Annnd…here’s what happened.

I was so incredibly nervous about what might happen when I saw him today that I walked to class shaking.  Corey, as I was talking to him, mistook this for my being cold and moved me into the sun.

Well, as it turned out, he was obviously trying to act like things were normal between us.  He made a valiant effort.  And I still had every intention of making the phone call immediately after class, if he didn’t walk to the car with me.

A couple things about class—I turned in the love poem, which I thought had totally sucked because I suck at poetry, but maybe that’s just me—L’Owen told me he loved it and asked permission to read it aloud next class.  He was also thoroughly amused with the title of the fourteen pages I handed him:  “Stalkers Anonymous”.

The member of our group who was supposed to have sent us his story online to read before today never sent it, so we really had nothing at all to talk about, my other group member and I…except he had the rest of Dean’s story, so he was planning to just join their group.  I, of course, had not seen the rest of the story, and this guy’s sitting there saying, “That guy [Dean] is a genius, seriously.”

I’m like, “I know.”  Stop talking to me about it!

L’Owen told me that if Josh (the other member of our group) did not show up, then I had no reason to stick around, so to give it ten minutes.  Mike was counting down.  Josh showed up when I had, like…one minute to go.  Go figure.  Haha.  So then he and Mike start discussing how brilliant Dean is…meanwhile, I’ve been shamelessly staring at him ever since I first arrived.  At that point, though, his back was to me, so he couldn’t have noticed.

When all was said and done at the end of class, I was talking to L’Owen, and Dean was leaving, and I’m looking up at him—trying to do so inconspicuously—wondering if he’s going to say good-bye, assuming he isn’t, when he turns and looks at me and says, “I’ll wait for you outside.”

I think I beamed.

I went outside, and we talked to the group for a moment or so, and he announced that he was leaving, so I went with him.

Conversation was…well…it was…odd.  Sort of stilted, I guess.

When we got to the parking lot, he said, “Walk to my car with me, I’ve got something for you.”

So he takes out a stack of books that he’d been talking about loaning to me, before I went and turned all stupid, and was saying, “Things between us have been…”

“Awkward,” I finished.  “Yes, I noticed.”

“Yeah…well, I wanted to loan you these as a sort of peace offering.”

So there he was, willing to make peace and at least attempt to bring things back to some level that they were before, even after what I’d told him on the phone.  That was enough for me to see that Sandra was way wrong in her speculations (see previous entry).

“Um…I’ve been thinking,” I said.  “I realized that I’m stupid, and I don’t want to stop seeing you, after all.”  (As I explained to Michelle yesterday, I never looked forward so much to telling somebody I was stupid.)

He smiled, in a sort of I-want-to-believe-you-but-you’d-better-prove-it way and said, “What brought that on?”

“I—I’m not sure,” I stuttered.  “Well, obviously, it was partially due to how weird things had gotten…like yesterday, when you wouldn’t even look at me.”  I watched him carefully, to see if perhaps yesterday was just some sort of fluke, and that hadn’t been intentional.

“Yeah,” he said, and nodded–yes, he had been deliberately ignoring me.  Well, I did deserve it.

“But…yeah.  I changed my mind.  I don’t know what the hell my problem is.”

“I’m afraid I came on too strong the other night.  It was never my intention to make you think…you know, that you’re the only one for me, or…anything like that.  It was true what I said; I’ve never really felt this way for someone before, and I wanted to tell you that, and at least give it a shot.  It could last a day, it could last a week, who knows?  But at least we’d have tried.  I didn’t mean to spook you.  We just need to take things very slowly.”

I, of course, agreed.  Then I told him about Katie’s response to witnessing our exchange, or lack thereof, yesterday.

“I just didn’t know what to do, really,” he said.  “I mean, I was hurting, for one thing, and then I didn’t know what to say to you at all, and…well, I felt really wrong about it, so I wanted to try and make up.”

Then I had to go to work, and he stood back, even though he was giving me that same look that I always assumed meant he wanted to kiss me.  He wasn’t going to do anything.  That’s certainly respectful.  So I put my arms around him and kissed him instead.  Then I told him I’d call him after work and walked happily back to my car.

So…yeah.  We fixed things.

Today was a good day.


Tirade of the Day

Obviously, I do like him.

This fact occurred to me (too late, of course) sometime after I told him that I didn’t want to commit to anything, and that it was up to him if we kept seeing each other because I didn’t want to lead him on.

I keep thinking up odd stuff that I forgot to put in earlier entries; yesterday in class, for example, I was sick, and we had this whole-class peer review thing, of three pages of one of Dean’s short stories, in fact, and then a poem another girl wrote.

Well, as I was quite ill physically, at least, and a little strung out emotionally, I just…sat there, with my head down on the desk.  I was listening…sort of.  And at the end of class, L’Owen looked around and said, “There are six minutes left…and I know there are a couple people in here who haven’t said anything this whole time…who are they…?”

I did a quick scan and saw that there were only two of us who hadn’t spoken, and…he was bound to notice that.  So I raised my hand to get it over with.  I figured if I sacrificed myself, it would be a lot better for me than letting him call me out.

“GINNY!” he said, grinning with delight.  “You haven’t said one word today; you’ve been slouched down there in your seat, and somehow we’ve completely missed you!  Well, Ginny, you’re going to talk for the next six minutes.”

I stared at him.  (I was stalling.)

“Go on!” he said.  “Let’s hear what you’ve got to say; there must be something.”

Well, we were on Dean’s story, and I sort of…glanced at him sideways, and then I said something.  I have no idea what it was.  All the comments I’d thought about making had already been hashed over.  I really don’t know what I said.  It may have been relevant, maybe not.

I said something that I knew he’d have to defend, and he did, and I responded with something (I seriously do not remember what we were talking about) and I’m sitting here thinking, Is this an argument?–I think we’re arguing.  He hates me.  He so hates me.

Anyway, after the events of yesterday and today, by the time I got to work, I was considering calling him immediately after to tell him that I am sorry, I’m stupid, I do like him, and I don’t want to stop seeing him.  That is the point I had reached.  And Michelle and Adrianna thought this was a good idea, too.

Then I talked to Sandra, who scared the hell out of me.

Sandra’s opinion on it all is that if he respected what I’d said to him, then he’d still want to be friends and things should go on pretty much like normal.  The fact that he is now basically shunning me, she thinks, shows that he only wanted me for one thing, and since he knows he’s not going to get it, he wants nothing more to do with me.

I stared at her in horror, thinking that yes, this did make sense, and that Sandra, being in her forties/fifties, would know better than the rest of us.  (She said it happened to her before.)

I switched places with Adrianna to go and serve with Michelle and see what she thought.  Then I decided to share with Tyler, as he is a guy, and get his opinion.

Somehow, I explained the whole story to Tyler in about five sentences.  I have no idea how I accomplished this.  I’ll never manage it again.

Tyler’s instinct is that he really does like me and is just hurt (which is my instinct, as well as the instinct of pretty much everyone who has actually met him), and he said, “Like, if I only wanted you [he lowered his voice here] for sex [normal voice again], then if you told me that you didn’t want a serious relationship, I would come back with, ‘That’s great!  Me neither!’”

But we all agreed that Sandra really could have a point.

After that I was too frightened by it all to call him.  I’m going to see what happens in class tomorrow, and take it from there.

Also at work tonight, Michelle and Tyler and I stood around talking for a good while, and then I had to go on a quest for more marinara, and when I came back, they explained to me that nothing was said while I was gone; conversation completely ceased.  They were looking forward to me coming back to break the awkward silence.  Conversation depended on me, they said.

Of course, this reminded me of the episode of Seinfeld when George and Elaine can’t talk to each other without Jerry there.  I told them so.

Tyler said, “I would be Elaine.  I claim her right now.”

Michelle said, “No way; you can’t be Elaine!  She’s a woman!”

I said, “I’m Jerry.”

“True,” she said.

“Besides, you’re short,” I told her, and Tyler and I both snickered.

Corey reminded me of Seinfeld today, too.  The first thing I heard him say was, “I am on no sleep!”

So I finished up, “No sleep!  You don’t know what it’s like over there!”

Katie cackled, and I did, too, and she said, “YUS, the Red Menace!”

Know-It-All looked at us, laughing a bit and shaking her head, and she said, “I love watching these two.  They sit there laughing evilly about all their little inside jokes, and you think they’re laughing at you, but most of the time they really aren’t.”

Katie and I looked at each other, and one of us said, “Except that we actually are, usually.”  Or maybe we only thought it.  I can’t remember.  That was right about the point that Dean the Mormon showed up.

I completely forgot my history quiz until last night at 3:30, when I was going to bed.  So I got out the sheet and memorized the twenty terms in order in just about five minutes.  I cannot tell you how amazed I was; usually it takes way longer.  After reading them once pretty much, I knew them all.

Katie and I went to Steak ‘n’ Shake at midnight and, by 1:45, had frightened all the customers away.  Score.

I should sleep.  I have to pick up my contacts tomorrow, and the office closes at twelve.  I didn’t make it on Monday.  (It was like 12:45 by the time I got there.)

It only gets worse, of course.

I took a nap in the library before class today, because I didn’t have to do anything in my first class, and what woke me up was somebody in a dream telling me, “Ginny, you’re going to be late to your history class.”  This jolted me awake just in time, in fact.

I headed outside where I sit with Corey (who was in D.C. yesterday, hence why he was not in class) and Know-It-All (and sometimes Katie) every day, and sometimes a couple guys from my history class, and they were all there, and Katie and I were cackling about random things, when all of a sudden, Dean the Mormon walks right around the corner.

I never see him at that time of the day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and yet there he was, and so Corey and Know-It-All both greeted him, and he had a nametag on because he’d just come from work, and Katie said, in a semi-low voice, “Is that…?”  And I said, “Yes.”

“I can’t picture you kissing him,” Katie said, an evil tone in her voice.

“Shut up!” I hissed.  She continued to grin.  It would have been funny if it hadn’t been such a bad situation.  I looked up at him, and he sort of glanced at me, and then he immediately looked away, never said a word to me in the entire time that we sat there talking about class yesterday, (“L’Owen?” Katie guessed correctly) and never even looked at me.  (Katie, naturally, found this quite humorous.)

And then he walked away.  Never a word; never a glance.

Speaking of which, when he didn’t walk me to my car yesterday, he also neglected to say good-bye.  As I suspect, the only reason conversation was exchanged at all was because he had my book.

And then as we were walking into class, Corey noticed that something was wrong with me, and started interrogating me, but of course, what could I say?  I couldn’t say anything, so I didn’t.

I didn’t mention this yesterday, but when I got home, I made some comment about some hot guy on the TV, and my mom, who was holding the bird and speaking in her baby voice, said, “No cute boy for Sunshine…cute boy for Ginny, but not Sunshine.  Ginny has a cute boy; his name is Dean.”

I’m like, “Uhh…no.  No, she doesn’t.”

My mom looked up at me and said, “Why not?”

I gave a very brief explanation (I told him I didn’t want a commitment, so it was over) and she acted annoyed with me!  Why would my mom not be supportive of me!?  So then I just felt even worse, and reminded myself why I don’t like telling my family things.

To change the subject slightly, I also left out this story about yesterday in class when we were critiquing this one girl’s poem.  She works in a grocery store, and one day a drag queen called her up to ask for eyeliner, and then just started telling her about being a drag queen.  It was a really funny poem; anyway, L’Owen looks around at all the guys and says, “Have any of you ever dressed in drag?”  A couple of them had stories:  Randy had worn a dress once when he was eight, etc.

L’Owen to whom I was unfortunately not paying a great deal of attention, as I had other things on my mind like trying not to be sick and worrying about the gap between my desk and Dean’s, was grinning as he told this story about how he and his wife like to make fun of each other, and one time he put on one of her bras and started laughing at her, and I’m thinking, “I must have missed something here” and everybody’s looking around at each other oddly, most of them laughing…it was rather interesting.  I really ❤ the guy.

Two Poems by Yours Truly

Not that I claim to be a good poet or anything, but I thought I should post these here, anyway.  (And besides, L’Owen really liked “News Flash”.)

News Flash

News flash: I love you, idiot.

You’re a special breed of stupid; that’s why we’re not together. Then, so am I, and that’s why I still care. But you are a male; thus, you far surpass me in stupidity.

I used to feel that your fantastic, perceptive eyes could see through to my soul. But I know now that you only ever saw through me. You were never able to look at me.

Eyewitnesses, all friends, claimed that we ought to be together—even the first ex, from whom I tried to steal you, and the other, who stole you from me for a small eternity. Now I understand why they all thought we might work: you were too much a moron to see that we should, and I so much of one I believed that we could. What a paradox! (That’s one of those things that could destroy the universe. It chose my heart instead.)

Well, that explains it, you and I—we’re simply too dense to coincide.


Writing on the Wall

“Call Marcia, the horizontal mambo whore.”

…Who does that?

Who writes their name and number on the wall?

These people must be really bored

or just really sick

to showcase their number on the wall of the theatre.

We live by the Seinfeldian Creed:

Make fun of everybody.

So we snicker, sitting secluded on the side of the cineplex.

It’s 2 a.m., and there’s no one about

save the solitary, octogenarian security guard.

You see, that’s why

people get away with vandalism.

They’ve got guys like him driving around.  What’s he gonna do?

By the time he got out of his car, they’d already be reaching city limits.

Laugh some more—cackle, really.  We feel evil tonight.


Maybe it isn’t their own numbers people write up there.

Maybe it’s revenge.

A game of write your enemy’s number on a wall.

I wish I knew the number of one of my enemies.

“What, you don’t know her number?”  You wear a wicked smile.

Did the streetlight brighten?

Do I hear the “Hallelujah” chorus?

Of course I know her number.


A downside of having the Love of your Life

live at your house is that

his girlfriend calls all the time.

Right now, under your roof,

he’s talking to her.

They’re watching SNL together.

They’re going out tonight.

They went out last night.

He wants her to come over.

They’re having phone sex.

You’ve got to escape.

Go to a movie with Katie.

Don’t come back until morning.


Of course I know her number.


“I have a Sharpie.”  You grin with malice.

“So do I.”  My eyes give off green sparks.

From my purse, the dagger emerges.

We exchange a secret, conspiratorial smirk.

Brutus and Antony on the Ides of March.

“Keep a lookout,” I say.  “I don’t want Grandpa to catch me.”  How would that look?

I leave the door ajar

so you can’t betray me if old Gramps drives up.

“SWARM! SWARM!” you would yell, clicking the lock.

I watch Seinfeld, too.  I know how these things work.


The streetlight is brighter.  It’s a spotlight.

Anybody driving by right now could see me.

I unsheathe the dagger.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

A final glance around.

The coast is clear.

I scrawl the number of the Enemy on the wall.


About to run back,

I have an afterthought.

“Call me!” I add at the top.


In the car, we breathe,

and suddenly wonder if we are on camera.

But it was worth it.  We’ll laugh about this forever.


What kind of people write on the wall?

They must be really bored, or really sick.

Signs and Omens

I just called Ryan.

What was I thinking!?  Of course he still has a girlfriend!

Well, at least it didn’t really feel awkward.  I mean, I did half expect that response, so I was set for it, and he’s such an easygoing guy.

Here’s how it went:

He actually answered, first of all, which I didn’t expect.  He was always really difficult to get hold of by phone.

I said, “Hey, this is Ginny…from the cafeteria.”

“Hey, what’s up?”  It was a surprised, friendly sort of tone.  Not a “OMG, why are you calling me!?” sort.

I said I still had his number on my phone, so I figured I would call to see what was up.  I then asked him how he was doing (good, but very busy) and he asked how I was doing (also good, not so busy) and then he said, “My phone broke yesterday, so I actually had no idea who was calling.”

I said, “My car broke yesterday.”

He sort of laughed and said, “Well, I guess you win!”

I laughed, too, then said, “I was wondering if you’d wanna get together sometime, hang out again.”

And then he said, “Oh…I actually have a girlfriend now.”

I thought, DAMN IT!  Then I said, as though I was completely surprised and had had no idea in the world, “Oh…I’m sorry!”

“No, it’s okay.  We can still hang out if you want to, catch a movie or something.”

“As friends, of course,” I had to throw in, to show that I understood.

“Yeah, give me a call and we’ll set something up,” he said.  “I’m about to go into class, though.”

So, should I do it?  I said I would.  He is a great guy; I certainly don’t mind being friends with him.  But should I?  Would that be weird?  Because we were never friends before; we just went on a date last year.  So it wouldn’t be like going back to how it used to be before a hiatus—because there is no “how it used to be”.

In other news, yesterday I walked into my room and happened to glance at the clock—it was 3:34.  This sounds completely normal, I realize, but it wasn’t.  See, the last three times I had stepped into my room before leaving work and happened to glance at the clock, it was 3:33.  Three times in a row this happened.  I mean, that’s a strange number to just happen upon, if you think about it, because of all the times it could show, there are only ten chances each day for it to read three digits exactly the same.  (Twelve if you want to count 11:11.)  Twelve minutes out of twenty-four hours.

Anyway, so being as how I would have had to wait eleven hours and fifty-nine minutes for it to actually say “3:33” again, and I’d been only one minute too late…I somehow took this as a bad omen.  I said so to myself.  It’s because I need things to be even.  It’s that OCD coming through.  I felt off and had no way to fix it because I had missed the same time I’d happened across those past three times by one minute.  Does this make any sense at all?

So I’m heading out of my room, thinking, “Bad omen….”  Or a sign, or something.  And what good are signs if you don’t know how to read them?  And of course, the only thing I can think is that something bad was going to happen on my way to work, like my car breaking down.

And then I got a flat tire.  I’m not really superstitious, though, about most things, so I am merely pointing this out as a very strange coincidence, and a possible example of my occasional clairvoyance.

The prof had me read my “Richard Cory” paper aloud to the class today, because he was so impressed with it.  In fact, the other day when he was reading it during our little one-on-one time, he read the thesis…stopped…and went back to read it again, before saying, “Wow…that is a really good thesis.  Did you really write that?”

“No, I bought it online,” I said.

“Wow, how much did you pay for that?”


“For a thesis that good, I’d have paid $29.99.”

I think I now have the highest grade in both my creative writing and English classes.  Kick arse.

Anyway, got work now, and as I missed it yesterday and am leaving early today, it’d be good to be on time.

Psychobrat and Connecticut Yankees

I’ve been reading Connecticut Yankee very slowly, even though I’m totally loving it—I think I’m savoring it because I don’t want it to end.  Yes, I read it many years ago and loved it then, but I’m appreciating it way more now.  I’m catching a lot more of the humor—and the other day I realized that part of the reason it’s so funny is that Hank Morgan, the Connecticut Yankee, totally has Jerry’s sense of humor.  I’ll show you the lines that first made me realize that:

Hank is riding with Alisande (he calls her “Sandy”) on a quest to liberate a bunch of princesses from an ogre.  Sandy never shuts up, and she tells stories in such a Le Morte d’Arthur style.  (I suspect some of her stories might be taken right out of that book, or one like it.)  And he keeps griping about how you can interrupt her, and he does, he interrupts her many times with comments that of course she doesn’t get but which are very funny to us, and that she will pick the story straight back up as though nothing had happened, occasionally even starting completely over.  It’s all very entertaining.  Anyway.  The quote.

“…And so they ran together that the knight brake his spear on Marhaus, and Sir Marhaus smote him so hard that he brake his neck and the horse’s back—”

“Well, that is just the trouble about this state of things, it ruins so many horses.”

“That saw the other knight of the turret, and dressed him toward Marhaus, and they went so eagerly together, that the knight of the turret was soon smitten down, horse and man, stark dead—”

Another horse gone; I tell you it is a custom that ought to be broken up.  I don’t see how people with any feeling can applaud and support it.”

I read that twice, thinking, This reminds me of someone….  When I finally realized who it was, I just started laughing harder, and now as I’m going through, I just hear Jerry’s voice every time the Yankee speaks, because his sense of humor is consistent.  It’s 19th-century Seinfeld in the 6th century.  Interesting.

Last night, Mom went to the grocery store.  Psychobrat, apparently, needed to make something for her soccer team; she wanted to make brownies, so Mom brought home some mix that had been on sale.

There were nuts in the mix.  Psychobrat pitched this royal-ass fit about how this other girl was already bringing brownies and had already bitched at her for bringing the same thing as her, and how there was not one person on the entire team who liked nuts or would eat the brownies were there nuts in them—she knew.

Mom suggested she sift them out, but Psychobrat couldn’t do that:  The mix was too lumpy and it would take her all night.  Her voice steadily rose in volume and whininess.  Mom kept suggesting she just sift it, it wouldn’t take that long, but finally Dad blew up at her, too.  “She says nobody on her team will like it!  Why can’t we just get her some more!?” or something to that effect, and offered to drive the bitch to the store and get her some more damn brownie mix.

As soon as they had stepped outside, Mom went to sift the brownie mix.  She had gotten out both the lumps and the nuts in less than five minutes.  She called them to tell them so, but they didn’t care; Psychobrat wanted her expensive, nutless brownie mix, so they bought it anyway.  And now there’s just a bowl of brownie mix with saran wrap over it sitting on the kitchen table.

At least Psychobrat got her way and Armageddon was set back another night.

The other night, probably because I’m reading Connecticut Yankee, I dreamed I was jousting.  I’d say it felt really realistic, but I’ve never jousted before, so I guess I wouldn’t really know.  But the other jerk was cheating.  I’m not sure how; I just remember everybody complaining the whole time that he was cheating.  He also took the good helmet and left me with the really tight, claustrophobic one which had slits so big they didn’t do any good anyway.  The lance could go right through it.

Creepy Crushes

There’s this guy at work, Roy, who likes me.  He’s really creepy because all he does is stare at me all the time.  He’s one of those runners who brings refills on food when we run out.  So he can just stand there directly behind me for a really long time and nobody asks questions.  He reminds me of Norman Bates from Psycho, just because of how he stares.  It’s creepy, I’m telling you.  Then he really likes saying my name.  “Here, Ginny, let me get that for you” or “Ginny, do you need help with that?” or “Ginny, how are you today, Ginny?  It’s so great to see you, Ginny, because I’m in love with you Ginny” and OMGSTOPSAYINGMYNAMEIDON’TLIKEIT!

*Ahem.*  Now that that is out of the way.  But yeah, it seems like he goes out of his way to brush against me when he’s walking by, and to me it just seems like whenever he does something for me it’s like, “Ooh, I’m doing Ginny’s job” and I can’t ask him for refills on anything because I feel like it would look like I was coming onto him.

For the most part I just ignore the guy.  Don’t look at him, don’t speak to him, unless absolutely necessary.

Then there’s the other guy.  Craig.  I can’t remember if I wrote about him before, but I’m going to tell the story anyway because if I can’t remember then I’m sure none of you can, either.  He used to be obsessed with Cortney when she worked in the café like two years ago.  In fact, it was pretty much the same thing, always staring at her.  Then he found out she wanted to be a director and all he did from that point on was make random, inane comments about movies, I assume in a pitiful attempt to start a conversation.

Cortney invited him to her birthday lunch at T.G.I. Friday’s (why, I still don’t quite understand) and then was late, because she is Cortney.  But Nicole and Milo and I were already there, sitting in the car and waiting, and there was this creepy guy sitting outside and staring at us, and we kept joking about how creepy he was.  So when we finally decided to just go inside, he came up and said, “Hey, aren’t you Ginny?”

I was, so I said so, and he explained that he was Craig, whom I’d never met, and now we all felt better because that explained why he’d been staring.

I told Cortney the story later, because we thought it was funny that we found him creepy when we didn’t even know who he was, and after a brief silence, Cortney said, “How did he know who you were?”

Well, that was eerie enough, until I realized he must have seen pictures in her wallet or something, and said so.  But Cortney didn’t have any pictures in her wallet.  *Twilight Zone theme*

Craig works nights now.  And he knows that I’m one of Cortney’s best friends, and that we’re obsessed with Harry Potter.  About a week ago, he came up to me and said, “So, you excited about that new HP movie coming out?”

I was, of course.  I told him, but I was thinking, “Oh…crap.”

Last night he said, “So I hear the new HP movie’s going to be all about Voldemort.”

I, of course, had known this for many months already, but agreed that it sounded really cool.

As he walked away, the other creep came and stood directly behind me to stare at me some more, and I laughed out loud at the irony of it all.

And that is all for now.  It seems like there was more, but if I remember anything, I’ll post it later tonight.  For now I am signing off to drive to work in the lovely cold weather.