I have a confession to make (besides the one that this entire blog endlessly is), because thus far I feel like I’ve projected the image of a youthful if not young, self-possessed girl-woman of the quick wit who listens to good music even. I’m talking about someone cool, who in HS listened to Liz Phair and loves Nirvana to this day. Well, look. I am that person, but that ain’t the whole story. There was a time in my life when I listened exclusively to Ani Difranco. I can’t blame the shitty boyfriend or magnet arts highschool cohorts for this development, even though they certainly encouraged me. It was just something I had to go through, like when I smoked pot every day for a week in college and took to wearing a white baseball cap and saying “sup” a lot.
I’ve been thinking that Colin might be just that, something I have to go through like a growing pain or a shitty haircut. In the week since my last post about him, I ended things over a drink at a bar near his home. I told him I liked him, but that it often seemed like he didn’t really care whether I was around or not. Instead of waiting patiently while he fumbled about for an answer to a giant question mark floating above our table, I looked underneath it and saw that he was wearing flip-flops. Obviously enraged, I looked into his sapphire my-little-pony eyes and said “Because we don’t have to do this. Not if you don’t want to.” He paused, gave me a very long and very blank stare, and said, “I think we work better as friends.”
And that was kind of that. It briefly became a race to see who was less interested in continuing things, and then a backlash to see who was more genuinely invested in the first place (I won by a landslide, obvs.). Suffice to say, a mess. I abandoned ship, cried a little bit and then swam off.
And that brings us up to date, except not at all. Since Adam left he’s called me almost every day, and sent like a billion text messages. For lack of a better term, or maybe actually for the existence of no better term, he is really throwing down. I have not felt this way since 2006, guys. ‘06. That’s when my Ex started courting me in his brown Volvo 240. I honestly could not believe that someone that cool and handsome and interesting wanted anything to do with me. That’s what it’s like. Every time my phone rings I am like “Really?” and so far, yeah. Really.
Not wanting to jinx anything, I’ll say that want that happiness that seems to be offering itself to me. Who wouldn’t? I can rattle off the things about Colin that I dislike, and bad breath and flip flops are not even in the top 5. But when my roommate, Charlie, asked me what I did like about him, no joke, the first thing that came to my brain was “I like that he doesn’t want to be with me.” WTF?? If you ask me now what I like about Adam, the list reads like a wistful soliloquy taken from Diane Lane’s dialogue in Under the Tuscan Sun: He’s smart, hilarious, kind, creative, handsome, ambitious and shy at the same time, not allergic to cats. So why do I not want to be part of a club that wants me as a member, when it is clearly a much better club?
One thing that makes sense: I am attracted to flaws, because I myself am very flawed and I don’t want someone flawless coming around and being all “Hey. What are those flaws.” To…(sigh)…quote Ani:
Just give up/ And admit you’re an asshole
You would be/ In some good company
