Missing Undies

How is it that the last two times I’ve done laundry I’ve lost underwear? And is it coincidental that each pair has happened to be one that I currently have in heavy rotation? Why can’t I suddenly realizing that one of my pairs of Grannies is missing? Instead, it’s two of my most valuable. (I rank value of underwear not by dollar spent, but by what I wear them with. These are both pairs that can be worn under white pants and/or skirts, which make them prime commodities during the summer.)

So let’s explore this. Two possibilities:
Somewhere between my apartment, the washer/dryer, and back to my apartment they, unbeknownst to me, leapt out of my basket and made a run for it. Ran far away in search of a world where there are no tight jeans to suffocate them, no menstrual leaks to stain them, no overzealous men to cast them off and mistreat them.
They were stolen out of the dryer. Stolen by someone who has been lusting after me in some weird, perverted way, and they are now being held hostage under the pillow of some creepy old man. (Or maybe they are being held hostage by the hot Red Jeep Guy who lives upstairs, which would actually be totally fine with me.)

True, this is a mystery that is not exclusive to me, and has been unsolved for many years. I know that millions of socks the world over have disappeared in the same baffling way, but that does not comfort me when I am in the midst of a frenzied search for white underwear to wear under my favorite pale yellow skirt.

The Right Way to End Something

Jason and I just may debate this until the end of time. I say that if you have only been dating someone for a short period of time, it is ok to “dodge and weave” your way out of the relationship. He says that the not only fair, but most effective thing to do is to “punch”. Sure, his way is more direct, more to the point, but mine spares feelings, allows dignity to remain intact, and avoids the beast that most of us fear – conflict.

My recent pondering of this eternal question has been brought about by my situation with Tall Guy. After three weeks of dating, and countless hours trying to convince myself that I could train him to stop going to the Tobacco Company and that I could learn to live with a man who had a small collection of NASCAR memorabilia, I realized that no matter how nice, chivalrous, and family-oriented he was….

“He-ey, let your honesty, shine, shine, shine on me…”

Shit, pardon the interruption. I just can’t help myself when Simon and Garfunkel are on. Their lyrics make me want to cry.

Ok, ok. Point is, it just wasn’t going to work out with Tall Guy. Since we’d only been dating for a short period of time, I rationalized that he would quickly get the hint, and surely not be too heartbroken. Operation “Dodge and Weave” was quickly put into effect. It was actually going pretty well, until we ended up at the same party this past weekend.

To be fair to myself, I had a lot going on that evening. My brother was visiting, so I had to introduce him around. I was avoiding TG and trying not to let him see me roll my eyes every time he opened his mouth. PLUS, Jamie and brought her friend, Faux-hawk guy, who she has been trying to set me up with for a month. So who is to say whether TG was actually upset about seeing me off in a corner laughing and flirting with Faux-hawk, but let’s just say that fairly early in the evening (by rock star standards, anyway), he was throwing up and then passed out on the bathroom floor. I don’t know when the fuck he got so drunk, but I’m not sure if the guy is a serious lightweight, or he decided to do some major binge drinking. Either way – NOT HOT.

So the question is, was his embarrassing display a direct result of my “dodge and weave”? Admittedly, after this charade I definitely felt guilty for not having been more direct and honest. I mean, Lord knows that if anything could have been done to prevent him having to be the laughing stock of the party, I would have done it.

Should I feel at least slightly responsible, or am I being self-important and arrogant for allowing myself to indulge in the possibility that I could have that much influence over someone?

To “dodge and weave” or to “punch” – that is the question. At least in my book.

Stalkers

My friend, Leah, has a stalker. Well, stalker is a bit of an exaggeration. She has a guy who has been e-mailing her for a few weeks who says that they had classes together at JMU and that he always had a crush on her. After getting these e-mails, her curiosity was understandably peaked, so she responded with genuine inquisitiveness. After much back and forth, (well, mostly forth, since he was e-mailing her even before she had responded) they agreed to meet up for a casual rendezvous for Happy Hour. She said that she and her co-workers (and by co-workers, she meant me) frequent Legend Brewery on Friday nights, and that Mark (aka – stalker) and his brother were welcome to attend.

Friday arrives. We prepare. We analyze. We choose outfits and map out drink plans, so that we get sufficiently buzzed, but not too drunk. We go to the bar at the aforementioned hour.

We sit. We wait. We ponder. We drink.

He NEVER SHOWS. After at least 20 e-mails, much supposed excitement, and even an e-mail to Leah from HIS SISTER, he never shows.

Why? How? WTF?

It remains not only a mystery, but one hell of a story. (A story that, in my own work boredom, I created a Power Point presentation around.)

The Real Beginning

Leah got me started reading blogs on the internet, and I thought it would be fun to do one.

Tonight, I am sitting at home waiting for the rain. It’s supposed to rain very hard with huge thunderstorms and possible flooding-yay! I’ve always loved rain, and enjoyed evenings where you can just snuggle down on the couch, read, and listen to the drops beating on the windows. I think I like it b/c for some reason I feel like when it’s raining it makes it ok to be lazy. On a nice evening, if I stayed home by myself I would feel either like a loser for not having plans, or guilty for not accomplishing anything. When it rains, I can use that as an excuse, a justification. It’s a nice change.

I’m not calling John back. Am I sabotaging myself, or am I really not interested in him? He’s nice, family oriented, cute… but my shallow mind just can’t get past the fact that he says “ain’t”, and is obsessed with washing his truck, and actually hangs out at the club underneath the Tobacco Company. (Who does that?)

No, I’m right. We don’t have enough in common. Being with him would be settling for something, someone, that I don’t want, just to have a boyfriend. I have too much of a life to do that. Too many friends to have fun with. Too many people to meet. Too many adventures left. I don’t need a man, just for the sake of having a man.