He's not dead, I'm not a plague.

Ok, so FINALLY Aiden called me. Apparently, this security company hired him (as a temp?) to work this crazy midnight to 6 pm shift (God, this sounds so bad.) Like I said, I understand the need for money- I need it myself from time to time. The shitty part is that he's working tonight- then he goes back to his regular job tomorrow night (he works 6p-6a friday through sunday at another security job...)

Sooo, the earliest conceivable time I could see him is Tuesday- provided that he isn't called back to work.

My two resolutions for the New Year were to quit biting my nails and to lose some of the extra weight. I've actually sort of succeeded at the nail thing... I still have this habit of ...how to describe this... well, running them over my teeth- I know that sounds wierd, but I'll prolly never break that. Anywho, as long as they're there, I'm gravy. The weight thing- I'm working on. I'm definately a lot more active, and I've actually lost something like 30 lbs in the past 5 months or so without really trying (aside for trading my Pepsi for Diet Pepsi). I have huge issues with my weight- I try to pretend that I'm happy being "pleasantly plump" but truth be told- anytime I meet a guy and he "just isn't that interested"... I blame it on the weight. And why not? I'm funny, cute, and have razor sharp wit. Dammit.

So, if I lose the weight, it'll only be my neurotic personality that will drive men away- but at least I'll have a cute ass.

Ok, terrific- my temporary hell is now over. Aiden is still around, and yes, Aiden is still interested.

Do what now?

Ok...

So, when Aiden called yesterday to cancel, did I take it too well? Was I too supportive? Of course I was crushed, but I don't want to seem naggy or anything- so I played it off like it was totally cool.

I understand, sweetie. I have bills too, you know.

Or was there a certain desperation in my voice. Did I not hide my sadness well enough?

This sucks.

I haven't heard from him since yesterday. I called his house a few times and I keep getting the answering machine. Should I stop calling? He's just not that into you says that I shouldn't have called in the first place. Actually He's just not that into you says that I should have taken the frickin' hint when he canceled yesterday. I don't know about that book... I mean, a lot of it makes sense, but ... I mean really, there are certain things that NO one will do for another person- no matter HOW interested they are, especially when everything is still new. But there I go, making excuses.

That's the problem with this book... EVERY excuse (whether it's a good reason or not) is completely debunked with "He's just not that into you." and any kind of justification for these actions are seen as "making excuses."

This still sucks. It's way past my bedtime. I just wish I could stop glancing at my phone every 5 minutes wondering if he called and I somehow missed it.

I'm pathetic.

Nicholas Sparks is the DEVIL!

Ok, so I just finished The Notebook.

Yes, I know I just bought it a few hours ago. I'll be honest with you, I pretty much already knew the story thanks to the artist formerly known as the love of my life. Anyway, I just have to tell you that it physically hurt to read the final chapters of this book. My eyes burned, my face contorted, and still, I pressed on. I completed it and drifted off into the nether regions of self pity that which dear Mr. Sparks tends to love hurling his readers.

I wish I could know love like that.

Shame that it's FICTION. COMPLETE AND TOTAL FICTION. Hey, guess what, Sparks- you ARE a man, so you more than anyone know that NOAH does not exist, nor could he ever exist. Ok- Noah was a beautiful writer, poet, human, etc... Ok, Just because Nicholas Sparks can create the facade of an ideal human being, father, husband, etc, doesn't mean that he could be one- no!

It means that HE IS THE DEVIL!

Or else has no soul, because frankly, I don't see how someone could write that and live to write other books.

Soul-less fuck.

Chipping away with a hacksaw...

Ok.

So, we had plans to meet tonight. (Aiden, of course). I should start by saying that no one knows the pang of debt more than I. I struggle with it on a daily basis- well, I used to. Before I had the knowlege and power to tell bill collectors "Hey, you wanna sue over $300 bucks, go ahead, but lemme tell ya. Logic would denote that if I had said money, we wouldn't be having this conversation." And then I'd hang up. (Thanks, Dave!) SO- I know well of the need to work extra hours for payoff money.

So he cancels on me. Apparently, they call him very late in the day (oh, about 30 minutes to an hour before he was supposed to come over) and offer him a sweet armed security position for the night. (Armed=More money- following?) So he can't refuse.

He refuses me instead.

So... he calls to break the news and I'm in Target (pronounced Tar-ghay) searching for a Countertop Dishwasher (which apparently don't exist outside the magical realm of the internet- I'll write on that later.)

SO, devastated by this news, I begin to shop. Aimlessly. Dangerously. And I get home with two eyeliner pencils (white and black), a Ron White CD, Linkin Park/Jay Z Mtv Mashups album, The Grudge, Clerks Uncensored, and a couple of books. All in all, almost $100 worth of depression spending.

The books, ah, the books. The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks and He's Just Not That Into You by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo. I honestly couldn't tell you how I stumbled upon the latter. I was wandering the small appliance aisle- trying to justify replacing my perfectly fine coffee maker with a $50 coffee maker that uses little pods when there it was- as though a gift from God trying to tell me that the work thing is a pathetic excuse and I shouldn't waste my valuable time on someone who can't blow off one fricking night of work to hang out with me and make sweet, sweet love. So I'm reading the book- and I realize... I don't think any guy I've ever loved was "that into me".

God, I'm depressed.

Anyway, it's a good book. Pick it up. Inspiring, blah blah.

Horseshit.

My Monday night HELLth class.

So due to scheduling conflicts with my new high powered government job (yeah, right..) I was forced to drop my day classes and replace them with the only classes available- 3 hour, one night per week classes. So, Monday is 1530 Health and Wellness. You know, that class that your high school made you take during the split semester alongside Driver's Ed? I think I could tolerate the homework (if there were any, this is a full lecture class...) I think I could even tolerate the occasional tirade about the decline of Western civilization courtesy of McDonalds. (note the key word: occasional). But I'm so sick of my professor. I admire her, don't get me wrong. I wish I could be optimistically neurotic just for one day- just to see what it's like.

I can't really pinpoint what exactly it is about her that gets me. I hope to be her someday- happily married, successful career, content with self...

But I guess what is irking me would be her tendency to feel that her path is the only path to health. Now, I realize that by this point, one would say hey- she's just teaching by the manual, the department decides what is to be taught in class. Guess what, kids? She WROTE the frickin' text book! She serves on the frickin department! All I'm saying is that to be that happy all the time CANNOT be healthy.

At all.

Did I mention the 30 minute soap box about the (delicious) Hardee's monster burger? All I'm saying is that a world where chicken strips are considered a "side dish"... well, that's the kind of world where I want to live.

God bless you, Hardee's.

All you need is love...

I'm on a roll tonight. I really need to get to bed, but I'm having a hard time. I can't help thinking about him and having naughty thoughts. Aiden that is. No, I guess not naughty like you may be thinking if you stumbled upon this page while searching for naughty nurses spanking sheep or something. Like, bad emotional feelings...
Scary emotional feelings.

I've always been really bad about falling for people. I don't just mean romantically, I become fascinated with individuals, male or female due to their strengths, weaknesses, careers... a plethora of things.

I'm fascinated with Aiden because he is so much like every guy I've ever dated. And I mean EVERY guy I've ever dated. Aiden represents every single positive that I've ever picked out in a mate, and few or none of the negatives. As much as I hate the term "soul mate", I feel as though he may be the closest person I've ever met. But again, I'm met with the dilemma... am I falling too fast? And if so, is it even possible to stop?

And furthermore...

I love Dave Ramsey. I think he's an incredible and thoughtful person, even though we don't agree on religious terms. A few months back, Dave went on a tyrade concerning the "Quarter-Life Crisis". He feels that such a thing is absolutely ludicrus. And normally, I'd be tempted to agree. The problem is that I am going through a quarter-life crisis. And frankly, I'd be really hypocritical to rant against something through which I am currently going. The whole concept was introduced to me through the John Mayer song "Why Georgia". And I was reminded of the idea from a recently past FB who was reaching his middle late 20's and was having difficulty with his station in life. He should have been further along in school/job/relationships, blah blah.

Now I know how he feels.

I work in the medical field in which I am c o n s t a n t l y around those who have years of experience, education, and wisdom above me, and I'm reminded of the 3-4 years out of high school that I waited to begin my college career. I have friends who graduated high school the same year as I who are married, graduated from college, and are frighteningly happy. Yeah, so... there really is no point to this particular entry, just that the quarter-life crisis is real, but unlike a mid-life crisis, I don't think it causes one to go out and find a 20 year old coed for some shits and giggles or take up sky diving as a weekend activity. Most in our mid-twenties feel the surge of depression, but choose to use it for good in stead of evil. As in, all the more inspiration to drive harder for our goals.

Oh, and God bless america.

The Anti-Big

So, I've been talking to this guy who I met on the internet. For safety's sake, I'll refer to him as Aiden. I can't begin to describe him because he is just so damn cool. Not like, cool as in the guys who used to slam me into lockers in high school, I mean cool as in he reads comic books, at least KNOWS what a decent job entails, and has the capacity to have amazing, animated conversations about absolutely nothing. (Wow, a lot like me.)

Anyway, we've only really "seen" each other twice, but we have these incredible conversations that last for hours (which is really amazing, because neither of us particularly enjoy talking on the phone). Last night, we met up at his place of work and ...

we made out like crazy teenagers. It was beautiful. I won't go into too much detail, but needless to say, I'm very eager to give him a test drive. Thus my problem.

I know it's very "un-Carrie" of me, but I really don't want to screw this one up by sleeping with him too soon. I like him a lot, and I have to wonder if it's my predisposition that sex is a considerable part of a relationship regardless of the length of time the parties have known each other or my jealous neurosis that sends my relationships down the ... well, you know.