You wish you were here

Here I sit, 1am, January 2nd, 2009- my hair is huge and unkempt, I'm wearing a sweater over my party dress from last night, my eyeliner and mascara have yet to wear off, and I've just had a marvelously lazy day. I did nothing of any importance whatsoever. I went to the supermarket. I taught myself Irving Berlin's "What'll I Do?" on the ukulele. Allen and I ate popcorn and ice cream sandwiches, drank box wine and watched a Bad Girls Club marathon, followed by The Adventures of Bam Bam and Celeste, followed by, embarassingly enough, Bridget Jones' Diary. It's a full life, I tell you. And I've still got a headache from the Asti- my head, which was full of bubbles last night, is full of stones today. But things are lovely, and I have no room for resolutions.

Missed Connection (but not really)

I saw a darling-ly handsome fella sitting on the stairs in front of the Second City building, while I was on my break yesterday. Bespectacled/behatted(which I know is not a word, but wouldn't it be great if it was?) and not possessing any unfortunate facial hair- he looked at me and I looked at him- or vice versa- before I took my usual place on the little stone square to smoke my cigarettes and read my book. But not really. I looked at him and I watched him get up and talk to some far less handsome man, and I tried to figure out if he was too short for me, or what. Not that it mattered, but hey. And I thought to myself- because I am person who spends far too much time on the internet- what if this fella were to send me a missed connection on the Craigslist? I have had three, actually- none of them romantic, all of them having something to do with something snarky I said to someone with skin too thin. I thought about what it would sound like "Tall dark haired girl, sitting Indian style on that random stone thingy with the tree coming out of it, reading a red book, smoking and eating a cookie: You seem fantastic!" or, you know, whatever people put in those things. But then what if I saw it and then, what if I responded?

It would probably be pretty awkward. He might turn out to be a serial killer, or just really, really boring. Maybe he'd talk too much about how his ex girlfriend shattered his heart into a million pieces, and I'd talk too much about...well, everything, because I tend to do that- and I'd probably go on about my commitmentphobic issues- not so much because I really do have them so much as it's kind of a knock on wood/spitting/salt throwing precaution. Because if things don't work out I want to have the advantage of being able to say that I didn't care if they did anyway. And if he didn't talk, I'd expend untoward amounts of effort trying to draw him out, which is something that is never really worth that effort- but you never realize that in the beginning, do you? We'd probably hang out for a while- and I'd enjoy the refreshing change of having something to talk about to my girlfriends other than politics, odd people I saw on the bus and the crazy French lady I work with- but sooner or later... I'd start weighing my options- is he more awesome than the effort required to hang out with him sucks? Is he worth shaving my legs and being tired at work? More than likely- no. He'd probably tell me that I was "emotionally unavailable" at some point, because they usually do, and they're usually right. I'd probably disappear at some point because that's what I do, because I don't get the point of talks, and when I'm done- that's good enough for me and I rarely feel the need to notify them of my decision. He'd want to still be friends, but I wouldn't because I think that's weird, and shit- I have enough friends, and I probably have higher standards for my friends than I do for the douche nozzles I date. Maybe he'd go all dingleberry on me for a while, which usually happens as well (you know, the little shit that keeps hanging on your ass? Even though it's clear you want nothing to do with them?) and then he'd probably get back together with his so-called "crazy and jealous" ex-girlfriend- who probably wasn't crazy and jealous to begin with- but you know how dudes are... they like to feel wanted.

Sigh. So that's what was going through my head. I can't help it- I'm a fatalist. I'm just so tired. I mean, I look at a guy, and think "God, you know, he's cute, but I feel exhausted already just looking at him. I already know how this movie ends" Maybe I'm just lazy?