All the gossip

I keep thinking that I'm going to write a long, detailed post about what happened. But I don't really want to, and I keep dreading writing about it. I usually enjoy writing detailed, thoughtful posts that are much more than reports. But I'm stressed out because it's the last few weeks of school, and I also don't really enjoy dwelling on what is going on.

So...

After a couple conversations in which The ex-Ex gave me ultimatums (decide right now whether you want to be with me), I was fairly sure that we were going to break up.

I spent a night with The Filmmaker, and we ended up making out as well as sharing a few kisses... elsewhere.

The next day, I felt horrible. I sent an email to The ex-Ex, basically telling him all of the things that had led me to believe our relationship couldn't work. The email was not sweet or evasive. I was firm.

He surprisingly wrote an incredibly long reply in which he told me he wanted the same things and that he thought we could work it out.

I felt even more upset about what happened with The Filmmaker, and told The ex-Ex what happened. The ex-Ex was understandably upset, and yelled at me for a good hour on the phone.

The next morning, I had an email from The ex-Ex telling me that he understood what had happened and might have acted similarly if he had been me.

The ex-Ex and I started talking more on the phone or email, and I made plans to come back for the summer. I reserved a flight to his town at school, for the night before his birthday.

I didn't see The Filmmaker for about a week. He was sick and I was avoiding him or busy. We didn't talk about what happened. I was embarrassed. The Filmmaker's best friend, The Dork, confronted me about what happened and revealed that he still (after 2 years) has feelings for me. The Dork tried to trick me into giving him a detailed explanation of what happened with The Filmmaker. I refused.

The Filmmaker started talking to me online again. I made sure to curb any flirtation from my end. He came to the library when I was working this week and I sat down with him after my shift ended so we could study together. We ended up talking most of the time, catching up mostly. He asked me what had happened with The ex-Ex; I told him. I was surprised at how much less embarrassed I was than I had been before. The Filmmaker didn't seem too disappointed, and said that what happened doesn't change our relationship that much. I was glad.

I was called on Thursday with news that I am a finalist for an internship that I want. The opportunity is incredible and the competition is fierce. I have to submit a taped interview and won't find out for a month whether I get the internship, which is in Los Angeles. The ex-Ex was upset when I told him, and told me that he hoped I would take our relationship into consideration when making a decision. I was angry - but not surprised - that he was being so unsupportive. He apologized later that night and told me that he would support whatever decision I made.

I still only talk to The ex-Ex in ten or twenty minute snippets, either because of his schedule or mine. I always let him call me, because I never know when he will be free and because I am rarely free. We talked last weekend for two hours on the phone and it was great, but since then it has been mostly emails or short phone calls. I am too tired to do anything else or to break up, and I can't tell what I want to do or how I will be able to figure it out.

I increasingly think that I am in love with The Filmmaker, even though I know I can't have a relationship with him.

Disgusting

Sorry, I lied. I said my post today would be about the gossip of the men. It is not.

I WILL, however, post about that tomorrow. Unless I'm lying right now, in which case I won't. Either way, it will come out very soon.

But fortunately, I will complain about the fact that the nurse at health services gave me antibiotics for my allergies that killed just the right amount of bacteria in my special place to give me a yeast infection.

Love it. Love. It.

Not one of "those"

I realized today: I'm not one of those people who just sits around and hangs out. I was thinking about it, about people I know (or mostly people I don't know...) who just sit around and hang out a lot. They just do nothing much during their free time. I'm not one of those. I'm the one who has to take the hardest workload possible at college, and then take an unrequired and time-consuming internship that doesn't pay. For my future, sure, but that just brings me back to my point: I'm not just hanging out on my time outside class.

"But when I graduate next year," I thought, "I'll have a bunch of time to just relax, outside of regular work hours."

There are two problems with this, I realized. First, it's never as relaxing as it sounds, when you factor in the commute and the grocery shopping and the bill paying and the cooking and cleaning. Second, I won't have a regular job, probably. I'll probably have a 60 or 70 hour/week job, and I'll always be working toward something better. Maybe it's just who I am.

Or maybe next year I should just say "whatever" to all that and do nothing that isn't absolutely required of me by my school.


Tomorrow there will be a real post, with a lot of juicy story... about certain people I have been avoiding blogging about. Until then.....

Bewildered in the morning

I woke up. The chirping birds betrayed the dim light of the bedroom. It was 10:30. The light was seeping in through the cracks of the window shade. I had company coming at eleven, and I had set an alarm for 10am... Did my alarm go off? I looked at my phone; the alarm icon was gone. I must have turned it off. Strange, I couldn't remember waking up.

I shifted in bed, stretching. As I pulled the comforter away, I found that I wasn't wearing any pants. What? I always wear PJ pants to bed.

There they were, right next to me in bed. So... I had taken off my PJ pants in my sleep? What exactly does that mean?

Laundry day

I'm the kind of girl who waits.

To do laundry, at least.

I wait until my last piece of acceptable underwear is gone. Then, I'm left with the undesirable pile (yes, I have a pile. It is folded). Then, as soon as it isn't raining/too late at night/there is anything better to do, I force myself to go.

This time, I broke into my undesirable pile two weeks ago. Every night that I was free to do laundry, I found an excellent excuse to avoid it. There was the homework. The pot. The rain. The schedule.

Then yesterday, I used my very last pair of socks. Not even my undesirable socks were left (those ones I just throw in with the regular pile. But there is still a pile). I searched through the drawer. And yes, I had only one pair of underwear left. "Tomorrow is the day," I sighed. Then smiled: at least I didn't have to do it then!

Today, I left my friend NiceGuy's room after a riotous episode of The Office to do my homework. "Maybe I'll bring it over?" I wondered out loud.

"Yeah, definitely" He offered.

Oh wait. Laundry. "Nevermind," I whined, then explained. Oh well. I got home and separated all of my dirty clothes (every piece of clothing that I've worn in the past month) into two piles. Whites and darks. The darks pile... was... out of hand. Out of laundry bag, even.

"I guess I'll just have to do two loads of darks," I grumbled, making the familiar promise to myself that I would do laundry before it got this out of hand next time. I gathered the laundry bag, the detergent, the change (no pockets on laundry day!), and the overflowing clothes. Then I searched for my key.

I left, walked the 50 feet or so to the laundry room in my proud laundry day clothing: gray PJ pants, a black slip, a bra, and a knit sweater. Hott. As I approached the laundry room door, I saw orange tape in an X over the door, Katrina dead-body style. "Oh crap," I said, turning the door knob. I turned in horror to see all 4 washers and dryers with "Out of Order" signs taped on top of them.

So... commando time?

Inside: a place that should be flower-free

About a week ago, I had a serious problem. I woke up with a throat that felt half-closed, with liquid draining down the back of my throat. My mouth felt numb, and I was sort of dizzy.

But I quickly dismissed the idea of a cold, remembering that this had happened the last two years around spring time. So I found some antihistamines, cursed my allergies, and succumbed to the side effects of the medication instead: dull-witted sleepiness. Basically, there is no way of getting around the wrath of my allergies.

Luckily, the rain came to New York and soaked up all the pollen or whatever was causing my entire face to feel like a swamp. Unfortunately, I wasted my health on booze and boys, and today at the office I again felt a familiar numbing of the throat.

"That's strange," I thought. "It's still wet and miserable outside; why would my allergies be coming back?"

And then I got off the elevator at the end of the day to find out that some retarded asshole who obviously has no allergies decided to put up an orchid show in the lobby of our building. How considerate. With any luck, it will be there until I leave in May.

Such a smooth criminal

On my way out of the building coming from my internship today, the fire alarm sounded. I looked back to see an entire hallway of fire alarms blinking and sounding off, then continued hastily out of the building.

For some reason, I felt somehow responsible. And then crafty when nobody pulled me aside, catching me in the act of setting the fire alarm off.

They'll never catch me!

So, this is interesting...

The indecision over The Filmmaker and The ex-Ex has not been resolved yet.

In the meantime, another problem has presented itself to me which will be easier to discuss.

I like to think of myself as a feminist. It's not that I think there are no gender differences. I think being a feminist partly means being a critical thinker; looking at gender as something that shouldn't dictate one's destiny. I'm a woman (whatever that means), but I don't think that all women are the same. I don't think all women are weak or strong. I don't think that all women have a "natural" mothering instinct, and I don't think that none of them do. I try to question phrases with the words manly, womanly, feminine, masculine...

I am irritated at the studies revealing the ways women defer to men. That women, in conversation with men, use words like "This is interesting" or "I have a story to tell you" instead of just launching in. Whereas men don't point out the value of their words because that value is automatic when the speaker is male.

When men speak, they tend to break up their sentences with their natural breathing patterns. When women speak, they lengthen their breaths in order to push more words out of their mouths, unsettling their natural breathing patterns. Why? Are they afraid someone will interrupt them? Are they making sure they convey enough information in one breath to confirm that their stories are valuable enough to hold someone's attention?

Women in power who freak out and yell at their employees are deemed emotional, bitchy. Their words are dismissed and they are taken less seriously. Men in power who freak out and yell are forces to be reckoned with. They may not be highly regarded, but their right to be "the boss" is not as likely to be questioned.

There are statistics about pay inequality and workplace discrimination. Those trouble me as well. But when the inequalities come down to such subtle social interactions, it's even more insidious. Why is it acceptable for men to watch women, survey them, examine their bodies without feeling uncomfortable? Why is it unacceptable for women to hold eye contact with men when they are not flirting?

I recently tried to look people in the eyes as I strode past them on the streets of Manhattan. I tried to walk with my shoulders back and head up, eyes forward. To convey confidence, ownership of my surroundings. Arrogance, even. It feels nice.

Yet, even though I am aware of these inequalities, disdain them and protest them, I continue to wear bras and shop for feminine, "attractive" clothing. It makes me feel good. I say "Sorry" when people bump into me. I ask a server if "it would be possible" to get a glass of water. I thank people profusely and often.

And today, I stepped off a path to make room for two men who were walking in the opposite direction.

A pinch of adorable

I invited The Filmmaker over for an incredibly late (midnight) impromptu dinner last night. He said "I'm hungry" and I realized that I should probably eat something before bed, so invited him over. Out of the kindness of my own heart. Also because I didn't want to do any more work.

Instead of putting on real clothes, I went for the sexy PJ look (so, my PJs).

We sat and talked while the pasta boiled. He was possibly getting a job post-graduation and I was excited for him. Also for myself: he could get to know all the key players and introduce me before I graduate next year.

A couple days before I had talked to him online.

"What was your plan?" I asked him.

"What do you mean?"

"Your plan. After you told me you were interested in some kind of romantic involvement, was your plan to just have sex with me for a month until you graduate?"

"Sort of."

At first, I felt kind of hurt. He just wanted to use me, then. How could he just want to screw me and abandon me? I put myself in his shoes. If I was interested in him but leaving the area in a month, a fling was pretty much the best we could do. So it was either that, or he was planning to find someone easy to have sex with. Of course I had to ask him.

"If you weren't leaving in a month, would you want more than a fling?"

"Yes."

So the guy I've been interested in for two years finally wants me. Would want to date me. And now I had invited him into my house to share a meal. Great plan.

Things were going swimmingly until I couldn't think of anything to say. We had finished eating and it was getting really late. I didn't want him to leave yet, but it was bound to happen soon and if we didn't keep talking, probably within a minute or two. But my mind was blank. I just looked at him, sitting across from me looking right back at me. And then he finally spoke.

"This would be so much easier if we were dating."

Uh oh. "What would?"

"Well, if we were together we would just go upstairs and go to bed together until we fell asleep. But this way, I have to go back to my room and lay in bed awake and wait until I fall asleep by myself."

Oh. I had thought he was going to start talking about sex and how much he wanted to do me, or something eloquent like. But no, he wanted to go upstairs and fall asleep together.

I know he's not perfect. But I can't help comparing him to The ex-Ex and wondering if I like him more. Even if The Filmmaker would only be for a month, liking anybody more than The ex-Ex doesn't seem like a good sign.

Early morning catastrophe

This morning, I woke up extra early to get ready for my internship because I had a special task. Last Thursday, Kansas boy asked me if I could fill in for him on his day off. Kansas boy is the executive assistant to the president of the TV channel I work for. You can't come late to work to screen calls for the president of the channel.

Kansas boy had asked me to come by 9:30am, a whole half hour before my usual call time. But since I wanted time to settle in and get some coffee and water before I would be chained to his desk, I decided to aim for 9am. Coming from my school, this meant waking up at 7am. And, of course, I went to bed at 2am. Is there any other way to live?

With me, you can tell there is something very important happening on a given day when I wake up within five minutes of my alarm's first ring. Today, I was up within five minutes. I went to the shower, turned the water on and waited for the temperature to change. It didn't. I kept thrusting my right arm into the water, long enough for my arm to get used to the cold water and fool my body into thinking the water was actually getting warmer. So I tested with my other hand, and my suspicions were correct: no hot water. I cursed at the shower, then made some judgment calls. I held my hair up with one hand while I soaped with the other hand in the freezing cold water. My shower lasted less than five minutes.

Then I had to get dressed. I had run out of the underwear that I usually wear (laundry day is impending), so I picked the most comfortable thong I own. I dressed, did my make up, and was ready to brush my teeth and head out the door (right on time) when I got my period. The underwear was unsalvageable. I ran to the bathroom and get a tampon, changed into ANOTHER thong, and called a cab to get to the train station. I make the train I was aiming for, using the last of my cash for the taxi.

On the train, my recent gift of allergies started bothering me and I realized I had forgotten to bring a napkin or tissue to blow my nose into. I tried to covertly squeeze the snot onto my fingers and wipe it off on my coat (classy, I know). When I got to Grand Central, I grabbed a napkin from the Starbucks to relieve me of my misery and then went to the Rite Aid for some antihistamines. When I arrived, there were about 15 people waiting to pay. "Fuck it" I thought, contemplating a 180 back toward the subway. But I knew there was no way I could get through the day without some meds so I waited in line to pay.

Task completed, I walked to the subway, where none of the ticket machines were taking credit cards. How convenient! Right after I had spent all of my cash. I went to the info desk, which was inundated with people, and told the woman there that I had no cash, waving a debit card at her instead. She kindly opened the door for me and let me through without paying (score!).

I arrived at the office at 9:20 and introduced myself to the PRESIDENT of the channel! And then I sat down in Kansas boy's seat and hoped that nobody would call.