Wednesday, September 18, 2013


Okay dudes. I'm at office hours right now because I foolishly scheduled two additional hours to be chained to campus after my last class on wednesday. Dear future self: Don't do this again. 

I won't do it again. 

But basically here I am with another hour left and the hallway is practically deserted. Like, zero high heel click walk-bys in the last 20 or so minutes. Maybe one or two soft hippie shoe walk-bys. That's not enough walk-bys to keep me occupado with people watching. 

I just took a break to put on pandora and I gotta say, I know there's cooler internet music players out now, but I'm old school. Except that I really wanted to listen to Coldplay the other day, you know, for nostalgia's sake, but they kept playing the WORST Coldplay songs. The worst. And then it was like an orgy of Maroon five and The Fray, and then, cherry-on-top, U FUCKING 2. So I gave up and switched the station. I guess the only Coldplay I'll be listening to is on itunes. 

I have such a miserable life. I know. Give me five minutes and I can complain about anything. Even free music. 

Just kidding. I seriously don't complain much in real life anymore. My life is fucking sweet. 

Also, I just want to say that this summer was really the season of getting rather chubby for me, so IMAGINE MY RELIEF when I FINALLY found a perfect pair of dark wash skinny stretch jeans last night and they were only like 45 dollars. That's unheard of for me. I mean, when I'm not eating carbs and bacon like they're going out of style and drinking beer like it's the only beverage option, it's fine. But when I get chubby, outfitting this booty is a serious project. So that was a bright spot. 

Now onto new business. Boy business. Because obviously that's muy importante compared to my actual career that takes up the majority of my waking hours. 

So last Thursday this boy texted me to see if I was going out that night. To which i was delighted and probs grinned like a crazy person, because he's pretty cute, and I've been nonchalantly lusting for a hot minute. Anyway, I try to be all cool and reply 'Probably, you?' to which he's like 'Lookin' like it.'

Which is infinitely annoying, because come on and ask me to meet you already, Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, dude. Plus I really wasn't planning on going out. AT ALL. I'm a grad student, I have shit to do. I have responsibilities. But you know, I'm also highly susceptible to distraction. And nice beards.

Anyway, we kind of go back and forth, but not really to my satisfaction and so I'm finally like, 'Think Sara. You know where he is going to end up, just round up some friends and be there having a killer time without him when he gets there and stop checking your GD phone for a text that isn't coming." Entrapment, it's all the rage right now.

So, conveniently, two of my friends were at said bar, having a beer. I stop by and what do you fucking know, 15 minutes in it goes down like a brilliantly executed plan. He comes up and taps me on the shoulder and away we go. 

Anyway, what happened is a different story for another time, but it was a better than decent time. Dude is chaperoning a field trip in the woods for the weekend and I've got a life, so I don't think about it tooooooooo much for a next two days, until Sunday when I get 'I'm just going to be honest and direct and say I'd like to see you again.' via text. Which obviously, I prefer phone calls because I'm an adult female, but you know, still:


Super zing, you guys. 

So then on Monday we make plans to hang out tonight. Two days in advance? Wow, that's almost like a date. But you know, I'm not being pushy. It's just my nature, you know. BAHAHA. RIght. So I'm trying to go against my character completely and just play it by ear. Which is easy for me any time except when it involves a male that I'm starting to like and I don't know if he likes me back.

So I'm pretty psyched. And maybeeeee letting myself like this guy a little. 

BUT THEN TODAY. Disaster strikes!

I get a text saying he's ridiculously sick. 

Now. I'm not trying to be dramatic, but DAMN IT TO HELL. MAN UP MAN, I WOULD. Right? RIGHT? I don't know, maybe he's really ill and I'm being a total bitch, which isn't even outside the realm of possibility. Or probability. 

So what do you think? Is this guy legit sick or has he realized I'm actually a neurotic weirdo? And if so, why is that such a problem?

In case you were wondering, which I hope you were, I offered to deliver soup. Like a caretaker. Like a wholesome, caring, human being. 

He declined. 

What do you think, is he gone for good? 

Okay. It's almost time, I'm escaping the walls of academia for another night. BYEEEEEE. 

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

what it's like when you're the romantic of your friend group.

When you're the romantic one in your friend group, the people you love most, your best friends, will roll their eyes at you a lot.

Maybe you're not the most rational, or you're always watching sappy movies just for the happy endings. You send beautiful quotes to people at random times to lift spirits or just because the words touched you. Words are always touching you. The way the light is moving can touch you. The way the leaves move in autumn has made you tear up, inexplicably. The way two people, completely unaware of you, look at each other can make you weep. You want to map star charts of potential soul mates.  You're constantly preoccupied with one person or multiple people at the same time, on a constant loop of awareness of their existence and how amazing they are. And then, almost instantly, you're caught, snagged, on someone else. When you're the romantic of the group, sometimes you even give yourself emotional whiplash. 

Your friends will shoot each other glances as you beg them to drive by that guy's house one more time, just to see if he's home, not that you really care. (You do) They will sometimes, affectionately, think you are legitimately crazy, but they will also count on you to give their dip-shit partners one more chance many, many times because you are the one person who still believes there is hope for them yet. And really, isn't everyone a dip shit, sometimes? You believe in second chances, that given the chance, people can and do change. You believe in the light inside, in the chemistry that overcomes. You believe in the ability to reform and the power of love. You believe in, if not the perfect one for all of us, then at least the right one. 

You're eager to take in the late-night stories of past heartbreak and what it taught. You believe that heartbreak is meant to teach, and even when you're hurting, you take some strange and sometimes sick comfort in learning. You'll poke at the pain like a half healed scab you can't stop ripping off. You dwell, oh my, do you dwell. When someone hurts you, you'll write at them for years and years and you won't be able to stop yourself from being reminded. Someday you'll get better at being reminded quietly, you hate to burden your friends. You'll dream of them less and less, and though sort of relieved, you'll miss them even more in their absence from even your subconscious. 

When you're the romantic in your group of friends, you believe in the integrity of souls and in minimum compromise with maximum returns when the moment is finally right. 

You believe that yes, someday, the time will finally be right. When you're the romantic, you believe in timing and love at first sight.

When you are the romantic in your friend group, you might smoke a lot of cigarettes and drink a lot of beer/wine/gin and on the back porch, worrying constantly about the state of your friends' hearts. Sometimes listening, sometimes alone. You can't help it, you feel like your heart is sick with some disease whenever love takes a sharp turn. It's a personal affront upon you, although it doesn't do either of you one bit of good to feel that way. 

You wait. You find yourself waiting a lot, with baited breath. Waiting for the right one. For the golden hour, when the light is just right and the crash is riddled with explosions, with fireworks. You set scenes and believe in the power of dialogue. You know you don't feel love in your heart, you feel it in your guts.

When you're the romantic, it is up to you to keep the faith, to believe. You know what I mean. You'll be sitting around with your friends, maybe having a few cocktails and all of the sudden it's an assault on love. It's all, "There are no good ones." And "Love isn't real." Or at least, "It will never last." Lasting love is a figment, a myth, a disney story. And you're the one who speaks up in love's defense. You're the one who is vehement in her honor and insists against all evidence. That. Love. Can. Last.

When you're the romantic of the group, you don't always realize that groups even need romantics because sometimes, sometimes, in that rare moment of doubt, your belief will waver slightly. And in those moments, you can count on the rest of your friends to remind you. That love is real and you're a crucial part in the chemistry of the group. And that maybe you feel like your head is in the clouds at times, but really, you're a warrior. And believing in love, being a romantic, means never losing sight of that.