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.