Just before Christmas my uncle called my mom with a sticky question. I had sent him a Christmas card and signed only my name. He wanted to send one back but he wanted to check in with her and make sure I wasn't still dating Frank.
Right.
Frank.
The dog.
All this time I've been signing my cards "Eileen & Frank" and he thought she was my boyfriend. We have been together for almost 10 years...
Monday, December 29, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Cha!
Oh for fucksake you knew I'd get over it, right?
I'm smitten. That's what my mom says. Smitten.
How can you NOT be smitten with a guy who makes you dinner so you can work on your grad school application essays, who sits with you at the coffee shop while you work on said essays to help you make sure you're actually working, who drives you through the snow for an hour trying to find the prettiest place in the city, who does the "leech" when he's cold and it's so funny and crazy you giggle (like a friggin' school girl) every time you think about it, who actually WANTS to go square dancing, who brings you muffins from his office's breakfast spread so you won't get hungry while you're running errands, who calls your dog "sweetie", who puts his arm around you just so when he kisses you goodbye at the airport, and who passes on a ski trip with his buddies so he can spend his first weekend back in town in two weeks with you? How can you not be totally and completely schmoopsy?
And this guy is a lawyer. A lanky little balding Jewish lawyer. Course, that doesn't mean he's not sexy and adorable. Bald matters less as we get older, yes? But he's just not someone I ever thought I'd be falling all over myself for. I guess it's good not to have a type. All I ask is that he be smart and funny and respect me and after that I don't know what else we can really want. I suppose we all gravitate towards a certain personality (mine is tall and lanky and tatooed and moody and usually aimless- fortunately I rarely go out with those guys) but everyone has something to offer.
School! School! School! If I'm not with Mr. P I'm working on School! Just a few more weeks and the application process will be over. Then it's all about applying for scholarships and fellowships and grants and aid and making decisions about my future. I do not understand how we as a society expect anyone under the age of 25 to make these kinds of decisions. I remember thinking that I could have had my masters at 24 and how the hell could anyone call me a master of anything at 24? Thirty-one feels a little more realistic. Course, I'll be 34 or 35 when I'm done. Whoa holy.
I'm smitten. That's what my mom says. Smitten.
How can you NOT be smitten with a guy who makes you dinner so you can work on your grad school application essays, who sits with you at the coffee shop while you work on said essays to help you make sure you're actually working, who drives you through the snow for an hour trying to find the prettiest place in the city, who does the "leech" when he's cold and it's so funny and crazy you giggle (like a friggin' school girl) every time you think about it, who actually WANTS to go square dancing, who brings you muffins from his office's breakfast spread so you won't get hungry while you're running errands, who calls your dog "sweetie", who puts his arm around you just so when he kisses you goodbye at the airport, and who passes on a ski trip with his buddies so he can spend his first weekend back in town in two weeks with you? How can you not be totally and completely schmoopsy?
And this guy is a lawyer. A lanky little balding Jewish lawyer. Course, that doesn't mean he's not sexy and adorable. Bald matters less as we get older, yes? But he's just not someone I ever thought I'd be falling all over myself for. I guess it's good not to have a type. All I ask is that he be smart and funny and respect me and after that I don't know what else we can really want. I suppose we all gravitate towards a certain personality (mine is tall and lanky and tatooed and moody and usually aimless- fortunately I rarely go out with those guys) but everyone has something to offer.
School! School! School! If I'm not with Mr. P I'm working on School! Just a few more weeks and the application process will be over. Then it's all about applying for scholarships and fellowships and grants and aid and making decisions about my future. I do not understand how we as a society expect anyone under the age of 25 to make these kinds of decisions. I remember thinking that I could have had my masters at 24 and how the hell could anyone call me a master of anything at 24? Thirty-one feels a little more realistic. Course, I'll be 34 or 35 when I'm done. Whoa holy.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
That Point
It always happens. I reach that point where I'm really not sure how I feel about all this and am I not usually happier alone and how much effort do I want to put into this and how much does he want to put into it and probably it's going to require a discussion but I hate talking and jesus wouldn't it be easier to just end it?
And I dropped that bomb on my sister, that I thought I was done, and she freaked out and told me to get over myself.
Probably I'm sick. Well, I am. And that clouds my judgement of all things (wouldn't right now be a really great time to buy a new little red dress and a pair of shoes to go with it? See, all things.). But especially in matters of relationships. Because I feel like ass and I want to be alone but can't he be a mind reader and help me out here? And he was gone for nine days for Thanksgiving. And of course wasn't in touch as much as I would have liked. Mind reader. And last night when he came by I felt a wall but I'm pretty sure it was my wall. I don't know.
Some mornings I walk Frank and I think that probably I'm not cut out for this and probably I will be the auntie forever and probably I will be OK with that.
Christ almighty I have a ton of stuff to do, too. All this school stuff. Packets of various hoo-ha to put together and send to the right people and statements to write and rewrite and professors to harass. And one of those professors is kicking my ass, asking for rewrites and edits and don't I want this to be perfect? Yes. Yes I do. But I'm sick.
Come February all this school stuff will be over and I can breathe til April when I have to make a decision. About where I'm headed for the next 2-3 years of my life.
And probably this whole school thing doesn't help the whole relationship thing. Bleh. Can I just blame this on the plague?
And I dropped that bomb on my sister, that I thought I was done, and she freaked out and told me to get over myself.
Probably I'm sick. Well, I am. And that clouds my judgement of all things (wouldn't right now be a really great time to buy a new little red dress and a pair of shoes to go with it? See, all things.). But especially in matters of relationships. Because I feel like ass and I want to be alone but can't he be a mind reader and help me out here? And he was gone for nine days for Thanksgiving. And of course wasn't in touch as much as I would have liked. Mind reader. And last night when he came by I felt a wall but I'm pretty sure it was my wall. I don't know.
Some mornings I walk Frank and I think that probably I'm not cut out for this and probably I will be the auntie forever and probably I will be OK with that.
Christ almighty I have a ton of stuff to do, too. All this school stuff. Packets of various hoo-ha to put together and send to the right people and statements to write and rewrite and professors to harass. And one of those professors is kicking my ass, asking for rewrites and edits and don't I want this to be perfect? Yes. Yes I do. But I'm sick.
Come February all this school stuff will be over and I can breathe til April when I have to make a decision. About where I'm headed for the next 2-3 years of my life.
And probably this whole school thing doesn't help the whole relationship thing. Bleh. Can I just blame this on the plague?
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