making lemonade

gained my marbles

Not lost. No. I'm collecting them.

You know that old saying, "when it rains, it pours"?

You know that other not-so-old saying, "it's raining men"?

Welcome to my life.

I'm in a monsoon.

Didn't know we had those in Oklahoma, did you?

The other night at the Delta Shelta I was divulging secrets about my weekend, and decided to just be candid about the various boys in my life at the moment. They're all casual if anything, so why not share some fun tidbits? I feel like Joy, pre-BF. I could get used to this!

As I was talking, someone overheard me mention 3 different male-typical names. "Look at you and your bag of marbles!", she snorted. Bag of marbles?

"You can just reach in and pull one out as you please."

While I think she's vastly overestimating the power I am able to wield over these various humans of the male persuasion, it is kinda fun to be dating multiple people.

Yesterday 2 of them commented on my facebook status almost back to back. I had to giggle to myself. My marbles.

I just don't get how I go from desert-style drought to having to purchase chest-high waders in roughly 48 hours.

I ain't complaining, though. And those waders look good on me, yes they do.

Gooey Butter Cake Insides, Deconstructed.

Gooey butter cake is just another one of those annoying Saint Louis inside jokes, like Imos and toasted ravioli. No one gets it but us. We’re annoying, we're aware.

It was an accident. Someone working at a local grocery store was trying to make a regular cake and reversed the proportions of sugar and flour. Bread Co (or Panera to all you non-STL folk) makes a Danish with gooey butter filling. It’s legit.

So when I say I’ve got gooey butter cake insides, it’s a mixed bag. It’s not on purpose, this feeling. Total accident. Similar to having butterflies, but less wholesome. There is more anxiety that goes along with gooey butter cake insides, and less choice.

I love being in control of my emotional state. Don’t get me wrong, I like risk, but controlled risk. Roller coasters provide the best example. Yes, they are terrifying, seemingly dangerous. But not really. You’re safe on them for the most part, and you choose if you want to ride them or not.

Roller coasters give you the butterflies, the adrenaline, your heart in your ears one second and in your hiney the next. But you’re expecting it. You asked for it. You wanted it.

This sticky feeling currently residing in my torso popped up on its own, and it’s not going away without a fight.

It’s good ol’ Appleseed, at it again.

I’m currently experiencing a rather steep learning curve. Am I capable of causally dating? At this point, my friends and I agree, being in a relationship would feel more like a ball and chain than anything else. I’ve got places to go, things to do—I can’t be caring what someone else wants me to do. If they want me to stay or go, what they want for dinner.

I’m very food-oriented, if you can’t tell.

But doing anything casually gives me this yucky state of emotions. I’m accidentally reversing the ingredients; upping the emotional quotient, not adding enough commitment.

In the case of the baker, gooey butter cake became a Saint Louis sensation, another one of those special things that makes the city special. That particular accident turned out to be a fabulous food, enjoyed now in Panera Bread Company’s across the nation.

Somehow, I just don’t know if I will have such grand success. But, maybe it’s worth it to wait and see?

the glass man

i am currently waiting for the mobile glass man to come replace my windshield, which has acquired a crack running it's entire length and representing my psyche.

he is three hours late, but i REFUSE to reschedule so EF quantitative methods of sociological research, i'm skipping until the glass man appears.

when you are in a sorority as small as mine, it is HARD to keep secrets. you tell the wrong loudmouth something important and as soon as you know it everyone is coming up to you asking how Friday Night went and winking at you.

they want to know his name, his job, his age, etc. where is he from? where did he go to school? the questions are endless. and i'll reveal a little bit of info, but i REFUSE, REFUSE i say, to tell anyone outside of my very closest friends his name. why? because WE'RE ALL CREEPS.

do you know how EASY it is too creep these days? facebook, myspace, twitter, linkedin and not to mention powerful search engines-- what's that famous one again? oh, GOOGLE.

so partly because i'm neurotic and partly because i'd like to retain SOME GRAIN of privacy i have been selective in who finds out his name. and partly because my sisters are neurotic and partly because they have NOTHING BETTER TO DO they voted on a code name for him. what did they come up with, you ask?

Johnny Appleseed.

someone suggested "pedro" and i told them he was more all-american than that, so Johnny Appleseed has become the name. which, i'm realizing to my horror, could potentially present a problem if someone accidentally refers to him as that to his face (which i could see them doing, when he attends a somewhat public event with me this week).

i'll admit, part of the reason i've been keeping mister appleseed somewhat on the down-low is because it's all moving very slowly, very casually. this, i've come to realize, is OKAY.

however, it has taken me a while to get to this point. so while i was maybe fretting over phone calls and messages a little too much, i get it now. i can be calm, cool, collected. he doesn't make it easy on me, though. rather hard to read, this Johnny Appleseed character. he isn't very transparent.

not much of a glass man, but at least he's punctual.

reason #72 to get boyfriend

but first, a haiku:

there is a creature

    wriggling, stuck, in my chimney

        I'm freaked

Seriously, sometimes I get all "I AM WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR" and go on about "a woman needs a man like a fish needs a net", etc, but really I'm all talk. Although I think women are highly capable and can do anything a man does, and do it better if she wishes, there IS NOT ONE WOMAN IN MY LIFE who wants to come over right now and deal with the ANIMAL CRAWLING AROUND IN MY CHIMNEY.

I'm not even really sure how he got in there, because our chimney is BROKEN...all I know is I was dancing to "single ladies" in my living room (ehem, don't judge) and closed the glass doors to the fireplace cause it was cold. And then I left and sat in my bed and made a hair appointment and balanced my checkbook (my life is extremely exciting) and HEARD the poor creature SCRATCHING and FROLICKING ABOUT. When I tiptoed out to sneak a glance, the fireplace doors were not as closed as I had left them. In fact, some might call them "open". Just a crack though, not big enough for anything besides a small fly to escape. I slammed them shut and promptly ran away.

After finding a flashlight and my courage, both hidden in the mudroom, I tried in vain to find the little sucker, whatever he is (squirrel?). He hid himself somewhere in that chimney where I can't see, and homegirl is NOT ABOUT to poke her head in the fireplace and figure it out, lest the little bugger attack and scratch at my eyeballs.

WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? Does this fall under something my landlord takes care of? Pest control? How much is that going to cost? Suddenly I contemplate letting him die in there and figuring out a good way to control the odor. This is what they call a "bad plan".

Truthfully, I am happy as a 20 something single, livin' in midtown, bookin' hair appointments and balancing my checkbook (ps- I do more than that, I promise, I'm being exceptionally lazy today) but when situations like this arise all I want to do is phone my man, play damsel in distress for an hour or so while the creature is extracted, and then go back to being a strong independent leading lady who ain't be needing no net.

Alas, I have no man to call, no knight to my damsel. I better get on it, cause that critter can only go so long without food and water. I figure I've got three days to procure a boyfriend and then have him come remedy the situation before the varmint croaks in there and proceeds to stink up the living room.

Good thing I booked that hair appointment.