Four. The number of days since I've heard from Zach.
Three. The number of weeks that have passed since I've seen Zach.
Two. The number of times I have thought about sending him an accidental text just to have some contact.
One. The number of straight jackets I'll be requiring because I am going crazy trying to figure out where the wheel fell off the car.
When I was in high school I faced a similar conundrum.
One afternoon as I was sitting in my room my parents burst in saying "What happened to your car?"
I looked at them blankly and said, "Ummmm nothing. That I know of. Why?"
"Well something must have happened! The fender (I don't even know if that's what its called) above your right side tire is hanging off."
"What!" I shrieked going into full on panic mode. GP (my Jeep Liberty) was a mere four months old. She had been a complete surprise Christmas present and I kept her immaculate, both inside and out. I didn't let bird poop stay on her longer than half an hour, I certainly couldn't fathom that anything had happened to her while I was present!
Running outside I saw the horror-- The fender over the right wheel was, indeed, kind of pulled off. In hindsight, it really wasn't that bad. I'm not saying it was good. But it really wasn't the crisis situation I believed it to be at the time.
"How did this happen?" I wailed. Yes, wailed. I have a flair for the dramatics. Just ask my high school Spanish teacher. She once told me I was the most dramatic student she had ever had. Senora Grey taught for 30 years, so being the "most" anything was quite an accomplishment.
"You must have hit something." said my Mother in her calm way. She is not a freaker-outer, like her daughter. At least not about minor things.
"That's impossible!"
"Evidence indicates otherwise." said my Dad, ever the voice of reason and calmness in our household. "Did you hit something backing up at Aunt Ruby's?"
"NO! I pulled into that little gravel patch her neighbor has in front of their shed to turn around. I had some trouble getting out of the dip so I got out at one point and checked to see if I was hung on anything. But there was nothing back there! So I put it into four wheel drive, pulled forward and gunned it and backed out just fine."
"So you didn't hit the fire hydrant?"
"NO! I remember seeing it when I was driving away and thinking 'Glad I didn't hit that!'" I said.
"Are you sure you didn't hit it?"
Even as I was protesting that I couldn't have hit it I started thinking back to when I had gotten out of the car to see if I was stuck on something. Now, my GP had four wheel drive. It pulled a U-Haul across the heartland. It went four wheeling on top of strip jobs. It would probably have climbed a tree if I asked it to, so getting out of a dip that was the equivalent of an inverted speed bump shouldn't require four wheel drive.
BUT backing over a fire hydrant would.
Yes, that's right. I backed up, and over a fire hydrant.
The reason I didn't see it when I got out to investigate the ditch is because my GP was on top of it.
The difference between the fire hydrant incident and the wheel falling off the Zach cart is that in the fire hydrant calamity I finally figured out what happened.
I still don't know where I lost the hubcap and subsequent tire in this whole Zach curfuffel.
And I probably never will.
Which is what really sucks and turns me into a lunatic that howls at the blue moon (which we just had).
In true girl fashion I have analyzed the situation backwards, forwards, inside out, upside down. Which I am SURE makes me all the more attractive, and not the least bit psychotic. Add this to the howling at the moon and I am a real treat!
Allow me to walk you through the my lunatic mind. I can't promise you'll come out unscathed.
Three weekends ago I hung out with him at his office on a Friday night. He had contractors there painting a mural, so he was stuck there and couldn't really go out. I like painting. And I really enjoy watching other people work while I drink, so I went over to keep him company for a few hours. When I left, he told me he and some of his friends were going to the beach tomorrow and that I should come.
"I'm supposed to run down there with Allison tomorrow, but depending on how we are feeling when we finish I'll give you a call and maybe we'll meet up."
Saturday after the run I called him, but no answer. Just as well, I looked disgusting and really just wanted to eat a frozen yogurt and roam the pier without worrying that I was a stinky, sweaty mess in front of the guy I was sweating! Just as Allison and I were leaving, Zach called.
"Sorry I missed your call. I forgot my phone in the car. What are you doing tonight?"
"Line dancing!"
"Have fun! We'll be back down at the beach tomorrow if you want to come."
"Okay. Just let me know where you'll be and I'll try to make it."
Sunday rolls around and we link up at the beach. I am admittedly not my most vivacious self. I'd had a late night the night before and was a tad tired. Plus, despite the fact that I own, oh, I don't know, about 20 swim suits, I'm not at my most super-confident-comfortable-self in them. Especially, around someone who I want to think I am foxy. And heaven forbid my skin clear up! This stupid humidity, while it gives my hair nice volume, it is making my skin freak out, which is not OK! So-Cal is basically the desert! It isn't supposed to be humid!
Anyway... we beached it up for a few hours and then all head our separate ways.
Mid-week, Zach and I are chatting and he says his company is possibly looking for a new attorney, which is just a joy in So-Cal since all the attorneys are reasonably priced and nice people.
STUPID. STUPID ME, opens my big ol' mouth. "I know two attorneys who are nice. Though they don't appear to be hurting for money..."
"Would you care to find out their hourly?"
A giant "OH SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHIT" thought bubble formed over my head at this exact moment. You see, those two attorneys I know out here, I know them because I went out on dates with them and basically did a disappearing act.
But I went ahead and awkwardly contacted both of them, explained the situation, leaving out the bits about that they would be helping out my hoped for proper boyfriend. Both were beyond gracious, as I suspected they would be, but wasn't 100% sure they didn't hate me until I talked to them. And then passed on their info to Zach.
I debated on whether or not to tell him how I knew the two guys, finally deciding it was better he heard it from me than them.
I didn't want any of them to be all "How do you know Crigger?"
"Oh, I kinda dated her for awhile."
"Oh, yeah? Me too."
No, thanks! I don't need any help mucking up relationships. I do that just fine on my own.
Plus, I believe honesty is the best policy.
Except, if Zach finds this blog and is pissed about it. Then I will deny it to the day I die.
I told Zach I felt weird about telling him, but also that I felt weird about not telling him that I knew Matty and John because I had dated them.
He said, "You shouldn't feel weird either way. I would try to date OC lawyers too."
"I wasn't trying to date OC lawyers. It just kinda happened." I said. And I should have just shut my mouth right then and there. But I couldn't do it. It was like something was physically preventing me from ending the conversation. "It was during my dating spree."
"Oh, yeah? How did that work out for you?"
"It was fun. I met some cool people. Found some new spots in the OC that I didn't know about." Just stop talking Crigger! What is wrong with you? Are you an idiot? Obviously, the answer here is yes! AHHHHHHHH! How can I save this?
"And I met you. And if I hadn't been dating when we met I might not have said yes when you asked me out. And I'm glad we met." Really? This is the best you can come up with? Seven months of dating and you're no better at it than this? Quit now. Join a nunnery. Start practicing for your vow of silence by shutting up!
Hmmmm... maybe here is where we lost the hubcap?
Maybe not...
Gahhhh! Dating is confusing and makes no sense!
Despite the verbal diarrhea I continued to hear from Zach, but there was no mention of plans to get together before he left for his friend's bachelor party. The last time he went out of town he was very interested in seeing me before he left. And was extremely interested in seeing me when he got back.
This time nothing.
Which of course made me feel crazy and pushed me into super analyzer mode.
Great! He's seen me in a swim suit and wants nothing to do with me.
Ahhh! He thinks I am a dating maniac and wants no part of that.
He probably thinks I'm sleeping with all the guys I've gone out with (I've gotten that question from my friends, and no, I'm not sleeping with all these people! Or any of them!)
I did a zit the day at the beach. I shouldn't have gone. Now he thinks I am ugly.
Oh, gawd. Maybe he has found out about the blog!
He hates me.
I am screwed. I'm destined to be a lonely old spinster.
And all of this madness was tempered by the rational side of my brain.
If he expects a super model then he should be asking them out, not you. Plus, he has called you beautiful and complimented your figure. Quit being crazy!
You are smart, funny, successful, pretty! What more could a guy want? He should be so lucky as to be your boyfriend!
If one zit is enough to make him not want to see you anymore then you dodged a bullet. His expectations are impossible.
There are more fish in the sea. Men are like buses, wait 15 minutes and another one comes along. And every other adage my mother, grandmother, best friend, aunts, Cosmo, co-workers, and random guy at a bar that I rambled to about the situation ever uttered just played on repeat in my brain.
So, after allowing myself to be in an over-analyze-y place for a few days I gathered up all my moxy and called him up.
Tune in at the end of the week to see how that all went down.
Three. The number of weeks that have passed since I've seen Zach.
Two. The number of times I have thought about sending him an accidental text just to have some contact.
One. The number of straight jackets I'll be requiring because I am going crazy trying to figure out where the wheel fell off the car.
When I was in high school I faced a similar conundrum.
One afternoon as I was sitting in my room my parents burst in saying "What happened to your car?"
I looked at them blankly and said, "Ummmm nothing. That I know of. Why?"
"Well something must have happened! The fender (I don't even know if that's what its called) above your right side tire is hanging off."
"What!" I shrieked going into full on panic mode. GP (my Jeep Liberty) was a mere four months old. She had been a complete surprise Christmas present and I kept her immaculate, both inside and out. I didn't let bird poop stay on her longer than half an hour, I certainly couldn't fathom that anything had happened to her while I was present!
Running outside I saw the horror-- The fender over the right wheel was, indeed, kind of pulled off. In hindsight, it really wasn't that bad. I'm not saying it was good. But it really wasn't the crisis situation I believed it to be at the time.
"How did this happen?" I wailed. Yes, wailed. I have a flair for the dramatics. Just ask my high school Spanish teacher. She once told me I was the most dramatic student she had ever had. Senora Grey taught for 30 years, so being the "most" anything was quite an accomplishment.
"You must have hit something." said my Mother in her calm way. She is not a freaker-outer, like her daughter. At least not about minor things.
"That's impossible!"
"Evidence indicates otherwise." said my Dad, ever the voice of reason and calmness in our household. "Did you hit something backing up at Aunt Ruby's?"
"NO! I pulled into that little gravel patch her neighbor has in front of their shed to turn around. I had some trouble getting out of the dip so I got out at one point and checked to see if I was hung on anything. But there was nothing back there! So I put it into four wheel drive, pulled forward and gunned it and backed out just fine."
"So you didn't hit the fire hydrant?"
"NO! I remember seeing it when I was driving away and thinking 'Glad I didn't hit that!'" I said.
"Are you sure you didn't hit it?"
Even as I was protesting that I couldn't have hit it I started thinking back to when I had gotten out of the car to see if I was stuck on something. Now, my GP had four wheel drive. It pulled a U-Haul across the heartland. It went four wheeling on top of strip jobs. It would probably have climbed a tree if I asked it to, so getting out of a dip that was the equivalent of an inverted speed bump shouldn't require four wheel drive.
BUT backing over a fire hydrant would.
Yes, that's right. I backed up, and over a fire hydrant.
The reason I didn't see it when I got out to investigate the ditch is because my GP was on top of it.
The difference between the fire hydrant incident and the wheel falling off the Zach cart is that in the fire hydrant calamity I finally figured out what happened.
I still don't know where I lost the hubcap and subsequent tire in this whole Zach curfuffel.
And I probably never will.
Which is what really sucks and turns me into a lunatic that howls at the blue moon (which we just had).
In true girl fashion I have analyzed the situation backwards, forwards, inside out, upside down. Which I am SURE makes me all the more attractive, and not the least bit psychotic. Add this to the howling at the moon and I am a real treat!
Allow me to walk you through the my lunatic mind. I can't promise you'll come out unscathed.
Three weekends ago I hung out with him at his office on a Friday night. He had contractors there painting a mural, so he was stuck there and couldn't really go out. I like painting. And I really enjoy watching other people work while I drink, so I went over to keep him company for a few hours. When I left, he told me he and some of his friends were going to the beach tomorrow and that I should come.
"I'm supposed to run down there with Allison tomorrow, but depending on how we are feeling when we finish I'll give you a call and maybe we'll meet up."
Saturday after the run I called him, but no answer. Just as well, I looked disgusting and really just wanted to eat a frozen yogurt and roam the pier without worrying that I was a stinky, sweaty mess in front of the guy I was sweating! Just as Allison and I were leaving, Zach called.
"Sorry I missed your call. I forgot my phone in the car. What are you doing tonight?"
"Line dancing!"
"Have fun! We'll be back down at the beach tomorrow if you want to come."
"Okay. Just let me know where you'll be and I'll try to make it."
Sunday rolls around and we link up at the beach. I am admittedly not my most vivacious self. I'd had a late night the night before and was a tad tired. Plus, despite the fact that I own, oh, I don't know, about 20 swim suits, I'm not at my most super-confident-comfortable-self in them. Especially, around someone who I want to think I am foxy. And heaven forbid my skin clear up! This stupid humidity, while it gives my hair nice volume, it is making my skin freak out, which is not OK! So-Cal is basically the desert! It isn't supposed to be humid!
Anyway... we beached it up for a few hours and then all head our separate ways.
Mid-week, Zach and I are chatting and he says his company is possibly looking for a new attorney, which is just a joy in So-Cal since all the attorneys are reasonably priced and nice people.
STUPID. STUPID ME, opens my big ol' mouth. "I know two attorneys who are nice. Though they don't appear to be hurting for money..."
"Would you care to find out their hourly?"
A giant "OH SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHIT" thought bubble formed over my head at this exact moment. You see, those two attorneys I know out here, I know them because I went out on dates with them and basically did a disappearing act.
But I went ahead and awkwardly contacted both of them, explained the situation, leaving out the bits about that they would be helping out my hoped for proper boyfriend. Both were beyond gracious, as I suspected they would be, but wasn't 100% sure they didn't hate me until I talked to them. And then passed on their info to Zach.
I debated on whether or not to tell him how I knew the two guys, finally deciding it was better he heard it from me than them.
I didn't want any of them to be all "How do you know Crigger?"
"Oh, I kinda dated her for awhile."
"Oh, yeah? Me too."
No, thanks! I don't need any help mucking up relationships. I do that just fine on my own.
Plus, I believe honesty is the best policy.
Except, if Zach finds this blog and is pissed about it. Then I will deny it to the day I die.
I told Zach I felt weird about telling him, but also that I felt weird about not telling him that I knew Matty and John because I had dated them.
He said, "You shouldn't feel weird either way. I would try to date OC lawyers too."
"I wasn't trying to date OC lawyers. It just kinda happened." I said. And I should have just shut my mouth right then and there. But I couldn't do it. It was like something was physically preventing me from ending the conversation. "It was during my dating spree."
"Oh, yeah? How did that work out for you?"
"It was fun. I met some cool people. Found some new spots in the OC that I didn't know about." Just stop talking Crigger! What is wrong with you? Are you an idiot? Obviously, the answer here is yes! AHHHHHHHH! How can I save this?
"And I met you. And if I hadn't been dating when we met I might not have said yes when you asked me out. And I'm glad we met." Really? This is the best you can come up with? Seven months of dating and you're no better at it than this? Quit now. Join a nunnery. Start practicing for your vow of silence by shutting up!
Hmmmm... maybe here is where we lost the hubcap?
Maybe not...
Gahhhh! Dating is confusing and makes no sense!
Despite the verbal diarrhea I continued to hear from Zach, but there was no mention of plans to get together before he left for his friend's bachelor party. The last time he went out of town he was very interested in seeing me before he left. And was extremely interested in seeing me when he got back.
This time nothing.
Which of course made me feel crazy and pushed me into super analyzer mode.
Great! He's seen me in a swim suit and wants nothing to do with me.
Ahhh! He thinks I am a dating maniac and wants no part of that.
He probably thinks I'm sleeping with all the guys I've gone out with (I've gotten that question from my friends, and no, I'm not sleeping with all these people! Or any of them!)
I did a zit the day at the beach. I shouldn't have gone. Now he thinks I am ugly.
Oh, gawd. Maybe he has found out about the blog!
He hates me.
I am screwed. I'm destined to be a lonely old spinster.
And all of this madness was tempered by the rational side of my brain.
If he expects a super model then he should be asking them out, not you. Plus, he has called you beautiful and complimented your figure. Quit being crazy!
You are smart, funny, successful, pretty! What more could a guy want? He should be so lucky as to be your boyfriend!
If one zit is enough to make him not want to see you anymore then you dodged a bullet. His expectations are impossible.
There are more fish in the sea. Men are like buses, wait 15 minutes and another one comes along. And every other adage my mother, grandmother, best friend, aunts, Cosmo, co-workers, and random guy at a bar that I rambled to about the situation ever uttered just played on repeat in my brain.
So, after allowing myself to be in an over-analyze-y place for a few days I gathered up all my moxy and called him up.
Tune in at the end of the week to see how that all went down.
No comments:
Post a Comment