Monthly Archives: November 2012

Midweek Drabbles or, y’know what? I didn’t really write anything…

That’s because I was sketching! Yes!

Am I going to scan said sketches and upload them? Absolutely not!

What? They’re sketches, the most embarrassing part of art. Or at least they are when you’re a lot better at writing than drawing, like me.

…Okay, so “better” is a relative term. “I write more than I draw” is what I’m trying to say.

So, why the sudden art-kick? Well, my BFF got me this cute set of eighteen little, slender color pencils when she was shopping in Japantown’s very own Daiso. I swear, that place is amazing! I hadn’t set foot in that place for five minutes before I found the housewares section and thought to myself “I’m totally gonna get a studio apartment here in SF and when I do, I’m decorating it with all of this. It’s happening. I don’t know how exactly, but I’ll figure something out.” I freakin’ love Daiso!

But, yeah. Just a set of colored pencils and my little sketchbook and…it’s just so relaxing! I’m not sure what it is exactly, but there are times when it’s just lines of color and not my usual person-in-badass-yet-dreadfully-impractical-clothing and you know what? That’s fine! Jelly even helped me make a color wheel and, being the amazing artist she is, is slowly but surely teaching me the very basics of drawing. Again, I’m still keeping my day job, so no worries there.

…Okay, so I feel kinda bad now. Let’s see what I can come up with. Give me a sec…

Alarm and alac!
I must say, you have a knack
For throwing me off balance;
Your entreaty, though undeserved,
Has left me most perturbed
And disturbed.

I can’t look you in the eye.

There’s not much there to see
Save the weakness in me
And the need, so bold, so brash,
So utterly, glaringly bare,
But still, I need you there.
Still I yearn to gaze.

The source of my malaise,
The cause of my distress.
You leave me feverish,
My mind a complete maze.
But still, your smile beckons,
The cure for all my ills.

I can’t go back to how I was.

And I don’t think I want to, no.


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Why, yes, those -are- my boxer briefs I’m holding at the moment…

Number one way of getting someone to question whether or not they should continue to pursue you romantically: get them to somehow see you holding a fistful of men’s boxer briefs. Actually, I was just doing my laundry when this guy I know walked in for no other reason than to “look for his friend”. Shyeah, right, cool story bro. If you’re with your friend and there’s nobody else in the laundry room, why did you even go in there? I might be a tad bit presumptuous, but I’m the only one here. Certainly, you must have been looking to engage me in some sort of idle conversation.

But, yeah; I was in the middle of shoveling my not-so-dainty undergarments into the dryer when he walked in. It was priceless! I could literally see the cogs turning ’round and ’round in his head as I held a fistful of what are unmistakably menswear and casually said “‘Sup.” I’m sure that at least one of the thoughts that occurred to him at that moment went somewhere along the lines of “Oh, fuck, she’s got a boyfriend already. AND she’s doing his laundry for him! Crap!” Priceless, especially when you consider my preferences! I had to smother my own laughter, save it so that I could write it down for posterity here. For once, I didn’t feel the need to explain that, yes, these are my underwear and I regularly wear what is considered to be “typically male clothing” in order to feel at ease with my gender fluidity because I’m sure the conclusion he jumped to is more than enough to get him to back the fuck up.

There’s actually quite a few people that I’d like to back the fuck up. Surprising yet true. This is a relatively new phenomenon at least as far as I can tell. Usually, I’m the one that needs to just stop and walk away from doggedly whining and pining after someone I can’t have. As it turns out, being on the other side of the situation, i.e. being the one that’s being pined for, is just as uncomfortable (if not slightly more so). I still don’t know how it came to be that I can now reject people and I don’t like this development at all. It’s not fun! To the people that claim to lay waste to other people’s hearts for the sake of diversion: lend me your unfeeling, numbed soul and tactlessness, please! Prescribe to me whatever anesthetic with which you put yourself under before utterly shattering your would-be suitor’s hopes and dreams because I can’t do it just as I am! More often than not, I feel like I’m pushed to do it as an act of mercy because, again, I know that feeling all too well and it does no good to hang them with their own hopes. It’s a noose I’d rather not knot, having hung from it myself a time or two.

I’m over-exaggerating, clearly. I’m sure that everyone knows both sides of this particular story, even the Lotharios and Mrs. Robinsons of the world. But it’s not easy for me to say no to begin with. I ended up working on Friday night and pretty much all of Saturday this weekend because of it. I’m usually the one saddled with getting things together for an event or going to something on behalf of someone else when I should be studying because the word “no” doesn’t seem to exist in my vocabulary. But it’s either I gather my nerve, be direct with whoever it is I’m dealing with, and put them down now or have to suffer countless, clumsy, utterly wince-worthy attempts to grab my attention.

You want to know what’ll really grab my attention? How about some good conversation? It doesn’t have to be about politics or the state of the world around us. You don’t have to impress me with your vast knowledge of the world around us. No, let that be for strangers getting to know one another. It doesn’t matter what we talk about, really. Hell, it could even be the things you’ve already said before and you’re just repeating yourself for the umpteenth time, I don’t care. I’m listening, sort of, but watching mostly. The way your eyes widen and brighten. How your movements are so much more animated, exaggerated when you’re talking about the things you like. I may not understand it, sure, but it doesn’t matter to me. I’ll Google it later, I promise.

I want to see you get flustered as you try to convey what moves you to such a degree. I’m sitting back, drinking it all in, and you, my dear, are certainly a tall drink. Well, not too tall; I’d rather like to be the taller one, if you don’t mind. But your grace, your smile, your way of being…fluid. All fluid and flowing and so very bright. It’s something that can only be seen when you’re comfortable around someone; to be honest, I’m just glad you’re comfortable around me. Me, the would-be predator, if only I weren’t so cowardly and vain. Because, yes, looks do matter to me, a decisive factor in many a match. But just give me that scintillating display and looks can take a backseat. I’m already halfway yours.

Your voice, too, because I’m still listening. Be it rich and smooth or a light, lilting melody, occasionally pierced by staccatos, the voice is key. The hair, too; it is a well-documented fact that I have a fondness for short, neatly trimmed, soft, glowing locks. Blondes, in particular, are a weakness, though no two people are the same. It’s quite astonishing, really. Of the many, many parallels I can draw between two people that I have loved, the most prominent seems to be the hue of their hair. But even then, there is variance. It matters but it doesn’t. It’s nice but not necessary.

I just… There’s no tactful way to put it, is there? The people that are after me don’t do it for me. The people that do it for me aren’t after me. And those are just the people that I happen to be aware of, be they the classroom creeper or my current crush! Who knows who I’m forgetting, who I’ve looked at, curious, but then shaken my head and thought “Nah, there’s no way they’d like me like that, right? We’re just friends and shit.” I suppose to sum it all up, I just want someone who is as comfortable as possible with which to be equally comfortable around so that I, in turn, can show them just how flustered I can get when I talk about the things I like. I know I’m not one for getting all sappy and mushy and whatever, but I’d like someone that I can be weak around, a bosom where I can lay my head and, for once, not have to suck it up or be my usual toughened, slightly masculine self, someone that I don’t have to put on a brave face for 24/7. I want someone who both inspires me to write my poems and is totally okay with reading them (as I wince, nervously awaiting their opinion of my work). I want someone to be able to surrender to and yet it not be a “defeat”.

Does that make any sense? Is that too much to ask? And, really, who doesn’t want this for themselves? At times I wonder if I should even aspire to attain such a precious thing for myself…Scratch that; I know I should. So should everyone else. We’re all worth this bit of happiness or so we’ve been told. But I know what I would do should attaining such a thing require breaking of other peoples’ happiness: take the hint and walk away. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.

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Filed under The Sunday Post

Excuse me while I stuff myself silly…

Hi, there! Now, I know that I normally wouldn’t post stuff on a Thursday, but let’s be honest: I didn’t have class at all this week (except for research, but that’s not “class” so much as “what I’ll most likely be doing for the rest of my life”) which means that I have no Midweek Drabbles to present. Sure, I still write poetry, but there’s something about lecture that makes me feel just that much more inspired to scribble a little something in the margins of my notes. Next week for sure, I promise. And hopefully they won’t sound so…emo.

But yes! It’s Thursday and, to top it off, it’s officially Thanksgiving! You know what that means: food! Mounds and mounds of food, pounds and pounds of it consumed only to end up somewhere around your middle or caressing your inner thighs. Not that that’s going to stop me from tucking into a plate of turkey and peas and whatever else I happen to find delicious. Yes, stuffing isn’t Paleo but you know what? I’m good for it. I have more than enough willpower to get back up and keep going. The stuffing and the rolls and the pie (because there will be pie, so help me!) isn’t going to stop me in my tracks or stall my progress. The only thing that can do that in this entire world is me.

Aside from the food, Thanksgiving happens to be an interesting holiday to me. Nowadays, retail stores seem to have “skipped” Thanksgiving. The most egregious example that comes to mind is how Target went from Halloween-mode, with their “spooky” decorations and bats and things, straight to Christmas-mode, nary a turkey in sight. I kinda got pissed. This is kind of why Christmas is just so damn tiresome to me; we start the celebrations too early! I know that it’s to drum up revenue and whatever, but given that Thanksgiving through Christmas (and, hell, add New Year’s onto that block of time) is going to be this gigantic chunk of celebrating and semi-awkward family reunions and compulsions to buy things for people that you are not so fond of, I’d like a bit of a breather between Halloween and Thanksgiving. Just…give me a week where there are no decorations, of any kind, and after that, at least a few days for Thanksgiving turkey stuff. And then deck the shit out of your halls for Black Friday so you can guilt-trip your customers into buying stuff for Christmas, like you wanted to in the first place. I dunno, I feel that seeing all these goddamn jingle bells so early kind of numbs me by the time I go shopping for gifts. There is no magic, there is only shopping.

Thanksgiving is not without its own controversy, of course. Just as Christmas has the “coming too early every year”-thing, Thanksgiving has the “we’re celebrating genocide, pretty much” reputation, though not to the extent of Columbus Day. Still, you’ll find people going “Why should we celebrate Thanksgiving? The Pilgrims eventually killed all of the people they shared a table with, despite the fact that the Native Americans were the ones who basically fed them that winter!” I can’t blame them; it’s the soundest of arguments. The truth has that particular attribute. At the same time, people aren’t going to care so long as they get a break from things to eat their weight in mashed potatoes. It’s a strange, prescribed holiday and normally, I’d go about my day as usual, but I am not a machine. Yes, the reason behind the season is tragedy, but I need a break! I will acknowledge everything about the hoilday but, really, the only things that I’m celebrating are that there is no class for a few more days, I will be hanging out with my friends for the most part, and that I’m going to be attempting to make a marbled pudding pie. And there you go.

Anguish if you want. Eschew the holiday, if that is what you so desire. I’ll keep the past in mind but that changes nothing here, in the present. All I can do is keep going and prevent such actions from having an encore in the not-too-distant future.

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Surely I’m not the only one who notices this…

Okay, so it’s an established fact that I’m going to college. It’s almost all I ever seem to talk about in my posts, which makes sense as being a student is pretty much my life. But, thanks to a little thing called “federal work-study”, studying isn’t something I do 24/7. I get an allocation of $1000 a semester and I get the opportunity to earn every single bit of it as a stocker/cashier at the campus’ convenience store.

Now, before this devolves into the inevitable “here’s a list of the types of customers that grind my gears” post (because, yes, this is indeed a typecasting rant; I even made a list while I was working and everything!), let’s get something straight: I love my job. It may not be the highest-paying, or the most prestigious, or a job that I can network in to the fullest with people like the President of the University or one its many provosts, but you know what? It’s a nice break from all the brain-based busywork. It’s not my usual day-to-day fare. There are no reduction half-reactions, no titration calculations, no amino acid structures I have to memorize because, really, they’re just going to show up again somewhere else. It’s just me in an orange T-shirt, black slacks, and relatively nice shoes, standing behind a counter or bustling hither and thither, getting stuff done. It’s just…there is something almost soothing about my job. Sure, it can be physically demanding but that’s fine. Again, it’s a break from thinking. Plus, I didn’t need to go through the hassle of making and checking and editing a resume (though I should probably learn what I need to do for that for later). Just the background check and making sure that my vaccinations are all up-to-date and I’m good to go. The hours are steady and flexible, my boss is pretty chill when I need some time off for exams or whatever, and I’ve found that I can socialize with people pretty well from behind the counter. It’s something that I enjoy doing, though it’s not my dream job (obviously).

That being said, yes, people can be idiots. Maybe it’s because of the counter or the T-shirt or just people’s view of other people whose job it is to cater to their every need (pretty much) in general. But it cannot be denied that there is this intangible something that sort of changes people. Were I to meet these people out of uniform, they’re just normal. Polite, respectful, average, ordinary people. But when I’m in the middle of a shift, I tend to encounter these types of people, among others. Take a look and, please, try to avoid doing this when you’re out and about. I feel like this is especially relevant because it’s so close to Black Friday, which I’m going to guess sees behaviors that are much, much worse than these. I’m just glad that I don’t work in major retail chains.

The people that put their cash on the counter as they count it out and then slide it over to me: It sounds stupid (because it is) but it’s not a shift without getting two or three of these people on a normal weekend. This number tends to increase when there are other events going on around campus, though this can possibly be attributed to the number of people that actually use cash increasing as well. The usual form of payment is through the school’s meal plan system, which requires students to swipe their cards into the slightly fickle card reader. But bust out the cash and odds are good that they’ll count it out on the counter and then slide the pile over to me. It’s irritating, though I’ve grown used to it by now. If I had to say why, it’s probably because it makes me feel like I’m not a person. I’m just a thing standing by the till, a machine that is overly qualified to scan items and open the register.

The people who are so eager to start their transaction, they can’t wait until the person in front of them is done before setting their stuff on the counter: Yeah. Again, it happens a lot more often than you think. A lot. This isn’t so much “irritating” as it is “embarrassing” for me; I can’t do a damn thing about it. I can’t tell the eager beaver to curve their swerve. I can’t tell Molasses Mike to hurry it up so that the next customer in line can be helped. So what do I do? Just stand there awkwardly after saying “Have a nice day” to the person who is still putting their wallet away while reaching over to the other person for their items. Maybe I’m overly sensitive, but yeah. It’s annoying, it’s rude, and it’s definitely awkward (for me at least).

People who take my usual “How are you?” as an invitation to stand there and spill their life story for the next few minutes: I am not a bartender. I wish I was, because that’d be a kickass job-that-got-me-through-college and because I’m sure that it would make for some interesting stories to swap back and forth when I’m old and gray. However, I still try to be social, even on days when I kind of wish that everyone would piss off or after several back-to-back customers who saw fit to buy a crap-ton of drinks each. It’s what I’m paid to do, sell things with a nice manner, and I’d like to think that I’m damn good at what I do. But then you have these folks who clearly have something troubling them, something that they need to get off their chest. I empathize with them, sure, but what I say behind the counter is shop talk, plain and simple. If you need to talk, catch me after my shift and I’ll be more amenable to listen to what you have to say. Or, y’know, go see a therapist. Talk to your friends. Write, draw, sing, whatever. Just don’t take advantage of the fact that I have to look interested because you’ve caught me behind the counter, okay? It’s not genuine and that’s not fair to you or me.

(P.S. You may want to take a breather right about now. This is turning out to be one of my longer posts, unsurprisingly. I just have a lot I want to say about this particular topic and I thought it would be fair to warn you. Carry on.)

People who mumble and, alternatively, people who are rather loud: Well, if this doesn’t make me seem like an overly sensitive bitch, nothing will. But, yes, I’m personally not fond of mumbling or yelling from customers. They’re two sides of the same coin. If you mumble, I won’t be able to hear you and, as a result, I don’t know what you want. Don’t be afraid to tell me if you did want or bag or didn’t, if you were using two different cards to pay with, or even if you wanted to swap out a flavor of yogurt with another because you changed your mind. It’s okay! You’re human; you’re allowed to change your mind if you want to. But then you have the people that are overly boisterous; I tend to have a bit of an issue with people who tend to mill around, chatting with friends in relatively loud voices or customers who bark orders at me and expect me to scurry about. I’m not gonna scurry. I’m not gonna just let this pass quietly. I will glare daggers at you until you leave. I will gladly take my sweet time while putting your stuff in the bag. And you wanna know why? Because it’s what makes me feel better, being passive-aggressive about things that won’t even matter once you go on your merry way, companions in tow. And good riddance.

People that can’t quite seem to comprehend that you’re in the middle of work: Actually, I should amend this to “friends that seem to forget that you’re working at the moment and can’t go off and do stuff at your own whims”; this isn’t a problem that I come across at all with people that I am not close to in my everyday life. So, what usually happens is that I’ll be standing behind the counter, doing what I’m supposed to do, and then in walks one of my more affectionate friends. Admittedly, I inwardly groan, bracing myself for any possibility of awkward contact while I’m on the clock. This isn’t to say that I dislike it when friends drop by to shop while I’m working and, hell, I’m usually the one calling out to them and making not-shop talk because, yes, they are indeed my friends. But there are a couple people who are…rather fond of physical contact. As in they are known to walk behind the counter (where they should never, ever be) to give me a hug whether I want to be hugged or not. Hugs while I’m not at work? Sure; just ask me because it’s not a guarantee that I’ll be 100% comfortable with hugging you. I dunno, I’m just weird about hugs like that. But at work? Unless I like you a lot (a LOT) and I feel like it, it’s safe to say that you’d be better off just leaving me be. I’m already feeling like I’m being trodden on (particularly towards the end of my shift), at least let me keep a shred of my humanity, of my ability to choose. This sounds stupid because, c’mon, it’s just a hug! But at the same time, I don’t like it when people assume what I want, when they choose for me, when they decide that I’m getting a hug whether I want it or not. Don’t invade my personal space; at times, it’s all I’ve got left, alright? Ask first. And don’t get butthurt if I say no, just respect my decision.

People who come up to the counter with the intent of setting their things down and going off to grab something else: No. Just…stop that. Please! We have baskets for a reason! We have, literally, ordered more baskets in an attempt to curb this tendency for people to wait in line with their things in tow, walk up to the counter, set their things down, and then say something to the effect of “Oh! I’m gonna grab something else too. Just really quickly. Is that okay?” No, suffice it to say that it is not okay. You were waiting in line the entire time; surely you could have double-checked that you had everything then! If you’re one of these people, then do me a favor the next time you’re even contemplating about pulling this shit off: look behind you. For every person that is waiting for your dumb ass to finish, I am just that much more angry and embarrassed for you. This is definitely a way to not endear yourself to me, to be so utterly insensitive to other people that have been waiting just as you have and then some because of you. If I had to say that I hated someone, it would probably be someone who does this consistently. Bonus points if said person is also a puppy-kicker or believes firmly in Creationism. All I’m saying is that, if you have to browse through our humble shop, go for it. Take that extra time to know what you want. Just, please, don’t be that asshole that holds up the line. I will use my ability to send you packing with your stuff to the back of the line until you’re actually damn good and ready and it won’t be pretty. I’m not a big fan of confrontation, though I can hold my own if need be.

People who seem to be joined at the hip or, at the very least, their wallets: This is more than the whole “wah, I’m single and jealous” thing. I can admit it; I am slightly jealous of the couples that walk into our shop, holding hands and giggling about something or other. It’s definitely envy and at the same time I find myself smiling at their heart-warming antics. It’s a very strange combination, but whatever. I can deal with that. What I don’t like to deal with are those couples, where one partner seems to have latched onto their significant other like a kind of leech. I know, I’m judging them based on how they shop and not how they behave together or something with more significance than who is actually paying for their groceries. But, personally, I’d want someone who can take care of these kinds of things for themselves. Fuck, were I ever to get married, my SO and I would probably have separate banking accounts; I’ll share my life with you just fine, just back off of my financial matters. Again, I’m not fond of being told what to think or do unless I explicitly solicit such advice. And, even then, I’ll probably ruminate on the advice given before either rejecting it completely or agreeing to follow it. But where was I going with this? Oh, right; when one person pays for their boo and the boo is kind of a dick about it. I’m all for pragmatism, but surely that can’t be the only reason you’re together. Surely it’s not because they have the Platinum meal plan and you have Silver, right? Or do I have this outdated idea of just what constitutes a viable relationship? I blame Sailor Moon for my unrealistic, overly dramatized views on love in the latter case.

People who are actually way too considerate: I’m touched when people are considerate to me at work. Really. Nothing warms my heart as much as the unexpected nice person who comes in, gets exactly what they need, is polite in their manner, and then leaves the shop satisfied. It makes me proud and puts a smile on my face, to be sure. But then you have people who take it too far. These are the people who absolutely insist on turning their items to make it easier for me to scan them. Here’s the thing: not only are you doing my job for me, you’re doing it wrong. By the time you manage to position one of your things to be just so, I could have scanned the lot and been that much closer to finishing the transaction. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do, but unless you’ve either been doing this for as long as I have or it’s just the one or two items in your hand, you’re better off letting me handle it. I have memorized how to turn things to get to the barcodes quickly. I have my own internalized way of opening the plastic bag. You’re attempting to be polite (which is very flattering) but, really, give me and my muscle-memory some credit. Just put down your things and let me take care of it for you while you get your card or your cash ready to go.

And, for fuck’s sake, don’t slide your cash or card over the counter to me. That’s just being rude. I am a person, be it in uniform or not. Treat me as such and you’ll be making all of our lives just that much better. That’s it.

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Filed under The Sunday Post

Midweek Drabbles, or “It’s alright ’cause it’s nothing new…”

A ring around your sunny smile.
You probably meant for none of this to happen
But I couldn’t help but be entranced by

A wounded heart.
Battered, bruised, clearly defeated,
The blood that runs through my veins is not red but

A color that suits you so well.
It clings to your form, as royal drapes should,
In all of the ways I would have wanted to.

A sadness beyond simple blue.
Beyond despair, the feeling of a certain resignation,
The realization that you’re already happy
Without me.
I now know the meaning of
I have litter in my pockets, litter.
Litter in my pockets, glitter.
How glamorous! The life of a drone:
Unthinking, unfeeling, just carrying on.
I long for the dreary to ease one thing:
One-sided love and its shameful sting.
Sleeping, heavy, dull.
The mind is a sharp blade; its
only sheath is sleep.
I don’t
Think that we
Would, should be,
Intimately bound
You are diamagnetic to me.
Where am I to place myself,
So utterly drawn to you,
When your orbitals are occupied?
Lovers? Perhaps not.
I am only a friend.
My feelings may be dampened,
But they were never “pretend”.

Friends? I hope so.
I can be nothing more.
Though it pains me to have never
Truly noticed you before.

Strangers? Never, please.
I don’t think I’d revive.
You called me a “trooper”;
All I do is “survive”.
To the once would-be lover:
It’s great that you want to talk
But I hardly want to just talk.
If anything, I’d like to spend some time
Together. Your place or mine?
Let us talk then (or more besides);
I’ll make sure to pick up some wine.
To the overly exuberant suitor:
Look. No.
You hear me? NO.
It’s never gonna happen,
not even if I’m drunk.
(Though I’d never drink
because, y’know, shit can happen.)
Continue as you are,
for you are very nice.
As for me, you’re screwed, you see;
I’d never look at you twice.
To the lover than can never be:
You’ve made me sing and soar;
I am grateful forevermore.
I come to you, contrite,
May things between us be set right
Sitting, air a-buzz
With the sounds of a thousand
Instruments. At peace.
I caught a glimpse of you today
As you were running up the stair.
I saw a flash, I turned around;
Turns out you weren’t there.

I spotted you as I walked by,
your hair clipped from your face.
I couldn’t help but stop and think
Your eyebrows are truly marvelous.

I saw you from my periphery
Across the street, closing in.
You called, I kept walking on.
Perhaps you’d like a hint?

I saw your car parked by the curb
And smiled at the blue.
I turned my head to see
If I could have seen you too.

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Filed under Midweek Drabbles

Well, at least I didn’t embarass myself…

Going to a professor’s house is never done lightly. Or, at least, not done lightly by someone like me. I have a well-documented tendency to fret about things excessively; needless to say, I had been fretting over this particular event since my professor/PI/academic advisor had announced it a couple weeks ago. So, I secured my companion/ride and gussied myself up for what I was sure was going to be a somewhat stuffy evening of boring science talk.

As it turns out, my professor is actually…cool.

So, my friend and I pull up to his place. He’s a married, well-to-do person with one kid so, naturally, the place was in a relatively well-to-do area. It was the kind of place where houses were clearly cut with the same cookie cutter, but they weren’t painfully new. The community seems to have emerged from one of the countless housing developments that dot the California landscape, with every house as distinct as it was the same. Still, even by 2008 standards, the house looked fairly petite from the outside. I dunno, I just have a thing where houses need to be square-ish or at the very least not look like rectangles resting on their smallest sides, so narrow and squeezed inwards. There were a lot of fern-like plants, only they had no doubly composite leaves. I’m not sure what those kinds of plants are called, but I’m surprised that I remembered what “double composite leaves” are. Go, Bio 51!

Anyway, my friend (who is anything BUT a science major) and I headed towards the door and pushed for the doorbell. Again, I was expecting the usual “super-pro-prof” that I’m used to, complete with button-down shirt and slacks. What did I get? “Super-chill-dude”, much to my surprise.

No, seriously. The man was in jeans. Jeans. That never happens. Ever.

He greets us, I give him a box of chocolates (because I figured it was rude to show up empty-handed and stuff), and he graciously led us inside. It was a really, really nice house! I’m talking posh leather couches, soft, well-kept carpets, TWO living rooms and dining areas each…and that was all just downstairs! At any rate, the doctor and the missus immediately pounced upon the both of us, as we were the only people there. Perhaps it was because I over-estimated the time needed to get from point A to point B. At least I didn’t over-estimate the social graces of my companion; as soon as they found out that she wasn’t a science major at all. Katherine handled herself beautifully, answering their questions and just being her usual, charming self. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend to accompany me to a dinner party.

But, yes. We had a few appetizers and things, chips and salsa as well as a bunch of mini quiche-esque things (which were exceedingly delicious!). After the initial bulk of questions (“What’s your major? What instrument do you play? What can you do with a degree in music education?”), we started to play on the Wii. You know, I would’ve never pegged my professor as someone with a Wii. He’s just so serious and business-oriented when he’s in his element. Well, I guess that’s not entirely accurate to say. He was still very much in his element, as relaxed at home as he is straight-laced at work. Too bad he sucks at Wii Bowling; Katherine wiped the floor with all of us! I did alright but, really, I hardly ever play video games anymore. There’s just no time! Besides, if I were to play anything, it’d probably be on the PlayStation 2 or the Xbox 360 and, more likely than not, it’d be some JRPG that I’m not done with yet. Seriously, those games are long!

I think it was an half an hour or so before everyone else arrived. The good doctor offered us all beer as almost everyone was over the drinking age, except for his daughter and Kat (not that she’d be able to drink anyway, as she was the one driving). I had never had Sam Adams before, but their Winter Lager was pretty good. I think that was the first beer I’ve had since turning 21, too! And, creepiness atop coincidence, Kat was there again! See, instead of going out to the bar for my 21st birthday, I had spent it with Katherine and Nick (another good friend of mine) playing Final Fantasy VIII until midnight, where we then headed over to the sort-of-sports-bar on campus and I had my first drink. Red wine, Merlot, not sure which vintage or winery. Maybe it was Salmon Creek? I don’t regularly drink but, apparently, whenever I do, Katherine seems to be around. It’s just a funny coincidence!

So, more Wii Bowling. I think we got through about three more games before dinner; Kat took the second and third, leaving the fourth for the grad students to battle amongst themselves. She’s really, really good. I found out later that evening that her folks play the game rather avidly around Christmas so, really, I shouldn’t have been surprised! Dinner itself was a nicely done affair. Aside from the utterly delicious gyro, I had never had lamb before and the salmon was delicious and flaky, but not too dry. Admittedly, I kind of ignored the fact that I was on the Paleo diet and put down four rolls, but that’s alright. What’s important is that I enjoyed myself and the company around me, which I must say I did. So very, very much.

And that’s the problem.

Oh, come on. Did you honestly expect me to paint such a wonderful picture of a perfect evening so easily? It’s never easy, not when the person who drove you there is the same person you have a crush on. Sure, it’s nowhere near as consuming as the last crush you had, but it definitely hit me just the same. I’m just glad that I’ve come far enough in life that news that would have floored me a couple years ago just rolls me over now. The conversational gymnastics I had to do… But I think I pulled it off alright. I mean, I made damn sure to chug some water (or at the very least “swiftly sip”, as chugging would have been frowned upon, I’m sure) lest the beer loosen my tongue. But I am a researcher at heart and the question that had been plaguing me for all of two weeks was the usual “Are you available?” I knew that somehow I just had to find out. And I did. I can say that I’m surprised, now that I can think about it (and the blood isn’t pounding in my ears). Hell, I realized this yesterday after two hours of solid feeling-like-shit-and-possible-tears.

Why would someone like Kat be single? She’s charismatic, funny, pretty, and just a really, really great person. There aren’t that many people that I know of who would willingly drive an hour by themselves to pick up someone who was dumb enough to not realize that there are two stations with an almost identical name. I mean, sure, by the time I found out of my own stupidity, the last bus had already left and Kat was already on her way, but I was overconfident. She really saved my butt back there. And crushing on her just feels…different. I felt lighter than air that evening, a stupid grin plastered on my face along with travel exhaustion. Rather than fret about whether she likes me or not, I was pretty much skipping and singing and probably being just a little bit annoying. I felt like laughing for no fucking reason! That was Friday night.

But then it was Saturday. And, while the party was wonderful, the food was delicious, and everyone seemed to have a wonderful time, the evening definitely didn’t go where I thought it was going to go. I wasn’t expecting something like I suddenly sweep her into my arms and kiss her good night or anything, but…yeah. Definitely didn’t expect that bomb to be dropped. It was a bit like World War II; I dropped a few bombs of my own too. But isn’t it better this way? To know is better than to not know. I just hope that stuff won’t get too awkward because, despite her unavailability as a romantic interest, Katherine’s still someone I’d like to become very good friends with, y’know? I’ll take it.

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Midweek Drabbles, or just how does one get a relationship off of the ground…

I am the bee
Frantically dancing about,
Trying to catch your eye;
It just so happens that
You’re allergic to bees.

What can I do
When all I want to do
Is you?
When the only thing I crave
Is your undoubtedly sweet nectar?
When my body aches and
It’s all I can do to respect your wishes?

For I am a sexual being
And I do not apologize.

I can only hope you aren’t.
But I know not for sure
Whether your giggle was true
Or sheer nervousness;
It just so happens that
I’m afraid of the truth.

What I can do
When there’s nothing I can do
But wait for you?
When I can only bide my time
For something that will never be?
When I know that, down the line,
You couldn’t possibly want me.

For it is too much to hope for
And I am a perfect pessimist.

And here I thought I changed.
I have confidence, to be sure,
But I have none of your allure.
I can only speak anon;
And we are ended ‘ere we’ve begun.
You dazzle me, brightly vibrant.
To a former lover:
You no longer sparkle so,
No longer dancing in my mind.
What do I know?
Have I gone blind?
I finally see you
Just the way you are.
You bright, sunny thing.
Can two suns be together?
You’re mysterious,
Softly glowing, vivid.
A moon, perhaps?
I’ve fallen for you.
Everyone knows it too.
But what about you?
Would you love me too?
Such a simple world you live in,
Your existence is so steady.
Would that I jump in and join you,
But my heart is not yet ready.
I believe in what I feel
And I will continue to feel
Even if it isn’t to be;
It is better to know
Than to languish, forever in doubt.

What will I say
When I see you next time,
Some time soon?
When I see you walking,
smiling, laughing, living?
When all I want is to hold you,
silently, simply being?

For I’m sure that I’m a gentle lover.
Why don’t you give me a try?

I am virtually unafraid.
But what will happen after,
Whether we can continue to be friends,
Is entirely up to you;
I’ve said my bit and now
It’s your turn, dearest.

What should be my manner
In telling you what comes easily to my pen
But not to my lips?
When is it appropriate
To pull you close to me in an embrace?
When will you realize that it’s you,
(Yes, you)
Who drives me wild with your scent?

For these words only scratch the surface, love.
And there’ s more where that came from.

And here I thought I gave up.
It’s too soon to take a bow,
So I vow, starting now.
I can only speak truths;
And that I promise to this wish of “we”.
You make me vibrate brightly.

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Filed under Midweek Drabbles