The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter Four (part three)

           So basically, I get into my room, checking my phone every two seconds (even though the ringer is on high and the vibrate is on so if anything was happening with the phone I would know without having to check it like it was my heart monitor or something,) and I plopped down on my bed feeling pretty damn lousy.

            I mean, I totally hate days like today. You know, the up and down rollercoaster days. Like, I can totally deal with a day that is just blechy or whatever, but I can’t stand those days where like something horrible happens and then something awesome happens, so you totally get your hopes up and then nothing at all happens, so your left with this sorta empty feeling even though you should be feeling happy about the awesome thing that happened. That was me today.

            Sure, the falling in front of him and the rest of the popular crew was super embarrassing, but then to have him talk to me and ask for my phone number and all that awesomeness. Seriously, of all the moments I’ve had in high school, that hallway conversation definitely falls in the top five. But instead of floating on freaking cloud nine and feeling all bubbly inside, like that time Deanna and I accidentally downed a bottle of Manischevitz at Passover thinking it was grape juice, I’m feeling totally let down, like later that night when the Manischevitz made its comeback.

            Why hadn’t he texted? Okay, so I know what you're totally thinking right now, and yes I am 100%, undeniably one of those obnoxious needy girls. I don’t even feel like I have to deny it. I mean, sure when I talk to my friends and stuff I totally try to disguise it and subdue the little miniature of myself that hangs out inside my head and starts ripping the hair out of her skull as soon as someone stops including me in the conversation, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know that I’m needy. 

            I figure every teenage girl has her secret crazy that she tries to hide from her friends at school, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t aware of what that crazy is. Sure, I may have a little more crazy tucked away then most people, but guess that’s just the luck of the draw. Some girls get enlarged mammary glands (that’s boobies for you non-scientific folk) and I got enlarged insanity glands (those aren’t real for you scientific folk). Guess you win some and you lose some. But seriously, any teenage girl who tells you that she is totally normal probably pours glues on her hands every night and peels it off slowly so she feels like she is a caterpillar shedding her cocoon and emerging as a beautiful butterfly. (Oh, and no I’m so not speaking from experience with that one but now that I’ve said it sounds like a kinda cool idea.)

Keep Reading - There MIGHT Be Something Good

       Ever feel like your life is one of those teaser trailers? You know, the ones that come out like a millennia before the movie is actually going to be released and shows you about 20 seconds of undistinguishable footage but never actually tells you anything about the movie at all? I mean, it's like all this buildup and expectation that never really progresses anywhere. Basically, you're just sorta existing in this limbo and hoping that eventually you'll find your way to the main event that you have just been anticipating for your entire life.
      Like, 98% of our lives are spent pursuing these goals that we always seem to get right up close to but never actually reach. Truth is, most of the time we are the ones who pull ourselves away at the last second, afraid of jumping off the cliff for that rope fearing the possible chance of falling. Of course, it's not like we would admit to ourselves that that's what we are doing because, that would make it vastly more difficult to blame everyone else for our problems.
      In the long run, however, it isn't the self-deprication that stings the worst, it's the possibility that we didn't take that jump because somehow we already knew what the outcome would be and that outcome was falling splat on the life's floor, broken and in need of serious repairs. And what happens then? I mean, in reality we would rather admit that it was something we did wrong, that it was our choice, then entertain the possibility that there was nothing to grab onto at all, that the decision had been made for us.
    For it is the "could-not-have beens" that burn a hole in our brains and keep us up at night tossing and turning. It is the truths that we try so hard to hide from ourselves so that we can continue to believe in some dream. Sadly, at the end of the day, it's not like this method succeeds in hurting us any less, it just hurts us differently. You know, instead of rejection and embarrassment, we only have to deal with the rejection. We can pretend on the outside that we haven't been hurt, fake that smile, and deal with all the emotions internally.
     Of course, this method also doesn't help us to grow and progress. Instead, we are caught in a loop of "previously seen on" material that only reflects and never actually gives us anything to keep coming back for. Yet, it isn't like we live in the past. Rather, we live in some alternate reality where nothing real ever happens to us. Instead, we get to create our own truth, our own successes and our own failures, all from the safety of our own minds. It is more comfortable to live in a world of silently created disappointment then to venture into a world where we have no control.
    So, here we are, stuck in some fantasy world where we suffer and triumph just as we would in the real world, but we do not share those victories and defeats for fear of judgement. Living there is not to protect us from feeling pain, but rather from the power of others to cause that pain.

             XOXO
                            E

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter Four (part two)

           When I got home, my mother was sitting in the kitchen, sighing as she flipped through the pages of some Bridal magazine.

            “Who’s getting married?” I asked, throwing down my backpack and grabbing a bag of chips from the pantry.

            “Oh, nobody,” my mom said, giving me a judgmental look for my snack choice. 
         Trying to ignore her, I placed a handful of chips into my mouth, subsequently coughing and spitting out little flakes of chip into my cupped hands. Awkwardly, I tossed the bag into the trash and went to wash my hand. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my mother shaking her head as she turned back to the magazine.

            “Don’t you think your sister would look great in a wedding dress like this?” She gestured to a lacy, Cinderella type ball-gown.

            “Mom. Noa’s 14! I don’t think you’re gonna have to worry about wedding dresses just yet!” It took all of my self-control not to add that I doubted Noa would ever get married since she can’t stay with a boyfriend for a month let alone a lifetime. And anyway, even if she did get married, I doubt she would be able to wear white.

            “No, I know. I know” My mom said wistfully, flipping the pages, “I’m just so excited to get to throw a wedding. I mean, just look at how gorgeous these dresses are! You’re sister would look so beautiful in these! Oh! And look at this maid-of-honor dress, I mean, what a perfect color for you, with those beautiful blue eyes of yours.”

            “Mom!”

            “What? I said you had beautiful eyes. Why are you getting in such a huff?”

            Okay. So I should probably clear something up about my mother here before you all start making your own judgments.

            My mother is one of the most amazing women you will ever meet in your entire life. I mean, seriously, she is the type of mom who is super involved at my school, always eager to throw a party for my “friends,” super supportive of everything I attempt to be good at. But, despite all this great stuff, she has the unfortunate tendency to constantly insult me without thinking she is actually insulting me. Sure, she loves me, I never question that, just sometimes I wonder if it’s that kind of pitying love where she sorta thinks I’m a total loser and she feels guilty for allowing me to get that way.

            “I’m gonna go do some studying in my room” I said, picking up my backpack and running out before she had a chance to respond.            

            By this point my mom and I both totally know that when I tell her I’m going to “study” in my room I’m actually just going to sit on Facebook, watching everybody else’s lives and wallowing in the fact that I have absolutely nothing to do except sit on Facbeook and watch other people’s lives. But whatever, she never calls me out on it, and it got me out of the room of wedding dresses and broken dreams. 

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter Four (part one)

      School dragged on for what seemed like ages, especially because I hadn’t received any sort of response from him and I was beginning to think that Deanna had officially made me look like a major idiot in front of him. Not that I really shoulda expected something, since it wasn’t like he was gonna ditch 5^th and 6^th period to go call his mom so he could text me back about doing costumes for elementary school kids. But whatever, I’ve already made it pretty darn clear that I’m not a very rational person, so I spent the rest of the day feeling slightly sick and checking my phone like I was waiting to win a radio sweepstakes contest.

       Seriously, instead of focusing on American History or Environmental Science or whatever classes I was in after lunch, I kept imagining how he would react to Deanna’s text message. I mean, would he think the winky face was too forward? What if he thought I was strange and he never texted me back? Like, maybe this was all a sick joke and he's gonna just print out my response and post it around school so that everyone can see how pathetically in love with him I am!

      Literally shaking with anxiety about my future with him and pretty much convinced that my one text had ruined any chance I might have, by some miracle, had, I decided to skip rehearsal and just go home. Of course, me ditching rehearsal wasn’t that big of a deal since tech crew didn’t actually have to show up until the week before the show, but I like to go before then because it’s not like I have anything better to do. Besides, it makes me feel sorta special to have somewhere to go after school. You know, like I belong to something that the rest of the student body, rushing off to their cars as soon as the last bell rings, doesn’t get to be a part of? I mean, I guess it’s pretty pathetic cause I mostly just sit in the back of the theatre doing homework or fantasizing about something miraculous happening to me, but the truth is, who really cares.

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter Three (part six)

          “I guess I’ll just say ‘Ok. Looking forward to hearing from you’ and then like a smiley face or something” I said, typing the message into my phone.

       “This isn’t some sort of business transaction, Miri, no need to sound so official”

       “Fine. What do you think I should say?”

       “Well…you want to be flirty, but not too forward” she said matter-of-factly, taking the phone from my hands and deleting what I had just typed. “How about ‘kk! can’t wait!’ and then a winky face? Winky faces are cute and a little less friendly than a smiley. I mean, you send smilies to your mom.”

       Even though she had phrased it as a question, she hit send before I could disagree. Of course, I couldn’t help but notice that all she had done was essentially typed a dumber version of my original message. Like, I don’t know why, but Deanna has this weird thing about girls being dumber than boys. I mean, it’s not that she‘s actually stupid, but I swear, her IQ drops 200 points whenever a cute guy is around. She says that I’m just being silly, but I’ve noticed it every time we go to a party or whatever. Seriously though, put some hipster, American Apparel wearing hottie in the room and for some reason she feels the need to laugh like she's running for Miss America, and act like she doesn’t know the difference between Napoleon and Neapolitan ice cream.

    Luckily, the bell rang just then and, without another word, I ran off to my next class, a nervous feeling growing in my stomach at what he would respond.

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter Three (part five)

         “BF wouldn’t be who I think it is would it?”

       I nodded, unable to create a coherent sentence and avoiding the overwhelming urge to jump on the bench and do something in the ballpark of a football touchdown victory dance.

       “NO – FREAKING – WAY!!!!!!” Deanna screamed, pulling me into a giant hug. That was another great thing about Deanna. Like, half the time it was all about her but when she wanted, she really knew how to make me feel special. And not like Warren did either, you know, making me feel special so that I'll fall in love with him and then he can crush me. No, Deanna would make me feel special because of who I am, like special because I’m a nobody. I mean, she actually seemed genuinely happy for me, which of course made me feel crappy for being jealous of her and secretly loving when Warren would flirt with me, or whatever it was that he was doing. But, then again, if this was a fairytale she is the princess perfect and I’m the favorite maid, which even on a good day doesn't end with a happily ever after.

       “It’s really nothing. He just wants me to help out with some thing his mom is running or something.”

       “Umm…That isn’t nothing! That is after school hours with the gorgeous, the unattainable, the irreplaceable Blake Finn!” In her classic actress way, Deanna couldn’t resist the urge to make a scene out of everything she did so, as she spoke, she stood up on the bench, addressing the uncaring crowd and fainting as she finally said his name.

       “SHH!!!” I half-screamed, pulling her back down and looking around to make sure nobody had heard her. “Stop it. I don’t want anyone to know that I like him.”

       Deanna laughed, and I could see that glint in her eye that always sorta scared me, that glint that showed me that she knew she once again had the upper-hand in the friendship. It didn’t bother me that much usually. I mean, I guess she needed that power more than I did, but like, I always wondered why she seemed to light up so much at the thought of being better than me, and what exactly that said about our friendship.

       “So…what are you gonna text him back?”

       “I dunno…haven’t thought about it yet…”

       “Well, just make sure you don’t come off too desperate. Nobody likes desperate. I mean, take Warren. He would never like me if I always hung around him all the time and was like always available to him. I have to act like I don’t care, and that will make him want me more.” 
     I felt it was better not to tell her that she hung on Warren like wet laundry on a clothesline. Truth was, I knew she was right, even though she wasn’t making the point she thought she was making. Warren totally took advantage of her, and I totally didn’t wanna end up doing that with him even though I knew all too well that I would. 

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter Three (part four)

          Luckily, Warren didn’t follow us, although we could hear his sing-song call from our seat on the bench.

       "Warren sounded pretty jealous" Deanna offered as soon as we had sat down, bringing up the very issue that I had been dreading.

       "Not even!" I said, as if the thought hadn't crossed my mind even though we both knew that it had.

       "Whatever. I don't even care. He isn't good enough for me anyway" She said, laughing and tossing her hair. See, Deanna is the type of girl who loves to do two things. First, she'll insult herself so that you  have to compliment her and then she'll brag about herself so that you have to agree with her. 

       My mom says she has low self-confidence but I don't really believe that. I mean, Deanna is probably the most confident person I have ever met. Half the time I wish I could be just like her. She's like the better version of me. You know, fun, pretty, doesn't let stuff to get to her. Hell! If Warren had treated me the way he treated Deanna I would have been curled up in a ball in my room, sobbing my eyes out, and cursing the day I was born. But not Deanna, she could just keep on smiling, like nothing even mattered.

       “Duh! And besides he was just being stupid, like he always is. I saw how he was all over you before he felt the need to let out his inner eighth-grader and tease me.”

       I could see her smile behind her sandwich and mentally patted myself on the back for being a good friend. I mean, I’m not usually one to brag about myself or anything, but I really am a great friend to the people I care about. Probably has something to do with my need to be loved by everyone and their mother. Oh, and the fact that I care way more about what other people think of me than I think of myself. But, I guess my personality has worse side-effects than being nice to people.

       “His loss I guess. I was gonna let him eat lunch with us, but this is the bench for mature adults, not baboons” She said smiling, but I saw her look over at him with a bit of disappointment in her eyes. It was in these moments that I figured, if I could just see inside Deanna's brain, I would realize that she was just as crazy as I am and was still obsessing about Warren and running the scene through her mind trying to remember every time he touched her and attempting to analyze exactly what he meant by each contact.  Of course, this is all speculation (or probably what Freudians would call projection: because Deanna didn’t show any signs of insane behavior. In fact, instead of dwelling on Warren, she flawlessly turned the conversation on to something else.

Where Are The Brakes On This Thing?!?!

         Okay. So there you are, sitting alone in your room (or not so alone if you have a roommate or a younger sibling) and you’re trying to fall asleep and you keep thinking about “that guy” and imagining a vast array of scenarios where he’ll sweep you away to a far away castle and make you the queen of some unknown country like Genovia or whatever. And then, you wake up in the morning and you check your phone and he hasn’t even texted you like you promised yourself he would and you really don’t wanna text him because that isn’t how the scenario is supposed to work out and if you’re the one to text him first than you can never know if he actually wants to talk to you or if he is just being polite and doesn’t wanna not respond. So, instead of doing anything proactive, you sit in your room all day, constantly refreshing your phone as if it is actually gonna make a difference, and stalking your (and when I say your I totally mean his) Facebook, seeing that once vibrant image of happily ever after slowly fading off the movie screen of your brain until you can’t even fathom how you had been able to see anything at all. BUT THEN…you see him randomly at some place, like when you step out to get lunch or something, and then you’re like “oh my gosh this is so it! It is so about to happen” and he gives you a hug and you melt away in his arms and then, even though there isn’t a marching band and a parade that he has hired to profess his love for you while he is playing a song he wrote on his guitar, you go back to your room in your rainbow and sunshine powered car with a fresh batch of movie magic endings to your non-existent love story. And, just like a shampoo bottle’s instructions, you continue to repeat.

            Now, you would think that the brain would catch on to the fact that what your dreaming of and what is actually happening are two strikingly different realities and would, in fact, be able to decipher the difference between what you have decided will happen and what really is happening for everyone else. I mean, seriously, it shouldn’t be this difficult to look out at the world and realize that the chocolate love river and the cotton candy clouds you are certain exist aren’t being seen by anybody else.

            Sure, your friends can tell you that you’re getting way ahead of yourself, you know like that stupid roadrunner that keeps on sprinting even though the cliff ended like 15 minutes ago. Goodness! It’s almost ridiculous how, no matter what everyone around you keeps screaming, you just keep on living in your dream world and like the little engine that could, your freaking imagination continues chugging up that mountain of disappointment saying to itself “I think I can. I think I can” until it has drowned out all the friendly (and much more sane) advice of the other trains smartly taking a less treacherous path. Unfortunately, however, this little engine can’t actually control the things it’s claiming and seeking to control. Yeah, you can keep pushing yourself forward, but at the end of the day, if someone else made the track a dead end, you’re still not gonna get where you wanna go.

            Guess that’s the price we pay to live in a society where people have (at least in theory) free will. Like, you can do everything right, play the game perfectly, flirt like a freaking pro, but that doesn’t necessarily affect the path that other people have made for themselves and you, inevitably, have gotten stuck on. I mean, sure you’re the so-called captain of your own train, but if you can’t make a drop off at someone else’s station it doesn’t matter how fast you get there (or even the climb for you Miley fans) because you’re never gonna be able to manipulate the train schedule of someone else’s reality.

            Basically, you can dream all night long and wish the whole day away, imagining the next big Hollywood blockbuster romantic comedy in which you play the naïve, but gorgeous heroine and your latest “that guy” takes on the super hot, but doesn’t know it, soft, sensitive, nerdy hero, but when push comes to shove your just gonna be disappointed by the reality that has been molded around you by everybody else’s agenda. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to have a fantasy life, it just sucks when every day turns into a disappointment because it couldn’t possibly live up to the expectations that have been set for it. Sure, your little engine that could made it all the way to the top (woohoo!) but, don’t forget, what comes up must come down, and free-falling from that hill of fantastical romance into the pit stop of the real world is a wake-up call that isn’t worth all that hard work it took in the first place.

            XOXO

                          E 

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter Three (part three)

           With that, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out my bright blue, and bedazzled, phone, which was blinking red indicating a new text message.

       “Hey! Give that back! It doesn’t belong to you”

       “I dunno Finkles…” He said, putting the phone above his head and out of my reach, “I mean, you haven’t been very nice to me, and I’m thinking I should just go put it back where I found it.”

       Like an idiot, I jumped for my phone, desperate to see who had texted me and hoping beyond all reason that it was him, asking me to meet him for lunch or something.

       “Come on little Finkles, jump! Jump!” Warren said bouncing the phone up and down so that it was always just a little beyond my fingertips.

       “Just give it back to her already” Deanna snapped, obviously annoyed that he had stopped focusing on her. 

       “Alright, alright” Warren said, unruffled, “but first, Finkles has to tell me who her secret admirer is.”

       My heart literally skipped I beat. I swear, if you had put a stethoscope to my chest at that moment you would have heard the ventricles and atria freezing up for half a second and my whole body time out. 

       “What are you talking about?”

       “'Hey! Now you have my number. I’ll text you tonight after I figure out the plans. Thanks. BF.'” Warren read off the glowing screen of my phone.

       Let me be very clear here, no greater text has been written in the history of humanity. Sure, it wasn’t poetic or anything, I’m sure Shakespeare probably coulda said it better if they had had cellphones back then, but still, he had texted me, a text from him to me existed, and that was all I really needed to let my imagination run wild.

       There we were, in the empty theatre, standing beside the ghost light, me laughing about something hilarious that he just said, him smiling with his green eyes sparkling in the dim light. A piece of my hair gets caught in my lipgloss as I laugh, and he leans down to put it back into place. In that instant, our eyes lock, and then he is kissing me, and not some sort of PG peck that happens at the end of a kid’s movie, I’m talking a PG-13 full make-out kiss, the kind of kiss that legends are made of.

       “Oh Finkles, you still with us?”

       I broke out of my fabulous daydream to Warren waving a hand in front of my face. Quickly, I composed myself, rubbing my lips together to try and distract from the fact that they had unintentionally began to pucker as I thought about my first kiss.

       “So who is this BF guy? You’re boyfriend?!” Warren cooed, making kissing sounds like he was some five year old who has just watched two people kissing on TV or something and feels the need to mock it so that nobody knows he secretly wishes he could try it.

       “None of your business Warren” I said, grabbing my phone from him and turning away to hide the smile.

       “Finkles has a boyfriend. Finkles has a boyfriend” Warren chanted in classic middle-school boy fashion, dancing around like some sort of giant clown.

       Rolling my eyes at his childishness, I gestured to Deanna to leave. Even though she smiled and nodded, I could tell by the way she brushed past me, forcing me to follow her to our lunch spot, that she was not happy with the reaction I had gotten out of Warren. 

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter Three (part two)

           But whatever, she is usually pretty nice to me, and we always eat lunch together when she doesn’t have rehearsal for her a cappella group or the latest musical or some sort of theatre competition. Sometimes, we even sit in a practice room and write music together. I’m not great at the music part, but sometimes she takes my poems that I write in my creative writing class and adds melodies to them and it’s actually really cool.

       Anyway, after fourth period, which is probably my least favorite class (pre-calculus – EWWW!) I rushed out into the quad to meet Deanna in our usual spot so I could brag to her about my encounter with him.

       Of course, when I finally spotted her through the hoards of kids spilling out for lunch, she was standing with none other than Warren Joslin. You remember, the guy who was laughing at me in the nurse’s office, the infamous H.E.L.L heartthrob. I guess I shouldn’t have been that surprised, Deanna had been nipping at his heels for like forever. I mean, I’d hoped once all the older theatre guys had started asking her out she would move on already, but of course, Warren always lured her back to him with his fancy guitar playing and his smile.

       “Hey girlie!” Deanna called, waving to me as she walked toward me. I couldn’t help but notice that Warren had his hand possessively on her lower back, just high enough to not be too sketchy but low enough to indicate what exactly he was thinking. I felt my stomach turn.

       “Hey Finkles” Warren smirked, “I probably shouldn’t get too close huh?”

       Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that Warren had decided to call me Finkles after he finally learned what my last name was last year. I mean, sure, I had only gone to school with him for like 9 billion years and had actually sat like three people in front of him when we sat alphabetically all through elementary school, but whatever.

       Anyway, he thought the nickname was absolutely adorable and, although I acted like I hated it, I secretly loved the fact that he had made the name stick. I mean, in a weird way it made me feel sorta special, which I knew was stupid cause he came up with nicknames for everyone. Everyone except Deanna that is. Even though she would never admit it, I knew how much she hated it every time he called me Finkles, which just made me feel awful because, in some horrible way, I kinda liked that it bothered her. You know, cause it was like something I had that she didn’t.

       “Shut up Warren.” I said, hoping that I had successfully hid the smile and warm bubbly feeling that had hit me as soon as he used the name. Figuring I would fail miserably at disguising myself, I turned to Deanna, crossing my fingers that Warren would get the hint and just walk away. 

       “I sorta missed creative writing today, so I didn’t get back my latest poem”

       “What happened? Noa running late again?” Deanna asked. I could tell from her tone that I had been right about being  unable to mask my joy and I felt a twinge of guilt as she shrugged out of Warren’s reach.

       “You didn’t hear? Little Finkles here took a tumble this morning and wound up in a shouting match with the nurse. Isn’t that right Finkles?” Warren answered for me, leaning over to ruffle my hair.

       “Warren! Cut it out!” I said, secretly praying that I sounded assertive like they taught us in that bullying class, but about 150% sure I still sounded like a giggling schoolgirl hopped up on raging hormones and a dash of nitrous oxide.

       “Someone’s feisty.” Warren laughed, ignoring the death glare I was now focusing all my energy on giving him. “You would think you’d be nicer to the guy who grabbed your phone out of the evil nurse’s office for you.”

Hold On...Haven't I Seen That Rock Before?

      Ever get the feeling you’re trapped in one of those horrible carnival corn mazes, walking the same damn narrow corridors through all that dirt and, even when you’re sure you went left this time instead of right, you always wind up somewhere in the middle of the maize (clever!) like six columns over from that glorious exit? Oh, and then you finally ask someone for directions and they start patronizingly rattling off a list of turns and steps that you swear you followed exactly and yet you're still rushing past the same gosh-darn plants like an idiot? Yeah, welcome to the club.

            I mean, luckily life isn’t covered in itchy, bug-infested corn (at least not until ethanol powered cars take over) but still, it’s like we’re playing that maze on the back of the kid’s menu and we’re the two-year old constantly running our crayon into the walls, looking for the same shortcuts every time and always getting stuck at the same dead ends. If you think about it, it all sounds sorta hopeless. Here we are, thinking we’re growing and learning from our mistakes when, in actuality, we’re just fooling ourselves into falling for old traps.

            Seriously, like pathetic test mice, we constantly let the masterful “that guy” put us in that tiny box and than we keep hitting the stupid lever hoping for love but always receiving that nasty shock instead. And, although “that guy” has more tricks up his sleeve than Houdini, the truth is, all he really needs to do is that lame “pick a card, any card” crap and even when you've watched him place your card the wrong direction in the deck, you’re still shocked every time he gets it right and fall at his feet like some starstruck first-grader.

            Sheesh! You would think we’d get sick of running the same circles over and over again, digging ourselves deeper and deeper into the ground until we’ve basically buried ourselves alive (or created ridiculous crop circles that hundreds of years from now scientists will swear is some bizarre alien communication) I mean, I know they say it’s good to recycle and all that, but trust me, taking the same approach and winding up in the same place time and time again isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, you would think that you’d have a better handle on it, be able to navigate the trail a little more easily, keep an eye out for that pesky dip in the road you always seem to fall into. But, despite popular belief, what actually happens is you ultimately find yourself spending the same time obsessing over “that guy” and wasting the same energy over-analyzing “that guy’s” every move until you end up crying the same tears and eating the same tub of cookie dough (and for you annoying people who take everything literally - no it's not actually the same tub - that would be silly)

            The worst part is, it’s not even that you can’t tell you going down the same road, Rather, you see that sign that says “danger ahead” and you think  “hell I’ve done this before, I’m not afraid of a little danger, danger is exciting,” So, you stumble off down that rocky road until you find yourself splattered on the violent shores of unrequited love and then, like some cruel videogame, come back to life at that very fork in the road where you chose danger. But, like a fool, you start down the same damn road, until halfway through you wind up looking around and thinking “hold on...haven’t I seen that rock before?” and wishing that you had the strength to just turn around, all the while knowing that you’re gonna just keep going back anyway, so you might as well finish it off.  

           Of course, in the end, you never get the happy ending you want, because the same equation isn’t gonna magically present different results, but you still can’t stop that annoying optimistic voice in your head that promises this time will be different, this time will be special, this time will be right.

            My advice, take a lesson from good old Robert Frost. Not the part about going out into the woods alone or whatever, that seems kinda dangerous and a little too nature-y for my taste, but the whole meaning of the poem about taking the road less traveled by. I mean, it doesn’t even have to be a road that other people aren’t taking, just maybe one you haven’t tried before. You may surprise yourself! And if not, at least you won't feel like a total dunce when you get to the end of it and realize that you haven't actually gone anywhere at all.

            XOXO

                        E

            

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter Three (part one)

      As I sat through the rest of my morning classes, wishing I could do that thing they do in sitcoms where the clock hands move super fast and everyone taps their toes in anticipation of the bell, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had texted me yet, and of course, where the heck my freaking phone was. I mean, I knew I had it in the morning, before the fall, so I figured it must be in the nurse’s office. Of course, the prospect of having to go back into that room and converse with the evil witch that lives there was anything but appealing, even to talk to him.

       Okay, okay. I guess that isn’t entirely true. I mean, I’d probably travel through the 9 layers of hell (or however many that Dante guy talked about) just for one hello from the guy, but whatever, I’m attempting to appear less desperate. My “best friend” Deanna keeps trying to tell me that “love’s gonna come when I least expect” or some cliché crap like that and I keep telling her that, that may be, but I’m always gonna be looking for it so it better be coming when I expect it also or I’m totally screwed.

       Oh yeah, just to clarify, I like to call Deanna my best friend, but sometimes it’s hard to tell. I mean, we hang out a lot, and we get along really well, and I think she likes me and all that jazz, but she is sorta popular and sometimes she ditches me, I wanna believe unintentionally, to hang out with the cool crew. I try not to put too much pressure on the relationship, cause like, I kinda need her and stuff, but sometimes I feel like I let her use me when she has nobody better to hang out with.

       Like, Deanna is the type of girl who seems to just get the things that she wants. You know the type. The girl that doesn’t study before a test and still gets a better grade than you, or buys one raffle ticket and wins when you spent two months allowance buying as many tickets as you could, or borrows your clothes and gets a million and twelve compliments even though nobody even noticed you when you wore it. Yeah, she’s that girl.

       I guess I should feel grateful or whatever that we’ve stayed friends, since she obviously is way too cool for me. Truth is though, it wasn’t always like that, like back in middle school Deanna was just as big a nobody as me. But then, when we started high school, she got into all this music stuff cause she has a rock star voice and then, abra cadabra, suddenly everybody wanted to be her friend.

       It’s not like I’m not happy for her, though. Like, I really do think she is fabulous, and I love that people are finally noticing her cause she really does have an incredible voice, like a cross between Adele and Christina in a Taylor Swift body. I guess, if I’m being totally honest with myself, I’m just really jealous of her. I mean, she found herself, you know? She found her place in high school and probably the world, and I’m still like floating through the world kinda half-assing it through everything I do and nowhere close to finding out who the hell I’m gonna be. 

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter Two (part three)

        Seriously, sometimes I honestly wonder if I’m the practical joke of the universe. Of course, I have absolutely zero idea what I’m supposed to say to him now, since he is watching me with those wide, green eyes, hand outstretched, probably regretting that he had ever opened his mouth in the first place.

       “Umm…I…uh…I can’t seem to find my phone” I stammered, flashing what I hoped was an apologetic smile rather than the nausea induced grimace I was sure actually had taken over my face.

       “No worries. Just program in your number and I’ll text you so that you have mine.” He said, smiling as he passed me his phone.

       Focusing all my energy on not shaking as I typed in my name, and resisting the urge to name myself “Your Future Wife Miriam Finklestein”, I entered my number into his beautiful Iphone 4. It was funny. I mean, half the kids at my school have the Iphone, of course I don’t because that would violate my mom’s brand rule, but somehow his felt special. Yeah, yeah, it’s probably just because I think about the fact that his hands are all over it the whole day and he keeps it in his back pocket sometimes and he may even sleep next to it (please remember I’m not creepy just observant) but still, it felt warm and perfect in my hand.

       To be honest, a part of me didn’t want to hand it back to him. Not like I was gonna add it to some sort of shrine or something (at least not right away) but how movie moment magical would it be if I like stole his phone and then gave it back to him and he fell in love with me and we lived happily ever after. Sure, that usually happens when the two people have never met each other first, and the guy usually calls and just hears the girl’s voice or he calls and someone else picks up and he isn't expecting the model-esque bombshell that meets him at a coffee shop to give back the phone, but whatever, it could work for me too.

       Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to be surfing my brain waves and took the phone out of my hand, tucking it back into his jeans pocket.

       “So…I’ll see you around, I guess.”

       “Yeah. For sure.”

       “Bye”

       “Bye”

       With a sigh, I watched him walk away, pulling his iconic pizza delivery bag over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd of students that were now sprinting full-speed to class. Like any love struck teenager, I of course failed to notice that the tardy bell had already rung and instead was watching the place where he had just stood, running the whole scene through my mind and, as always, wishing I had said something different so that I would have been super desirable and he would have whisked me away to behind the gym where all the popular kids hook-up during class and all that jazz. But of course, as I'm not even that good of a student in 11th grade basic science, I haven't figured out time travel yet and thus am doomed to a life of constant regret.
      Anyway, once the hallway was actually completely empty, I came to and, still giddy from the encounter, rushed off to my next class.

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter Two (part two)

          “You fall a lot don’t you,” He said, from somewhere above me and slightly to the left. His voice had laughter in it, which I definitely did not expect since I had just pummeled him like he was bowling pins and I was one strike away from my perfect game.

       “Yeah. I guess today just isn’t my day.” I said, with a giggle, attempting to stand up in a graceful-ish fashion (obviously I was unsuccessful.)

       Once standing, I could see that, despite being mauled, he still looked absolutely perfect. His curly, reddish-brown hair was mussed up just enough to look cool but not like he was trying too hard. His eyes, a rich green, were wide but friendly looking, like a meadow or something. His lips, I hate to say it, were super pink and inviting, like the lollipop lips they give out before Valentine's day for us losers who don't have actual lips to kiss.

       After a moment of standing in awkward silence, as we both brushed ourselves off, trying to get rid of whatever disgusting gunk had attached itself to our bodies from the hallway floor, he said “So, I’m actually glad I ran into you.”

       Okay, so I’m not joking here. I know, it sounds too good to be true. It sounds like we are heading down a road of gumdrop rain and candy corn trees, where fantasies come true and everyone rides around on unicorns all day, but I swear to you, that is what he said. Of course, I’m sure he didn’t mean it quite so literally, but the basic sentiment of the statement remains the same. HE WANTED TO SEE ME!! I actually heard the little voice in my head screaming in excitement! Honestly, it took all of my self-control not to hug him right there on the spot and profess my undying devotion and tell him I had already picked out our kids’ names.

       “Oh really, what for?” I replied, trying to keep my voice even and hoping that he didn’t notice the fact that I could not stop smiling.

       “You do costumes and like art and stuff for the theatre program here right?”

       “Umm…yeah…I mean I guess…”

       If I had died at that moment, I swear to goodness I would have been content. I mean, sure, it would have been better if he had pulled me close and kissed me full on the mouth, but in my brain his words had just done the exact same thing. He knew what I did!!! Not that it was anything too exciting, but still, he noticed what I did!

       “Okay cool. Well, my mom is running this thing at the elementary school for my little brother, and umm, she wanted me to ask you about maybe working on the show or something. I guess like someone told her that you do theatre or something. I dunno.”

       Not even the fact that his mom had to tell him who I was could ruin this moment. He was asking me to spend time with him. There he was, standing in front of me, inviting little old me, wallflower and nobody Miriam Finklestein, to spend time with him.

       “Oh. Yeah. That sounds cool. Umm…when exactly is it and like how much of a time commitment.”

       Truth was, I didn’t really care how much time it was gonna take. In fact, I was secretly hoping he was gonna be like “it’s gonna take like five hours a day every day from now until the end of time.”

       “I’m not really sure. It shouldn’t be too much. Why don’t we like, exchange numbers or something and I can let you know more when I know.”

       Hands shaking, and sweating, I clamored through my bag to find my cell phone. Seriously, I had imagined this moment so many freaking times, and here it was, here he was, standing in front of me offering me his phone to put my number in so he could call me later.

      Now, as you probably are all too aware, whenever your mind betrays you into having some sort of expectation for something the actual moment doesn’t go anything like it does in your mind, and then you're totally disappointed by a moment that otherwise would have been absolute perfection. For me, of course, right now was no exception. There I was, the guy of my dreams finally asking for my phone number AND giving me his in return, and I'm fumbling through my bag like an idiot only to find that, surprise surprise, my phone is missing! 

Just Be Yourself Who?!?!

             Don’t you think it’s funny how people always tell you to “just be yourself?” (or if you’re rockin’ it Shakespeare style “to thine own self be true”) I mean, it seems simple enough, right? Just be yourself. Who ever would have suspected that being yourself is probably the single most impossible task anybody could ever ask us to do – and there is AP chemistry in the world.

            The truth is, it’s like ridiculously hard to actually know who “yourself” is. So often our society dictates to us what we should be, how we should behave, essentially, who we are. It’s like we’re some sort of multi-faceted mirror, merely reflecting back the portions of our surroundings we figure people most want to see. But is that really who we are? How can we find who we are in the midst of who has been created out of us?

            I know that it should be easy to tell when you are being true to yourself and when you are faking it for those around you, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. I mean, here I am, figuring that I’m a 100% original and unaltered version of me, but if that is the case, why do I constantly feel myself censoring my behavior, adapting to the vibes given by those around me? Seriously, it’s sometimes as if I don’t even know who this person inside of me is anymore, but it still has to be me…right?

            I guess, when it comes down to it, who we are is so many different personalities, emotions, values, and experiences shoved into one tiny (or sometimes not so tiny) package. Like human chameleons, we only show the colors that we know will fit in with those around us and we try our best to bring out the part of ourselves that is most likely to be appreciated in a given situation. The hardest part, of course, is when you realize that there is no part of yourself that seems to fit, that sometimes you have to create a whole new personality just to be a part of something and than is that still you?

            In the end, I suppose you are whoever you decide to be and to “just be yourself” is less of a command and more of a statement of fact. There is no way to be anything but yourself, even if sometimes the yourself isn’t someone you particularly like or approve of. We only have the power to control our own behaviors, act on our own impulses, and speak our own minds. The truth is, even at our lowest points (though we hate to admit it to ourselves) we are being true to who we are.

            Truth is, who ever first said “just be yourself” probably figured he was being tremendously profound and didn’t actually have a freaking clue what he meant by it but just wanted to sound smart. I mean, it’s not like some hard AP Calculus problem that some kids just get and other kids can spend hours on and still end up with a fraction over zero (which I have come to learn is impossible). Nope, finding out who you are is something that everyone struggles with. Yep, even those people who you see walking down the streets in rainbow dresses and pom-pom hairdos, those people you figure must be the most self-confident people on the planet, aren’t totally sure who they are all the time.

            Anyway, guess what I want to leave you with is this idea that you shouldn’t stress about being “yourself” because that’s all you are, and even when you make stupid choices, have regrets, or just plain screw up, those are all parts of the very complicated puzzle (well of 5,000 pieces) that makes up the mosaic of you. So, whatever, it’s all a bit metaphoric and preachy and such but, I honestly believe it to be true. Hopefully though, one day, you’ll meet the people (or just one special person) who can appreciate the full picture and not just the individual parts.

                       

            XOXO

                        E

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter Two (part one)

       Even though I had already missed first period, I decided to swing by the classroom and maybe see if there was any work I could pick up or something. Okay, okay, so I’m not that good of a student, but I did head toward my first period class. Truth was, I was really hoping that, if I got there fast enough, I would run in to  him. You know, the guy who would not be named that was part of the J.Crew spread huddled outside of the building where Miriam took a tumble.

       I know it was silly, or whatever. Like really, even if I did happen to be lucky enough to run into him (luck being something that has already clearly been shown to NOT be my thing) it’s not like I would have something to say, or that he would even notice that I was walking by. I guess, in my bizarre thought process of strange rationalities, I just liked the idea of getting to see him every day. Totally creepy, I know, but whatever, we all like to look at pretty things don’t we? I mean, don’t blame a girl for worshipping primo high school hotness from afar, gosh!

       Okay, so there I was, fighting my way through the halls like a trout swimming upstream against the current, if the current was made up of large, unaware oafs with 50 pound backpacks slamming into things like a freaking pinball machine, when I spot him coming out of the classroom. Now, I can’t tell you what made me think to do it. In fact, I’m not entirely sure I thought it about it at all. But one second I was a few feet away watching him flip his hair perfectly back into place and the next second I was charging at him full speed like he was that guy in Spain who waves that red thing at the bull.

       As basic physics dictates, we collided, and for the second time that day I found myself flat on my back, looking up at the ceiling. This time, however, I wasn’t thinking about how great it was to be noticed. Nope, instead my brain was screaming “holy crap! What the hell did you just do?! You just football tackled your crush and now your gonna get trampled by a million kids running to class.” Of course, at this point, the prospect of death by high school stampede seemed favorable to the slow and painful demise of my dignity when I had to actually face my victim and deliver some sort of plausible explanation.  

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter One (part five)

       “What do you think you’re doing?” She snapped at me, ignoring Warren’s presence completely. I couldn’t help but think of the irony of the situation. I mean, here I am, the girl constantly trying to get noticed, and then, when I finally am, I’m getting yelled at by a 50 year old woman for who the hell knows what!

       “Oh…I’m just…I needed a band-aid” I said, about as inarticulately as a person could possibly say that simple of a sentence. Out of the corner my eye I thought I noticed Warren smile, his perfect blue eyes sparkling with laughter.

       “And you just thought you could walk in here and take it?”

       “I mean…you weren’t here and I didn’t wanna miss so much class…” I continued, feeling my face grow red and hot. Sure, nobody likes getting confronted for things, but I have a special hatred for it. In fact, it’s probably the reason I’m such a goody-goody all the time, like I totally subscribe to the fear of punishment method of keeping people in line,

       “Did you even sign in?” The nurse snapped, glancing at her sign-in sheet, which I, of course, had neglected to sign when I came in.

       “Well…I…I didn’t”

       “You didn’t think did you?” She interrupted, “None of you kids ever think. You figure, ‘hey I’m ruler of the world, rules don’t apply to me, I can just do whatever I want.”

       “That wasn’t…”

       “What’s your name?”

       “Miriam…”

       “Miriam what?!”

       “Finklestein. F – I – N – K” I began spelling out my last name for her.

       “I can spell, ya know.” The nurse shot me a look, as if by trying to help her out with my name I had somewhat insulted her intelligence.

       “Oh right…I’m sorry…It’s just sometimes hard to spell.” I looked down at the sheet, which she had placed back on the front of the desk. My name was spelled wrong, but I figured at this point it was better to just try and get out of there.

       My hands shaking, I signed myself out, although if you looked at it you would have no idea what it said. I don’t get why confrontations like this got me all worked up, but I actually felt sicker now than I had when I first walked into the nurses’ office. Anyway, there I was heading for the door, ready to make my great escape off to first period when I feel something pulling me backwards.

       Now, being the clutz that I am, I of course first thought that I had gotten my backpack stuck on the door handle or something and so I whipped around to try and detach myself. Of course, I was not, in fact, attached to the door and instead had been approached by a now quite bewildered Warren Joslin, who had touched my back in some sort of greeting or goodbye or something, and had successfully not only hit him in the stomach with my backpack, which had nearly knocked him out, but also had given him a mouthful of my untameable hair.

       Without looking back to see if he was okay, and with my face now so red it was actually approaching clown-nose ridiculous, I ran out into the hallway just as the bell to end first period echoed through the now empty quad.

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter One (part four)

         Now, the nurse’s office at my school is one of those places that you do everything in your power to avoid, except that it’s like the only hideout when you totally haven’t prepared for a test or left your homework at home or something like that and you just can’t go to class unprepared again so you wind up going there anyway and then immediately regret it. I mean, I guess it didn’t use to be so bad, but now that the nurse is aware of the sanctuary her office could provide to terrified and drowning adolescent high school students she seems to go out of her way to make a trip to her office an utterly painful experience

       Unfortunately, when you have an actual illness, or in my case a cut forehead, and you have to go to the nurse legitimately, she still feels the need to treat you like some sort of junkie trying to manipulate her into giving you some free narcotics (which of course she doesn’t even have so who knows what the hell she is so worried about.)

       But whatever, there I was walking to the dreaded third floor room and praying silently that for once I could get in and out of there without the twenty minute lecture on how I’m such an irresponsible teenager and how in the real world you don’t just get to skip out on responsibilities because your tummy hurts a little and blah blah blah old people ramblings. Now, if you haven’t already gathered this, I am not by my nature a lucky person. In fact, I have never, in the history of the world, won any sort of raffle or whatever, not even like one of those stupid ones they do at school to try and make people feel good about themselves. So, knowing this about I myself, I probably should have been more wary when I found myself in the empty nurses’ office, but of course, being me, I instead did a mini victory dance in my brain and checked the win column for the day.

       Smiling to myself, I walked to the back of the small office where there stood a box of band-aids and some Neosporin. As I covered the small gash that was still bleeding lightly in the upper right corner of my head, just high enough to be partially covered by my bangs but low enough to still be visible, I couldn’t help feeling a bit like some sort of warrior with a battle scar. I mean, sure, I didn’t do anything brave or honorable or whatever, but in some ways just making it through a day of high school is like braving the jungle or desert or wherever it is people are fighting these days.        
      Anyway, there I was trying to find a way to hide the band-aid completely (it totally didn’t go with my outfit) when I heard a voice behind me. Reflected in the mirror, I saw the messy, black hair of Warren Joslin, who, in his standard swagger, half-smiled at me before taking a seat in one of the chairs that sat against the wall.

       Now, as I’ve said before, I’ve gone to school with the same kids for like practically my entire life, and when that happens, people inevitably get labels. I mean, look at me, I’m the nobody, the inconsequential member of our student body, who could have transferred without little gossip surrounding my disappearance.

       Well, anyway, ever since I can remember, Warren Joslin was the infamous playboy of the school. I mean, you know the kinda guy, the guy that treats every girl like she’s special, the guy with a perfect playbook on how to get girls to fall for him. Not to say that he was a bad guy, I mean, he was nice enough I suppose, it was just that he knew what he wanted and he knew how to get it and he didn’t apologize for it.

       Like every other girl in the world, I of course had fallen for his tricks on multiple occasions, not that we were particularly close or anything. That was Warren’s gift, he could make any girl feel like she was important to him, even if just for a brief moment in time, but that moment left an impression that lasted a lifetime.

       Like, Warren and I had once done a school project together, and I could still remember the way I had thought I noticed his hand linger when it grazed mine while we read through books and painted our poster. Of course, I’m sure I was imagining it, I mean, even Warren Joslin wouldn’t waste his talents on me, but still, I couldn’t help but feel an excited nervousness at the thought of him, especially being alone in a room together.

       Of course, my over-active imagination was interrupted by the arrival of the nurse, who, from the way she stormed into the room, was obviously in an even worse mood than usual. 

The Nobody Chronicles: Chapter One (part three)

          After breakfast, which was, per usual, wrought with snide backhanded compliments from my mother and lame, slightly inappropriate jokes from my father, I endured the fifteen-minute drive to H.E.L.L listening to the sounds of my sister sucking the face of her new boy toy. Now, if there is one thing worse than having to drive someone around like a chauffer while they sit in the backseat listening to music and pretending you don’t exist, it’s driving someone around like chauffer and having them rub in your face the very patheticness that is your own miserable romantically dry life.

       Needless to say, by the time we finally pulled into the parking lot I was in a less than chipper mood, which was only intensified by the fact that my sister insisted on waiting for me to open the door for her before finally detangling herself from what’s-his-name and climbing out of the backseat with a sickening grin on her face. I mean, I guess deep down I know she doesn’t do it on purpose or whatever, but I swear it seems like my sister goes out of her way to remind me that she’s getting some and I most certainly am not.

       Anyway, with a momentary glare to remind my sister that without me she was stuck walking home, I began my rehearsed strut across the parking lot. Okay so you know when you watch a show like America’s Next Top Model and you hear Miss J critiquing the girls on their walk and you think to yourself “hell! I could so totally do that” and then you practice your runway walk when you think nobody is watching? Or, like, when you’re listening to a song with a really awesome beat and you feel the need to keep your steps in time to the music but, of course, nobody else can hear it so you just look kinda stupid but you’re blissfully unaware of this fact and are convinced you look like the white reincarnation of Tyra Banks? Yeah, well, let’s just say, I know those scenarios extremely well.

       So, there I was, making my way down the catwalk that is the H.E.L.L parking lot, when something unreal happened.  As always, the most popular kids in school, particularly one gorgeous boy who shall remain nameless, were all seated on a bench right outside the main office looking like something out of a CW series and smiling like they’re advertising some sort of new toothpaste. Seriously though, these kids might as well have woken up this morning and crawled off the pages of a Seventeen magazine spread. But whatever, there I was, pretending I wasn’t watching them and wishing that they were just plain, old watching me, when it hit me.

       Literally though. I was so distracted by a certain boy’s stunning smile that I inadvertently made a much closer connection to an equally uninterested party, the wall. Yep, there I was, flat on my back, looking up at the gum covered overhang of the main building, rubbing a hand on my forehead, and what seemed like the entire school was standing over me, laughing their faces off like I was one of those dancing, psycho dogs off of America’s Funniest Home Videos.

       Of course, as this is happening, I’m just thinking to myself, in between wondering how the hell so much gum got on to the roof of this building, "oh my freaking goodness, this is so freaking exciting! they actually notice me" and doing the happy dance in my head. I mean, how pathetic is your life when you’re actually glad to be monumentally embarrassed in front of the guy of your dreams because at least it means he knows you're alive. I’ll give you the answer, pretty damn pathetic, but you probably already knew that.

       As is my cross to bear, however, the fame didn’t last long for, only moments after my acrobatic display, the final bell shepherded my “adoring” public into the cages of education we call classrooms. Under normal circumstances, I would have joined the masses, rushing into the long white buildings that were our prison cells for the next five hours or so. In fact, I was usually the first to get class in the morning, since I was always eager to have the chance to sit next to that unnamed boy and stare at him wistfully for a whole, mostly uninterrupted, hour and a half. Besides, first period is the only class I actually have anything to say in and the teacher Mr. Price isn’t a total loser so he totally tries to make the class as fun as possible. However, with my head now bleeding slightly, I decided to take a detour to the nurse’s office and get myself cleaned up.

Wait...So That Wasn't Hitting on Me?

           Okay. So like, you know when you go to the eye doctor and they have you do that annoying thing where you cover one eye and read those ever shrinking letters until your actually just making crap up and don’t really get why the doctor continues to nod since you are now rattling off letters in Na’vi? Right, well, we all hate those tests, think they are a waste of time or whatever, but don’t you kinda wish there was some kind of test for reading those tricky signs of attraction (and the doctor actually told you when you started getting them wrong?)

            I know, I know, bad lead in but whatever you get the point (and I really liked that Na’vi reference.) But like really, haven’t you ever wished there was like How to Tell if He is Really Into You or Just Being Nice For Dummies or something? I mean, half the time we wind up mistaking common human decency for infatuation and the more desperate we get the more muddled those signals get. Hell! A simple hello and we’ve already got 500 save-the-date cards mailed out before the calligraphy is even dry.

            Truth is, more often than not, we don’t even have feelings for this person, but the simple thought that they might be into us has us picking out wedding dresses and engagement rings while obsessively stalking their Facebook page to see if any “skanks” are making moves on your man.

            If you are now thinking OH MY GOSH and making those circles around your ears to indicate insanity, than yep you are absolutely, 100% right. It is entirely ridiculous. Sadly, however, misreading the signs can have us on top of the free-fall ride, looking out over the whole amusement park of life, one second and  falling, at what seems like 700 million miles per hour, and praying to whatever G-d you subscribe to that you don’t plummet through the center of the Earth and burn to a crisp the next.

            So, there you have it, those pesky little sideways glances or slightly too long hugs that leave us elated for one second and curled in a ball in the dark at 6 pm crying and watching Netflix instant streaming the next, remain the wasp bites of the romantic world. Worst of all, though, if we are really honest with ourselves, we don’t actually want them to stop, because living without those fleeting moments of fireworks and self-confidence boosts is just as depressing as living with them. Of course, despite knowing this, we still constantly wish that one of the hundred times we imagine ourselves going out on a romantic date in Central Park with “that” guy (who just has to hold our hand or cuddle with us or dance with us at a party) we actually were right and actually got that happily ever after we so long for.

            I guess, at the end of the day it comes down to this: if every once in a while we got a win, if every one in a hundred guys actually called after they asked for your phone number, if every so often the guy that acts like he is into actually followed through, it would make all of the other times easier to bear. Unfortunately, for some of us, that one in a hundred chance is waiting for us all the way at number 99, and sometimes, just sometimes, we just can’t muster up the strength to make it there.

            XOXO

                        E