, I’m even more apologetic. Please tell me I didn’t do that.




Ack!

And I answered:

Well, you asked me when I was free on Saturday. I told you when I was free. I didn’t give you a specific time and place–I thought you would tell me what was convenient for you. That was on Wednesday and I thought we were set to do something on Saturday, though specifically what hadn’t been determined.




It sounds like a simple misunderstanding.




That said, you’re still going to have to initiate the next plan because I’m feeling a little gun shy.

I’m still waiting for the next installment of “will he or won’t he?”.




I don’t have much hopes for anything working out with this guy. I doubt we’ll ever meet. It’s just been too hard. Still, it’s nice to think he wasn’t blowing me off (um, though, he kinda is). And I can understand getting overwhelmed when you are meeting a lot of people online. But there are better and worse ways to handle it, and this is probably one of the worse.




Two final observations about Kyle:

1. I thank him for providing mildly entertaining blog material.
2. He better not become my boyfriend, because this would be mighty embarrassing if he ever read it.

Grateful for
: the chance to be clear.


Drop me a line.