Operating along the lines of "better safe than sorry," this is a HUGE WELCOME to any men I know personally who happen to stumble upon my blog. Southern Charm, that's you-- though I told you after allowing you to follow me on Twitter to either NOT click the link to my blog, or to never tell me that you did-- so if you're reading this now, I suppose than you're going with the "hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil" route. Gypsy, you oh so adorable online creeper, this goes for you, too. (Ladies-- if you're a private person, steer clear of the Information Technology men. I'm pretty sure that when I ignored a "follow" request from Gypsy on Twitter and then sent him a Facebook message saying, "No, I'm sorry, but no-- you cannot follow me on Twitter," even though he said, "Fine, be as secretive as you want," he also cracked his Computer Digital Forensic major fingers and got down to business finding out why, exactly, I was being so squirrely. And as any of my Twitter followers know, I link my blog and new posts on my Twitter page. Hence why it's locked. Hence why I'm picky about who I let follow. But, I have the feeling that things like passwords and firewalls mean absolutely NOTHING to him. Oh, well.)
So, HELLO BOYS! This is my blog! Welcome to my huge embarrassment! And if you ever speak to me about it, I will deny, deny, deny till I am blue in the face, and then I will hit you over the head and hiss at you, "Alright, FINE, yes, I did say that about you in total and sincere honesty, now SHUT UP!"
Again, as Stephen Stills said, "There are three things men can do with women: love them, suffer for them, or turn them into literature." And I don't believe in being sexist, so I round the figures out by writing about you, guys.
I've been spending a bit of time out and about, as I alluded to, getting to know Gypsy. (Being in that apartment has just further affirmed my firm appreciation for Greece Lightning as well. What an easy-going, personable, chill person he is. Why did I forget to associate with him sophomore year?) It's going well-- I spent not last Saturday, but the Saturday night before that there with Emily (hence that blog post, car being towed, all that fun stuff); last Thursday night from 11 PM to 5 AM at their apartment; and last night from 10:30 PM to 1 AM. NOTHING HAS HAPPENED. I'M BEHAVING. In fact, I may have looked at him on Thursday night (a wee bit intoxicated, hence the sauciness and forwardness) and said, "I'm making you work for it."
His response? A solid "Ok."
Thursday night he actually texted me and asked me to come over. I wasn't doing anything, so I went over and was immediately introduced to two of his close friends. I'm not so used to this whole "meet the friends" thing. Most of the guys I date are in the frame of mind that introducing me to their buddies is not a good idea because A.) I am a huge flirt, or B.) they (rightly) don't see things working out with me for too much longer. I'm also not so used to the fact that he has obviously given them marching orders to be nice and interested, because one of them walked me to class the other day after running into me in the coffee shop, and another struck up random conversation at the bus stop. I love how "bros before hoes" mentality turns into "I like her, so you've gotta give a fuck about her, too" with guys. I feel like women are a whole lot more careless about these things. Your girls don't like the guy you're seeing? Ehhhh. Guess who's going to be seeing less of you around the TV on "Grey's Anatomy and Margarita Night"? It sucks, and it's so not right, but women are so much more likely to not listen to and ditch voices of reason and think below the belt for themselves and go forth and do douchebag dating and mating for the hell of it. Because we think it's ok. Truth. I said it.
The game plan Thursday night/Friday morning was to stay up all night and then walk to my 8 AM class on campus. Gypsy and I were in for the long haul, while Greece Lightning went to sleep not long after the friends (and the world's two sweetest but dumbest freshmen girls,) left. When Greece heard I was planning on staying, he furtively texted me. "Oh, so you're staying? Five bucks on where you think you're sleeping."
True, I HAD thought about it, but I'm being good, dammit, and there's nothing like someone calling my intentions into question to make me stand by them. So thanks, Greece, though Gyp might not feel the same. "Well," I texted back while Gypsy unknowingly and blissfully made PB&Js for us in the kitchen, "I assume this movie will be about two hours. I have to move my car at 6. And I guess I'm going to be napping in this chair between 6 and when I leave for my class at 8."
Greece Lightning circumvented my prudish logic and went right after the heart of the argument. "I think you should go for it. It's a pretty sure bet."
Well, thanks for the words of encouragement. And I'd love to be a fly on the wall of that apartment to hear what was said when it came up that I left at 5 AM, 2 hours after Greece went to bed, but no-- I stuck by my guns. I did not go after it. I. WILL. BE. GOOD. (Godammit.)
Gypsy moved seats from across the living room to next to me, and he and I stayed up, eating our PB&Js and half-watching a movie and talking to each other, doing the whole families/growing up/interests "getting to know you" talk. I learned a lot about him; he probably learned too much about me. It was basically the criteria you go over on a first date-- only we were sitting in stolen chairs in his apartment with our feet up on his "coffee table"-- a cable wire spool. In fact, how would I describe the decor of the apartment? Hmm. Stolen. Road signs and signs deck the walls. A pizza delivery car's roof light adorns the radiator. I love it. It's so "boy."
Though he offered again to have me spend the night, I thought about what Greece Lightning had said and decided to remove myself from the temptation. "Spindly sleeps over on it," Gypsy told me in a last-ditch attempt to have me make peace with the extra mattress. "Blowdryer Boy sleeps over on it. It's for friends who don't live nearby. It's not like we're trying to lure girls over to sleep on it." Nice, but I was more worried FOR him than ABOUT him.
So he walked me the three blocks to the place where I had (finally, after 20 minutes of driving around Fully Booked Parking, College Slum Central, Burlington,) found a spot. I gave him a ride back to his apartment. He said goodnight, got out, and then ducked his head back in. "Can I see you again this weekend? What are you up to?"
Be still my heart. A man, planning ahead? I swoon.
"Umm, my parents are coming up for Parent's Weekend, but they know I have a life and are going to be gone after an early dinner. I don't know after that."
"Ok, I'll call you or you call me."
"Yeah-- you, too. Drive safe!"
About 20 minutes after I got home, at 5:55 AM, my cell rang. It was a text from Gypsy. "Make it home ok?"
Again, adorable, and I swoon. Repeat.
"Mmmph. Yeah. In bed. Trying to warm up and pass out."
"Same here! :-) Two comforters does well though."
Oh, the cute just about kills me.
We were supposed to meet up on Saturday after my parents left town after dinner, but he ended up being tanked by 8 PM and too inebriated to coherently explain to me where he was. ("Sami's" doesn't quite cut it. I need a street address here, people!) Oh well. I watched "The Goonies" for the second time in a week with Melissa and went to bed early. (The Goonies Said: "Booby traps?" "That's what I said-- booty traps!" Melissa Said: "Awww-- they're skipping!" I Said: "Stripping?!" M: "SKIPPING." C: "STRIPPING?" M: "NOOO-- SKIPPING!!!" I apparently hear what I want.)
Monday, one of my roommates came down really ill and her parents drove up from Jersey to bring her home. (No Swine Flu...no worries.) To give them time and get out of their way, I hopped around campus and Burlington all night, catching up with the lovely Miss Mercure and eating KKDs. I also texted Gypsy to ask if need be that I could crash on the infamous extra mattress. "I may not need it-- I may just apartment hop until I sneak back to my apartment after they all go to sleep. What time is a no-go for coming over to chill?"
"Whenever. I'll most likely be up late. And I'd wake up to let you in and set up the bed for you. Doesn't matter."
Can we just give him a medal already?
So, hmmm...Gypsy. He's intelligent, articulate, funny, sweet, and cute as all hell. Basically a five-year-old in a man's body. A bit of a drunkard and a player, yes, but the more he gets up and walks around the apartment, the more times I just want to sink my teeth into his ass. (Alli. You are so to blame for this. That, and that summer day We Shall Never Speak Of. Again. Ever. Starting Now.) He's certainly used to being an older brother and "protector" which I will admit I like as it makes me feel all taken care of inside and go girly. I am so used to taking care of myself that when other people do it for me, I just tend to...love it. Last night, he walked me to my car-- again, parked 3 motherfucking blocks away-- and as I beeped it open and threw my purse in, he craned to see over my shoulder. "No one's hiding out in your car?" he asked, looked for himself, and then, content that I wouldn't be mauled to death by Birdman, or another one of Burlington's vagrants in my own car, declined my offer to drive him home, saying, "Naw-- I'll walk back," and then put his arms around me. I nearly ate a shoulder full of red and black plaid flannel but composed myself long enough to do that awkward thick-winter-coats-between-us-like-fat-padding embrace.
Oho. We're onto hugging, now. I almost looked at him and said, "Man up and kiss me, already."
As Greece Lightning would say, I'm "a sure thing."
I've never really been the one pursued before. This hit home again when one of my friends was talking to Gypsy randomly two weeks ago and my name came up as someone they knew in common. "She's hot," Gypsy had said. Though I admit it, I may have grooved a bit when I heard this like someone had just told me I was getting a lifetime's free membership to the Victoria's Secret Vault Of All Things Sexy, I'm still kind of baffled. ("Baffled" is an EXCELLENT word for what I am, actually.) Usually, things go like this: either I, A.) meet you, decide I want you, and go after you with varying results, or B.) we meet, we like each other mutually right off the bat, and we fall into bed and a sort of quasi-relationship together. Usually, I don't give the guys that like ME the time of day-- I'm after the ones who I like: the hard-to-reach fruit on the Tree of Temptation. Things like the apple-pie guy who came from the Tree of Temptation liking me usually don't happen. I don't think I can say I've ever had to sit there, talking to a perfectly cute, perfectly nice guy before and think, "Hmmm, do I really like you? Would I sleep with you? Would I ever want to, GASP, date you? Be in a relationship with you? How do I REALLY feel about you? Could I see/let this thing happen?"
So bizarre. I don't know how you serial daters do it.
I also like the way Gyp says my name. Usually, I pronounce it "CA-rissa," but there's this phenomenon that happens with Vermont boys, I've noticed. The soft Vermont accent turns it into "Crissa." Catholic Boy did it. My trainer's husband does it. Some of my native friends are guilty of it, too. But that's all very girly and neither here, nor there.
But god, he's opinionated and set in those opinions. I just want to shake him up a little and say, "Jesus Christ, open up your mind think about it from the other side for once!" Also, let me tell you one of the stupidest arguments in the world: "Well, I only do [dangerous things] when I'm alone. Because hey, if it goes wrong, it's just me." Yes, Gypsy, this is directed at you and your quote. But it's NEVER "just you." It's you, and your family, and your friends, and everyone else who would be left behind if you killed yourself in a moment of young adult male stupidity.
As someone whose life has been affected by far too many losses and far too many "stupid moments," let me tell you-- nothing sucks more than being someone left behind. So don't put the people you love in that position. Think. Texting while driving, or while on a motorcycle, is ridiculously dangerous. People react 18% slower to break, swerve, or speed up when texting on their cell phone. For every 6 seconds that a person spends texting while driving, roughly 4.6 of those seconds are not spent looking at the road. Nearly 25% of all wheeled accidents occur because of texting or talking while driving. Over 2,600 people per year die because of accidents related to dialling or texting on a cell phone while driving. Another 333,000 are injured. Yes-- I am guilty of occasionally texting while driving. I try not to-- driving a standard takes the two hands I already have. Pressing buttons at the same time is really pressing it for me.We all do at one time or another. But really-- we shouldn't. Don't become another statistic.
See? I can do a well-meaning public service announcement other than "use a condom!"