In which the phone doesn't ring.

This weekend I've let myself check my email and voicemail more than is healthy. I'm both comforted and disturbed by the fact that this seems to be every person's reaction after giving their contact information to a potential...good time? Mate? Significant other? Thing/person to do on the weekends?

I'm not desperate for any of that. I just hate going cold turkey from conversation and oh interesting person hi there why yes let's have a conversation of the bonding sort to [this is the sound of me all alone staring at my sociology paper]. I hate the abrupt slam of silence when I'm not sure if I'll ever hear from the interesting person again.  It makes me paranoid that I dreamed up the whole thing and was talking to my backpack the whole time.
I like my communications fast, clear, and out in the open. Once they're out in the open, I can commence the task of combing through them, sorting them, throwing them away or braiding them into the whole.

But in order to not scare anyone off, I've become just as bad, spending the weekend restraining myself and calculating what any small, significant (online) gestures might mean, obsessing over whether I missed one and whether or not I offended anybody if i did.
My cell phone--I'm blaming it for that last part. The voicemail message icon has been there since the SSA talk, which was in a building that throws me off my network so I didn't hear any ringing, or any voicemail chime. Okay! Yes! This might be some communication! Whoo! Actual voicemail inbox says: "You have no messages."
One of them is lying. All of them are driving me crazy.  

And see? Now I'm Facebook friends with SSA Guy. Thank you for responding, sir. You look really different without your beard.

You can leave now.

Kevin Roose's autograph:
I read his book but I didn't buy it. But I had an extra napkin.

Note to self:
STOP ACCEPTING RIDES FROM MEN YOU DON'T KNOW.
Yes, I realize you don't have a car. Yes, I realize your familiar ride was way too caught up in metaphysical discussions with fellow atheists to be anywhere close to going home at 1am. Yes, I realize it was like 20 miles back to campus and yes, I realize you talked with soft-spoken SSA Guy for 2 1/2 hours which may or may not be enough time to sufficiently recognize a sociopath.
And yes, I realize you are okay. More than okay--you're happy. You had a great time last night, first hearing Kevin Roose talk about attending Liberty University undercover and writing a book about it; then joking around and listening to Andrew and New President talk hard and fast; then deciding to go with them to a house party (The Ungodly Feast) and discovering that, sweetie, you really don't like alcohol (it all tastes like cough syrup to you) and always end up drinking water instead; then settling into a long meandering conversation with SSA Guy until you both start nodding off and he offers to take you back to campus.

You've been missing this socializing the whole time you were in a relationship. It makes you feel liberated to go wherever the hell you want and do whatever the hell you want and talk to whoever the hell you want without checking to make sure it's okay or feeling guilty about leaving your other half hanging. It makes you happy to be spontaneous, and you're so fucking glad you didn't feel obliged to go watch the stupid football game at your ex's mother's house last night.

SSA Guy was a physics major, thinking about law school now. He has a beard and pushes his glasses up his nose in an uncanny imitation of your friend Sean. When SSA guy talked he reminded you of the sociology professor you had second semester freshman year. He was shy and you enjoyed getting past that. He's a lot smarter than you are. He's probably headed back to D.C. by now. He seemed sweet.

But woman, BE CAREFUL.
Open your heart but don't give it away. In either a literal or metaphoric sense; please oh please avoid serial killers and heart breakers.