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still recovering. need more french toast

actually i have yet to enjoy any french toast. i dream about it. actually that’s not literally true either: lately i’ve been having dreams about fire. in one, i was so badly burned up and down my back that i couldn’t get out of bed — the silver lining being, of course, that i couldn’t very well go to work. but i think my dreams are trying to tell me to eat some goddamned french toast, not become some.

the best news to come out of the past couple weeks is that two of my loveliest and oldest friends have decided to move to new york city. that fairly doubles my count of people i could call in the middle of the night to rush over and comfort me if mr. ben the overstressed law student decides to become mr. ben the happy wanderer of the earth, leaving me to cry into his black’s law dictionary and blame pulp fiction for planting the idea in his head. also: twice as many people with which to have weekend brunches, talk nonsense late at night, or venture to far reaches of the area. three cheers for the magnetic capabilities of nyc! and how glad am i i didn’t stake my claim to kansas.

i have to go do laundry now, and i have to do it alone, which seems infinitely sad. i am spoiled from having gotten to do laundry as a couple for the past 9 months. at least laundry’s in the building, here, and while i’m sulking my way to the machine i don’t have to put on a sweater or anything, or make myself look presentable.

oh – i wanted to add one thing to my list of things i wish i could have told my 15 year old self. when i was 15, my gut instinct, when i met a cute guy, was to be a smart ass. i thought they might admire my tartness and thus see past the glasses, braces, and occasional zit to the sweet, sensitive romantic within. alas, that dream was not to be realized. although people tell young girls all the time that when a boy teases them it’s cuz he likes them, no one remembers to tell boys that too. or perhaps i was the only girl stupid enough not to realize that when you tease a 15 year old boy, his fragile, superficial self-confidence flees like an antelope, leaving only his skin behind, and/or you solidify yourself as a Friend forever after.

the thing is, when i’m confronted with a cute guy, my instinct is still to be a smart ass. now i don’t care if he likes me more or less because of it, cuz i’m not in desperate need of male attention the way i was at 15. interestingly, though, i think it’s as much a defense mechanism now as it was then. at least now the boys seem able to handle it better.