The Lost Plum…

I had taken a nice solitude vacation at the end of my first year of grad school. Actually I spent the whole time in the resort room in Mexico writing my paper that was due the day I got back, and since I burnt crisper then a bucket of chicken on the first day, the room is where I stayed.

My favorite moments of this trip besides some nice sun therapy and the spa would have to be my late night phone calls with Mr. Popular while sitting on the balcony.

Mr. Popular and I had been chatting/texting/IMing for months, and had had a few in person adventures!

I got home to NYC red and ready to hand in my paper. I also was thinking somewhat dreamy thoughts of Mr. Popular. This was one of the only time I can remember of where I actually really contemplated us as a “couple” and in a real “relationship”.

Problem being I didn’t think he felt the same way at all. I was pretty convinced we had moved into the ever wonderful “friendship” zone. He treated me like a ‘girlfriend’ but just never touched me like one….or at least how I assumed all guys touch their girlfriends.

I was getting ready to go to bed early, as I get tired from plane rides, and I get a phone call.

Mr. Popular is in my hood and right up the street. He wants to come over and see me. Holy shit balls!

We talked laughed and joked around for hours into the night. Just lying on my bed talking. Only times he got off the bed was to take a smoke break. His smoke breaks consited of him at my window, stradling my ratiator so he was half out the window and half inside the bedroom.

As the hours flew by I became more and more convinced we dove deeper into the “friend zone” and pretty soon the sun was close to coming up.

SIDEBAR: I was pretty cool with friend zone, but starting to question his sexuality at this point. What guy lies in bed for hours with a girl and doesn’t try anything?

We were laying talking laughing and then all of a sudden he leans in and kissed me.

There it was! Wow!

“Did you just kiss me?”

He kissed me again!

And then he stopped stared in my eyes and jumped up!

“I have to go!”

He bolted, ran, left quicker then Kiefer Sutherland throws back a shot of whiskey.

And I went to bed with the sun coming up feeling rejected: Sad, lonely, and rejected.

Until I awoke to find I had company in bed with me.

There were feathers and bird poo all over as pigeons had flown in and taken up residence in my room through his open “smoke break” window.

Maybe first kiss birds really do appear. And maybe sometimes in the form of gross dirty New York City pigeons!

I’ve been surrounded by boxes and piles of junk lately, more so piles then boxes. I am doing a major clean and purge of my life “things” (I’m moving)

SIDEBAR: I love my stuff, and my junk but it’s just “junk” and it has had a great life with me, and will make someone else very happy, and stylish “to-boot”

As I’ve been in awe of my collection of things I have noticed something very different than in any other move I have ever made.  I don’t have any relationship outcasts. No boy leftovers, no guy junk, or man tokens.

Last time I went “home home” my closet was still filled with boy leftovers: teddybears, pictures, and all sorts of crap. And it seems like every time I have moved I have had lots of guy-junk to purge from my life, and this time: nothing.

Ok, that is a lie. I have three things.

I have a pile of CD’s from “bandboy”s band. Some are even unopened and by some I pretty much mean all of them.  I count this as one thing, although it’s more like 8 things. I don’t know why I have them, why I even keep them, and why on earth I’ve moved them to different apartments (even a different country).  Although, when he mailed me the latest CD I had a nice little pile to add it to.

And I have two shirts.

Now I know what you are thinking, that I must be one of those girls who takes things from guys. You know the ones who take sweatshirts and t-shirts: the girl who collects t-shirts from guys to sleep in.

FACT:  I’d rather not sleep in a t-shirt.

But thing is I don’t really do that. Why would I want someone’s dirty clothes when I have my own perfectly clean (and even dirty) clothes? But I sat the other night staring at two: a hoddie and a sweater.  Such ‘girl’ things to take from guys I know, right.

But the fact is, I didn’t really take them. I kept them.  I didn’t let them go when everything else went.  Last time I really sat down and cleaned out my life’s ‘junk’ I did it for two. It was mine, and it was his, and I cleaned out and flushed so much away.

Just like my giveaway pile now, I got ride of so much that was drenched in memories.

Now it sounds strange but I can recall memories with everything I have, unless I really have no clue where it came from. I know where “we” have been together: my stuff and me.

I remember the time I got my heel stuck in a sidewalk grate and walked almost a block without a shoe(the pretty black with purple top Prada ones). Or the green and pink Jacob solder bag I trekked allover France. Everything has a memory, a place, and a story.

And then I have these two shirts. I have no idea why I kept these shirts. It is a plain grey cotton sweater that even though I have grown in size I still swim in it, and a black (but really looks navy) hoodie with nothing on it, warnout cuffs and missing drawstring.

I have no memories attached to these items. I have no idea where they were purchased, or even when they were worn. Yet, these were the two things I decided would help me remember someone: the person who owned them.

Sometimes it isn’t “things” that we remember.  We remember an experience, a feeling, and even a sensation.

I remember France, and that trip, and the friends I was with, how much I laughed, and all the things we did. The bag didn’t give me that. I remember the great night out I had with an amazing friend when I happen to lose my shoe.

It’s never been about the shoes, the bags, the coats, and even the glasses.

And then…

I remember a boy that I loved, not the clothes that he owned.

I had a great night out the other day. A much needed fun night out with one of my best friends “mr.popular”.

We had a great dinner, great drinks, and as always a great conversation, which as per usual managed to cover “relationships”.

FACT: Relationships where not discussed before the awesomeness that is the Team Canada line up this year. (for Olympic hockey if you didn’t know)

So…..there has been (or was) a guy that popped into the picture (my picture) alittle while ago. Who I haven’t seen too often, and we aren’t officially anything, but he’s there. I may or may not have wrote about him, but that doesn’t matter.

Point is “mr.popular” and I are talking, discussing and breaking the situation down. Well actually, I’m breaking it down (me talk talk talking) and then:

“Stop!”

“What?”  I of course look around me thinking he has spotted a hot girl and therefore cannot process my talking and his picturing her naked at the same time. (Believe me this point is not exaggerated!!!)

“He has a name”

“Yeah,  ’mr. has a name’.”

“No, I know. The point is he has a name! (We exchange this strange smile thing back a forth that we do) I’ve known you for a real long time and I have never heard you refer to a guy by his name”

“I know!” I shake and lower my head in shame.

And there it was, alittle truth about me. Much like this blog I give guys ‘nicknames’. From the guy I spent 2minutes talking to at the bar, to the guy I dated for 7months. There was ‘newyearsboy’, ‘filmboy’, ‘tallboy’, ‘marriedguy’,'bartenderdude’….you name it I’ve come up with a name.

And yet, there it was a name: ‘mr. has a name’.

I’ve talked about this once before. And yet, I find myself in the same place, under different pretenses, with different feelings. However, as always I’m confused by life and relationships in general.

So I gave a guy a name…..now what?!

FACT: ‘mr.popular’ and I chatted about alot of things, and thus be prepared for a flood of posts involving him and our past adventures!

This should be a post where I talk about the New Year upon us (NOT a new decade!) and talk about the past year and what it has meant to me, or even what this next year will bring.  Nope, this isn’t one of those posts, well not really…

I was chatting with my mom last night. She’s very confused by the whole ‘blog thing’. She gets it, but for the life of her can’t figure out why anyone would read it.

“They do realize your challenged, right?”

“Yes, mum”

“Ok, well what do you write about? What could you possibly say?”

“I don’t know… about life and stuff”.

“Ok…as long as you aren’t writing about sex, or putting naked pictures of yourself up on the interneter screen”

“I’d have to having sex to talk about it mum.”

“Don’t say that! I don’t want to know about that. Stop…maybe you can talk about all the nice men you know, rather then all the gommies you always find.”

“Yeah, ok thanks Tips”

“You know I don’t like it when you call me TIPS.”(A mothers sigh to be heard across the country)

Maybe my mom has a point. Not about me being challenged, that’s a whole other point. Mama Plum makes a good point about guys. I have found some real ‘gommies’ out there, and I might have high standards (according to everyone but me) but maybe that is because there are men (guys/boys/whatever) in my life that are so amazing it’s virtually impossible to find someone to compare.

Maybe I should start writing about all the amazing great guys (who I’d never date) I have in my life. Maybe as the year winds down I should think of all the wonderful friends I have, who really are the best (boy)friends one could ever hope for.

SIDEBAR: I had to throw in a little end of the year nostalgia for good measure.

I meet a nice guy at a new years party last year (well technically it was this year but whatever…). We exchanged numbers and he called me, in fact we had about 5 really wonderful phone conversations before we went on a date, and we dated for about 2-months or so after that. Actually we dated till he became a complete douchebag but that’s another story.

This guy I trekked to see! I would make two subway transfers (sometimes three times depending) and would find myself at the end of the 1-train in the Bronx’s. (Anyone who knows me was always so perplexed by this, “YOU dating a guy way up in the Bronx’s!”)

One night we were out at dinner and he brought up a small fact or rather a request he and his roommates had.

You see he and his roommates had noticed that since I had been coming around and spending time at their place one thing was different. One thing just wasn’t the same as it used to be. You see something was missing. Their toilet paper in the bathroom was vanishing quicker then it used to.

FACT: You heard me right! Their toilet paper, or their bum wipe, as my dad so adequately puts it.

They had theorized (which was reached no doubt while eating pringles and getting high) that because girls use more toilet paper ( “you know every time you pee”) that I was costing them money. Precious toilet paper money! They were spending more money on toilet paper (which I should add was the cheapest stuff ever and in fact I believe sometimes was stolen from their offices)

He asked if I would consider contributing towards their ‘household item fund’, or buying a few rolls to contribute. To which I promptly said I would bring my own and laughed in his face.

Now, I should have just told him he and his friends were dicks, but I liked his friends (and sorta liked him) and I knew two of his roommates struggled with money. You’d never guess that based on their smoking habits, but I figured I’d carry tissues in my bag and make a point.

About 2 weeks later we were watching a movie in their living room and one of his roommates came in. He made a comment about how I never cooked dinner for them anymore, or brought baking, or swag from work and how they all missed it.

SIDEBAR: we’d cook at his place alot and I’d always make extra for the roommates. I love to bake but hate to eat it, so his roommates enjoyed pie and cookies a lot. I also got lots of guy centric swag from my old job and would dump it on them.

I replied in a calm manner, not missing a beat and not taking my eyes off the TV.

“Well my household item fund expenses increased unexpectedly this month. But you are welcome to contribute to my feeding and providing for the boys I don’t have sex with fund”

Needless to say neither of them found it funny. And about 2 weeks later the inner douchebag of this guy started to show culminating in him standing me up at a concert I had to use connections to get tickets too, and then telling me he didn’t make it cause he was having sex with his fuck buddy and lost track of time.

FACT:  My mothers face when my dad says “bum wipe” is a sight to be seen, she has also been known to throw things at him when he says this. These things have been known to be expensive breakables.