The Mormon, Work Anxiety, Some Black Licorice, and a Luncheon Meeting

First of all, I would just like to say welcome to my new readers!  Thank you very much for following.  Please don’t be shy; feel free to drop by and introduce yourselves sometime!

I’m not going to school this semester.  Not by choice—just because the school and the doctor’s office are both run by incompetent gits.  So I now have four months to give them both hell.  I will be going next semester.  Of course, by that time, I will be the equivalent of one year behind schedule.  Brilliant.

I did start back to work again this week.  So I mean, I won’t be a complete loser for four months.  Oh, but I’ll feel like it.

For the past couple months I’ve been rather silent on the Dean the Mormon stories, but no more.  I’ve decided I’m way past the don’t-kiss-and-tell stage now.  (He’s my boyfriend; we kiss.  There.)  So now I can tell stories as they arise without feeling guilty or having to put the lock on, which I dislike doing.

So…speaking of Dean the Mormon…we went to St. Augustine the other day just to be tourists.  I got lost on the way to his house.  (He lives about an hour away from me, and see, I suck at finding places on the first or fiftieth times, and I suck at giving directions.  I’m just not good with this kind of thing.  As I was trying to explain to him, when I learn to drive someplace new, I have to learn it in both the light and the dark, because they both look way different to me, so it’s like two completely different routes.)  Also, I’d never seen it in the light, and it was light while I was trying to find it.  I did manage to find my way out in the dark later, which is saying something, as there are very few lights out where he lives.

We were headed into a bookstore a few minutes after we arrived, and there were some other people headed into the store, coming from the other direction, when The Mormon paused and had that look of, ‘Hey, I know you’ on his face.  Then they paused, too.  And when I saw that they had a baby, I knew that this must be Trask and Co.

Trask is one of The Mormon’s best friends—the one who lives in Gainesville with his wife and their baby, whom, when he came out, Trask said looked like something out of The Dark Crystal.  (Apparently he’s grown out of that stage, because I couldn’t really see it.  And believe me, I looked.)  Trask is also the one who calls dozens of times during two-hour make-out sessions because he knows that when The Mormon isn’t answering his phone, that’s what’s going on.

So they just happened to be going into the same store as us on the same day at the exact same time.  I love weird coincidences like that.  Anyway, so as we parted ways, Trask shook my hand and said, “It was lovely to finally meet you; I’ve heard great things.  This guy has really fallen head over heels for you.”

We went into some candy store later and argued for a while over whether black licorice is good or bad, and then we got a bag of various things, and I put a scoop of black licorice in it, and so then I stuck a piece in my mouth, and he informed me coolly that I was not going to get kissed for an hour.  I laughed and ate more licorice.

We went to the fort, the name of which I can’t remember, but…you know…the fort…and joked about the two-hundred-year-old graffiti on the walls (I’m serious; there was stuff carved from like 1800-something) and some General or Commander Pratt.  And then we made Pratt jokes for the rest of the time we were there.  (Example:  There were several spots where you could, even now, quite easily fall from the upper level to…way far below, and I wondered aloud how often that must have happened back in the day, and he said he didn’t know but it must have happened, and it must have sucked, and I looked down below in this mournful sort of way and said, “Oh, there goes Pratt.”  Stuff like that. ‘Twas fun.)

Then we went to this 50s diner where they actually played all 50s music (which was really cool because I knew every single song, some of which I hadn’t heard in…well, many years).  And back to his house again to watch Say Anything, this kick-ass British show called Spaced, and a little Battlestar:  Galactica.  At one point, he stepped outside to smoke, and his brother came out and said, “Where’s Dean?”

“Oh, probably outside smoking,” I said.

“That was enthusiastic,” Jeremy (the brother) said.

“Ha…yeah, well…I’m just going to eat more black licorice to get back at him,” I said, and ate about six pieces.

I checked the caller ID this morning and discovered that yesterday, while I was out, another stalker called me.  For the first time in months.  This guy liked me back when I was in my journalism class a year ago, and he liked a few of my friends, too.  He did a story on HP fandom, and asked for some of my friends’ names to interview them.  Then he started stalking Katie.  He’d come up to me and ask if I knew where any of her classes were, or when (I very coldly informed him that I did not), and then sent her an e-mail, which I actually still have.

From April 1, 2017…April Fools’ Day, go figure:

“Hey there,

Just wanted to say that it was nice talking to you and thanks for your oppinoin [sic] on the new Harry Potter book.  Also, if we can meet up sometime next week, can u tell me what u look like.  Maybe that way it will make it easier for me to find u.  For me, 6’1”, dark short brown hair, glasses, 150 lbs. hazel eyes.  I like HP, photography, paintball, watching tv, playing my Game Boy, going to the movies, listening to HP audiobooks.  What do u like to do?

Thanks, Colin”

This guy was really weird, if you haven’t already guessed that.  He had this creepy, halting sort of speech, really slow, with odd inflections.  Like a poorly-made robot.  He tried calling both of us several times after that, and neither of us ever answered again.

Tell me, what is with these people, and how do I keep meeting them?

So I went to lunch with Milo today…hadn’t seen him in a few weeks…and this scary thing happened when I got out of my car.  We were walking into the restaurant, side by side, and I don’t know, I guess obviously there’s some pent-up stuff inside, and now I’m not afraid of hand-holding like I was two months ago…anyway, as we were walking in, I tried to grab his hand.  I don’t know what was going through my head.  But I brushed against his arm with mine and reached down for it, and that was the exact moment I realized what I was doing and jerked my hand away again like I’d burnt it.  I don’t think he noticed—I sort of played it off like I’d just walked too close and then lengthened the distance between us.  But then later we walked over to Target and I did it again!  So I just crammed my hands into my damn pockets and kept them there.

(I would just like to say, for those of you who are wondering, that no matter what my feelings for a certain other concerned party, I would never cheat on The Mormon, because for one thing, I’m just not like that, but for another…he’s a really freaking great boyfriend.  I couldn’t ask for better, and I like him a lot.  And even if Milo finally came to his senses all of a sudden and realized that he should have been with me all along…I’d make him wait indefinitely.)

So afterward I went back to The Mormon’s to watch more of Spaced.  That show totally kicks ass, I’m telling you.  Like I said, it’s an hour drive, and I knew that it would be really difficult trying to find his house in the dark, so the entire way there, I felt like I was trying to outrun the darkness.  As I explained to him, I kept checking the rearview mirror, and I could see the sky behind me getting darker and darker, and I was going faster and faster, when at last I hit the traffic on San Jose, and the darkness was coming much more quickly.  But I actually made it just in the nick of time, when a sliver of light still hung in the air.

And now I s’pose I’m finished for the evening.  See, I told you there was a real entry coming soon.

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Catching Up

I cut myself shaving this morning.

This was no big deal, I do it every now and then, and I was just going about finishing the job, when I noticed that it was still bleeding.  And it just kept going.

That’s when I got a bit dizzy and almost passed out.  I snapped out of it pretty quickly, though.  (Okay, I shrieked ear-piercingly.)  Then I grabbed a washcloth and applied pressure until it finally stopped bleeding…then it started up again, so I applied more pressure, and by the time it stopped for good, the water was, of course, cold.  So enjoyable.  *rolls eyes*

So I’m of course inviting Dean to our New Year’s party this year, and I’m going to tell Milo he’s invited too, because “Nicole needs somebody to kiss at midnight”.  I am awesomely bad, as Gary put it when I told him this.

Here’s a good story.  The other day I was listening to random things on my computer, and Brother was here, and I told him he had to hear this one song, and I opened up Cab Calloway’s “Minnie the Moocher”, and he says, “What is this from?”

“Nothing that I know of,” I say.

“No, I’ve heard this before.”

“I don’t know where.”

He has this look like he’s really listening, trying to place it, and then he says, “Yeah, they used to play this on the morning announcements every day last year.”  And then he starts singing it, before the words even started!  I was so shocked.

Frighteningly, I was offered a job at Watson again, one that pays $1.50 more than I make at UNF now, but I declined.

Speaking of UNF, god knows if I’m ever going to get in, but I shan’t bitch about that now.  I’m not in the mood.

I had to go to the mall the other day for a final couple of Christmas presents, and when I got there, I decided I was going to be in and out in about five minutes.

Hot Topic disagreed with me.  They thought it would be funny to hold me hostage for thirty minutes as they fixed their register, which died immediately after scanning my card.

About fifteen minutes went by, and one of the other cashiers walked by and said, “Have you gone crazy yet?”

I said ‘yes’ with a completely straight face.

About five minutes later, I asked them if I could maybe run home to grab my sleeping bag.

When the thirty minutes was up and they were finally able to re-scan and give me a receipt, she asked if I wanted it in the bag or not, and I said, “Yes, please—think I’ll frame this one.”

Fortunately I had nowhere else to be, so it was just a sitcom-lengthed opportunity for many witticisms.

I did see Rainbow when we were in Hot Topic.  He’s in the Navy, on leave right now.  He was with his girlfriend of two years, some really young chick who’s psychotically possessive and stares at me evilly when I speak to or smile at Rainbow.  I grinned back.

Went to Dean the Mormon’s house for dinner that night, and then we headed to St. Augustine to see the lights.  St. Augustine is the most Christmas-y part of Florida, because of all the lights they put up around town.  It’s something you’ve got to see if you live in a subtropical climate.

Last night when I came inside, Brother was sitting at the computer crying.  He moved into his room; I followed him.  He and his friend were sitting out there, and Brother was talking to Dad on the phone (and crying).

The story was, Psychobrat and Spidermonkey walked into the house.  Spidermonkey looked at Brother and said, “Is that your sister sitting at the computer?”

Brother called him a dick, which caused Spidermonkey to leap forth and attempt to strangle him.  Brother kicked him and hurt his foot (hence the crying) and Psychobrat laughed as she watched it all.

When Brother’s friend told me about the laughing, he said, “You know, I really don’t like your sister.  She’s evil.”

I said, “Believe me, we know she’s evil.”

So of course, Brother was the one to get yelled at because he doesn’t know how to get along.  If the situation had been reversed, and he had provoked Psychobrat (or Psychobrat’s boyfriend), he still would have been at fault.  I know, because it’s exactly the same with me.  It doesn’t matter what happens…it doesn’t matter that it is almost always Psychobrat who provokes things…we are the ones who get blamed, because we are not the favorite child.  I’m serious; that’s how it works.

She knows it, too.  That’s why she starts things.  She likes getting us in trouble.

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.

The Most Important Thing

There’s this guy at work named Ben, but I call him Luke, because something about him reminds me of Luke from Gilmore Girls.  Not that he really looks like Luke, but he has the Luke look, if you get what I mean.  Maybe the personality, too, although I don’t know him well enough.  He definitely has potential to have the personality.  He makes jokes without batting an eyelid, at least.  I don’t know.  We’ll see.

Anyway, so of course when it hit me that he reminded me of Luke, I had to tell him right away, and after my trying to explain what it was, he said, “Is this another way of saying you think I’m hot?”  I said that yes, I supposed it was, and he was like, “Aww, you think I’m hot” and I’m just, “Aww” in a teasing sort of way and walked off, haha.

So tonight as I was leaving, I passed him and waved and said good-bye, and then Michelle and I went to wash our hands in the restroom and came out and there he was, so I said good-bye again, and he kinda squinted his eyes and said, “You’re stalking me….”  I just smiled.  And he said, “I like it!”  He has no idea….

On one of the episodes of Lois & Clark I watched tonight, Clark finally told Lois he was in love with her, and, God…that felt familiar.  I was right there with him as he told her.  I mean, I knew what her reaction was going to be, but I still wanted him to do it….

I wanted to do it for so long, and then I finally did, and now I know that it doesn’t make things better, it just makes things…over.  Where is there to go from that point onward?  Well, I don’t know.  I still talk to him.  And Lois and Clark were able to move on, even though obviously Lois finally realized she was in love with him, too.  The whole situation felt so very familiar.  I felt what he was feeling, and I read her mind from her body language.

I’m not sorry I did it.  I had to.  It’s just…it’s sort of anticlimactic when it finally happens.

I’m starting to think that love doesn’t matter so much anymore.  Well, for me, at least.  It’s fine for other people.  But I don’t need it.  That’s why I suddenly realized so recently that it doesn’t matter whether or not I’m ever with the love of my life.  I don’t need it to be happy.  And I think I can eventually be content in a relationship without being in love.  Maybe I’ll fall in love again; maybe not.  But I feel like it doesn’t matter if I ever do.

Friendship and the kind of love you get from that—that’s the most important thing to me.

Current Guy Issues

Last night I went to see Blade Runner.  And Milo came with me.  Just the two of us.  He didn’t call anybody–or if he did, nobody else showed up.  So yeah…just us two.

When it was over, we walked out to the parking lot, where I reminded him he had mail, so I went digging through my purse for…The Letter.  Because this is how I had decided to do it at last.  When I finally found it, I said, matter-of-factly, “I’ve had this for about two years; it’s sort of irrelevant now, but you need to have it, not me,” and handed it to him; then I took out the mail and things and explained the rest in the same random and matter-of-fact way.  Without missing a beat, really.  It was great.

Right, so…current guy issues.  On Friday, I asked the dishwasher out.  He said no.  I’m serious!  I totally wasn’t expecting it, either; it took me completely by surprise.

I approached him, all serious because I really wanted to know, and said, “Hey…do you want to go out with me?”

He looked at me, also very serious, and said, “No.”  Then, looking all around as if he actually expected somebody to be standing nearby, he said, “Who told you that!?”

“No, nobody…I was just asking, would you like to?”

“Oh.”  There was silence for a moment.  I had to say something.

“I’ve only got one day off a week,” I said.

“What day is that?”

“Saturday.”

Another silence.  Then, “I think I’m hanging out with my friend Chad tomorrow….”

“Oh, no that’s fine, I’m doing something tomorrow, anyway.”

Yet another silence.  Finally I said, “Well, if you’re interested…let me know,” and walked away.

I’ve got a date next week, anyway.  With John.  Here’s the problem (there is always a problem, of course).  I know he likes me, and yes, I do like him, but….  And that’s just it.  Whenever I try to explain this, I say that I like him, but…and never know how to finish the sentence.  So obviously there’s something.  I don’t know what.  I just know there was never a “but” when I used to talk about Milo.

And as far as the dishwasher goes, well that’s just what I get for trying to get involved with a younger guy.  Shame!  Never again, I swear.  I don’t know what that was.

And in another plot twist no one saw coming…

Apparently, the dishwasher quit the night I asked him out.  Nobody really knows why, but by all means, presume what you will.

Man Issues Ahoy

Milo is moving out in about a week.  I still stand by what I said before—I’m happy for him, it’s going to be very convenient (for him) and all that.  But it is upsetting.  I knew this day would eventually come, but still.  It’s going to feel awfully lonesome around here.  Not much chance of seeing him at all once he’s practically next-door to his girlfriend.

I had a date with a really nice guy last night.  Ryan.  We had a lot of fun.  At one point he even stole my line:  “This reminds me of that one episode of Seinfeld.”  Heh.  And he taught me how to use chopsticks!  I finally understand!  He’s moving away soon, though, at least for the summer.  To Illinois.  I’m not likely to see him anymore.

I told Milo tonight that we had gotten our movie tickets, and by the way he reacted (I know his reactions; he doesn’t have to say anything for me to know exactly what he’s thinking), I knew he was wishing we’d asked him to come and get his at the same time.  (I actually knew that when I found out we were going to pick them up.)  And I feel bad because there’s one of those things where it’s me pushing him away by intentionally not asking, so he’s going to go and do it with his girlfriend instead.  But I had to avoid the impossible situation of asking him to come and telling him, “I’m sorry; you can’t invite your girlfriend.”  It’s either hang with him and his girlfriend, or just let them be alone together.  I don’t like it either way (anything that involves him and a girlfriend of any sort just sucks), but what can I do?  I don’t want to watch it.

Anyway…that’s that.

Acronyms

Earlier tonight I was saying something about wanting to watch SNL later.  I wasn’t speaking to Psychobrat, yet she felt the need to interject with:  “Why can’t you just say Saturday Night Live?  It sounds stupid when you say ‘SNL’.”

“It sounds…stupid?” I said.  What the hell?

“You sound just like this girl I know who says, ‘L-O-L’ instead of just laughing.”

“…”  (I seriously didn’t know how to respond to this.)

“I hate when people say SNL.  It sounds stupid.”

“And yet, they’ve been saying it for over forty years now.”

“Well, if you don’t watch the show, which I don’t, then you wouldn’t know what it stood for,” she said indignantly.  “You’re just like that girl who says ‘L-O-L’.”

“That’s completely different!” I said.  “You say ‘SNL’ for the same reason people say ‘FBI’ instead of ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation’!”  Should have asked her if she knew what ‘STFU’ meant.

Then, my dad, who had conveniently not been listening to any of the conversation prior to this, chose to speak up and prove Psychbrat’s point.

“What’s SNL?” he said.

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I didn’t bother to respond.  My mom did for me.  By this point, I was done with the conversation.

On a new subject…. Milo went job-hunting recently, and had just procured one at CareSpot when, on that very day, this guy who was in one of his classes last semester called and offered him a job at MOSH.  He told Milo that he remembered him, thought he was a cool guy, thought he could offer him something he’d really enjoy, and could he come in, work part-time, and accept (I can’t remember if it was 10 or 14, so I’ll say 12) $12/hr pay to do cool stuff like make dinosaurs (big dinosaurs) and shave fire extinguishers with razors to make rockets?

It’s perfect for Milo, and I told him it was density, so of course he took it.  He called CareSpot back and turned them down.  He’ll be working part-time so he can keep going to school, too.

And now he and his sister have found an apartment in San Marco, really close to where he works, and right in his price range, so they’re moving in there at the end of this month.

San Marco is also where Mo lives, so the whole thing is very convenient for him.

Everything seems to be going just so well for him right now; I’m very happy for him.

As for me, I’m just hoping to be accepted to UCF, but I have my doubts.  It’s not like I have the greatest GPA in the world, and from everything I hear, it’s really difficult to get in there.  I’ve never been one who’s good with academic competition.

So, considering I do get accepted there, I’ll be moving down with Cort at the end of summer.  I’d been assuming I’d be coming back here all the time on weekends, but so many people say things like, “Well, you’ll be down there,” as though I’m not going to see Jacksonville at all while I’m there, like once I get there I won’t want to come back.

And if I do come back once in a while, I can’t see him wanting to spend much time with me, since he’s got his girlfriend.  I know how that goes.  In fact, as soon as he moves out, I expect to hear pretty much nothing from him.

I think he’ll probably write my parents a really nice note, thanking them for everything they’ve done for him, and that’s cool; I’d think it strange if he didn’t do that.

I just hope he doesn’t write me one, too.  I really don’t want that.  I don’t want him to think of me as his charity case (and odd choice of words, I know, as it would seem to be the other way around).

This is another topic entirely, but I’m always saying that I feel like I’ve lived two lives:  The one in Virginia, and the one here.  It seriously doesn’t feel to me like the same lifetime, because both parts have been so different.

Recently, however, I’ve begun to realize that Virginia…doesn’t even feel like another life at all…it feels more like a dream that I had a really, really long time ago.  I mean, I still talk to a few people from there, but…well, we used to have so many stories that we’d tell over and over again.  People (like my mom, I guess) used to think it was so great how we could remember so many stories so well.  But I’ve been forgetting things.  The only thing I can say is that it feels like it was all a dream.  And that’s weird to me.

And now I have to get my homework done.  *Sigh.*  Another long night, coming up.