Thursday 13

Holy cow, have I had some serious writers' block today. I have been trying to think of something for at least an hour now! But since I'm working so much, not a whole lot has been going on. And I didn't feel like whining about my lack of a life today. Plus, I'm tired, so it can't be anything too mentally involved. So this works pretty well, and I promise I won't be gross:

Thirteen Scars on My Body

1. Left side of my jaw -- this is what happens when you play violin for 10 years. Please, warn your children now.

2. Upper back, on left (?) shoulder blade -- I had a mole removed when I was about 10. It was big, so there were stitches. A plastic surgeon was brought in to prevent a huge scar from forming. This was my mother's idea. She was worried about my wearing a backless prom dress. Nevermind that when I grew olders, I was never allowed to wear a backless anything...

3. Left shin -- A big, scary dog was barking at me. So I did what any 7 year old would do. I tried to climb up a bookcase to get away from it. I sorta hit the corner of an iron flower pot on the way up. Trauma ensued. Weird trivia fact: CN has a scar in the same place, and it looks JUST like mine.

4. Right forearm -- Burned my arm taking a giant cheesecake out of the oven. It was worth it.

5. Left elbow -- Bike wreck at my 8th birthday party. I had only recently learned how to ride a bike, and participating in a race on a looped gravel driveway seemed like a good idea. More trauma.

6. Left eyebrow -- I was a baby. Dad was babysitting me for the first time. The phone rang, and Dad left me on the bed, alone, while he went to answer it. I took this opportunity to fall off the bed, hitting a table on the way down. A couple inches difference, and I would have knocked out an eyeball. Needless to say, Dad didn't babysit me anymore after that. I now have a thin, horizontal scar which ended up working out really well -- it's perfectly aligned to where I tweeze my eyebrow!

7. Belly -- In addition to other places, this is where I have a prominent chicken pox scar. Unfortunately for me, I came down with the chicken pox just in time to miss Nikki Arnold's 8th birthday party. It was close to my own birthday, if I remember correctly. But I was more upset about missing Nikki's birthday party because she was the most popular girl in our class.

8. Left shin, just below the flower pot scar -- a terrifyingly loooong scar from what I like to call The Disposable Razor Incident. *shudders*

9. Left thigh -- In the 2nd grade, I had a stonewashed denim purse. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I kept a pencil in it. One day, as I was getting out of a car (or was it a bus? I can't remember) to go to school, the tip of the pencil had worked its way through the fabric and poked me in the thigh. You can still see the pencil lead in my leg!

10. My ass -- MRSA. If you really want the details, do a search for MRSA on this blog. I don't wanna talk about it.

11. My bottom lip -- Another baby story. I was holding a bottle in my mouth. I was busy walking around and didn't feel like using my hands to hold the bottle, so I just clamped down on the bottle nipple with my teeth to hold onto it. Aah! My hands were free to help me balance! Too bad it didn't work. I fell, face first. The lid on the bottle cut my bottom lip. I still have the semi-circle scar.

12. Fingers -- From a summer spent at the neighborhood pool when I was in middle school. I was trying to learn how to dive, but I kept scraping my fingers on the bottom of the pool, because I hated opening my eyes under water, so I could never actually see the bottom or sides of the pool. And in case you've forgotten: scrape + chlorine = ouch. I don't dive anymore.

13. Lower back -- A souvenir from Dr. Nazi, the evil dermatologist who removed a small mole from my lower back (yes, I am a moley person) without any local anesthetic. She basically melon-balled me. OUCH. I do not recommend. Definitely ask for the novocaine.

Now that I have just written this, it sounds eerily familiar. Have I already written this same post?? I don't know. I'm too tired to go look. If I did, I apologize.

Share some scar stories with me!! Nothing gross, please. Do you have any interesting scars?

It's All in My Head

Love is like an hourglass, with the heart filling up as the brain empties. --Jules Renard

This weekend was pretty normal. I didn't get much accomplished, which is giving me a huge guilt trip right now, but I did hang out with some friends, so that was nice. Friday I went out with Nurse P, Brunette and K. We grabbed dinner and then went to see a movie. It was surprisingly good. I don't think Sarah Jessica Parker is much of an actress and Matthew McConoughey doesn't really do it for me, but I will keep my eyes peeled for Zooey Deschanel in the future. She was hysterical. And guys, while this is a chick flick, it is pretty funny. So don't stress too much if your girl drags you.

After the movie, K went her way to meet up with some girlfriends. So I went out to the bars with Brunette and P. We had some girl bonding time and for some reason ended up staying out really late, despite the fact that there was not that much drinking going on and we didn't see many people we knew. Weird how time gets away from you.

I had jokingly mentioned to Repo that I would bootycall him that night, just to say goodnight and say something silly--we wouldn't see each other until Saturday afternoon. I changed my mind later because I didn't want to wake him up. His wrist was still bothering him and he had to work early Saturday morning. So instead, I stayed up late and made him lunch. I went to bed around 4 am. Then I dropped it off at his house very early Saturday morning as a surprise. I even included dessert and a note. He ended up eating it for breakfast on his way to work. Typical.

I got up around 10:00 am. (Yes, six hours of sleep. This will play a role later.) He and I spent much of the weekend watching basketball. He got to my house just in time to catch the end of the USC game (they won, only to lose to Florida yesterday) and then we watched the IU game (they lost, but still got a bid to the NCAA tournament! Yessss!). After the games, we were talking and he said something stupid. Looking back on it now, he was had good intentions with what he was saying, but it sounded really bad. Really bad, in a chauvinistic kind of way. "Oops....that didn't come out the way that I meant it to...." he said. "Nope. It sure didn't," I said, cooly.

Then he got a big, fat dose of me being a Pain in the Neck. When I get tired, I have a tendency to overreact and be overly-sensitive. That's when I sulk and snap and cry. Often I throw in a guilt trip just for good measure. Let me tell you, I'm a peach to be around when I'm tired. And oh-so-drama-free to boot. Luckily, he is an extremely patient and understanding guy. He said, "Let's go get something to eat and we can drive and talk." This is the best strategy ever when I'm upset: feed me and distract me. He is so smart. He even knew to ask, "Virginia, are you tired? Because you told me you get irritable when you are tired." This instantly diffused me, because as usual, he was right. (I hate that.) Then he used the most brilliant strategy of all: He made me laugh. Among other jokes, he decreed that his car was a Drama-free Zone and therefore, I was not allowed to cry in it. Dang! I was now giggling too much to cry. Then I apologized for being a butthead and he apologized (again) and reassured me that he is crazy about me and didn't mean anything by it. He said that next time, he's just going to say, "Alright! That's it! Naptime for you, missy!" This is probably a good idea.

So this week, we both learned how to deal with each other when we are in bad moods. Whew! It was rough, but we made it. We definitely flexed our communication muscles!

He took me home so I could nap and he spent some much-needed bonding time with his roommate, Golf Guy. (GG is having girl problems and so they needed to have a drink together. Awww...guy bonding is so cute.) We called a bunch of our friends to go out with us that night, but in the end, everyone bailed except Big Poppa. (I dubbed it "Ditch Night".) The three of us had a good time anyway! But since we were all tired, we were asleep before 2:00am.

Sunday morning, I somehow managed to get up for church. I realize that lightning will indeed strike me one day for the lifestyle I lead, but it feels good to go sometimes. It helps me stay grounded and it keeps my life in perspective. Seeing as how I was yet again going on 6 hours of sleep, I was now exhausted to the point that I didn't feel good. Watching basketball and eating pizza at Repo's stinky house didn't help. But after a nap I felt better. Then I left to eat dinner with K, hit the grocery store, clean up around the apartment and bake a cake for a coworker's birthday. I hit the pillow just before midnight. Yeesh.

I have been dreading today at work for a while now. I had to create a presentation (which I totally procrastinated on), knowing that no one would show up to see it because no one ever shows up to these presentations we have to make periodically. (Would you go to a library presentation? Didn't think so.) I have been worried that my boss will want to know how many people attended, which is stupid because it's not like she's expecting droves of people to show up in the first place. But I'm quite the over-achiever kind of person, so I feel like a failure/slacker right now. Oh well. At least it's over. But last night I was freaking. I felt insomnia coming on as I was brushing my teeth.

As I was going to bed, I leaned on my hand to reach and grab my alarm clock so I could set the alarm. (It's hard to explain without seeing it, but I have to sit up in bed to reach my nightstand.) When I did this, my hand slipped and all of my weight slammed into the corner of the wall next to my bed--head first. It hurt. (It also looked really funny, I bet. But as usual, no one was around to see me do something hilarious.) I have a nice mark on my noggin from the corner and it's pretty swollen. I was afraid to fall asleep after that because I worried that I would pass out and die from a brain hemorrhage. I kept imagining the newspaper headlines: Woman, 27, found in bed, dead. Cause unknown. Awaiting autopsy reports. I worried about K finding me and freaking out that her roommate was dead for no apparent reason. I kept trying to remember details from the day just to reassure myself that I had no memory loss. So, between the paranoia of having a possible concussion and stressing about my potential half-baked presentation, I didn't sleep much last night. I even had a nightmare--one where you are caught unprepared for something and you are looking around and cannot find whatever it is you are looking for.

I almost called in sick to work since my head is killing me, but Advil is helping tremendously. Since it hurt so badly, I am paranoid that I have a walking concussion of sorts. I have a headache and nausea. According to what I've read, since I didn't pass out and I don't have any memory loss, I am fine. But it still hurts. I can't believe what a klutz I am!

Needless to say, I'm going to bed early tonight.

Happy Vindication Day!

In case you are like me and only sorta-kinda know what vindication means and had to look it up: it is the act of justifying an act or belief. It's a good theme for this post, especially on Valentine's Day!

Everyone in my office is loving this personality quiz. According to my results, I'm extremely verbal. Surprised? I'm also very low-scoring on the nature and kinaesthetic portions. Again, no surprise. I hate camping and I'm a complete klutz. We have all been laughing at the results--maybe you will enjoy it too.

XY (of Team Richardson) sent me this article yesterday. Can you believe this guy? I would have sent him a bill for $40.00 for wasting my time. Take that, jerk!

I virtually know this terrifyingly intelligent woman who blogs from Britain. She is a total genius. NML is her name and she invited me to write a column for her Baggage Reclaim site. I wrote about how much I love being single. So for any single girl who is bummed out about being single on Valentine's Day, read this. It will make you feel better, I promise! (How's that for a shameless plug?) Actually, this is more of a plug for NML, who is cool enough to let me do that! My name is now in....pixels...? Maybe one day it will be in real, actual lights. ha!

So....what else has been going on? This past weekend, I hung out with Repo. A lot. And it was great. We went to a basketball game and watched movies and went to dinner. I could talk to him for hours and hours. It is really nice being with someone who is that comfy. I can really be myself around him. *sigh* Yeah, I guess I am The Smitten Kitten. But the best part is, I think he is just as smitten. He calls, he isn't all about getting in my pants (so far, just some smooches), he actually asks questions about me and listens to me. I think he actually likes me for me--I'm more than a piece to him. Concept! I feel secure and desired, which is pretty awesome. It's really awesome, actually. But it's weird, because I'm not used to it. Usually I'm wondering and analyzing and freaking out--most guys just make me feel insecure. His behavior is so sweet and honest, it's making me feel somewhat overwhelmed. But in a very very good way. So I think I'll be keeping him around for a while. Especially since he sent me a dozen red tulips at work today.....talk about brownie points!

OK, I'll shut up now. I'm even making myself want to puke, if it makes you feel better. To my credit, I'm not hanging out with him tonight. I had already made plans with girlfriends when he asked me about my Valentine's Day plans. I told him I already had plans, so he wanted to know if we could celebrate Valentine's Day another day. I said sure. Some of my friends are giving me a really hard time about this. Maybe I should cancel on my girls??? I am not one of those friends who does that--I'm totally opposed to girls who go by "dicks before chicks", but at the same time, shouldn't I spend some time with a guy who sends me flowers on Valentine's Day? I mean, girls live for this stuff!

Any ideas for something nice I can do for him in return? Cookies, maybe?

The Bombshells & Falling Flat on My Face

Fortune favors the brave. --Vergil, Aeneid

This is one of my favorite quotes, and I am glad to say that I'm pretty good about applying it to my life. I firmly believe you can create your own good luck, and so did this ancient author. So let this post be an example of the wisdom of the ancients.

Immediately after posting about FedSexy and my panic attack about his lack of calling, I stopped and thought. What am I doing? I'm an idiot. I don't hit it off with someone this well every day. Dang it! I'm not letting this slip away because I'm too chicken s--t to pick up the phone. I need to start pulling my own weight in this.

So I did something which will shock any girlfriends of mine who may be reading this. I called him on NYE. (I know, I know, big deal. But I'm very old-fashioned that way. We all have our quirks!) I just wanted to see what his plans were that night. As soon as he answered the phone, I knew something was wrong. His tone of voice was less than enthusiastic. I was completely bummed out and instantly regreted my decision. I was falling flat on my face. Crashing and burning. Mayday! Mayday! Abort! So I cut to the chase in order to make the call as short as possible and to possibly redeem a shred of dignity before crawling into a hole to die. Here is how the important part of the conversation went:

VB: So, what are you up to tonight?
FS: Oh, just getting hammered with some buddies. You?
VB: The same. Only I won't be hammered.
FS:Are you going downtown?
VB: Yup. To The Wild Hare.
FS: Well maybe I'll see you there.
VB: [trying hard to conceal disappointment and failing miserably] Maybe?!
FS: Yeah, maybe.

Ohhhhh....this was so bad. I was toast. Yesterday's meatloaf. Roadkill on the Dating Highway. But it was NYE. I couldn't let this get me down. There's partying to do! So I told myself I had just called at a bad time, went out (ended up going to Local's rather than Wild Hare) and smooched a hottie! How's that for letting something roll off your back? I even impressed myself.

The next day, I hung out with Kermit, the German Nurse's brother. In a previous post, he was referred to as The Friend's Brother (remember, I went to the football game with him?), but Kermit is a much better nickname for him. The German Nurse is in town (from Germany, where her husband is stationed) so her friends and family are trying to hang out with her before she goes back. When I came over to hang out, she was tired and cranky (she's pregnant, so we let her off the hook), so I went to a movie with Kermit. It was awful. Don't see it. Anyway, after that, Kermit and I went over to Brunette's house for New Year's Day dinner. Like a lot of people, we here in "South Cackalackie" eat black eyed peas and collards on New Year's. Brunette is a really good cook, so we brought our appetites. On the way there, Kermit had to get some gas. As he was filling up, I sat in the passenger seat, staring at the quickie-mart. There was a big yellow neon sign in the window. It read:

FRIED CHICKEN

Only the word 'fried' was slightly obscured, so I found myself staring directly at a giant, glowing, ironically yellow sign calling me "Chicken". Or at least it felt like it was calling me that. Maybe it was because there was a really sad Concrete Blonde song playing as I looked at it. Right at that minute, I decided I needed to reciprocate with FedSexy and try calling again.

The next day, fully expecting another rejecting phone conversation, I called him. And he sounded really excited to talk to me! YAY! I told him that if he wanted, I could drop off some pumpkin bread at his house later. He said, "Hell yeah! That would be awesome!"

Needless to say, I was pretty stoked about this. I got to his house, trying hard to look hot without looking that I had tried to look hot. (Ladies, you know what I mean.) But before I had the chance to ring his doorbell, I again managed to fall flat on my face.

Only this time, I did it literally. Somehow I managed to trip on something and do a face plant on his doormat. (Hopefully this is not a prediction for our relationship.) I went down so fast that I didn't even realize I had fallen until I was down. It was hilarious, and no one saw. I was laughing my ass off until I realized I was in pain. Ow. I cut my hand and bruised my shin. Luckily, he didn't hear me. I didn't break my cell phone or smush the bread. Whew! I brushed myself off and rang the doorbell.

He was on the phone when I got there. I tried really really hard not to overhear, but there are certain phrases that are hard not to hear. Phrases like, "...yeah, that was my friend Virginia Belle. She just brought me some pumpkin bread...well, can you still have children?...Are you going to have to have an operation?...Are your ovaries and stuff OK?" Of course, this was absolutely none of my business, but I am still pretty curious as to whom he was talking to and if they are OK. And I was a teeny tiny bit disappointed to only be referred to as a friend. But all in good time.

He got off the phone and walks over to the pumpkin bread, telling me that he had just woken up from a dream in which he was eating lots and lots of pumpkin bread. I smiled and said, "Well, you know, I don't make this for just anyone." I saw him smile as he turned to go get a knife. He thanked me for it profusely as he sliced it. We sat on the couch and munched on our snack. He wasn't really saying much when he busted out with:

"I have to tell you something. I lied about something on my profile."

Oh. S--t. People do not lie about little things on their profile. They lie about divorces, hairpieces, serious diseases, drug addictions, jobs, gender confusion and criminal records. What horrible thing could this be??? I took a deep breath and said, "Um, OK. What?"

FedSexy says, "I have a daughter."

Hoo boy. Not as horrible as it could have been. But quite a bombshell, none the less. I realized it would be too much to ask all 434 questions that just impacted my brain like a nuclear bomb, so I prioritized and settled on about a dozen.

"How old is she?" --3
"Where does she live?" --Florida
"What's her name?" --S.
"Do you have any pictures?" --Yes. (He went and got some. She is adorable and without a doubt, his kid. Spitting image of him.)
"Do you miss her? See her much?" --Yes. No, but she is coming to see me this week.

I wondered if he was talking to the mother on the phone just a second ago....

Then, I got to the other bombshell. One picture had the mother (Baby Mama?) in it. She looks like a model. It was pretty intimidating. I noticed she has blonde hair. Hmmm, he must like blondes, I thought. Then I realized there was one last, very important set of questions to ask.

"Are you divorced, too?" --No.
"Are you guys on good terms?" --Yes.
"Did you lie about anything else on there?" --No.

Whew! I sat there for a minute and absorbed everything. I was actually not really freaked out. I can understand why he wouldn't volunteer this kind of info, because I probably wouldn't have started dating him. It was too late now! I'm hooked! I appreciated his honesty and I think he brought it up at a good time--not too soon, not too late. I could tell he was a little freaked out about telling me. I was very relieved to hear he is on good terms with her--I took that as a sign of maturity. I have to be honest, I was also glad to hear that she lives far away. It will make this an easier pill to swallow. Running in to her would be potentially awkward. I think I probably handled this well because of my own family. My dad had two kids already when he met my mom. So I'm probably more open to this idea than some other girls would be. Besides, I love kids.

We watched TV for a while and then he told me that he had to go meet a buddy of his for coffee at 8pm. It was already about 7pm. I asked him if I would at least get a smooch for the pumpkin bread before he had to leave. He said, "Of course!" [This is the part of the movie where the screen fades to black. Use your imagination.]

A little bit later, we had another important conversation. I was determined to reciprocate by sharing with him how I felt. I took a deep breath and tried to slow my rodent-speed heart rate before beginning. I wish I could say I'm one of those people who can quote conversations word-for-word, but I'm not. Here is the gist of what was said:

Me: You know, I've been feeling a little rejected by you lately.
Him: Oh yeah? Why?
Me: Well, I guess I was just hoping to see you on New Year's. And you haven't called me in a while.
Him: Well, I'm glad you told me that. I'm not a mind reader. You're a planner, aren't you?
Me: Yeah, I guess I like to have stuff all planned out in advance. I usually have my weekends figured out by Wednesday. You aren't a planner, are you?
Him: Nope. Not at all.

(I was not really sure what to make of this information. Any feedback from readers would be much appreciated. It's hard to feel important when a guy only makes last-minute plans all the time. It makes me feel like Plan B. Anyway, back to the story...)

Me: I missed you.
Him: You did?
Me: Yeah, I really like you, FedSexy. I don't hit it off with someone like this every day. And I think you feel the same. [He nodded. If I remember correctly...]

Then I asked him about something my woman's intuition had picked up on.

Me: Are you scared? [ I got no reply--just an expression that said, "Yeah, but I'm not going to admit to that right now." ] Well, I won't be scared if you won't be scared.
Him: [enthusiastically] Deal!

Then we went back to smooching. He still met with his friend for coffee, but he was, uh, well, very late. As I was leaving, he told me he would be pretty busy the next couple of weeks: His daughter is visiting, he has National Guard this weekend and he is starting Police Academy next week. (Yeah, I know. I have a weakness for men who carry guns to work. Shut up.) He called me as soon as I got home to flirt with me some more. Awww. I went to bed floating on air.

Whew! Glad that was overwith. I think it went well, don't you? A little scary, but I just proverbially took a deep breath, held my nose and jumped in feet first! This is something I would never ever do, so I'm stretching myself with this relationship. Which means I am at risk for being hurt. I guess I'll just cross my fingers and hope!

The only other tidbit of information I want to share is that he implied that I may have more, ahem, experience than he does. I can only take this one way: He was with Baby Mama a looooong time. Any other interpretations? Your interpretations/comments are much appreciated.

Oh, and he again hasn't called me in three days. Only I'm not freaking as much. Just a little. He is busy. Although, I can only assume Baby Mama is visiting too....oh dear...

The Addiction

That, of course, is the Devil's bargain of addiction: A short-term good feeling in exchange for the steady meltdown of one's life. --Daniel Goldman

A couple months ago, I flew to Washington, DC. I had not been on a plane in several years, so I have to admit, I was a little excited about traveling on a "big bird". (insert any easily-amused blonde joke here). Some people are really good packers. I'm the girl who needs 8 suitcases for a weekend. I delude myself into thinking I will have nothing to do at my destination. Or I will magically lose 10 pounds, causing me to need my skinny jeans. Also, I live in fear that my trip will be absolutely decimated if I don't bring 43 things I might need if the Special Situation happens. It could be anything from I could get invited to a cocktail party while I'm there. to I won't have anything to do--I'd better take 4 books just in case. And that is why it takes me three days to pack. And then, I will forget something obvious, like my toothpaste.

So, since I had not flown in a while, I created even more horrible situations in my head, the main one being, I will be stranded in an airport for 6 hours without food.

Never mind that there are always places to buy food in airports. I have to bring a small, travel-proof buffet with me in my carry-on. One of the items I decided to pack was of course, candy. For those of you who don't know me personally, my name is Virginia and I'm a candy addict. Once I ate two pounds of Jelly Belly jellybeans in a 24-hour period. I only stopped because my supplier ran out. I literally had withdrawls.

So into the side pocket of my carry-on I shoved anything I might need mid-flight: a book, a handful of miniature Reeses' peanut butter cups, a granola bar, an apple, a bottle of water, a map of Dulles airport and two magazines. Keep in mind this flight is only an hour long. Yes, I am ridiculous. It's a good thing I don't have to travel for work often, because I just wouldn't make it in the shark-infested waters of regular business travellers. They'd eat me for lunch. I'd be airport roadkill.

After lugging my stuff across a very very hot parking lot into the airport, it was eventually time for my flight. As I'm boarding the plane, I found out that my carry-on had to be checked. Apparently, this particular plane was smaller than most. So I had to scramble around and dig out something to read and eat at the last minute. Carrying a magazine, the water and the apple, I settled into my seat. Although I was pretty annoyed about having to check my bag, it was a minor inconvenience which I quickly forgot as soon as I saw my seatmate. He was cute, friendly, single....and sitting right next to me! If this was flying the friendly skies, I need to start cashing in my frequent flier miles!

We began talking and flirting. We had a lot in common and there was some chemistry. He was visiting family in Ohio and had a couple hours between flights in Dulles. I told him my brother was picking me up at the airport, but since it was Friday rush hour, I was expecting to have a little bit of time to kill as well. Right before we got off the plane, he said he was going to go grab a beer at the airport bar and invited me to go too. I said I'd love to. I grabbed my stuff and stepped off the plane to meet back up with him. He took one look at me and said, "Hey, have you been eating chocolate?" Puzzled, I said I hadn't. He said, "Well, then what's all over your shirt?" I looked down. There was chocolate ALL OVER my shirt. It was one of my favorite shirts to boot. Dang it! How did this happen?? Then I realized. The magazine I had been carrying had gotten some of the melted candy on the back cover and when I grabbed my stuff, I managed to smear it all over myself. Fabulous. I hastily dug around in my suitcase for a jacket to throw on over it. When I looked up, the cute guy was gone! And there I was, with sticky chocolate all over me, literally wearing my addiction. It had finally caught up with me.