But seriously

Alright, things have taken a precarious turn.

I'm sunburnt, exhausted, hiding out in a smoky bar that smells like onions.  Desperate to get connected to the familiar--the rational people from home.  I have never gone to such lengths to get internet, it's the only thing that will keep me from freaking out at the moment.

So alright, last night I stayed in my first hostal.  It was interesting, smelled like grandma perfume, and was run by a fantastic family with alot of spunk.  The lady was about 80 years old and I didn't understand Galician.  It was totally bearable and adorable.  Circa 2am when I was trying to sleep, it wasn't so adorable.  Bascially, drunken devastation was happening in the quaint street facing the window.  Drunken debauchery--arguments, some kind of unwarranted violence on a box, and several renditions of songs, accents, etc.  SHENANIGANS.  I guess Will and I took alternating shifts of total annoyance.  When he would wake up angry, I would be sleeping, when I would wake up angry he would be sleeping soundly.  

We walked around Santiago all afternoon and basically baked in the sun.  The poor brits are worse off than me, but we're all a little pink.  After traipsing around town in my stylish flats, by the time I got to the train station with my massive backpack--it was time to rest my feet and put myself back together mentally.  

So I here I sit, perched in a chair with my dwindling patience and perseverance.   After a night of no sleep in a hostal and an exhausting day of sight seeing, i'm put out.  

Shenanigans.

Also, you should know that today at the Cathedral, awkward moments peppered everything.  And if you thought I can be awkward..you haven't met my roommate.

 Best moment ever occurred when Will and I decided we should experience everything the Cathedral had to offer and stood in line to view a casket of St. James and then also to go view a statue.  Well little did we realize that we were expected to provide a donation, and literally wrap ourselves around the statue and pray all under the supervision of a security guard.  I had NO idea what to do.  I had wanted to take a picture but of course no photos or videos, so I just started giggling because it was so unbelievably awkward.  When my turn arrived I just smiled and dropped in some money, I received a dazzling bookmark, and then turned smiled and briefly admired the statue.  As I was fleeing down the steps, I turned just in time to see Will awkwardly putting his head against the statue and holding it--not knowing what else to do.  Poor Will isn't even Catholic.  It was THE MOST awkward thing ever--he's priceless.   I'll relay some more stories later on, i.e, my flight from Sevilla to Santiago--the awkward bag situation and Will forcing his to fit beneath his legs, having no leg room, and his toothbrush vibrating in his backpack the whole way just before getting off and hitting his head to complete the whole absurdity of everything.

We also arrived in Santiago with no map or directions to the hostal beyond a tiny piece of paper Will declared "We're not lost, we just don't know where we are." I'm like..so we're lost.  It's just priceless, it's like the depiction of the commercial where the man stays lost because he doesn't want to get directions, Will says that takes the fun out of it--correction, asking for directions just saves you time.   Wish me luck, I'm definitely perpetually thinking.."but seriously" at the moment.  

When in Posadas...

It's official! Thanks to my mom and her American Express, i'm going to Athens, Greece for my birthday! April is going to be the best month yet, my mom is coming for Semana Santa, the following weekend i'm going to Greece and the weekend after that I'm going to my favorite city in the world, London. I can't wait to go back to my favorite spot in St. James park--I could sit there for hours.

This weekend I am going to Galicia--It is very green and lush, pretty different from Andalucia.

So, it will also be my first experience staying in a hostal--insert horrified face here :) I already know that Amy is eagerly anticipating my scottsdale-worthy freak out. I'm sure it'll be fine, but it will definitely be an experience. I'll keep you posted, i'm bringing my staunch laptop companion with me.

I'll be honest--I hate hotels, any hotel, even if it is a 5 star hotel on the beach.  Just not my thing.  It's been a thorn in my mother's side since I was tiny mittens.

“Move out of your comfort zone. You can only grow if you are willing to feel awkward and uncomfortable when you try something new.”

But i'm really excited to see new things--prepare yourself, next weekend I am going on a Don Quijote tour...i.e, going to the actual spot where Don Quijote fights the Wind Mills thinking they are Monsters. I will be Sancho Panza. Insert secret sexy smile here.  

Groseros..mal educados..ay ya ya.

“There are thousands of causes for stress, and one antidote to stress is self-expression. That's what happens to me every day. My thoughts get off my chest, down my sleeves and onto my pad.”

So I had my first class at 9:30 am this morning, after yet another night of strange, onerous dreams--I trudged to school still enervated after 2 cups of black coffee. Maria Bravo was nowhere to be found, so low and behold--I had an entire classroom of 14 year olds staring at me curiously. Just me..and them.

I decided to work on an activity from one of my other classes from last week, Questions about you, and they were unruly, frustrating, and well...teenagers. Half-way through class I got aggravated--how is it possible to be so disrespectful, when a teacher is speaking--you listen. So I told them so. I told them "I have never seen a class so disrespectful to their peers--when another student is speaking you need to be quiet so I can hear and correct their pronunciation (among the top contenders for difficult words..Possession, Type (which they say TEEP) and Prized (Pree-zid)." Que Fuerte, "Sois unos mal educados"

This class just aggravates me; they are so apathetic and rude. I enjoy majority of my classes but this class is just..argh. Why waste my time? If you don't want to learn english and prefer to walk around saying "Teep" instead of type..that's your choice. I swear, teachers deserve a medal for their patience and ability to teach steadfastly.

So, i'm going to walk home and listen to something happy on my ipod, eat a little bit of food and then go for a run. I have a private tutoring session at 6:30 and several activities to look over. I just want to sleep, i'm so wound up from not sleeping--slightly more irritable, slightly more on edge, slightly more impatient. All are qualities I don't want to have.

Quotes about stress:

“Stress is basically a disconnection from the earth, a forgetting of the breath. Stress is an ignorant state. It believes that everything is an emergency. Nothing is that important. Just lie down.”

“People need trouble -- a little frustration to sharpen the spirit on, toughen it. Artists do; I don't mean you need to live in a rat hole or gutter, but you have to learn fortitude, endurance. Only vegetables are happy.”--William Faulkner

My diabolical inner monologues

Imprimatur, 1: a license to print or publish especially by Roman Catholic episcopal authority *2: sanction or approval.

Today I gave myself the imprimatur to travel to Italy mid-March, Paris at the end of March, Athens for my Birthday and London the following weekend. However excited I am about my future travels, I am making a public complaint against Ryanair and their asinine change-of-booking fee of 50 euros. I loathe you--you pathetic joke of an airline. If I didn’t love my computer so much I would have karate kicked the website screen. I would call and make a formal complaint but it’s impossible to talk to someone over the phone. To conclude, to Ryanair, Tiene huevo la cosa.

So yes, I decided to start my 23rd year on the planet with a big step. I wanted to go somewhere really special. I have always dreamed of going to Athens, Greece. I’m not sure where it comes from, maybe all the classic Greek literature I’ve read in my life. But, I decided that’s where I’m going to turn 23. I’m smiling just writing about it.

In not so hopeful foreign life news, I woke up this morning as if someone had thrown ice water on me. I woke up just after I had had a dream about my Dad. I was standing somewhere in a store by the check-out, reaming my Dad out for everything. I think he had tried to blame me for everything and I just went off, telling him I didn’t want him in my life, I didn’t want his last name, and that I wanted him to forget mine. I’m still kind of reeling. The weirdest part of the dream is that my favorite teacher Maria Bravo was there and she was standing in the background, looking at me with disappointment. Like my outburst was inappropriate? I thought it was a random dream--sadly, Kenny and his dream book aren’t here to help me sort it out. The best I can say is that amongst the hurt, I have some repressed anger towards my Dad. Anger I wasn’t aware I had been carrying around for the past 2 years. The most ironic part of the dream is that I had previously been patting myself on the back for not having any small moments of sadness thinking about my Dad. When I was talking to Amy the other day, I had told her that I had gone on a really long run without thinking about anything stressful--it occurred to me on that hour run, that I am really content lately. Spain is like a bubble, where I control what is going to stress me out and what is not important. Here, I don’t have any reminders of my father, no car to worry about, no upcoming exam to keep me up at night, and no dramatic people in my daily life. Yet, for 2 days I have been unable to sleep, pestered by some unknown discontentment bubbling under the surface--so what gives?

It begs the question--am I traveling or am I escaping? It pops into my head every now and again when I stare out my window onto the quiet life outside. I would tentatively answer--I’m not escaping, I’m taking time for myself. Here, it’s about what I want to do, rarely what I have to do. I’m far enough away from my normal life to get some perspective on things. I need to work on overcoming stress: usually due to my haphazard talent of taking too much on at one time, or trying to complete too many tasks in one day.

It’s silly really, thinking about myself running around all worked up all the time. I guess that’s what makes me entertaining, my diabolical inner monologues about blockbluster late fees, airplane change-of-booking fees, chatty kathy’s on their cell phones in line...etc. I think Will is now fully versed in the weirdness that encompasses my personality. I was curious about the cleaning products under the sink in unmarked spray bottles. So I took a whiff, which probably killed about a million brain cells--and then proceeded to spray them in different spots on the counter: testing their cleaning power. I ended up putting them away, worrying about poisoning us both. Later, I decided to ask Will if he was curious what they were as well, he said no, definitely not. I said “we could test it on the stove cover...just to see..” he shook his head and said whatever I wanted to do. Ultimately, it cuts grease incredibly well and now our stove cover isn’t greasy but is shiny and sparkling. I eased my mind by putting it into the stove-cleaner category. I’m still thinking about asking the landlord’s mother who works at our school if she had any idea what they were. But that might be exposing my weird/random inner monologue too much, some things are better kept to ourselves.

Just a thought

I was thinking, is there really such a thing as bad timing? Do some things fall apart, in order for us to grow apart, grow up, and come back together? It seems to me that when we say our goodbyes--sometimes what we mean to say is see you soon.

I picture it in my head as one of those old silent movies; Two lovers parting ways on a aged cobblestone street in Paris, where the hopes and desires of the characters are written at the bottom of the screen. The words gone unsaid but not unfelt. Perhaps the reason we choke, act awkward, say the wrong things and screw it all up is because it’s not the right time. Maybe, just maybe..sometimes we can’t find the right words.... because it isn’t the right time to say them.

In my opinion, at 2:45 pm in Posadas: the road to love is unpaved, full of detours, hitchhikers and bad directions.

Ps: Above entry, not to confuse change and maturity. Once an asshole, always an asshole.

Perpetual noise in Posadas equals a couple more pages...

So last night I couldn't sleep at all. It seems that the perpetual noise of Posadas is determined to wake me up every hour, on the hour. I am now ready to fight with the garbage man who seems to really like coming back SEVERAL times. How much garbage could there be? To be honest with you, I'm not even positive he is the source of all the ruckus. Anyways, funny day teaching--Imagine me actually raising my voice. Que Fuerte. It's kind of funny, the meanest, most assertive thing I say to my students is "Why are you being rude?"

So anyways, in regards to my work in progress. I decided Delaney cannot have a boyfriend anymore--Jason's gotta go. In order for her to be really stuck between three guys she must be available to test the waters, you know? Anyways, so i'm working up to it. I just wrote the skeleton for the next part, introducing James and the questions about relationship ruts--stick with it, or get out? Here is the next part, a very primitive draft.

***

With so much confusion about the male species, I knew in order to get the answers I was searching for I had to go directly to the source. James Shaw, he was my source and my rentable boyfriend. He was the person I could go to movies with, have adventures and deep talks with, without the drama that comes with real dating.
Have you ever walked into a restaurant and there is one guy that every woman can’t help but notice? James had that appeal and the confidence to match. Somehow he and I had become the best of friends, yet I was still fully aware of the fact that hundreds of women were dying to trade places with me. I knew that if I wanted the truth about a man’s hidden agenda, James would tell it to me like it is. I was almost scared to talk to him about it, scared to tell him about the mess I was emotionally tangled in.
I slid into the booth at Red Robin, folded my hands on the table and started confessing, “I let another man kiss me, and it wasn’t my boyfriend. What does that mean?” I bit my lip and braced myself for the truth.
“You’re horny?” was all he said before looking at the menu. It was simple and not at all what I had wanted to hear.
“What do you mean, ‘I’m horny.’ That’s such a cop-out!” I sucked in an exasperated breath and rolled my eyes at him, “That’s just, just..I’m so disappointed. What a lame answer. Here I came thinking that you would tell me what was really going on.” So much for a rentable Buddha.
“Okay then, so he’s horny.”
Now I was really reeling. What a boy thing to do, over simplify everything, “You know James, not everything is about s-e-x.” I studied his response, no facial twitch, no sign that what I said had struck him as rational.
“No. I hate to be the one to tell you this, when it comes to guys--it is just about sex. You’re hot, he was horny and he thought he could get laid.” He continued to order a cheeseburger, completely oblivious to the fact that the waitress was drooling over him.
“How would you like your burger?” She looked up at him from her notepad, smiling flirtatiously.
“Medium...Medium-well. With a side of french fries, please.”
“Absolutely. I’ll put medium-well, that’s how I like mine.” She drawled, closing her book and walking back towards the kitchen. I couldn’t believe it, she actually forgot I was even sitting there. What if I had been his girlfriend?
“Excuse me, miss? Excuse me?!” I called after her, raising my normally quiet voice. She giggled, jogging back over, “Oh my bad, so sorry,” she replied more to James than to me.
“I’d like the chef salad with an extra side of bleu cheese dressing.”
“Low fat bleu cheese?” She asked. I felt like I had suddenly entered into an old-fashioned duel with a ditzy high school waitress. Not only was she ignoring the fact that I could possibly be James’ girlfriend, but now she was making me look like some kind of unhealthy, calorie loving, wallflower. No, I refuse to let some valley talking bimbo make me feel inferior. I had a great figure and I didn’t need to order low fat dressing that tasted like crap to keep it.
“No, your low-fat dressing tastes asinine,” I let the words drip from my tongue like acid, “but thanks.” I smiled sweetly and then shoved the menu at her. I cannot stand girls that feel the need to put you down and make you look bad, particularly in front of men. Maybe I was overreacting and imagining the whole thing in my mind. Just before I could start to feel bad about my juvenile behavior, she turned over her shoulder and winked at James. Seriously? Women.
“Not to beat a dead horse, but James, I’m not the type of girl a guy would just try and sleep with. I’m not like that.” It felt like a personal attack to limit my encounter to such a physical thing--as if all there was nothing more between us than a cheap hook-up.
“It’s not about being a slut. You were drinking, things happen. Just let it go.” He was infuriating me.
“So you’re saying that when a girl is at a club, that’s like having a stamp on her head that she’s easy? I don’t dress like a slut, I don’t act like a slut, so why would you lump me together with the sluts?” I could picture in my head those women, the desperadas. The women who drink a little too much to compensate for their bad behavior--as if being drunk was the free ticket to hang all over every cute guy you met, or after a few drinks..every not so cute guy you meet. Why was he talking about relationships as if they were so black and white? Since when was it all or nothing? Where was the middle ground, the gray area?
“Well, what do you want me to say? If he wanted you to be his girlfriend or anything more in his life, you would be.”
“I just thought..” I felt myself trailing off, lost in my own thoughts. Had I been thinking so much this whole time that I hadn’t seen what was right in front of me? The obvious, cold hard truth, “I don’t know what I thought.” His words had stung. I felt like an idiot. James was so matter of fact about it, as if it was completely obvious. Was that all Evan ever wanted? Had I been thinking about ending my relationship with Jason over some guy that had just wanted to get into my pants? The questions began and I just couldn’t find the off button. It is true, what James was saying, I believe in the fact that men still have some aspect of Alpha male or cave man in them: Boy sees girl, boy wants girl, boy gets girl. It was very simple and it seemed painfully true. I paused, pulling my wounded ego together, “I guess I see your point. I mean the book He’s Just Not That Into You spelled it out for me. Brutal honesty. I guess, it just..mm I don’t know,” for the first time in 48 hours I didn’t want to think,“Anyway, what’s been going on with you?” Changing the subject was the only thing I could do to salvage my confidence and get the image of a desperate woman dropping a blow dryer into a bathtub. Maybe we were all desperadas, depending on what man you asked over lunch.
“Not much, same old, same old. I’m still seeing that girl.” He said it as if I should know exactly who he was talking about. We had been friends for over a year and this was the first reference to that girl.
“Excuse me, James, who is ‘that girl’ that you are still seeing? When did this happen?”
“A few months now, maybe 3? I’m not sure where it’s going. She gets uncomfortable when I mention where this is going,” his voice attempted to camouflage the pink elephant in the room. Was it possible James was being overly critical of my kiss because he was attempting to rationalize the same epidemic--mixed signals?
“What do you mean? She doesn’t want to be in a relationship with you?” Immediately I began picturing some dime piece knock out that had men eating out of the palm of her hand. It never occurred to me that someone could have the upper hand in a relationship with James. He was the guy, the guy that guys wanted to be and girls wanted to be with. He was James, and he was great.
“She says she doesn’t want to put a title on it, you know how it is,” he sighed lightly rubbing his forehead as the waitress placed the food down on the table, never taking her eyes off his mouth. This was getting a little ridiculous. James had women falling all over themselves and he was all about a girl who didn’t want to be his anything. There must be something in the water. It seemed all around me, people were all about people who didn’t want to give them the time of day.
“So basically.. she’s milking the cow for free,” I retorted, it felt good to say something brutally honest to him. I smiled and patted his arm, “Never thought I would live to see the day.”
He laughed, recoiling his arm, “Hey hey, don’t jump to conclusions. I never said I wanted to be in a relationship, I have no idea where I’m going to be in a year. I agree with her, it’s just not a good time to be putting a lot of time into a relationship that may not have time.”
“Then why are we talking about her?” I raised my eyebrows suspiciously, he may be able to fool his guy friends with the nonchalant comments, but I saw what was really going on. He had been dating a girl for a few months and she was wearing the pants.
He shook his head and shrugged, helpless.
“It just seems to me, that it shouldn’t matter if you don’t know where you are going to be in a few months..I mean if you meet a girl who really peaks your interest--isn’t it worth seeing where it goes before you say it can’t go anywhere?”
“No, I mean, I don’t know. I guess if I was going to consider being in a relationship with anyone-it would be her. But I’m not going to bank a future with someone when I’m not even sure what my future is.” His rationalization was legitimate, but it got me thinking about the beginning of relationships. We all have expectations but no guarantee, how would we ever start a relationship if we knew it was going to end?
“Well, no relationship has a guarantee. I can’t go out with a guy and ask ‘so are you going to be a dick in about 2 months?’ or ‘in 3 months are you going to get bored and start checking out other women in front of me?’ That’s the thing about relationships, it’s kind of like jumping off the deep end and just hoping the water won’t be freezing.” I paused thoughtfully and then continued, stealing one of his french fries, “But I mean if it is freezing or you manage to break a leg upon contact, I’ll be here to help pull you out and hand you a towel. Or take you to the hospital, which I guess in this metaphor would be some kind of strip club to take your mind off things.”
He laughed easily, “You lost me, are you saying she’s going to break my leg or something?”
“No, nevermind. It was just a metaphor I took too far. What I’m saying is, I just think it sounds shady that she isn’t willing to give you the commitment but has no problem taking all the benefits.”
He paused thoughtfully, “I guess. I guess for right now being happy together should be enough. Right?”
I nodded, “It’s just weird. Instead of playing house, your playing relationship.”
Maybe he had a point. Maybe instead of worrying and over analyzing about what that kiss meant--I should just be happy in the moment. Granted, I would love to have a little bird sit down on my shoulder and tell me everything Evan was feeling and what he thought when he saw me. Sadly, that is not realistic. I looked over at James and smirked as he told me an embarrassing story about one of his co-workers, offering me another french fry. I realized as I ate it that in spite of all the confusion--in this moment I was happy.


Chapter 5
“There is a more important question to be asking yourself. Why are you spending so much time thinking about another guy, that isn’t your boyfriend? Listen to yourself. I haven’t heard Jason mentioned much, Dump him,” her voice came in loud and clear in spite of all the background noise over the phone. I paused, sinking further into the bath tub, swirling the bubbles around with my finger, “Dump him? I know there are problems. If there weren’t problems I wouldn’t even be noticing other men in the room. But, is the problem between us or is it just me?” I sighed, staring up at all the cracks in my ceiling.
Truth be told, Jason was Prince Charming. He was successful, smart, thoughtful, the list could go on and on. He just wasn’t sexy, the excitement was lacking on the weekends and in the bedroom.
In perfect timing, her question interrupted my bubble-bursting, “So when was the last time you had sex?”
“Mm..sex or good sex?”
“Sex should always be good.”
“Not when you have to get up early in the morning.”
“Dump him.”
“Oh come on. All couples go through a rut. It’s not realistic to be in a serious relationship with someone and not have the sex dwindle a little bit. Life happens.”
“Married couples! For couples who have been married for 10 years. Who have already had 10 years of mind-blowing, amazing, sex. They are entitled to a rut. Not a couple who has only been dating for a few months. Snap out of it, you sound like some kind of Park Avenue spouse who has popped out 4 children. Hello, who are you and what have you done with my hot friend Delaney?”
I sighed again, closing my eyes. I could not remember the last time I had felt incredibly sexy. I have always had this fantasy of a man walking through the front door, pushing me up against the wall and ripping off my clothes: Buttons flying, heavy breathing, cantwaittogettothebedroom amazing sex.
“Unrealistic. I think we’ve just seen too many movies which in turn lead to Hollywood inspired fantasies of what life is like. What relationships are like. I’m not Hollywood and I’m not Park Avenue. I’m..well i’m totally lost.”
“You’re not lost, you’re lacking lust.”
“True. Painfully true. So what do I do?”
“Do what any self-respecting girlfriend does. Knock a couple cocktails back, put on your sexiest underwear and pounce him when he gets home. Show him your Hollywood fantasy.”
“With Jason? I just can’t imagine him being passionate.” The words hung in the air, like the bubbles I wanted to pop them. It hit me, that not only was my relationship in a rut--so was I. It just wasn’t going to work, “This is so bad isn’t it?”
As my bestfriend for over 10 years, I couldn’t believe she could stand me. I had never been a girl who would settle for someone while I waited for the one. That is how people got hurt. As the truth washed over me, I still knew I wasn’t ready to give up on my someone when I had no one, “Black bra and panties, or red?”

On my mind tonight..

Catachresis: use of the wrong word for the context, 2: use of a forced and especially paradoxical figure of speech.
*Because the word “Journal” itself derives from a word meaning “day,” Mrs. James was of the opinion that the phrase “daily journal” is a catachresis.


When I think of today I bite my lip and scrunch my nose. Tough day? I eventually surrendered and went to the grocery store because I needed to move, to get out. I would have preferred to go running--to sort through some of these worries/feelings, but of course my feet are blistered from my 8 mile walk through the country in leather ballet flats. ( in short, went and visited Claire, wore the wrong shoes on an 8 mile walk to celebrate the Moon Virgin. We both realized how strange our lives are---had a great time--more on that later).

So here it is, I have a student that I just started tutoring. We kind of bonded from our first meeting, kindred spirits maybe. Tonight we were playing a board game from my teaching book where you roll the dice and answer the question “Tell me about..” and the questions vary from “your most important possession” to “what you worry about” and when it came to the last question she said she worries about her security. We started talking and it ends up her parents are divorced and her life has been very difficult. Perhaps I have found that the silver lining of my problematic relationship with my Dad is that I could actually tell her “I understand” what you are going through. Her home life is.. horrific, and her mother is like my father in the fact they should never have decided to become parents. We had a real conversation that only two people could have who know what it’s like to feel unloved by a parent. I want to teach her all the lessons I had to learn the hard way. I told her what my mother told me recently, “Your friends become your family.” She does not like being at home, it's onerous and stressful. So, she is going to come over on Thursday and we are going to make dinner and watch a movie in Spanish. I told her I would help her study for her English exam on Friday. In short, I’ve adopted her.

I just hate sitting here powerless. I want to take all her pain and worries away--make her believe that it will get easier. The most frustrating part is not being able to speak perfect Spanish, have all the perfect words to say. More importantly, I want to take care of her. Make sure she always has the support and love that she needs. I would like to find a guardian angel for her. In place of words of reassurance I gave her a big hug--I think the language barrier is going to force me to be more of a hugger.

Another thing I have been thinking a lot about lately is my distance from people. Not physical distance in Spain, but at home--in my regular life. I never wear my heart on my sleeve. I try and smooth over any tribulations I may be having, immediately, before they show on my face. Maybe that’s not right either. I think I’m too hard on myself, I think we are all too hard on ourselves. Why is it that I love to be there for my friends, talk to them when they are having a bad day or moment--but I don’t want to let myself be upset or angry? In brutal honesty--I even put Bella before myself. I take care of Bella and fuss over her so I don’t have to deal with my own stress. Being here, away from a small dog to worry about, I find myself starting to take care of myself..work through things--trying to improve myself. The fundamental problem for me is my inability to express emotions-- I feel so vulnerable when I talk about how I’m “feeling.” I’ve definitely ruined more than a couple relationships by not being able to communicate my “feelings.” I guess I have been thinking about the words that have gone unsaid. In the beginning here, I couldn't bring myself to call someone and say “This is really hard--i’m having a hard time.” I’m emotionally stunted. I guess it’s not totally my fault---as amazing as my family is, my mom can be a complete ice queen and my father is emotionally retarded. I don’t think he has emotions.

I have never heard the words “I love you” from my father. When I really talk about my life, my sadness, or my frustration--I roll over it quickly and brush it off. I talk about the haphazard/disappointing relationship with my father in a blase, indifferent, tone of voice. Why can I write the words with emotion..but not say them? Am I destined to be devoid of vocalizing real emotions for my entire life? I have heard and repeated "If you can't change it, change your attitude. Accept it and move on." Harsh? Or Realistic? Whenever we are confused about relationships or life in general, we are so quick to try and be Confucius instead of simply confused. Are there some things in life that just suck and will be stay that way no matter how many wise sayings we throw at them?

Here is a loaded question: I want a happily ever after, but am I ever going to be emotionally available enough to get it? Like I said, I have a lot on my mind. I’m sitting in my newly rearranged bedroom contemplating how to reorganize my emotional makeup. How to fix all these broken parts.




Loneliness, insomnia, and change: the fear of these is even worse than the reality.

You can't wring your hands and roll up your sleeves at the same time.

We can easily manage if we will only take, each day, the burden appointed to it. But the load will be too heavy for us if we carry yesterday's burden over again today, and then add the burden of the morrow before we are required to bear it. ~John Newton

It is the little bits of things that fret and worry us; we can dodge a elephant, but we can't dodge a fly

Some of your hurts you have cured,
And the sharpest you still have survived,
But what torments of grief you endured
From the evil which never arrived.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson


When I really worry about something, I don't just fool around. I even have to go to the bathroom when I worry about something. Only, I don't go. I'm too worried to go. I don't want to interrupt my worrying to go. ~J.D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye

Desperate Housewife

"I would be content being a housewife if I could find the kind of man who wouldn't treat me like one."

Emancipation: the act or process of freeing someone from the restraint, control, or power of another.

How does the word of the day always manage to fit into my day perfectly?

After cleaning the kitchen, going to the supermarket, baking my third batch of brownies, slicing vegetables and making pico de gallo, I ended up cooking a dinner for 3 british boys that I didn’t get to eat... because there wasn’t any left for me. I didn’t even get so much as a thank you. Will felt terrible when he realized his friends had finished off all the fajitas before I even got a chance to eat. I said it wasn’t a big deal, I didn’t want to make it more awkward than it already was. Neither of them even seemed to notice. My mind went into overdrive as I finished washing their dishes..I officially am thanking God that women have been emancipated from the expected role of homemaker.

Thinking back to the cliche images of women from the 50s holding a fresh cup of coffee: they are wearing a dress with heels, apron, uptight hairdo and a smile plastered on their face. I finally get it. I just don’t think for me, as the daughter of a strong single mother, the kitchen is a satisfying place for me. It has seemed obvious to me my entire life, but for a brief moment tonight--I could picture my life as an under-appreciated wife and mother.

My heart immediately began to thump as I thought about all the meals my mom had cooked that I had felt it necessary to complain about. After packing my lunch in the morning, dropping me off at school, working all day, picking me up, cooking dinner, and doing my laundry--I wish I could go back in time and be more helpful and appreciative. My mother is and always has been, absolutely amazing.

I think that is an aspect of my relationship with my father that made me most resentful--when it came to something needing to be done, I was always called upon before my brother was. I remember the last time I saw my Dad when he took my brother and I to dinner and he needed ketchup, “Courtney, go ask the waitress for ketchup.” I wanted to say “I’m not the one who needs ketchup, am I?”


So, yes, there is part of me that gets a weird sense of enjoyment from cleaning a house, cooking dinner for the people I love and nurturing those around me--but there is also an equally important part of me that wants to be appreciated and looked at as an equal. Today I had decided that I was going to take the butano tank around the corner to get refilled at the shop. Just as I was lugging it across the apartment and out the door, Will came home and insisted on carrying it to the store for me. I had wanted to do it, because what happens if it needs to be changed and Will’s not around? I just don’t like relying on anyone--not even for something as basic as carrying a heavy item. It became even more apparent when we were walking back from the grocery store and Will said he would hold onto the heavier bag while he waited for his friends at the train station on our walk home. I said..”Just give it to me, I’m going home anyway.” And he said, “Well..it’s pretty heavy. I’ll just hold onto it.” I started thinking about all the times I carried several bags of groceries up the stairs in my apartment, because I have a weird thing about making two trips. Will eventually gave up the grocery bag begrudgingly and I felt that although Will was fulfilling the role of a proper gentleman, I wouldn’t be myself if I submitted to stereotypical gender roles. I am perfectly capable and willing to carry a grocery bag. Maybe it has nothing to do with gender roles, maybe it just has more to do with me being incredibly stubborn and sometimes overly independent.

Will is always really considerate and helpful, however sometimes I think he thinks me doing things by/for myself is..strange? I might be totally wrong--i’m not well versed on gender roles in London. I think it’s more than okay for me to do things for myself. Most girls complain that boys are not traditionally considerate enough (opening the car door, pulling out your chair..etc)--so at what point did chivalry turn into being condescending? Am I just misplacing baggage from my relationship with my father onto men acting like gentlemen? Is offering to do things for a woman belittling, or is it just that we aren’t used to chivalry anymore? I would argue it’s both. Granted, I think I am much too tainted by the condescension of my father to make any decision on the subject without being biased. Either way, I am really lucky that Will is my roomate and not his friends.

To conclude, next time your mother or the woman in your life does something sweet and considerate--be sure to say thank you.

Remember, Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, but she did it backwards and in high heels.

Felicidades para al dia de San Valentin

"Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more."

Things just keep getting weirder

Sciolism: n: a superficial show of learning

The sun is shining and Posadas is peaceful--Thus I was only too happy to curl up on my bed in my comfy pink blanket (which makes me think of Amy because we are both obsessed with ours). Austin sent me a phenomenal care package full of American delicacies: double-stuffed oreos, ranch doritos, ferrero rocher, twix bars, and...melon burst shaving cream. Did you know I’ve been using men’s shaving cream? They don’t have shaving cream for women at the local grocery stores..go figure. I practically ripped the package out of the letter carrier's hands and shredded it with the knife trying to open it. We don’t have scissors. Needless to say, 8 double stuffed oreos, 2 handfuls of ranch chips, 2 ferrero roches and a bowl of pasta later..I realized rationing the good food is more agreeable than a sugar induced tummy ache. Before you judge, like the postal worker who said “you’re going to make her fat”--I eat the smallest, saddest meals alive everyday. Somehow I joined weight watchers Spanish edition, I’m waiting for the hidden camera crew to pop out at any moment and say “Just kidding, we flavored everything jamon just to fuck with you!”

The food couldn’t have come at a better time because I was about to send out an SOS on the food front. Last night I went to Bar San Francisco with Will and his friend Joe (who is visiting from Northern Spain) to visit Paco. I brought Paco some of the pseudo-edible cookies I had made--I promised to practice. Now I have to continue on my Martha Stewart streak before they realize I’m a total impostor---i’m working on keeping the entire town of Posadas placated/well-fed with sugary, semi-burnt, baked goods.

Anyways, the night took a fateful food twist--Will and Joe were ordering Bull’s tail and somehow Paco thought it was imperative I try it as well. After a polite no--I found myself seated at a bar, full of old men staring at me critically as I looked down at the plate of fatty bull tail. I took a bite, stomaching the chewy texture, swallowed, and kept a smile on my face. I was also peer pressured into eating a piece of “black pudding” chorizo--aka, blood and fat. On the plus side, Paco has changed my name from “Guapa” to “Guapisima” --insert secret sexy smile here.

So, in short I’ve graduated from peer pressure at parties to peer pressure in restaurants--specifically, eating repulsive foreign food.

Tonight I’m going to get coffee with another teacher named Maite, she is about my age and really sweet. I don’t think she speaks any english so I’m going to have to put my Spanish to use. I’m keeping my fingers crossed I can manage.

I learned a mean phrase to say in Spanish, It doesn’t have a direct translation but Juan Manuel told me to say it with a lot of intensity, “Tiene huevo la cosa!” -- It might be sciolism, but I don’t care--I was even given a hand motion to add emphasis!

I also learned another important phrase, “Te echo de menos” ..which means I miss you.

So to my loves, Te echo de menos.

Rules of the heart.

We all struggle with relationships. Whether it is with our boss, co-workers, friends, significant others..even circumstances where a relationship is lacking can become complicated.

Regarding an aspect of our lives so inherent and important--why is it that there is no cautionary rulebook? We have guidebooks for all sorts of things: cooking, traveling, learning a new language, sports, decorating, dieting, religion, and even make-up. When it comes to the most complicated situations--I suppose we are forced to write our own guidebooks, follow our own, sometimes unreliable, compass.

Some are challenging, some are new, some are familiar, some are part of the ever revolving door, and some are well, changing. When a relationship alters--is it the dynamic, or is it us?

For example, one of my friends recently grew out of a relationship. The relationship guidelines were wrapped up in a neat package--without strings. The casualness of the relationship continued over a year, off and on, but even without the strings, it was still hard to not become accustomed to the familiarity, caught, attached. But when is..enough, enough?

I’ll be honest--friends with benefits is a common denominator known to be worthy of avoidance. But it seems, although we are aware of the danger--we are still curious, thinking to be the exception to the rule. To the boy or girl who hopes it will go somewhere..I say this--What great relationships were forged from, “Let’s hook up without any ties in case someone better comes along.” Isn’t that really the bottom line? Relationships aren’t inconvenient when it is the right person. It’s a load of bullshit if you try and sugarcoat it any other way. Is that love, the love, found when you settle for being an option?

Why is it, even when we have the rules in front of us--we still go against what we know is best?

I just don’t think we can win. I get exasperated; I read “He’s Just Not That Into You” and I felt a wave of relief--someone was finally telling it like it is. The brutal honesty I craved. But then I found so many exceptions and complications to the delineated truth. Maybe the book is right, maybe there are no mixed signals. But is it possible--when relationships are in fact so complicated-- to not have them? Are mixed signals and neat packages that ultimately become baggage, just part of the deal?

And in those relationships that are familiar--with tried and true understanding, familiarity, and trust--is it possible for one person to change without shaking up the whole dynamic? Must we grow together or simply grow apart? Statistics say that high-school sweethearts are the most likely to stay married because they relate to eachother the best. If that is true, does it blow hope for theories like “opposites attract” out of the water?

For example, two of my bestfriends are habitually struggling with their own theories:

One of my friends represents the cynic. Not that he is burned by relationships--but rather burned by the complications that come along with them. For someone who desires straightforward, no bullshit, just you and me--is it possible to get through the complicated disaster that is dating? He asks, is it ever possible to want what you CAN have? Or are we all just looking for something better, something unattainable, something that doesn’t exist?

The other, is weary of expiration dating. If an individual is unsettled and unsure of their own future--is it at all possible to plan a future with somebody else? He questions whether it is even smart to start a relationship not knowing whether you can finish it. More importantly, is it possible to pursue a new relationship when you have unfinished business with a love from the not so forgotten past?

I, the closet hopeless romantic, confess to believing love conquers all. I believe, when that love comes to your doorstep, you have no choice but to let it in--however inconvenient, however unexpected, however difficult--because when that loves comes along, there is no longer any other choice. Those loves of the past, the heartbreaks, the disasters, the regrets, will no longer matter. Those will finally stay where they belong, in the past.

To be truthful, however much I believe; alone in my room in Spain--sometimes the loneliness is palpable. I miss the comfort that comes from my hand being held. I miss the security of having your bestfriend in tow. I miss the feeling of tears coming from too much laughter. I miss the butterflies that follow a knock-your-socks-off kiss. I even miss looking up to catch the knowing smirk that follows when I do something awkward I hope went undetected.

You know, they say when you are alone--suddenly you are painfully aware of twosomes. I don’t want to get all mushy-gushy on you right before Valentine’s Day (sigh) but a couple of weeks ago when I was going to Cordoba, I saw two people who made my heart ache. It was an older couple, late 30s, mirroring eachothers body movements like two satellites in sync. Their weather-worn hiking books sparked images of epic adventures, and long walks together. They were bohemian, blissful, and completely oblivious to the curious stares they received. They were..a perfect fit. As they waited for the train, he pulled her close and they started dancing slowly. He even did a hollywood dip. They were both glowing, so in love, and I couldn’t help but look for wedding bands. I wondered if it was the “infatuation” stage of a new relationship--how long would it last? How long had it lasted? Or maybe, as the avid reader of “Pride and Prejudice,” “Wuthering Heights” and “The Notebook” in me hopes-- it is that love, the all consuming, can’t live without you love.

When in Spain...

A Simple I Love You Means More Than Money

So--this morning I woke up extra early to pack for my trip to Pozoblanco and get to school to plan my trips to Italy and Greece. Upon arrival to Santander, my bank, the clerk regrettably told me I had no money in my account.

I then went to school to talk to the secretary Antonio who is in charge of payment--and he said "Oh..yes, I needed to ask you how much you are supposed to get paid and for what months." It was one of those moments where I wanted to shake him--like lights on..nobody's home--why didn't he talk to me about that at some point last week since I gave him the information over a week ago. Sigh. So needless to say, my trip to Pozoblanco is delayed until next weekend. I love you's will have to suffice until I have money again. When in Spain....be penniless. :)

If at first you don't succeed....

There is a reason that these quotes are so commonplace, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again,” “Everything happens for a reason”, or, “Some things fall apart so better things can fall together” --They never rang true until I decided to travel to a foreign country and become a cooking aficionado..or.. well I won’t get ahead of myself...simply a pseudo cook.

After my afternoon of homesickness, I decided it was time to call my favorite optimist--My grandmother. My grandma is 96 years old and the most inspirational person I’ve ever met. I was so happy to hear her voice, she reiterated how proud of me she was..and it definitely made me cry, just missing her and being with her. Marisi told me that she and my grandmother pray for me in the morning and at night--it made me feel looked after, cared for? It also made me think of when Erin got prayed over ( and yes, I’m smirking). My grandma has been sick the past week and she told me, “But I never complain” and it’s true--she sees the silver lining, makes lemonade, counts her blessings. It makes me wonder, is it possible to have that optimism and inner strength without the age? They say wisdom comes with age, but is it possible to learn the lessons without making the mistakes?

I told Marisi about the Cookie Disaster of 2009 and she laughed sincerely and said, “You’ve got to start somewhere!” and it’s true. So, I decided to get out of my rainy-week funk and go for a run by myself. I did the route from the other day, added another warm layer and then some extra distance. Then the most fitting thing happened, when I reached the bridge and stopped to look at the castle; against the rumbling gray sky, a rainbow arched over it in the distance. So I suppose, without the rain..I wouldn’t have had the rainbow.

By the time I came home, I was inspired to try the cookies again. Sure enough, I channeled Martha Stewart and cookies appeared--a little deformed, far from perfect, but absolutely 100% edible. Likewise, to totally contrast with yesterday, Will bought avocados from the butcher and they turned into yummy guacamole on top of fajitas seasoned with a half package (instead of the over-seasoned result from the full) and lime juice. Great success.

So with a little work, a little patience and a little perseverance I think we can turn our mistakes and mishaps into wisdom and improvement. Afterall, we’ve got to start somewhere.

“Failure is only postponed success as long as courage “coaches” ambition. The habit of persistence is the habit of victory.”

“Hard things are put in our way, not to stop us, but to call out our courage and strength.”

"the gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials"

“If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away.”-Henry David Thoreau




ps: In defense of the Cookie Disaster 2009 --my mom told me the reason they are not coming out "just right" is the difference in flour here. Will also decided we could blame the vanilla extract...it MUST be the magical ingredient. :)

Just a bit homesick.

After the day that can only be remembered as Cookie Disaster 2009, I'm feeling a little bit homesick.  Insert long sigh here. 

"I love her and that's the beginning of everything."

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

Home is not where you live but where they understand you. ~Christian Morgenstern


Where we love is home,
Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
~Oliver Wendell Holmes

Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defense, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. It is the spot where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule. ~Frederick W. Robertson

Home is the shelter from storms--all sorts of storms.

Domino Effect

I’ve been thinking--life is more like a game than I ever imagined. Particularly, dominoes. Everything can be seemingly in line..perfect..and you realize that once one domino is out of place..it can ruin everything. It is an agitating process to line them all up again...but what other options do we have?

I’m speaking to the other people who are too critical. We dream big, hope big, and get hurt big. The odd thing is, at the end of the day, we are our harshest critics. I get so frustrated when things don’t go according to plan--and today is one of those days where nothing goes according to plan, in small ways that start adding up. You wouldn’t have noticed, the frustration bubbling under the surface, eminent at 2:40 am.

I wish I knew how to do more things. I hate learning the hard way--fouling it up and then meeting someone who could have told me that 1 + 2 = 3. Cooking is a perfect example. I wanted to do something simple, bake chocolate chip cookies. Maybe I’m homesick, maybe I’m wanting to be more betty homemaker, maybe I’m just unrealistic. It’s simple right, baking chocolate chip cookies? Wrong. Good luck going into a rural supermarket looking for flour, baking soda, and the most difficult--chocolate chips & vanilla extract. It’s all in SPANISH. And FYI..vanilla extract is not commonplace..not to mention converting litres into cups. Three grocery stores later, and one electronic store. I’ve substituted vanilla extract for vanilla powder. I also substituted a simple baking sheet for a 9 euro baking pan. I should have thought this out, but I’m always one step ahead of myself. It’s almost like I set myself up for failure, with ideas too big, too out of my own reach. I know, it’s chocolate chip cookies--not really that big of an idea, but it’s more than that. It’s me.

Backing up a bit, to prove my point, I was set on going running today even though I still have that weird lingering cough and the weather is gray, dreary, and drizzly. It had to happen. Nonetheless, I went to school to work on my lesson plan in my running gear...dressed with purpose. On my walk home, the cold chilled me and threatened to overtake my determination. Another layer of under armor and I was on my way, jogging without direction behind Will (who is training for the marathon). We ran over the train tracks, through the mud, up into the farm fields, up the steepest hill of my life and over a bridge, back down through the back of the farm fields, which an interminable amount of time later led us back into the perimeter of town. 40 minutes later, about the time my lower abdomen was burning, rain started sprinkling....and then in unison with my feet hitting the mud--it turned into a horrific torrential downpour. I looked at the castle in the distance, contemplating the stark contrast between rural farm fields and an amazing fortress in the horizon--but my cramp got more severe and the rain soaked my clothes through. Blinking rain drops out of my eyes, I split up from Will, ducked under the train tracks in the underground tunnel (exchanged “uh-ohs” and “awww poor girl” looks with a cute couple waiting for the bus) and jogged off the cramp all the way to my dry apartment. Weather won that round.

Fast forward to the epic grocery store extravaganza..After putting it off all weekend, I finally decided to make fajitas. A night of culinary trials. I was really excited about the guacamole, since we couldn’t find tortillas, it was my reassurance: And then I cut into dark brown, molding avocados. All four of them, dark..molding..inedible. The fajita seasoning smelled like barbeque. The make-shift tortilla..the PITAS..were stale and tiny. I put the avocados in a bag to take back to Dia, to show the woman who picks out the vegetables what she gave me. I was so mad. Will said we should just laugh about it and go to the butcher from now on, so we can pick our own vegetables. It’s just like..really? I just miss food. It’s simple--you buy yogurt that looks like familiar packaging and you get something that tastes completely different. You buy fajita seasoning and get smoky barbeque. It’s not the end of the world, by any means, but it’s a different world and sometimes I miss Pei Wei, Paradise Bakery, and Szechuan Omei. Tomorrow I’m going to attempt the cookies...if you never hear from me again it’ll be because my head exploded from the habitual epic failure of attempting to become a spanish Martha Stewart :)

Nice Guys Finish Last...the total of what i've done so far

Nice Guys Finish Last

I didn't ask for this. I thought it was what I wanted, but it is an absolute disaster. Years ago, when I was getting dirt thrown at me during recess, I would cry and wish for my Prince Charming. Now I have three.
But it is true, what our parents would warn us about before sleepovers--three is a crowd.

My love life has become this sordid three ring circus, starring the apologetic ex, stable boyfriend, and the can'thavehimbutwanthim crush. You are probably judging me, I don't blame you--some nights I lay awake and judge myself.

Let me explain, my name is Delaney James..and my life is well, a mess. I swear it started when I was a little girl in pre-school. I was sitting on the swings, whirling myself around on the tip of my toes--when it hit me, well he hit me. Derek..you know the guy that was even cool at age 5? He knocked me off the swing and went off running to help Princess Jessica. As I lay there with my chin in the mud, it occurred to me that the damsel in distress will always win the Prince. Have you ever taken the time to look up the word damsel? Well it means a young, unmarried woman. A few months ago, that definition would have incited fear and images of several cats. But now, with more than one Prince in the story, the simple fairy tale I've counted on my entire life is suddenly...well complicated.

It's 11am and I'm still in bed. Tangled up uncomfortably in cold sheets--I can still smell him on my skin. It isn't a cologne per se but something more crisp. Jason smells like mountain scented detergent. I tucked my nose into the t-shirt he left crumpled on the side of the bed and took a deep breath. It occurred to me then that I missed him and his annoying chipper morning attitude. The first night he stayed over I knew it wouldn't work out--he rolled over, morning breath and all, planted a big kiss on me and breathed, "Good morning, beautiful." It wasn’t sexy, it wasn’t movie-chic, but it was real. It was circa 7am, I could smell the sleep escaping his mouth and was instantly resentful that I had to be an object worthy of adoration that early. 3 blissful months later, I am accepting that this rational man believes my bed-head, mismatched boyish pajamas, leftover makeup, and rank morning breath are adorable, somedays even lovable. What we have, however unoriginal or unexceptional, is real.

Jason came into my life in an oddly storybook way. I was dragging behind my oversized golden retriever in the park, when Bachi took off running after a stray football. Before I knew it, I was partaking in a game of chase with a dog and my least favorite sports object. Sprinting clumsily in my flip flops, dodging small children and waving off disapproving mothers, it occurred to me that I was completely out of my league with this dog. I keeled over with my hands on my knees, eyeing him in defeat. "You win, you're in charge. Just hand over the ball," I crooned, reaching slowly to pick up the leash. I had cornered Bachi against a big Oak tree, beckoning him forward repeating the word "treat" innocently, desperately. The drool oozed around the ball wedged in his teeth, and the low growl implied my tactics were a no go. Suddenly, a whistle and leg pat coming from behind me turned Bachi back into an obedient dog. Typical, as if nothing had happened. Jason smiled up at me smugly, holding him in a playful chokehold as the ball dropped easily to the grass.
    He extended his hand, "Looks like your dog just kicked my ass as wide receiver. I'm Jason Stech." Cute, very cute. His playful hazel eyes took me in, a hot mess. My hair had fallen from the loose ponytail and stuck to my conveniently make-up less face. Embarrassed, I shook it lightly, and attempted to wipe the dazzled look off my face, 
"Delaney...and this well-behaved dog is Bachi. I can't thank you enough. I definitely have my hands full with this guy," I trailed off and patted the dog.
 His confidence caught me off guard, "Well, you could thank me by going out to dinner with me tomorrow." 
  I agreed to dinner, and coffee later that day. I broke the faux unavailable rule after 2 months of dateless weekends, and the iron will to mend my embittered heart.


Chapter 2
Shit. I was supposed to call Sara an hour ago.  I looked at the night stand clock, 12:30 PM.  I have no idea where time goes.  I threw the comforter off the bed, digging through the sheets to find my cell phone.  
"Yo," was her answer.  
"Yo? Been indulging in some BET?" I retorted, pulling my dirty jeans on from the floor. 
"That's my business.  Starbucks?" She replied mysteriously.
"Sounds good, i'm rolling out of bed as we speak--are you put together?"
"Mmm.." I could tell she was checking herself out in the mirror, "Decent.  I'll see you in a bit." 

         I decided it wasn't right to wear two dirty clothes items, so I rustled through my closet to find a clean t-shirt and baseball cap to cover up my bedhead.  I had this obsession with baseball caps, so much so that Jason bought me a CAL hat that had my name embroidered on the back.  His nickname for me was Dee.  Unoriginal, but it was the first nickname I'd had since my brother called me ding dong back in pre-school.   Anyway, it is my favorite hat.  I grabbed the keys off the dresser, slid into flip flops, and shoved my wallet and phone into a purse that was much too big to serve any practical purpose.  
    Driving to Starbucks mid-afternoon is my favorite thing.  I love people watching at the esplanade--you get a great mix of bored socialite housewives and everyone else who tries too hard.  Being in the presence of such material perfection makes me aware of my own flaws. I've never been the type of girl who is put together well; something is always amiss.  I look at other women and sigh to myself and think--how do you do it?  Does it take as much as time as I imagine it does? Or is there some pampering secret they are holding out from the rest of us?
    God bless my mother for trying so hard.  She would practically have to pry my food-smeared uniform skirts from my hands in high school to be washed regularly.  To me,  it just never really mattered.  I have been an athlete my entire life, thus beauty always came second to extra sleep.   That saying about "dressing for the day" just makes me laugh--it just makes you that more furious when something gets spilled on your expensive blouse or suede boots.  Which always happens the moment you decide it's worth the risk on a random afternoon outing.  
    Sara was never hard to find, she always wore colors you wouldn't think existed outside some narcotic inspired rainbow.  She pulled it off either way.  Today was particularly festive, peacock blue with some kind of emerald green beading. 
"My love!" I crooned, enveloping her in a hug.  
     My favorite thing about Sara was how much personality she packed into her petite 5'1" frame. Her happiness bubbled over and onto anyone in her vicinity, contagious.  "You look just lovely," she taunted.  
"Oh please, like I care.  I overslept this morning," I replied nonchalantly, opening the door into the familiar shop.  
I love the smell of coffee, and the sound of newspapers crumpling.  But the very best thing about Starbucks is that no matter what state or country you are in--they all feel like your local spot.  She looked at me skeptically, pulling a ball of lint off my pocket, 
"Oh fine, Jason's out of town. Give me a break." 
She laughed easily and loudly.  That always bothered me but I never mentioned it--it was blasphemous to imagine Sara with anything but a loud laugh. 
"So, since the ball and chain is on vaca--what are you doing this weekend? Specifically, tonight?" 
  "Mm..you caught me.  I was going to.." I paused thinking of what my real options were.  Walk Bachi, watch lifetime, or maybe if I was feeling really spontaneous I would read the new romance novel I had secretly purchased. "Actually, what did you have mind?" 
  Sara worked for 3-4 Marketing and somehow knew everyone,  which led to great perks at club openings, etc. Her life was pretty glamorous, sometimes I was envious and then other times I was perfectly content with my quiet, predictable existence.  The one thing about Sara that both stumped and inspired me was her disinterest in serious relationships.  She had ended things bitterly with her ex Mario a couple years ago after dating throughout college.  Nobody really understood it at the time, they seemed happy, but she explained it as an early-life crisis and decided any type of commitment was too much to ask for now.  Her blackberry danced on the table, sending ripples through my black coffee, "Working on Saturday?" I inquired.
An annoyed sigh escaped her lips, "It's Keith."
"Oooh...Keith? Really? I thought you ended that." I trailed off, watching a woman outside force her miniature poodle into a hellacious louis vuitton bag, screeching and yapping.  I scrunched up my nose, almost feeling sorry for the pink clad creature. I turned back to observe Sara. 
"Well I did, er..I was going to.  He is fun.  We do have fun. But I just feel like he is so frou-frou.  And really, he’s a talent scout for a modeling agency? Sketch. I’ll never be able to compete with 6’0 models." Her eyebrows raised slightly reading over the text, "Speaking of fun, I was going to see if you wanted to go the Pussycat Lounge, but Keith's label is actually having a promotion at Dirty Pretty.  Fun, right?" She purred. 
I could just see it now.  Sara and I dressed to the 9's, weaving our way through a bunch of over-tanned, platinum barbie lookalikes, while men flaunting cheesy pick-up lines crowded around the perimeter of the dance floor, looking ravenous and ready to pounce.  I bit my lower lip, on the other hand it would be nice to get out and let loose.  
"Evan's going to be there. I think I forgot to mention that." Her eyes sparkled in mischief.
I almost choked on my coffee, "Evan? My Evan?" 
"Yes, Evan whom you should make beautiful babies with." She joked, tossing her hair and eyeing me curiously.  I rolled my eyes, "Beautiful babies are the last thing on my list, but thanks.  I don't know, that could be interesting.  Maybe too interesting," I paused, folding the splenda wrapper into squares, " I mean..ugh, he may not even want to see me." The truth hung in the air, and I immediately wanted to snatch the words back and shove them into my mouth.  
"Not want to see you? You really are out of your damn mind.  What do you expect? The guy is only going to give you so many opportunities before rolling over to the next girl."
Her words stung, I don't know if I could really tell you why.  Evan was the one guy I just couldn't shake.  There are relationships where you have the upper-hand, and relationships where you are just tongue tied the minute they walk into the room.  We had a checkered past, nothing serious, but he popped into my mind from time to time.  The guy I wanted but couldn't have.  
"I don’t care if I see him or not, that’s in the past,” I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince her or myself, “what time would we need to be there?" I surrendered, seeing Evan had peaked my interest.  I wondered what he would say when he saw me? Does he think about me too? My pocket vibrated, bringing me back to reality--Jason was calling. 

Chapter 3

It hit me as I sat at the end of my bed, putting on my earrings and my black stilettos. I’m a terrible person. Why was I going to this party? I could argue that I wanted to get out and have a couple drinks. I could argue that it was what I used to do, before my life turned into a “we’re staying in” phrase on repeat. But the truth was, I wanted to see him. I wanted to show him what he was missing out on. Like I said, I’m a terrible person.
I walked over to the nightstand, eyeing myself critically, not bad. I had to admit I loved seeing the hard work I had put in at pilates in my purple backless dress, for tonight the sweats would stay where they belonged--in the laundry basket. What the hell, one little drink won’t kill me. I smiled and sprayed my neck and wrists with my favorite perfume; the room filled with the intoxicating scent of sweet coconut. I loved summer.
I skipped down the stairs and felt the heat hit me with a whoosh of the front doors. A group of men walked by and whistled, adding a bit of confidence to my stride. Have you noticed that during the day, in the midst of your daily activities, a whistle can just as quickly add a bit of irritation to your face? As if to compensate for all my other eye rolls, I waved and offered a smile as I walked around the corner to the coffee shop I was meeting Sara at.
“Well looooook at you!” Sara cooed, squeezing me lightly.
“Clean up nice, eh?” I smirked, as she extended a double-shot espresso in my direction, “You know me too well.”
She took my wrists in her hands, inspecting, then looking down at my ankle, “Wait. No ball and chain? Where are the handcuffs?”
I laughed, “Oh come on, It’s not like that.”
“Oh really? When was the last time we went out, I mean we, sans Mr. Rogers.”
I paused, it upset me that I had to think about the last time I went out, “Well, I mean, I guess I’ve just been..” I trailed off, saved by the entrance of Amber.

Amber was the token girl from every chick-flick. She was beautiful, humble, smart, and caring. The one thing holding her back was her lack of confidence, every beautiful outfit was stunted by the “I look like shit” label she gave herself. She had a huge heart in a tiny body, with the type of curves that every woman wishes she had and men wonder what to do with. As soft as her personality was, her fashion was anything but wallflower. Tonight she was wearing a shimmering gold flapper dress and killer heels that made her about as tall as I was without mine.

“Amber, you look beau-ti-ful!” We purred in unison, shoving eachother playfully as we whistled at her.
“Ugh, please. I look like a whale, can you tell I’m bloated?” She turned to the side, revealing nothing but an hourglass shape.
“Um, are you kidding? I love your hair, the blonde is a good color on you. Where’s Kyle?”
She sat, taking a deep breath, “He’s back with her.”
“What? No way. Her? Why?” I felt jolted, why is it that the slutty girls always get their guy? But the good girls, are left to meet their girlfriends for coffee, dressed up and beautiful, alone.
“Don’t laugh, but he took his single status off facebook.” The words bubbled up slowly, “I mean why would he do that unless it was her again. I mean we had been talking about and I really thought when he came back into town we would become official. I feel so stupid.”
“Oh sweetie, no.” Sara offered, extending me the helpless look that said, ‘I can’t think of something to say, so think quick!’
I took over, “Are you sure? Did he say anything? I mean for Christ sake, it’s facebook. Guys aren’t supposed to pay attention to that anyway.”
Her big honey-brown eyes looked up under the veil of black lashes, “Yeah, maybe. No, I mean he had been calling alot..again, you know how it is between us.”
“Well, see? Maybe it’s nothing. Look, let it go for tonight. You look beautiful, and we’re going to a fabulous club.” Sara smiled, applying her lipgloss.
“His loss is our gain.” I took her hand and gave it a meaningful squeeze.
“Love the nailpolish.” She laughed, dropping my dark red tipped finger.
“Shall we?” I smiled picking up my clutch, feeling more like myself than I had in a long time, intertwining my fingers with Amber’s as I pulled her out of the chair begrudgingly,
“Fine, But I expect a bottle of wine to myself tonight.”


The club was packed, and the line was already back to the end of the building. I looked down at my cellphone, it was only 10:30.
“Seriously? Apparently everyone had the same idea of getting here early.” I pouted, moving to the back of the line, mentally calculating how long it would take to get to the front, if ever.
“What are you doing? I know the door guy, he’s been trying to sleep with me for a few weeks now. Tell me what you think.”
I interlocked arms with Amber and moved past all the people throwing knives in my back, walking up to the front of the surprised to see the handsome delight in front of me.
“Elijah, these are my bestfriends--this is Delaney and this is Amber. Think you can make an exception for us?” She said, her eyes smoldering into his. Sara had a way of manipulating men, not by playing dumb, but rather by playing up her sexuality. It was simple maneuvers, like adjusting her cleavage, smoothing over her shorts, or simply by staring into their eyes in unadulterated flirtation. I almost felt myself blushing, as she bit her lip and stared up at him curiously. “Sure, sure--I’m done at 12, so I’ll come find you by the bar.” He murmured, staring after us. She turned, giggling “Deal.”
“Wow, nice work. Are you really interested in that guy? He didn’t seem like your type. By the way...does that mean Keith is over?” The truth was, her type was skinny, artsy guys. Elijah was more of the generic beautiful man: muscled, mulatto, with piercing blue eyes. “Not sure, he could be. For now. Oh, and Keith is done. The minute he started calling me babe it had to end. What am I, 12?” She laughed, pulling us through the pulsating crowd. It was pretty dark inside and there was something exhilarating about the decor--seductive. We moved toward the bar, and I obliged to move first since I was the tallest and a little more abrupt than the other two. I leaned over the bar, smiling sweetly at the guys on either side of me unassumingly, “Excuse me?” I beseeched the bartender, putting 3 fingers in the air as he came over, “Three greygoose vodka tonics, please.”
“Make them doubles!” Amber yelled over my shoulder, he nodded and went off.
“So you were serious, then.” She nodded with a light laugh, “Well, then I suppose I can put on my big girl pants tonight.”
I handed off the drinks and took a sip, wrinkling up my nose, “Shit. When in Rome?” I laughed looking up, and there he was. I felt myself catch my breath, putting my hand to my stomach I took another sip of my drink. Acting casual wasn’t going to be possible, Amber had already squeezed my hand, “Evan’s over there. Um, he’s gorgeous--and he’s staring at you.” I looked up and sure enough, I caught his glance and offered a wave and a smile.
Sara nudged me forward, “Go talk to him. He’s coming this way.” I sighed, butterflies flittering in my stomach. Yes, I could handle this, I could be calm, cool and collected...I could already feel the chemistry flickering between us. He wrapped me in a hug, I could smell a hint of his cologne and breathed it in.
“Hi! Good to see you!” I smiled easily, loving the feeling of his hand lingering on my waist.
“Good to see you too, it’s been awhile. How are you?” His eyes were a captivating ocean blue. Damn him and his beautiful eyes.
“I’m good, here with Amber and Sara actually. You remember them right?” He knew them both, we had gone out with them together several times. When we were, whatever we were. The memories started pouring over me. I wanted them to stop.
“Of course, where are they?” I pointed to the two of them by the bar, who returned his wave, “I’ll come meet you in just a sec” he started to turn, but just before, he pulled my waist in slowly, “by the way, you look amazing.”
I walked away, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.
“Well looky looky here....” Sara teased, returning my drink to my greedy fingers.
“Ugh, I hate him. It’s nothing. He’s not interested, more importantly--I’m not interested. Don’t get excited.”
“That didn’t look like not interested. You know you guys have sparks, the whole room can tell you have sparks.” Amber laughed, eyeing the possibilities around her.
“You forget, Evan didn’t want anything, I’m with Jason now. You remember Jason, my loving boyfriend?” I said, reminding myself of the mixed signals and games we played. Why couldn’t I have just been straight with him?
“No, you were just dating other people at the same time. What did you expect the guy to do?” Sara corrected, already ordering our next round.
“God, don’t remind me. I was still getting over amazing sex guy, we’re not speaking anymore, and that guy with the crazy ex-girlfriend, wouldn’t talk to him if my life depended on it. What was I thinking? Okay, so I was kinda guilty too. But, whatever, he acted like an asshole.”
“Oh please, I know it’s not like he’s innocent, but Delaney, you forget you’re pretty damn intimidating. I don’t remember the last time you had less than 5 guys tripping over you. Look around you, guys are practically drooling.”
“Yeah yeah, and he’s pretty damn intimidating.”
“Emphasis on the pretty.” Amber added, nudging my side knowingly.
“So, for tonight, forget about Jason. You and Jason don’t spark like that.” Sara reiterated, I sighed, letting her comments roll off my back for now.
“You know Sara, Jason has been nothing but good to me.”
“Yeah, nothing but. I’ve seen you in love. You’re in content.” She exchanged glasses with me and I took a sip, sitting on the stool. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. Jason was perfect--perfect and predictable. Our life had become so routine that we were barely sleeping together anymore. The biggest thing we fought about was who was going to return the blockbuster movies. We went straight passed dating to married. And I missed the romance, the passion, I missed the intimacy.


Evan and a few of his friends who were mutual acquaintances started coming over to where we sat. I smiled, biting my lip, tilting my head to the side as I watched him come over--and I knew what was eating away at me, unfinished business. I never knew what Evan wanted, and I never really knew what I wanted. I wasn’t in a place to be really available--but yet I would get frustrated that he wasn’t putting himself on the table. Hypocrite.
But isn’t it the guys job to sweep you off your feet? Come riding up on a white horse in shining armor and tell you..you’re the one. I had chalked everything with Evan up to a sad case of he’s just not that into you. It bruised my ego and I then left his intermittent phone calls unreturned. Now here we are, 3 months later, and apparently I’m still reeling. Sparks, mixed signals, games..it all added up to well, nothing.
His friends sat down, engaging us in catch-up conversation. They were flashier than Evan, they seemed more like party boys, consenting bachelors. As handsome as Evan was, that’s what I loved, he seemed different. On queue, Jeremiah leaned over and draped his arm across my shoulders, “So Delaney, did you hear that I helped produce that new album?” he smiled and began name-dropping all his latest artist remixes. “Wow, that’s amazing! I’ll definitely have to pick it up. Are you still dating...?” Her name disappeared from my mind, all I could see was her barely there dress and cigarette. “Sasha? No, no. That ended awhile ago. I’m going to stay single for a while, I’m on the party scene too much to really settle down now anyway. You know, with the producing and all.” He added, his eyes grazing over, “We lost Evan.” He turned around, spying Evan trapped between two less than dazzling girls. “Why don’t you go save him?” Jeremiah laughed, pointing to Evan as he looked politely interested in the conversation, the girls continuing to try and make physical contact. “Oh no, I don’t want to interrupt.” I looked over to Amber and Sara to see if they could hear what was going on; they were lost in flirtation. “I think he would appreciate if you saved him, actually.” He insisted, and I turned to look over at Evan. I would if I was his girlfriend, the girl he was dating, if I was anyone to him.
“He’s a big boy, I’m sure he can take care of himself.” I said matter of factly and I meant it, I opted out of the faux damsel in distress bit and joined in on the conversation about the new pizzeria on 4th.
A few drinks later, we were all laughing and talking as if no time had passed at all. Sara had managed to exchange numbers and innuendo with Jeremiah, and Amber was able to put off thoughts of Kyle for the time being. Evan brushed my arm, “Thanks for nothing,” he murmured as he pulled up a chair next to me.
“Come again?” I smiled, handing the beer from Jeremiah to Evan.
“I couldn’t get those girls to go away, that’s when you’re supposed to rescue me.”
That sentence reiterated that the idea of a knight in shining armor is, officially dead. Apparently we are the ones supposed to do the chivalrous act and save our damsels in distress. If my grandmother could see me now.
I smiled, looking down, “Eh, I think you can handle yourself. So, what have you been up to? Anything new?”
“No, not really. I’m trying to up my cardio actually. Didn’t you say you had done that 10 mile hike on Mt. Pinnacle?”
“Oh yeah, it’s amazing. Definitely worth the trip. Have you been yet?”
“Don’t laugh, but I actually went with my Mom for mother’s day. Thought it would be something fun to do. I also managed a pretty severe sunburn.”
“Aw.!” I put my hand to my heart, “That’s sweet. Most guys would throw themselves off the mountain before doing it with dear old mom. You definitely earned some points with that one.”
“Did I? Hm. So what about you? Are you still obsessed with that sweaty yoga?”
“Ah, you mean Bikram? Not so much. I decided why pay $50 dollars a session when I can just stand outside and do it myself. Besides, the minute the instructor started dictating when I could and couldn’t drink water--I knew it wasn’t the best idea.” I laughed, thinking of Amber’s pale face as she gasped for water, laying on her yoga mat.
“Yeah, we were supposed to take a class together.” He said, taking a sip of his beer.
“Hey do you want another drink?” he asked, breaking the thoughtful silence. “Absolutely.” I agreed, standing up and moving away from the table. Happy for the time alone. It was now or never. The kind of word vomit you just can’t control when you’re drinking, “So it’s been awhile, I’m not even sure why we stopped talking?” I asked, watching his expression carefully.
“Yeah, I don’t know either, I think you ditched me” He moved towards the bar, smirking over his shoulder, that didn’t answer my question, We moved into the only empty spot, yelling over the club music, and there we were-- wedged together. “What’s on your mind?” He asked, and it made me realize I had know idea where I was going with this. I had been impulsive, uncalculated. I stared into his eyes, looked away briefly and before I knew it, the question tumbled out of mouth, “What happened between us?” It was a loaded question. Too loaded for a club maybe, too loaded to ask him. I regretted it. “In what sense?” he replied. Evasive, totally evasive. I looked up, taking a breath, “I mean, was it just..was it just, a hookup?” The words remained hanging in the air. I didn’t know why I cared, I was dating someone else, someone who wanted me. With or without the sexual frustration you could cut with a knife. “Nevermind, sorry, that was random. I don’t know why I asked.” I said, trying to smooth over the question. “No.” His answer caught me offguard,
“No? What?” I said, confused.
“No, it wasn’t just a hook up.”
I wanted him to divulge everything. I couldn’t tell you why I needed to know, but I did. Maybe it was closure, maybe it was to mend my ego. “Well, then? I mean because we were friends..and it just..” I trailed off. Not knowing the words to describe the roller coaster that was, us. “Does this describe how I feel about you?” And before I knew what was happening, the room stopped moving and his lips were on mine. It was the simplest, sweetest, most complicated kiss of my life. As he pulled away, the noise refilled the room and my heart pounded in my ears. I shook my head, a smile moving across my lips, “Did that answer your question?” without knowing what to say, I just nodded. Sparks.


Chapter 4

I left the club with a clouded head, heavy heart, and confused look on my face. Part of me wanted to breathe a sigh of relief and the other part went into overdrive. What did that mean? It was possibly one of the most romantic gestures of my life; but at the same time it only caused more questions. Questions I needed to ask him, but never would, and more importantly questions to ask myself. Another man had kissed me, and it wasn’t Jason. I think that constitutes cheating.
I stared out the window of the cab, watching the pavement roll past me--my life felt like a blur.
Amber’s tentative voice interrupted my thoughts, “Dee, are you okay?”
“Define okay.”
“Well--how do you feel?”
“I feel...I feel like I’m totally..totally...stupid. I am a stupid girl. What was I thinking? Why did I even bother seeing him tonight? What’s going to come of this?” I paused and then continued before she could interrupt me, I already knew the answer, “Nothing. Nothing is going to come of this. If Evan wanted me, he could have had me. It shouldn’t be this complicated. Relationships should be simple--you like me, I like you, let’s be together. Not, I like you, you like me, let’s play as many games as we can and put eachother through hell. What’s the point of it all?” I sighed, pressing my cheek against the cold glass of the cab window. I stared down at the silver bracelet Jason had given me for my birthday, he had promised to make this the best year of my life. I felt the tears lining my eyes. I am a stupid girl.
“What if..you weren’t ready before? What if it isn’t for nothing? What if tonight was the grand gesture.”
“Grand gesture?”
“I mean christ, the guy kissed you in a crowded club. That’s something, really something,” she rubbed my arm and then looked at me intently, “Everything happens for a reason.”
“Oh come on, we both know that’s bullshit. That’s something pathetic people tell themselves to ease the pain of their pathetic life,” the words sounded harsh as they left my lips. I know it was negative, but I was feeling negative. The truth was, I didn’t want to go to bed tonight thinking of Evan and that...kiss.
“Please. I just really think....things with Evan could go somewhere. There is a reason you keep coming back into eachothers lives. Don’t you?”
“Am I just a masochist? Do I just always go for the wrong guy, because I’m afraid to let myself be happy?” I scrunched my nose; thinking about all the complicated, horrible relationships of my past, “I mean..Jason loves me. Jason would do anything for me. What is wrong with me that I’m not willing to push some..guy..some guy who left me hanging months ago, away from me in a club?”
“Evan is not just some guy, Dee. You have history.”
“Yeah we have a history dotted with mine fields. Just when I thought we were going to get it together, poof, blown up in smoke,” I felt the cab moving to a stop. The cabbie turned stating “20 even.” I handed him the money deftly, stepping out into the rain. It felt good against my skin, cleansing. Maybe it would wash away the memory, the guilt.
“Hey! Lady!” The cabbie yelled out his window, I turned thinking I must have left something.
“Yeah?”
“The kiss was a way of avoiding a question he didn’t want to answer. Just from a guys perspective,” with that he drove off. I watched the taillights disappear into the morning darkness, turning to Amber with a look of disbelief.
“Fuck. He’s right isn’t he?”
She paused, caught on her own words, “No...No. I’m sure that wasn’t it. He drives a dirty cab, don’t listen to him.”
I put my hand to my lips, pausing thoughtfully. The night had made things so much more complicated. As I crawled into bed, smelling Jason on the sheets, I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Thoughts and memories replayed in my head behind my closed eyes. Evan and I laughing in bed at 3 AM talking about our favorite comedies, our ideal jobs, our futures. I remember feeling like I had been slapped when I saw him with another girl, I remember seeing him for the first time and knowing I had to have him, I remember passionate hours in bed, I remember him..and I remember butterflies.