Making a list, checking it twice (pt 2)

I was going to write another blog about movies I've seen last year that made me think. Made me want to blog. You know. Movies like...

1. Juno
2. Waitress
3. Enchanted

...and then I realized my list stopped. Thinking that it was just because I'd forgotten what wonderful movies had come out last year, I did a quick Google search. That should have been Warning Sign #1.

As I went through the list of ALL MOVIES THAT WERE RELEASED IN 2007, I started to realize that I've only seen like 5 movies total this entire year. Warning Sign #2.

...

And that's including in-flight entertainment from United Airlines!

...

I need to get out more in 2008.

Making a list, checking it twice

Songs that meant something to me in 2007 (in no particular order):

1. Love Song - Sara Bareilles
2. Human - Jon McLaughlin
3. The Last Goodbye - James Morrison
4. Don't Get Me Wrong (The Pretenders cover) - Lily Allen
5. Relax - Mika
6. Red Umbrella - Faith Hill
7. Shut Up and Drive - Rihanna
8. Last Request - Paolo Nutini
9. Who We Are - Lifehouse
10. Last Train Home - Ryan Star

Read into that as you will.

Comfortable (pt 2)

I started this blog two years ago. Two years ago, when my best friend and I had decided we'd had enough of each other and I needed a place to vent. He was determined to keep hitting himself over the head with the hammer that was his ex-girlfriend. The ex-girlfriend who hated my guts and forbade him from hanging out with me. Ever.

Our friendship was doomed the moment he decided to play by her rules.

Or so I thought.

He finally realized that there was no such thing as being "friends" with this particular ex. Especially since she was still yanking him around as she dated around. I personally like to think that maybe he just missed my charming sparkling witty conversation. (But I know better.)

Regardless, he got over her. Eventually.

But our friendship wasn't the same. I still felt betrayed. I mean, this is a guy who had suffered through organic chemistry with me. We had matching butt marks on side-by-side cubicles in the library. This was a guy who knew that I hate apples, except when it comes in French apple pie. This was the guy who helped me stave off the freshman fifteen by eating half my Hotpocket every morning, without fail. And this was the guy who trekked 1.2 miles every day to study with me and my roommate.

In crutches.

We were the JLM trio. We were always there for each other. Even at church, when I spilled the blood of Jesus all over his crisp white Communion shirt. Even at the ice skating rink, where I fell all over myself and my two left feet. Honestly, who knew that a boy from Texas would turn out to be such a good figure skater? (Granted, he's from the same hometown as freaking Tara Lipinski.)

And so, for him to throw that all away was very much a stab in the back. We didn't talk for a good six months.

It got so bad that when the L in our JLM trio hosted a Thanksgiving dinner, she made sure to invite enough friends so that neither one of us were ever alone or in the same room together.

But time passed. And somehow, we found our way back to each other. He's a year ahead of me in med school - and his new girlfriend is less scary. Less demanding. (Read: I actually like her, and I think she likes me.)

Anyways, as boyfriends are wont to do, my best friend hangs out with his girlfriend quite a bit. So, I see him maybe once a month on designated JLM dinner days. I might catch him online and have a quick "what up, what are you doing, where are you studying" conversation, but we don't have the same dynamic that we used to.

This past unit was particularly terrible. Honestly, how are we supposed to learn about the entire autonomic nervous system (and all the drugs that affect it), and the renal and male genitourinary system, in less than three weeks?

It's madness, I tell you. And downright impossible.

So every day, I would go to the library. I would sit in my little cubicle. And study until the cows came home. One day, I saw a familiar jacket sit down next to me. And within seconds, a little Panera brown paper bag came flying over the divider. And inside was half an Asiago cheese bagel and half a cinnamon crunch. My two favorites. In the exact portions I always want.

After all these years, he still remembers my idiosyncrasies. Like how I only like eating half a bagel before I get bored with it. And how I need something sweet to go with my something savory, and vice versa.

This past weekend, we hung out quite a bit. And he was good about making sure we always sat facing the direction of travel on the subway. Remembered that I hate apples in anything but dessert and told the waitress to switch them out for raspberries. He even downloaded episodes of The Office onto his ipod to keep me entertained (and probably so my ADD wouldn't drive him up the wall). We watched girly movies that he would never admit to liking. And while he may make fun of my matching earmuffs, gloves, inner fleece, and the required ten minutes I need to put on all of my winter accessories whenever we head out into the cold, I've missed him and his incessant whining and ribbing.

We're friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And I wouldn't change it for the world.

There are very few people in the world that I feel so comfortable with. He's definitely one of them. We might not have grown up next to each other in houses with cute white picket fences, but we definitely grew up with each other. And so, no matter where we end up in life, I know we'll always find a way back to each other.

Get out of this town

I cannot pull an all-nighter for the life of me.

Last night, I went to a holiday party and then met up with my best friend from undergrad to watch a late-night movie. We ended up making pasta and chatted for a while. About old roommates. New roommates. His girlfriend. My non-existent boyfriends. School. Movies. Computers. Really, to be honest, I don't really remember what we talked about (see: holiday party), but I do remember that was a lot of fun just catching up.

I didn't get home until 3am.

Normally, that would be fine. Normally, I would have hit the bed with my made-up face and tangled curls and snoozed until noon. Normally, I wouldn't mind being such a lazy bum during break.

Except I had the first plane out of Chicago headed for beautiful sunny California.

I had planned to leave my house by six so that I would get to the airport in time to make my 8am flight. Just enough time to throw in my last-minute toiletries and sweater, walk out the door and hail a cab.

But you know what they say about the best laid plans.

I said my goodbyes to my friend at 3am and headed home to pack and clean, but the moment I saw my bed, my head hit the pillow and I was fast asleep. With my made-up face and tangled curls and itchy holiday party clothes still on. I woke up at exactly 6:46am...and the first thing that went through my head were some things that probably shouldn't be repeated here.

I don't even know how I managed to throw everything into my carry-on. I don't know how I put on my contacts and brushed my teeth. I don't know how I remembered to grab my phone charger and computer and glasses. I was so frazzled, and yet, I managed to be out of my door by 6:58am. With matching socks on.

I know. I can be freaking amazing sometimes.

I told my cabbie to drive like the wind, and two near accidents and three almost dead pedestrians later, I was at the airport by 7:40.

Just so you know, it normally takes an hour and a half to get from my apartment to the good ol' ORD. And there was traffic. Lots of it.

So while I didn't make it there with time to spare, I wasn't late, per se. Not yet. So I ran into the airport, told everyone in sight that my plane was leaving in five minutes, and managed to get through security checkpoints and to my gate by 7:45am.

Like I said, I can be pretty amazing sometimes.

Just picture this. I'm running through the airport like a madwoman - and I probably looked like one, what with my mussed up holiday party hair from the night before and smudged makeup caked on my face. So when I finally get to the gate (which had to be the farthest one of course), I freaked when I saw the JetBlue employee close the gate door.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Yes, he replied. Simply.

But it's not 8am yet! I need to be on that plane! I pleaded. I was officially freaking out. Understandably freaking out, in my own humble opinion.

Yes. We decided to close the gates a little early because everyone else was here.

But I'm here! And it's not 8am! It's SEVEN FREAKING FORTY FIVE!

And then he said the best line ever uttered by an airline employee.

Well, are you done freaking out, or do you need another minute or two hours?

...

What?

You can continue to cry over spilled milk, or I can put you on the next flight.

I was so flabbergasted, I didn't say anything. Eventually though, he put me on the next flight (which was nine hours later), and I sat down - dejected and worn out - at the gate.

I pulled out my computer, started writing an email to my roommate, and looked out the window at the beautiful blue plane that I should have been on. On my way to beautiful sunny California.

And then I noticed what time it was. 8:27am. The plane had been sitting there for the last forty minutes. The plane that I should have been on. The plane that I definitely could have still been on. The plane that had doors Mr. Martin could have opened for me. The plane that would have had me in California twelve hours ago.

I love the airport.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Chicago is the cutest city in the world during the holidays. There are the Christmas windows at the old Marshall Field's, outdoor ice skating rinks right on Michigan Avenue, free hot chocolate stands, lights everywhere, and carolers on every corner. And with the near-freezing temperatures, you just naturally pull the one you're with a little closer. The slippery sidewalks force you to cling to each other a little more tightly, and the holiday music spilling out of the stores and shops invites you to sing along.

And the decorations!! It's almost as though Chicago ate too much Christmas candy and threw up toys, elves, sugarplum fairies, reindeer, and boughs of holly all over the place - and then decked the crap out of its halls and streets on top of it.

It really is a winter wonderland.

And it really does make you smile a little bigger, hum a little louder, and step a little more lightly. If I could go a-wassailing', I would.

And the snow! It just covers Chicago in this thick blanket of magicalness. It's kind of amazing, looking out the window and just seeing fields and fields of pure unadulterated beauty.

Of course, the couples are out in force, holding hands and giving each other little pecks all over town, going for carriage rides, laughing, cuddling, and throwing snowballs at one another. True story: I overheard one couple calling them loveballs. It's so cute I could throw up.

Man, look at that. These snowflakes are so beautiful! They look like little balls of cotton.

Yeah. Little balls of freezing, making me wet, cotton.

...

Whatever dude. It's romantic.

Too bad it's completely wasted on us.

[Five minutes later.]

Michelle!

What?! I asked as I turned around to get a huge snowball in the face.

OW! Oh, you are going to pay...

And that's what I call a snowball. He laughed triumphantly.

One thing's for sure - that sure as heck isn't a "loveball..."

If you can't have a boyfriend, I guess having a cynical smart aleck of a friend is the next best thing.

Chicago at Christmas might be for lovers, but it's just as good as a playground for friends.

So close

Once upon a English Honors class, I sat next to this rather dashing, good-looking guy. And when I say good-looking, I mean like, holy crap, I got butterflies in my stomach every time I looked at him, and holy crap - I blushed as red as The-Scarlet-Letter-omg-can-people-really-turn-this-color if he so much as caught me staring.

With my mouth open. And my tongue dangling out. And drooling.

He was the star of our soccer team. And surprisingly smart as well. Since we sat next to each other, I was also paired up with him for book reports and projects - much to the envy of other girls in the class who would constantly ask our teacher if we had to sit alphabetically.

He was perfect. He was funny, he was smart, he was compassionate, and he could sing. He could bend it like Beckham, and yet he was humble. He was a star, but an awesome teammate. He was an amazing listener, and a great leader. And his mom made the most delicious cookies I've ever eaten (random aside, I know). He could do no wrong in anyone's eyes. There was just absolutely nothing wrong with him.

Just so I can emphasize how amazing this kid is, let me tell you this. He ended up going to Princeton where he graduated cum laude. And then he was drafted into MLS. Where he's currently playing with the actual person who can bend it like, well, himself.

He was the Big Man on Campus. All the girls crushed on him. And I was his friend.

And then one day, I became his prom date.

Prom was great. But that's not the point of the story. What's important is what came after.

He held my hand, and I'm pretty sure he would have kissed me, had my dad not been waiting at the front door like the strict Asian father he is (I had only broken curfew by TEN minutes!). I knew he was serious about his intentions when he came to my orchestra concert the next week and actually stayed awake for enough of it to realize I had a solo and compliment me later. He told me he thought I was beautiful and that he wanted to date me.

So I did what any girl would do in this situation.

I treated him like crap.

Why?

Because he was too good for me. I felt like a charity case. I mean, why would someone THAT amazing want to date someone like me? The thing is, I know if I were to tell him that, he'd hit me, jokingly, of course - because hello, he's so wonderful and compassionate and wonderful, of course he's part of the Men Against Domestic Violence group on campus - and tell me that I was being silly. So of course, I tried sabotaging the relationship before it even got to that point, so that I could be like, see, I knew you wouldn't ask me out, because you're too good for me, and I TOLD YOU SO.

It's twisted, I know.

But maybe that's why I always end up sabotaging my relationships. Because I meet great guys whom meet all my rules and high standards, and yet, I never end up dating them. I get so close, and then it all falls apart because people only come back so many times after you keep pushing them away. I just didn't think I deserved such wonderfulness.

But I am wonderful myself, damnit. I am awesome. And even if I didn't graduate whatever cum laude, and I still can't play sports to save my life, well - I'm pretty handy with a reflex hammer, and I can make mashed potatoes like nobody's business. I am a catch.

And maybe if I keep repeating it over and over again, I'll finally believe it and stop ruining my love life.

And 'til then, well, I'm sure there are some jerks out there that I could date.