Glad we did this.

Friday night I might've succeeded in boring a stalker away from me. Uh, victory is mine?
I asked the Facebook message guy if he wanted to walk downtown with me for a live DJ show the radio station was sponsoring. I wanted to go without getting attacked, Facebook message guy seemed nice, and neither one of us wanted to spend Friday night alone in our rooms. In that order.

I fluctuated between dread and excitement, finally settling somewhere in between when I stepped out to meet him.
It was the perfect weather to walk around outside. Which we did, a lot, between going in and out of the bar trying to figure out when the goddamn show actually started and him running his fingers up my knee (DUDE. NO. I'm wearing jeans, but--NO).  Without saying much, except when he'd talk at me. When I realized how bored I was getting, I fell into Journalist Mode (tm): asked a bunch of questions and nodded a lot.  

And this happened at some point.

Mike actually commented on that when I hung out with him last night. He said he and Cape both noticed that they tend to talk a lot more around me than they do around other people.
"Well, she is a journalism major. She's trained to be good at interviewing."
"...Huh. I never thought of that."
Dammit, Mike. Stop being insightful enough to make my interest in Cape sound non-personal. Because it's totally personal in his case. And yours. Help me use this power for good, such as figuring out how much you two talk about me and how I can use this system to my advantage without creeping either one of you out.

Yesterday was a good day, a best friends day. I went with Katie to see an exhibit on rock photography and then to Publix to get icing for her dinosaurs go to the Oscars cookies before meeting Mike for dinner and prowling around the city watching the sun set and letting the night settle in on the top level of a parking garage while talking about everything.

In conclusion, Mike showed me this Dave Barry column and it made me grow abs I laughed so hard. We understand each other, is my point. *splud*

"Tell [Cape] I said hi. I'm sure he'll be excited." 
"Rwar."
"Yeah, tell him I said that."

Facebook official.

What is it about Facebook that makes everything seem more official? Is it that postings make our social lives more official by recording and broadcasting things everybody use to forget in two seconds?
Is it because it lets us track exact dates and times of small things that make the biggest impact?
I’m a details person. Details make life real. Take a concept like “breaking up with my first boyfriend after almost 3 years;” okay. Broadly, that sucks. Abstractly, that sucks. Everyone can tell that sucks from the general statement.
But what has really killed me is the details. More importantly, what’s killing me is how Facebook is creating new details. Like telling me exactly when I pushed my ex-boyfriend out of my life for good.

It was Wednesday night. I sent him this message:

This is just to tell you that I'm sorry for being such an emotional bitch at you. I handled things badly, and you didn't deserve any of it. I do miss you but I don't know whether I should actually say that or not. Anyway, it's there.
Happy post-ship and pre-regionals.

This morning, I noticed I had one less friend than I had the last time I logged in. When that happens, normally I either tell myself to not care (“I’m sure it’s just someone you don’t even know who’s cleaning our their friends box. Like you should.” I let my friend box linger) or do a quick check to make sure I didn’t piss off any of my favorite people.
I figured it was BF this time, but I confirmed it. Yep. Cut off.

It hurts. Why does it hurt? I broke up with him; it was my choice.
It hurts because I want to be the victim of the mean ex who won’t talk to me even to hear me say I’m sorry. Because being a victim is easier and feels better than feeling all this goddamn guilt. Because the whole time I was with BF, I would lash out at him and then hand him the decision about what to do with my own anger, frustration, and discontent.
I finally left him one too many post-breakup communications. I pushed him into being the one to cut our final ties because I was too weak to do it myself. Passive-aggressiveness at its highest/lowest art, my friends.
It had to be done. I did it badly and not really on purpose, but it’s done.
Although you don’t have to be Facebook friends to send a message to someone. Maybe Zuckerberg thought of this when he designed the message feature. It’s useful for reporters, though I promise on my love of writing’s grave that I will not contact BF anymore.

It’s official. Thanks, Facebook.

Why do I care?

Why do I care?

I don't. I seriously just--don't.
We have to get past this question from our editing professor every day, and I don't have any more answers for him or myself. Or my parents, although for them I'm good enough at pretending I care about things.

But I dread every day of the week now. They're either stressful or lonely as hell. Both, lately. A lot.
Yeah, I'm trying to combat that.

My metaphor needs a refill.

It feels like bashing against a brick wall that spontaneously heals whatever chip I've managed to make in it.
Everybody feels like this at some point or another, right? Right?

Hairy shins.

I lost it yesterday when I saw a picture BF posted of himself to show how nice the weather's gotten around here. Cargo shorts, hairy legs, white New Balances, full length white socks pulled all the way up. With lowtops. Boy, if it's cold enough to cover your shins, you should wear jeans. Pull down your goddamn socks.
That's always bothered me.
But it made me remember the good parts about being with him in the summer. They're boring to talk about and chances are you can guess like 95% of them, but it got me depressed anyway because talking about them is not the point; it's the feelings I miss like hell, okay?



Janis understands.

In other news, I got to talk with real live authors about anti-heroes and post apocalypic wastelands yesterday.
Today, I've gotten in a Facebook message conversation with a boy I met at one of the radio station dance parties like two years ago. I went to one on a weekend BF was roboting out of town, dance with this guy, and then felt guilty all around when I told him I had a boyfriend. Avoided the hell out of Facebook for a weekend. Which was easy when my boyfriend got back.
Now Dance Guy is going in for the kill, I think, with strategic questions about what I do for fun on the weekends and--
...And there it goes. "So the last time I talked to you, you were dating this guy for a long time. What happen with that?"
I don't know why I do this. I don't want to want attention. I want to be happy staying in by myself on Fridays and Saturdays. Or else immediately jump to the same comfort zone I had with BF. I want to go binary.

Putting out fires.

That's been my week, basically.

Thursday night, I dumped my angst on Mike, along with a couple tears on his blue checkered shirt that always makes me think of picnicking with Bob Veela. 
Just sitting there being hugged and hugging him back made me feel human again. He touched his forehead to mine and oh God I almost started crying again.
Then he started telling me incriminatingly funny stories about his roommate, and then answered his phone and told me said roommate would be watching the movie with us after all, and so I sat between them for The Social Network and said maybe two words to his roommate and tried to decide whether or not to dodge elbows once the lights went down. It's a losing battle in those seats anyway.
His roommate disappeared as soon as it ended. I don't know, either. STOP GOING AWAY AS SOON AS I GET INTERESTED IN YOU. That's all I'll say about that. Mike said it's par for the Cape course.

"I love you very much."
Mike said that last night, to me, when I walked him to his car after the movie. We were mid-hug and I pulled away to unsquish my ear and ask him to repeat himself because I wanted to make sure I heard him right.
"Yeah, that's what I thought you said. I love you, too."
It was serious and simple and true.
I don't know how to make a non-awkward segue that this was about friendship without getting all goofball corny or unfairly snarky about the moment, so here's another bonding moment I inflicted on Mike in lighter times:



He now loves Shatner, and it's all my fault. Heh.

Don't let them see you cry.

The good:

1. My editing professor thinks my writing's editable. That's a compliment.
2. One more day of spot news coverage, aka Go Get a Story and Audio and Pictures and Multimedia Oh Yeah and Your Lead Source's Liver and/or Second Born, Preferably Both for Verification, and Make Sure It's All Perfect and Posted in about 12 hours. And for my finale, I get to cover a gaming con. 
3. Michael finally settled the air with Suitemate. 
4. I saw Cape this evening, when I was emerging from the newsroom and he was waiting to descend for his Psych 101 class. (Remember the notes I lent him last semester? Yeah, didn't help.)
   Sometimes I wonder why I'm attracted to people with weird hair. And paint on their fingers. And guys who wear cargo shorts. Must be that shocking length of shapely calf emerging after the winter frost.
   We talked, and--I don't know why something ordinary like pleasant conversation feels so good. Even just describing it like that makes it sound cheesy. 
5. After dinner, I got an impromptu guitar lesson from a guy who was playing near where I sat down to eat in the student union. We ended up talking about music and theory (that was mostly him, showing me how chords move around on the fretboard) and high school band and our majors for about an hour and a half. We exchanged email addresses. He wants to start a guitar club. 

The bad:

1. My dad thinks I don't write like a newspaper writer and that that's a bad thing. And he called me to tell me when I was on my way to report a, you know, newspaper-like story. When my editing professor, who earns his own Jaws-based theme song when he comes cruising the newsroom, does less damage to my ego than my dad does, I have to go cry in a bathroom stall for five minutes or so.
2. Spot news = 12 hour days during which I can't get other shit done. I'm still sore from yesterday's excursion.
3. She cried. A lot. Plus, now we all know how we feel about each other and we're still all lonely bastards.
4. I saw BF in his car again as I walked away.
   Cape can't go to the movie tomorrow.
5. Guitar Club would pause every few minutes to spit out chewing tobacco into a clear plastic water bottle. He did apologize for that, though.
   I smelled like a day of researching in the newsroom: baked sweat and dust.

Condescending question of the day: "Do you know Jimmi Hendrix?"
...No. No, dude, I have no idea who you're talking about. <heavy, heavy, blink-tastic sarcasm>
Random editing teacher outburst of the week so far: "Can someone tell me why the TV's not on? How will we know if there's a fire, down here?"
The sad part is he's right. We would have no idea until we start roasting like Kenny Roger's chicken.

Because I can.

Well, that was unnecessarily boring and depressing.



I'm going to Facebook message Cape to see if he wants to hang out on purpose sometime next weekend. I have no confidence he'll apply in the affirmative.
This was my first Valentine's Day with BF.
"Okay, I'm calling it. No more goat jokes."

Social experiment Saturday.

What can I say about my Friday night when it consisted of my graphics professor telling me to go home at 4:30pm; me filling up my student union dinner cup only halfway, spiking the diet Dr. Pepper with hard lemonade and drinking it through the lid so I could have it with dinner at the library to read the latest copy of Wired; running into a high school friend when I went to see the Vagina Monologues; walking to the drugstore to buy a heart-shaped box of chocolate and eating it because I wanted chocolate more than I wanted to feel skinny; and celebrating the fact that my roommate went home by handling myself and then dancing around to Best of Motown while I brushed my teeth at one in the morning?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

I didn't expect Bluetooth to text a booty call. I halfway wanted him to and 86% hoped he would. According to Suitemate, he officially broke it off with Clingy last Sunday on their coffee date. I'm going to call it on myself, too: cleared of complications (Well. That I know of.) and still no text = he broke it off with me, too, only shredding with a razor instead of cutting clean with scissors.
Violent imagery, but I've come to peace with the end because it feels just as good and only a little lonlier when I handle myself.
I completely expected, wanted, and hoped for Cape to continue the Facebook message conversation we'd been having about Suitemate and Auto-Tune in the morning while I was trying to rewrite an article draft and failing miserably in the newsroom. (Eventually I said "fuck it," took an early lunch break, and got shit done in the library.) It just stopped at 11am and he hasn't replied yet. Here we go again, right?

Plans for today:
3pm. A Night to Remember for Singles Speed Dating, aka Let's Group All the Lonely Kids from the Weird Arty Dorms and Imply That It's Possible to Arrange an Orgy with a Prom Theme by Monday.
I'm going because hi, my name is Melanie and I'm addicted to flirting and don't know where else to start picking up girls. There'll be a straight side and a gay/bisexual side, I've been told. I plan on jumping the fence.
Thank fuck Suitemate's not going. I thought she was--SHE thought she was, until Wednesday's date with Mike and bowling balls.
Now all I want is Cappy's Jamaican Me Horny t-shirt from that episode of Greek where Rusty makes him go speed dating. 
6pm. Dinner at student union. Didn't even think about wanting to cook this weekend.
10pm. I was just going to walk downtown and wander into the first bar that had good music and pool going, but Facebook gave me a purpose. My guitar teacher's playing an acoustic set tonight at Restaraunt Slash Bar in the new downtown, so now I have a definite destination AND a place where I was last seen in case I get mugged or raped or stabbed.

Will report back. Social Experiment Saturday ahoy.

Unexpected dialogue.

My coat smells like coffee.
I just got back from playing chess with Cape in a coffeeshop just off campus. He easily beat me in our two games. "The more you fight this, the more I enjoy it. ...That sounds way worse than I meant it."

Mike and Suitemate met me for the 6pm movie after they went on an officially sanctioned date. They both agreed to another chance with each other. I think right now they're dating but not in a relationship. A small part of my soul died a little when Mike told me that.
But. They're happy. That's good. By their third or fourth date, I will be able to go "aww" at the thought. It'll just take a small amount of time and they don't have to know that.

After the movie, Cape was outside waiting so he and Mike could go to the latest radio station training meeting. I walked them up, they sit down, and Cape goes, "You know, I just realized, I don't really want to do this anymore." He walks out. Spluttering, and because that's where I was going anyway, I followed him.
We ended up walking around campus, circling the library a couple times while I let all the rants I've put up on here (except for the Bluetooth sexytime ones; I'm not THAT indiscreet) explode out of me. Cape's not fond of Mike + Suitemate either because he doesn't think Mike actually likes Suitemate.
Are we suppose to save him? Her? Is that our place? (No, by the way. It's his/her own damn life.)

At one point after he'd been talking about his religion and how it affects his views on homosexuality because that's part of the Bible too, I said, "I should get this over with. I'm a bisexual atheist."
Apparently, "Before you had a face in my mind, you were Atheist Melanie." Oh. Good show, then.
I walked him to his car, he said he'd drive me back, we both said we wanted to avoid work we needed to do, he mentioned chess at the coffeeshop. Bingo. Er, checkmate.
He plays the keytar and bass, has never heard a song that couldn't use more synth. I...maybe it's a good thing he doesn't want to share his music on air. He let me listen to his iPod while we were playing chess and I let him listen to the new Kanye West album I had in my CD player in his car. Neither one of us was overly impressed, but I liked talking with him.
No future plans made. Eh, we'll see

I didn't get to play him this, which after seven weeks I've finally decided is my favorite song off of My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. Maybe:

Science fiction double feature.

This morning, I opened my school email account like I always do--with a cringe and an overwhelming sense of inadequacy that will be called out in strong words by my writing/editing professor.

Thanks for the confidence, j-school.

But I was pleasantly surprised to (also) find an email from Cape McFloppy Hair, saying he'd like to read my sci fi stories I told him about and further explaining a script of his that he talked about while we were waiting for the comedian to go on last night. This turned into a couple back-and-forth paragraphs about our opinions on themes in science fiction in general. I tacked on my sleep-bot and superhero stories, went to lunch with a smile on my face...

Train of thought: I kind of like this guy. I've kind of liked approximately a half dozen guys since I got back from winter break. That's the most enjoyable conversation I've had about writing in awhile. I kind of miss dates. Did he get home okay last night?

...and ran into him five hours later, as I was lugging camera equipment back to my dorm and he was going the other way for a 5:30pm class.
And then Mike called to see if I could meet him for dinner while Mike waited on Cape to get out of class so Cape could ride home with Mike instead of in Cape's busted up oil-eating Civic.
I don't know why that makes me feel slightly incestuously creepy. They're roommates, for fuck's sake. I should probably be more creeped out by the fact that this spell check knows how to correctly spell "incestuously."

Sending my stories to people I barely know is not the breathless stones-shriveling act of sheer audacity it feels like when I send them to good friends. As long as I don't think you'll recognize yourself in my fiction, I'm fearless.

Mike really liked the sweater I wore today. He spent five minutes complimenting how flattering it is on me, and then another two wondering out loud if that sounded creepy. He can, in fact, lift me off the ground, and it's taken him a year and a half to say something parental about my giant-ass backpack.

"Looking for freelance starving artist." Aren't we all?  Or do I have that reversed?

Losing my religion.

Next time, I should probably tell Mike's nice Christian roommate--the aspiring movie director with a great flap of hair that tries to defy gravity and almost makes it, the one who lent me a cape last semester and is now training to be a DJ with the school station so he can play Norwegian death metal on air at 2 in the morning--that I'm an atheist.

I ran into him when I grabbed dinner and ended up eating and going to see this week's comedian with him...then joining up with the church small group he usually goes to on Tuesday nights.
No actual religion, just ice cream and friendly people; no romantic overtures, just bumping elbows in the too-small seats.
So I'll save the scarlet A. Maybe Mike's already told him anyway.

Dodging breasts.

The first unsolicited text message I get from Bluetooth in like three weeks is this little gem.

Wow, [his roommate] has picked up the trashiest girl ever. She literally has been rolling around whith her titties out trying to get me to suck them.

A few things, starting with DON'T CALL THEM TITTIES:

1. Am I suppose to be jealous?
2. Since when did he turn into a prude and stop liking the breast action this girl wants him to perform? I seem to remember that's one of his favorite parts.
3. I've just gotten back from a 14 hour day from a shitty night of sleep and dealing with the most complicated filing system on campus and hearing that the upstart genre magazine I might've sold some sci fi to was brought down by an insider posing as an editor of an already-established house. Yeah. I have no patients for your horndog college boy braggings.
4. Especially when that's all you want to tell me. FUCK. OFF.

What do I even do with this shit?
Edit: I texted him that since he got me thinking about sex, I was going to have some alone time before bed.
I got to use the "handled myself well" line this time.
Attention-starved me is still disgusted at him.

While I breathe, I hope.

It's either that or stare at the big blank in front of me and go crazy depressed trying to fill it.
On Friday, I constructed a miniature happy place at my computer cubicle in the j-school basement where I spend my most stressful minutes trying to bang out a story my editing teacher will accept for grading.

Calligraphy: from girl on my left. Smoldering: all from Hugh.

I spent the rest of the weekend depressed at my parents' house. Saturday night, I fell asleep before 10:30pm listening to an Eric Clapton's greatest hits album and woke up to the fast version of "Layla" with drool on my pillow and the smell of my own pussy on my fingers. Rolled over and slept for 11 hours.

I am depressed. I can't make myself care about anything and I'm tired all the time. Let's go to some Frequently Asked Questions to find out why, shall we?
Q: Do you regret your decision? (From my mom. She's talking about me dumping BF. She's asked this at least once every time I've gone home since then.)
A: Yeah, to be honest. I threw away one of my best friends and a giant chunk of my support system just exactly when I need both the most.
Q: But it's not really about BF specifically, is it?
A: No. I'm not scared of being alone. I'm scared of being lonely. Which is what I am right now.
Q: Are you ever going to talk to/hang out with Mike alone again?
A: Yeah. He actually called me during class and left a "rambling" voice message (like a minute thirty long. Ha. I'm the whole reason Katie doesn't check her voicemail anymore.) about grabbing dinner Friday. I called him back and had to tell him I was going home, like, then. But the thought made me happy.
Q: Are you in love with Mike?
A: Maybe. Probably. I love the way he always deliberately says my name when we part for the night, if that means anything.
Q: Are you ever going to speak to/have sex with Bluetooth again?
A: No. No, he doesn't want me anymore, and I'm tired of chasing him.
According to Suitemate, he and Clingy went on a coffee date today to discuss their status. Finally some straight talking, or maybe that's my optimism showing.
I want to kick him in the balls as an ending punctuation. Closure, you understand.
Q: So whatcha doing this weekend? (From my dad. He asks this all the time and in so doing, inspires some great big lies from me.)
Well, today I sat and listened to a guitar busker on the steps of the library. He was cute and he played "Wonderwall" and all his songs kind of sounded like "Wonderwall" but he was cute and I hope I didn't freak him out by being the only one sitting there listening.
Other than that, I plan on frying my retinas with the Internet and ignoring everything else except my soft dark bed in a couple hours.

I can't do this.

Both sides now.

Today, I spent the last twenty minutes of the workday (no I don't get paid and yes it's for school but dammit, it's a workday) putting my reporting skills to good use by Facebook stalking a guy I've randomly run into four times since early December:

1. Met him on the night I went to hear my guitar teacher's band with Bluetooth. He's the guy with whom I shouted "Sweet Child O' Mine" over the expensive cover band.
2. He recognized me when I went to see the free student union movie last Thursday. We both got there really early. I was wearing the same purple sweater, he said hi, and my brain did that thing where it goes "hm I think maybe yes oh yeah hi!" in rapid clicks of recognition.
3. He was in one of the student film thingies in the running for last Friday's finale. I saw him there in his mock trial suit because that's where he was headed right afterward.
4. This morning at the Statehouse I saw him as I was picking my coins and cell phone and j-school DSL out of one of those dog bowls they put through the metal detector in the lobby. We were both working, and we both smiled and exchanged pleasantries. He looks nice in a suit. 

Facebooked the friend we both have in common --> looked up the school's mock trial team --> got his full name --> found him on Facebook using cross-references --> sent a friend request referencing our coincidental meetings to identify myself. Also used a smiley at the end. Friend request accepted.
He might even be single.
AND HE LIKES TOP GEAR. SCORE. Can I call this one Hamster?

Mike called Suitemate and told her he just wants to be friends.
The three of us went to see The King's Speech this evening. He drove us in his old white Cutlass that shudders every time he revvs it. I sat in back but I got to hold his sword the whole time because it was back there too.
That sounds really dirty the more I say it: "I got to hold his sword."
But they argued. Like, for real. As in, he would start teasing her and she'd get defensive and all of a sudden it'd turn into a real argument. "Kids, don't make me turn this [student union, field trip] around." I actually SAID that MORE THAN ONCE.
She froze him out the whole way home so I blathered on about my possible article on our city's public transportation and made Mike talk about the science and engineering career fair until we got back and she hugged him and I punched him on the shoulder and then a few minutes later he texted me to ask if he should call her tonight or tomorrow and I told him to get it over with and ten minutes after that she came into the computer lab and cried on my shoulder and he texted me about how that was done, then and she sobbed about wanting her mother and having a dual pity party with Clingy and ice cream and chick flicks this weekend.
Hugs, people. Lots and lots of hugs.

Go forth and log stuff.

Everybody tells me how they feel about each other, and I wish they would stop talking to me and go straighten things out amongst themselves. 

Mike and I are going to see The King's Speech tomorrow, at an actual full-priced off-campus regular movie theater. Scandalous, I know, but Suitemate's coming too and SHE'S SO EXCITED OH MY GOD!!



I saw BF yesterday. He was driving his car down the hill to robotics while I was walking up to my radio show.
Sometimes at night, I mentally talk myself to sleep by writing Facebook messages to him that I'll never send. They're all variations on the same theme: I'm sorry for being such a bitch.