All jacked up

You know how when you're craving something, you just can't stop thinking about it? Everywhere you go, everywhere you look, it's taunting you. An insipid Mandy Moore song lyric - yeah, I wanna be with you too - whoever my you may be. A billboard advertising those super cute swimsuits from Urban Outfitters that you a) can't afford and b) need to drop ten pounds for, before you can even think about trying it on. Random flyers advertising finding true love on an ASB trip.

Or, in my case, a vending machine.

If you recall, I gave up soda-guzzling for my new year's resolution. And minus one 2am trip to the Wendy's drive-thru where I got a kid's meal with a Coke that was more ice than soda, I've been bubbles-free. But it's finals season, and my body knows it. I used to drink at least two cans of soda a day. It's pathetic, but I'll admit that it's kinda what kept me going. Who needs true love when you can have a Cherry Coke? So, every now and then, I'll get this huge craving for a can of soda. Fanta. Cherry Coke. Sprite. Root beer. Especially when I'm stressed. It's almost like it's my drug, and I NEED to get high. Now.

But I've been good.

And then Coke has to go and create those commercials that have me jonesing for just a sip. I mean, really. The commercial with the hot guy dancing around to I like the way you move? Or the other commercial - red and white - while you're watching this commercial, someone is grabbing a Coke from the fridge. Thirsty? and I throw my pillow at the screen, yelling yes, taking a huge sip of water which is just NOT the same. But today, I faced the ultimate test.

After watching TV and seeing the hot Coke guy dance around nine times in a two-hour block (yes, I counted), I went and studied in Tech Express. Quiet enough that I can actually read, but busy enough that I won't be tempted to take a nap, it's the optimal place to study. Minus the six - count them, six! - vending machines, each emblazoned with a different drink and splashes of water, reminding me how refreshing it would be to buy one. And I was so sleepy; I needed that perfect boost of sugar and caffeine.

I attempted to study...but every 5 minutes or so, my mind would wander and I'd find myself gazing longingly at the vending machines. Yes, I probably looked like a crazy woman - but this is what happens when you've been addicted to something for the past fifteen years and suddenly decide to stop cold turkey. My brain convinced me that I needed something. Afterall, it was 5:30pm and I hadn't eaten lunch. If I don't get a drink, I might just fall over from the lack of glucose in my body, I told myself. So I walk over, student ID in hand, and stare at the plethora of choices.

Code Red. Pepsi. Cherry Pepsi. Diet Cherry Pepsi. Nestea. (that's just tea, that wouldn't count would it? Eh, I never really liked it anyhow.) Coke. Coke. Coke.

I had exactly $1.49 on my card. Just enough for one laundry wash. Or perfect for a coke.

And then suddenly I turned to the candy machine, and before I knew what I was doing, I was punching in the code for E4. One bag of Skittles. 90 cents. Enter.

Wait! Coke! I need a COKE! Cancel!!! Where's the cancel button!?!

And I started punching the machine hoping to get it to change its mind and just spit my money back out. But it was too late. E4 had already started turning. I was gonna have to settle for just a sugar rush.

So after my bag of Skittles dropped, I dejectedly bent down to retrieve my "lunch" and then the greatest thing happened. I realized that E4 was STILL turning. I apparently was the 100th buyer. I was going to get twice as much for my money. I was going to get two bags of Skittles.

I like to think that it was the fates' way of rewarding me for sticking to my resolution. True, I didn't get my Coke. But I got two - count them - two bags of Skittles!

Bubbles-free since January thirteenth. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

Hi, I'm Michelle. And I'm a soda-holic.

That's what friends are for

I'd forgotten how amazing my friends are. Why is it that we often get so hung up on one person that we overlook and downplay how loved we are elsewhere?

One of my girlfriends and I were discussing the book, He's just not that into you, the other day. And while we're not going to dwell on that point for today's blog, the authors did make a huge point about how we all suffer from superiority bias. They threw up some stats - nine out of ten girls will blah blah blah -whatever, stats don't matter. The point was that everyone thinks (and hopes) that they're the exception, but in reality, they're the norm. They are not the one out of ten, they are part of the nine. And let's face it. No matter how much you think you're better than the average Joe Schmoe, the stats - and common sense - just don't lie. Not everyone can be better than average.

And sitting in bed last night, thinking about why this past week was such a downer for me, I've realized that I need to come to terms with that. I, Michelle, am not some exceptional being. He doesn't not call me because he's busy - he's just not that into me. I didn't get an A on my midterm because I'm not amazingly smart - I am just your average student, struggling for marginally good grades. On so many fronts, I wish so hard that I'd be the exception, but it always ends up that I'm just the norm.

That sinking feeling you feel every once in a while? That's you realizing that you are just the norm.

It sucks, I know.

So to bring it back to the point of this blog...My friends are amazing because when I hit that low - that depths of despair feeling - I know I have a multitude of friends to reach out to. Maybe I'm being overly idealistic again, but when it comes to my friends, I know that I am the exception. I've been blessed with friends who are the most wonderful people in the world (yup, out comes the hyperbole again). Some people can only claim one or two or three best friends. I've got six. That's more than I can count on one hand! Maybe it's because we were thrown together as the misfits from our freshman dorm. Maybe it's because after we've lived - lived lived - with each other for 3+ years, we know each other intimately well. We have our arguments and disagreements, but it's a testament to our friendships that we're all still as close as ever.

They love me. And I love them. And I gotta stop allowing other people's opinions, other people's actions, other people period, to hurt me. Because when it comes down to it, my little circle of girlfriends is really the panel of truth. They're the ones who know me the best. And if they can love me in spite of all my shortcomings and all my flaws, then I shouldn't let other people bring me down with their one-sided critiques. It's okay to be the norm, when you've got friends who will do everything to make you feel exceptional.

Quiet inside my mind

Did you ever have a day when it seemed as though your world was crashing down all around you, and you were absolutely powerless? Defeated, you decide to throw in the metaphorical towel; you stop trying to hold on to that little piece of your life that you thought you had absolute and complete control over and as it, too, comes crashing down, you realize you never really were in control.

I'm having one of those days.

And man, it sucks like no other. I wish I were strong enough to tell people that, at such a time, I don't want advice (no matter how well-meaning it is). I don't want generic promises of a better tomorrow. I don't want reality, cause let's face it - reality bites. I don't want you to remind me of other things that I need to do. I don't want to have to keep appointments. I don't want to have to put on a face and be happy for you because it's expected of me.

What I do want is quiet. I want to pretend that for one - two - even ten - minutes, the world has stopped turning, as someone holds me and pets me as I have my much-needed cry. I need someone to be my little bit of sky that isn't falling. Better yet, I need someone to help me hold up my world, no matter how useless an endeavor it might seem. It might be hopeless, but at that point where I have nothing, it would mean everything to me.

I know who I want to take me home

You're amazing. The kind of amazing before Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes turned amazing into a hackneyed soundbite. You're the real deal.

I know I toss endearments around too easily. Everyone is a sweetie, dear, or hun. But you know that when I call you by your name, there's so much more behind it. You understand why I never use endearments on you (and like that I don't), and approach with caution when I do. I love when you say my name. My name, that I've known and responded to for 21 years, sounds foreign when you say it - there's something in the way you say Michelle, and all the different nicknames that go along with it, that makes me go weak in the knees.

I love that you're tall enough that I can wear kitten heels without feeling self-conscious, but you don't mind if I wear my 4 inch heels that make us look like Imam and David Bowie (granted, we are less beautiful and far less glamorous). You don't mind when I parade around in my pajamas, prancing about and dancing absolutely ridiculously to old music; no, you join me in my spastic twist and shouts, and mouth the lyrics to me as I twirl aroud.

I love that you're silly with me. We're just two kids - completely oblivious to the world turning around us. And I love trying to make you smile, because let's face it. I fell in love with your dimples first. It's what gives you away. When I'm teasing you, you'll gruff out a reprimand, but I know you don't mean it - I see those dimples appear as you turn your head away so I won't see you trying (and failing miserably) to suppress that amused grin. And those eyes. Your eyes speak volumes. You know what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling, just by making eye contact. I may have fallen in love with your dimples first, but they're facing some fierce competition.

Like they say, actions speak louder than words. And the way you treat me - the way you don't treat me - tells me that you love me. You somehow seem to know when to just sit there with me and hold me, and when I need someone to motivate me to action. And I can't tell you how flattering it is, when I catch you staring at me and when you snap to, you quickly turn away, as though embarrassed.

It's the little things.

You're my lobster. My absolut hunk. My Prince Charming. And I can't wait to find you.

kryptonite

I think I just might have super powers. See, I have this amazing talent. I - lowly little me - I have [cue drumroll and the deep announcer voice-over guy] the incredible and amazing ability to turn any, yes ANY, situation into an awkward one. I am that powerful. And my powers were in full effect last night.

See, last night, the ex-boyfriend came over for dinner. the same ex-boyfriend who recently wrote me that email. The same ex-boyfriend to whom I wrote an equally friendly but cavalier reply. The one I didn't think would actually follow through on his "promise to be a better friend." I mean, who would? We all say things we don't mean. Oh, it is SO good to see you again. Let's meet up for coffee, mmm-kay? Great! Bye sweetie! And then it's back to your own little world, devoid of ex-boyfriend encounters and devoid of any intention to call him up and make plans to meet for coffee.

And then he goes and spontaneously shows up for dinner.

It shouldn't have been awkward. It really shouldn't have. He was there. I was there. But so were my suitemates. And American Idol. And clearly, American Idol is the best icebreaker known to man. It's the one thing where it is perfectly acceptable to snark about the contestants, regardless of the company you might be with. We ended up sitting across from each other, so every time I looked up, I had to look at him. Instead of behaving like a normal person, I immediately angled my chair away so I could look directly at the television. At least, that was my thinking. But I realize that to any other observer in the room, it merely looked as though I was pushing myself away from having to engage in any kind of conversation with him. And in fact, when I turned back to get some more food (and given my luck, caught his eye again, of course), he gave me MY patented quizzical eyebrow-raised what are you doing? look. Then, in my rush to turn away, I ended up dropping curry all over the table, instead of onto my plate.

But my awkwardness didn't end there. My suitemate started asking him some questions - the most obvious one being - so, what are you doing here? But, instead of listening to his answer (which I desperately wanted to know), I started chatting with my other suitemate about the next William hung. I was overly loud. Overly animated. Overly much. Just too overboard. Too extra.

And then, my two roommates retreated to the kitchen for some reason or other, and he and I were left sitting there. With American Idol - which coincidentally decided to go to commercial. I started flipping through the channels; my button-pushing skills going at 50 channels per minute, and the awkwardness started to fill the room. No, I'm not going to make it awkward. I'm going to be good. I'm chill. I'm cool. I can do this. Yes. I started chanting to myself, steeling up my nerve to talk to him. I finally swiveled around, looked at him, and said:

"Soooo...what brings you to town today?"

To town. I said to town. And then my overanalytical mind...went to town.

Oh crap. I sound as though he just pulled up in a horse-drawn carriage and he rode in from his farm and after a heavy day of trading his bushels of wheat, decided to drop by and call on us. Oh crap! AND I just asked him what my friend asked him! Now he going to think I'm rude for not listening in the first place. Stupid stupid stupid!

And then the word vomit started coming out.

"Oh, I know Jules just asked you...But I couldn't hear your answer over the cacophony of bad singing...And yeah, it was really a huge surprise to see you, although I totally know that you weren't here just to see me...I mean, not that I didn't want to see you...Because I totally think we should be friends...And speaking of which, it was really cool of you to email me...Thanks for that...And yeah..."

I always trail off on awkward conversations with "and yeah..."

He, for his part, was very normal. His best friend (and my childhood friend), and his roommate, ended up coming later for dessert. I was smart and kept my mouth shut as we all watched the Olympics. Although I did keep getting more cake...Probably my body's way of making sure my mouth didn't get me in awkward-trouble again.

I promise I will work on my awkwardness.

But wouldn't you be awkward if the FIRST time you see your ex-boyfriend after an extended period, he asked to crash on your couch for the night? Or be weirded out that he spontaneously showed up for dinner, but was thoughtful enough to bring a dish of his own as well, in case there wasn't enough food? Or be somewhat stunned that he went and got a haircut before he saw you? And what would you do the next morning, when you realize he left you a thank-you note before he hopped on the bus headed for Ex-Boyfriend Land?

I know he didn't come to see me and only me. But it was still weird.

I will work on it. I will stop being so awkward around my dating history. Smack me. Pinch me. Soccer-punch me. It will happen. I WILL be cool one of these days.

And in the process, I'll probably get a whole lot better at baking cakes too.

Lovefool

Happy Valentine's Day. Or as some like to refer to it - singles' awareness day.

We single folk rant and rage at this so-called hallmark holiday. But let's think of it instead as a celebration of what's possible. What's out there, waiting for us. Because I'm positive that we will all find that one true thing.

Let's be happy. Let's take a stand this holiday and not play the part of the stereotypical singleton bummed out on the couch, eating everything in sight, dressed in pajamas, counting down the top 50 chick flicks with E! On TV. Or do do all of that, but celebrate it. Celebrate being a couch potato. Celebrate happy endings. Celebrate letting your hair down and being yourself. Celebrate the wealth of possibilities out there.

Don't hate valentine's day. Today is a day to celebrate love...not necessarily being in love. And I think all of us, deep down - no matter how cynical we may be, no matter how many ex-boyfriends we might not talk to, no matter how large our "boys are stupid - throw rocks at them" poster might be, regardless of all of that - we all believe in love.

I'm looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient,
consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love.

I'm perfectly content this Valentine's Day because I know it's out there, and it will find me and I will find it one of these days and angels will sing and the gods will smile down on me, and the world will be - for one glorious moment or epoch - wonderful.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone. Celebrate.

Nature calls...

...and it's oh-so-cute.

get more details on the pee and poo dolls here: http://shopping.netsuite.com/s.nl/c.406039/sc.12/category.26/it.A/id.1324/.f

This post brought to you by Random

I really have a knack for picking them, don't I? I blogged about my most recent ex-boyfriend a couple of weeks ago, and now - something about another boyfriend.

Like I said, I don't keep in touch with ex-boyfriends. I don't feel like I need to, and truthfully, I really don't want to. We broke up for a reason. I've never understood the "let's be friends" line. You can't do the friendship thing with someone you have a history with. It's just impossible. The friendship can't help but be tainted by the reason why you guys broke up.

So a couple of nights ago, I was very surprised to receive an email from my first boyfriend - whom I haven't talked to in decades (okay, make that 3 years...because clearly I'm only a little over two decades old). Now, occasionally I'll still get the requisite mass email for a holiday get-together, because clearly, it would be more awkward for him to not invite me. But this one was different. It was an individualized, personalized email.

I sat at my computer wide-eyed and open-mouthed for about five minutes, mustering up my courage to read an email that was innocuously titled: hi Michelle =).

The email was quite a read. I actually laughed out loud at the opening, when he claimed that he was only writing to me because he was completely trashed since he'd been out all night...and then truthfully retracted that sentence. Turns out he had actually studied all night and his studies were what prompted him to write me. And then came the shocker - he apologized (for what, I still don't know) and hoped that we could give the friendship thing another go.

I then sat at my computer wide-eyed and open-mouthed for another five minutes, my over-analytical mind trying to decode and second-guess everything in the email. I hastily closed my inbox, and signed on to AIM, to get my girlfriends to over-analyze with me.

Girlfriend 1: Don't email him back right away; you'll seem over-eager!
Girlfriend 2: Yeah! Wait a couple of days!
Girlfriend 3: No! He's vulnerable. Give it a couple of hours and then email him back.
Me: What should I say?!
Girlfriend 2: That you want to be friends...and then offer to meet up for coffee.
Girlfriend 1: HOW AWKWARD. Don't do that! Say that you agree you guys should meet up more...and then don't offer up an opportunity.
Girlfriend 3: Say you want to be friends. Be nice!
Me: I'm always nice!
All girlfriends: ...right.
[5 minutes later]
Girlfriend 1: I wonder what he's studying that made him think of you.

I wrote three different replies and couldn't send any of them. Luckily, later that day, I talked with one of my close guy friends who happens to be in the same class as my ex-boyfriend. After I told him the story, I had him proof my most recent draft.

Me: Well?
Platonic guy friend: Well, it's appropriately vague, but still friendly and personable. Although, I would take out the winky face at the end of the second paragraph. It's too suggestive.
Me: Okay.
Platonic guy friend: Send it. Do it now before you chicken out again.
[I hit the send button and start breathing again.]
Me: Well, there's that.

[Five minutes later]

Me: By the way, what are you guys studying?
Platonic guy friend: Renal functioning.

On the line (for your love)*

While I am a die-hard romantic (see previous post), I've never believed in love at first sight. It's not that I have really high standards; it's just, seriously, no one is so ridiculously good looking that I will fall completely in love with just their looks. Personality is huge for me. So, I've always scoffed at the idea that some enchanted evening [cue song], I would meet a perfect stranger - that somehow our eyes would meet across a crowded room, and in that glance we'd exchange all of our thoughts and feelings as we'd realize that there was something there.

Pop songs, while infectious and wildly entertaining for spontaneous dance parties, are pure fluff. I always thought that the lyrics were ridiculously and overly romanticized - I mean, come on *NSYNC (or whoever penned their songs), do you really think that God spent a little more time on one person, and somehow you're so lucky that this person (whom God spent a little more time on) loves your lowly self? I mean. Seriously. The only people who can actually claim that are Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. That's it.

But ladies and gentlemen, after this past weekend, I'm a believer. Late Sunday night, I hopped on the very busy Red Line to go home. After the club-hopping crowd was dropped off at Belmont, I was able to snag myself a seat. Now, since I can't read in moving vehicles without getting a headache, I stared out the window. But it was so dark by that time that all I could see was the reflection of the El train. And lo and behold. In front of me was a dark-haired boy with green eyes (green eyes!!!), contemplating life as he tried to write lyrics to a song - guitar case close by. Now I don't know what exactly made me so attracted to him. I promise he was no Brad Pitt. But as I stared, blatantly, he too looked out the window, into the reflective glass, and in that reflection, we shared a glance.

I wish I could tell you that lightning struck and time slowed down during that glance. But no. The doors still opened on the left at Addison. I had absolutely no idea what he was thinking. And I'm sure he had no idea what I was thinking (or he surely would have ran away), but I conjured up the best eye-flirt I could manage. (Actually, I was attempting a much stronger/sexier f-word there with my eyes, but I'm trying to keep this a kid-friendly blog.) But he didn't turn around and start a deeply intimate conversation with me. Quite the opposite happened in fact. He stayed where he was and instead, gave me a weirded-out half-smile.

Completely and utterly embarrassed that I had allowed myself to be so open with a complete stranger, I tried to melt into my seat. But even given the response, that little exchange on the El convinced me that I actually am a believer in love at first sight. Even if it's totally one-sided.

Granted, I might just be completely optimistic because when he got off at Howard, as he shrugged on his jacket, he winked at me. It happened so fast, I'm still not quite convinced that his eyes weren't just spasming. Maybe it was just a sudden twitch. Whatever it was, it was oh-so-romantic. Who knew that dark hair and green eyes could be such a potent combination?



*I cribbed the title of this post from the theme song of the truly regrettable Lance Bass movie. If you don't know the reference, trust me - you're very lucky. His acting is as bad as his ability to go into space.

Sweet dreams are made of this

It's not much, but it's home.

And the view is to-die-for.