That 25 things you say about yourself that I refuse to publish on Facebook.

So I'll put it here.

1. I like to talk… a lot.
2. I have a really big heart.
3. Excessive noise drives me insane.
4. When I say insane, I really mean it. I turn into a mean, mean girl. We’re not talking Tina Fey "Mean Girls", but Tina Fey is really awesome, so I’d take that compliment.
5. Until I turned 12, hit puberty, and got rid of my braces, everyone said I looked like Punky Brewster. Even complete strangers.
6. I’ll have a Bourbon on the rocks please.
7. Repeat is my favorite feature on any listening avenue.
8. I love words like tickle, though I’m not a huge fan of being tickled, well… unless it’s by someone I really like. He can tickle me if he wants to.
9. Dirty is a pretty great word too…
10. I can’t live without music.
11. I miss climbing trees, skipping down the street, doing cartwheels out of nowhere, riding my bike in the woods and building forts out of sheets.
12. Coffee must enter my system at some point in the day or I get very cranky.
13. When I get kissed by a boy, I like it when he puts his hands on my face.
14. I don’t wear much make up, or many high heels, but I do paint my fingernails... A lot.
15. I fall in love all the time, but really its only been with you.
16. I miss North Carolina so much it hurts sometimes.
17. I do not, however, miss Tennessee that much.
18. Apparently I look like my Aunt Jeanne, not my Mom.
19. I’m still friends with people I’ve known since I was five.
20. One day I will publish something.
21. Solidarity suits me as I am an only child.
22. But I love to go out!
23. I’m not afraid to die.
24. Seriously.
25. My bed is one of my all time favorite places to be, ever.

The Digital Age

I guess I've been off the market too long... shut down like some poor, old PC undergoing upgrades or something, trying to catch up with the times. I only say that because I either got real old (much like my sprouted gray hairs suggest) at the ripe old age of 27, or I just forgot that Casual Dating is so, well, casual. It all started with actually getting back on the Market- like being sold on eBay or something- by meeting someone I found amusing. I was drunk, so really I don't recall the meeting. That should have been my first warning...

Perhaps he was a purchase I put in the "Save For Later" box that I eventually bought just because it looked like it might look great on, and oh hell, the price was right... This is a meat market right? Or am I mixing too many metaphors? He probably felt the same about me... except he's the one who put the bid out first - on Facebook.

Like I said, we met one night when I was out with friends and I apparently told his friend that I thought he was adorable. Which he is rather cute, in that small, pale, tight-bodied, not-my-type-but-almost kind of way. He said I was adorable too. So that was that. We hung out some, got down and dirty, and started the whole 30-day free trial process. (You can return this with a receipt in just thirty days if it just doesn't fit!) We were feeling each other out you know, trying to decide if we should actually date, casual or not, or just continue this annoying (but quite enjoyable), late-night sleep-over situation.

Other than that, we hardly knew each other outside of the few actual dates we had and the daily online chatter that we engaged in via gchat and text. Good god, what happened to talking face to face? Dating has been reduced to nothing but abbreviated mixed messages. OMG, LOL, WTF? The Ivy League schmuck who invented this online way to easily conduct narcissism and stalking at the same time without the fatal awkwardness of a live audience must fit comfortably in his chair laughing his way to the bank. (Checking his statement online of course) Way to go Mark Zuckerberg, WTG...

Anyway, so here I am, finally sort of trying out the Washington dating scene, at first out there with the rest of us fatalists who need a crowd, then sadly, mostly digitally due to scheduling conflicts. Albeit, that is rather typical- we do spend enormous amounts of time in front of computers for work, for fun, for the blindness of our eyes... we can't see our dates anyway...

Then, just before the expiration date on the refund into our once-a-week slumber parties and daily cyber-speaking sessions, I started to get the impression that he had either lost interest in my make and model, or had found a different one all together to try on for size. He wanted his refund.

This was not to my, well... not surprise, really, or chagrin either, as I was not wholly saddened by the end of this attempt to show off my PC upgrade in a what turned out to be a mostly-dominated Mac world. It was more that I should have known better to try and seek warmth through a computer. I could feel the cold shoulder all the way through the screen. All the while we "chatted", I could sense that I'd already been packed up back in the box, just not taped up... Each long pause was like a sigh.

SPIT IT OUT, MAN!, I thought, as I clicked the keys in anticipation! And then there it was...

I've been trying to figure out how to say this... it makes my stomach hurt to think about... it wasn't supposed to be like this... I just happened to find you both at the same time ... I don't know... I like you!... but I think I like this one better... What do we do now? He said most of that ... all in TYPE. BIG. FLAT. DULL. TYPE.

What do we do now? Shooo, this ain't my first Pac-Man...

Maybe we should have stayed in cyberspace where people live on plastic dreams and self-created friendships. The ones that survive through networks and hard drives because they mean more than they ever will in person. (Ironically at this moment I am listening to my iTunes and Brendan Benson comes blaring on with the line "Well, there isn't anything between us"). So, complaining aside, I guess I am sort of content in this digital world after all. At least it knows what I'm thinking while in the midst of an earphone isolation and echoes my sentiment back to me- one more time with feeling!

Truth is, I'm not all that upset about getting dumped on gchat. I'm just sort of disappointed. There really is no more romance these days? A girl can't even get broken up with in person? Not even on the phone? I questioned my bed-mate about this and his excuse was that he might have been too upset, might have even cried. Yeah right, I said, you don't like me that much. Proof-positive by the sound of the clicking of your pristine nails on the keyboard. You go get your refund, honey, I already got mine.

I guess I'm not ready for an upgrade... Maybe I still like things a little less perfect. Maybe, just maybe... I'm not ready to be a Mac girl after all. It's not Mac's fault, and I may move over that way after all.. but in the mean time, I'll keep my Game Boy thank you very much.

Cut My Hair.

I'm going gray. As in, my hair has started to turn on me. Appropriately it began in my widow's peak, so I don't know if that is irony at it's finest in my singlehood, or just the way things are.

I might just be one of those people whose hair goes gray at really early age, like 32 or something. I'll have to decide what to do about it, you know, like just let it go... or am I too vain for that? Like my mother, testing dyes to see if red or blond (or both) suits my one-time black head of hair.

For now I pluck them out like one night stands I don't care to remember. But they grow back... slowly, suddenly. Just like that guy who left in the middle of the night, but you still remember his name and think of one night out of no where when you're making the bed. Oh yeah... that guy.

I don't mind going gray. It can be as charming as anything else I suppose. Like casual dating. Though when you wake up next to him, sometimes there's a tinge of sadness because it's not really what you want. At least its not a bad hair cut. That's like a bad break up. It'll grow out, but damn it looks like shit, and man it feels like shit.

I guess when it comes to going gray, it'll happen some day anyway. One can only hope you take it gracefully. The same goes for love I suppose, one can only hope you get the chance to dye it whatever color you like.

Your room is my favorite band.

Going to see a band you love is like walking into your lover's room for the first time. All the intricate details are exposed, revealed, layers are peeled off. You get an idea of who they really are, how they really work.

It's sexy, really. Talent revealed in such a raw way. Like finger tips on your neck still standing up before he's even kissed you. The floor vibrating from the sound of the guitar plowing through your toes up into the moment that you bite your lip from excitement. There's so much to take in. Eye contact. Or maybe you're turned on and you think the drummer spotted you in the crowd and liked the look of you. Your lover wants to devour you as you devour the walls and surfaces around you.

You tilt your head. Listening, watching, thinking... oh, that sound in that song really was from the keyboard. Oh, that's the smell of him next to me.

Before you know it, he is next to you, and the he's got his chance to take you on like you took on his room. The show is in full swing and you know when it ends you will want to listen to them again and think about that eye contact, the voice in the microphone, that first rip on the guitar that sent a shiver up your spin. With the thought of that, maybe you wish you you'd invited your lover over to see your room... Or maybe what you really want is the one who makes you feel like that all the time.