I’m depressed. I want to go out with someone so bad I can taste it! I swear. The problem is, is there’s this empty place inside me because I don’t even have anyone to like. When I liked Robbie, I could concentrate my efforts on him so I didn’t notice the emptiness. Lately, I’ve tried to fill the space with my love for ice-skating. It doesn’t work that way though. I wish it did. I wish I didn’t have to like someone to feel complete.
I wish the two sexes weren’t attracted to each other.
I’ve felt this way since last Monday when Jordan asked Natalie out. She said yes and although I’m happy for her I’m very jealous. I want to go out w/ someone I want to be the one w/ the boyfriend! Lately I’ve been the butt of a lot of jokes about the fact that I don’t have anyone to like and haven’t gone out with anyone. And usually I make them. It’s just away for me to laugh at my pain. I just wish I could fill the empty space inside. It would be easier if I knew had proof that a few guys like/liked me. Then I could know I could actually have a chance w/ the guy I like! Don’t you wish sometimes that no one was attracted to each other?
The latest thing turning me green with envy is this awesome San Francisco blog, The Bold Italic.
Beautifully designed and featuring all kinds of hip, unique and entrancing tales from local SF Bay residents (like me!), reading it gives me a stomach ache.
Sidenote: I didn’t get the Jennings memo till I saw a sign in the window of a local shop and assumed it was a typo. Who could be so silly as to make a giant sign with such a glaring error? Well, I was the one making the error!
I went shopping one day last year with my roommate Ellen, who is so fit and stylish that it makes me jealous and proud all rolled into one little rum ball. She coerced me into buying my first pair of skinny jeans, a trend that I thought would accentuate my pear-shaped body and make me look utterly ridiculous. Never mind that some of the curviest of my friends rock the skinny jeans all day long and I never think that their bottom halves look ridiculous. That’s the way it is–as I’m sure you know. Everyone else looks good, but I certainly don’t. The curse of modern-day women: body envy.
I put the skinny jeans on and I was terrified yet enamored. They were tight but yet they smoothed my imperfections. Ellen suggested I do some squats to move into them. That helped me feel at home. As the year progressed, I wore them more and more, but conservatively. I only had one pair, after all, and I needed them to last.
Tonight I was boogieing to some Fats Domino — a record we possess but which I’d never taken the time to listen to — and it was glorious. Right when I was really moving, “RIIIIPPPPPP.”
That’s the peril of skinny jeans. They rip when you boogie. I’ve also been informed that they can rip when you ride bikes too.
And now for your boogieing pleasure, Fats Domino, I’m Ready.
I have a problem. I am perpetually obsessed with the desire to give life to my unborn children.
Yes, my maternal clock is tick-tock-ticking. Every baby I pass, I eye jealously. Why does she get a child? She’s as young as I, probably about as stable, and certainly less mature.
It’s not that I want to steal other people’s babies. I only want my own. Complete with little curling fingers, giggles, and drool. I daydream about the pains of child birth, fantasize about being kept up all night by a beloved screaming newborn. I consider various private schools with a terrifying science. In the supermarket I evaluate which fruit and veggie combinations will be the best for my homemade organic baby food. I fall asleep wondering how much money I seriously need to be putting away for the inevitable orthodontic work.
I’m terrifying my friends, and certainly my lover. Frankly, I’m even a little concerned. My lease doesn’t allow pets, let alone babies.
