Friday, August 26, 2016

A Summary Of The Girls I Never Dated In High School

Whenever I reflect on my High School years (which I actually haven't done in quite a while) I always ask myself how I could have possibly failed to find even one girlfriend. 

The short answer is, I chased after the wrong girls. Alison was cute as a button - physically at least. But she was a total snob. Kristen was too nice to tell me I was out of her league, but she always had a way of slithering out of seeing me, talking to me, or telling me if she was (or was not) interested in me.

Abby should have been a layup - but I've blown those before. (She was the girl who called me out for putting her on a pedestal.) Brenda and Jess should not have even been considered because they were in my circle of friends, they were kinda ditzy, and they had dated two of my guy friends. (Plus, again...out of my league.)

There was one girl who was in my league and would have been my girlfriend - though it may have been a bad idea. Gretchen was my best friend's ex and they were a really well-known couple. I know my friend would have been cool with it (even if he hadn't moved to California) but I also know that I would have imagined "John was here" written all over her if we ever got close. Plus she was more, um.. experienced than I was, and that would have been both awkward and intimidating. 

Still, she did confirm that she would have dated me if I had asked. Which I was gonna do the day I saw your stinkin' play but you invited that long-haired metalhead dude who was like 19 - to a kid's play, Gretch? - and your mom had to remind you that "Chris is here, too" which really pissed me off and so I ditched before our scheduled lunch date at your place.. and when you acted all surprised and disappointed I was like 'Please. Save your acting for the stage, honey.' But I didn't say any of that because you're my friend - and I actually think Metalhead Man sorta saved my ass. 

What was I saying? Oh yeah. I chased after the wrong girls. Even the ones that were in my league. With the benefit of wisdom, experience, and a little thing called hindsight I've asked myself if there were any girls that I had a real, tangible connection with. 

The only girl that I really seemed to click with was Tasha. 

I was sort of a misfit in high school - I loved sports.. but my lack of eyesight, coordination, muscle tone, and athletic ability prevented me from playing on a team. I was in theater group.. but the drama club clique consisted of preppy upperclassmen - many of whom were also athletes. 

Technically, I was a skater kid who couldn't skate. Or a burnout who didn't smoke. I was kind of emo before the term "emo" existed, but I didn't wear chokers or Doc Martens or guy-liner (okay, maybe once for a Cure show.) I didn't have piercings or colored hair or a chain wallet, and I didn't really want to be goth. I just felt goth because I wasn't good at anything but being sad and lonely.

Where were FOB and MCR when I was in HS?

Despite all this Tasha actually liked me. She seemed to understand and accept me more than anyone else did (myself included.) We spent a lot of time together, had a lot of common interests, and she wasn't out of my league physically - though I will say that there was one day when I was over her house and she was wearing a black tank top with jeans (which was pretty much her uniform) and my hormones were raging. It took every ounce of self-control I could muster to not push her up against the wall or the kitchen counter and kiss the crap out of her like you see in the movies. 

A lot of our friends had suggested that we become a couple - and I would have been totally on board with that idea. But here's the thing about Tasha: she was kind of a troubled kid (which I was okay with) and she was a bit of a burnout (which I tried to help her with but I didn't judge) and I think that all of her traumatic experiences set off this self-destruct button inside of her because she had a rule about dating guys she cared about. She didn't. Ever. 

This isn't like the "I won't f*ck friends" rule, which is legit. This was more of an "I really like this guy, he's good to me, so I don't want to go screwing it up by dating him." 

She knew I cared about her and I knew she cared about me, and under any other circumstances Tasha would have been an ideal first girlfriend. Instead, she was flirty, friendly, and affectionate... and unattainable.

And that was it. That was the only girl I ever connected with in high school.

Except....there was one other girl. I don't count her as a crush or a near-miss or even a friend because she was only in my orbit for one day. And the details of that day have faded over time.
So I'm going to recount them now before I 
completely forget.

I got off the bus and lined up with the rest of the Drama Club. We stood outside the entrance to a building on the UConn campus while our Drama teacher/director counted heads. There were probably about fifty of us attending the Theater Workshop. I gazed up at the pale blue sky suppressed by layers of grey clouds. It was late Autumn in New England, probably November. The air was chilly and crisp but still bearable. We filed into the building and saw a performance of Six Degrees Of Separation. Then it was time for the workshop.

When our Drama teacher gave us the pamphlets for the trip to UConn there was an itinerary and a choice of one acting workshop. I don't remember the choices but when it was time to split up and head to our class I knew I had not chosen wisely. A lot of kids I knew headed in one direction, and a second group headed in a different direction. I had to go find my workshop on my own. 

The halls and classrooms looked unimpressive. Is this the University of Connecticut or PlainJane Junior High? I checked my itinerary against the room number. Yup, this is the place. When I slowly opened the door and peeked inside the significance of my misjudgment collapsed upon me. There was a broad, chiseled college man wearing form-fitting clothing (possibly spandex) and a small, all-ages group of women. What is this?

Apparently I chose a yoga class. Or something like it. There wasn't much acting or performance involved - if any. It was all about breathing and flexibility and maybe a little memorization. I dunno, I can't recall. I just remember being mortified that this was the class I chose. 

But then, somehow, I managed to find a friendly face. The only other person from my school in this godforsaken workshop. Danielle.

Danielle was not in my drama class and so we had never really met before that day. She was pretty but not in any specific way. I didn't look her way frequently to admire her physical beauty, I did it to reassure myself. I must have explained to her that I had no idea how I ended up in such a class, or how to get through the next hour and a half. And I think that we exchanged enough pleasantries and friendly glances to get through it together. Maybe I even enjoyed it, who knows.

The part that I know I enjoyed was after the workshop. Danielle and I had to walk all the way across campus and back to where the bus would pick us up at 5pm (or thereabouts.) I remember being comfortable talking to her, and I remember her asking things about me. I didn't love my answers (I was such a self-defeating sod) but I seemed to shake them off before making a total ass of myself. 

We passed by Gampel Pavillion and she mentioned that she was a fan of UConn basketball, which was partially why she wanted to go to college there. I remember thinking that she didn't look like a sports fan, or an athlete... or any specific stereotype. I couldn't tell if she was fashionable or preppy or prissy, or if she was a straight-A student. She just seemed like an approachable, normal girl. I couldn't even tell if I was attracted to her or just enjoying her company. 

When we got back to the bus I felt this slight pang of disappointment. I wanted to spend more time with Danielle. And yet, I didn't sit near her on the bus ride home. I sat alone, as I had on the ride up, and stared out the window at the darkening sky. At some point a thought jolted me out of my vacant haze.

You fool! Why didn't you ask Danielle for her number?!?!?

I still can't answer that twenty years later. Was my self-esteem so low that I assumed she'd say no? Kristen gave me her number when I asked. Kristen. And yet the thought of asking Danielle never crossed my mind. Was I just not that interested in her? 

See, this is where life's lessons reveal themselves through hindsight's lens. I know now that there was no reason not to talk to Danielle again, there was no reason to feel nervous or intimidated. Maybe she wouldn't have been interested in any more than a friendship but I never even tried to find out. (Besides, what's wrong with making a new friend?)

We're not always flooded with feelings of pure passion for someone. In fact it was probably better that I wasn't - because I was able to be myself around her. She wasn't a friend and she hadn't dated a friend and she wasn't out of my league. At least it didn't feel like she was.

A few weeks later I ran into my friend Mike in the cafeteria. Mike was in one of my classes. He was kind of short, average build I guess. Not a jock or a "bro" but a real paesan. Very Italian. Big Yankees fan. Nice kid.

And when he said "hey" to me in the cafeteria his new girlfriend was by his side. 


I smiled and said hello to her. But the whole time I was thinking that coulda been me.

Then again....

I had forgotten what Danielle looked like, and so I dug out my yearbook to refresh my memory (I wasn't satisfied with my description of her looks "She was pretty but not in any specific way" -- Dafuq does that mean?) This is her senior class picture, a year after we met:

Yeah, that's about right. 

Right out of my league, that is :-P


Monday, August 22, 2016

You Can't Go Home Again

We parked in the slanted spaces facing away from the church I attended once in a blue moon. Mom slid a dollar into the parking meter. They have parking meters now? I thought as the machine spat Mom's dollar back at her. She reached into her purse for a more acceptable bill, while my two little ragamuffins ran ahead onto the clean green grass. 

A pile of sticks was waiting for us at the first picnic table. The girls had already been gathering materials for a (pretend) campfire. "Here, have your hot dog, Grammie." My four year old said as she pointed the sharp end of the stick to my mother's face. 

My six year old wandered about, looking for whatever treasure the grounds would yield. "Don't pick that up. That's garbage!" We scolded at least twice. The kid in me sympathized with her; I can still remember my ground-hunting days. But after she placed a used band-aid (with dried blood) on the table I knew I couldn't let her touch anything but sticks. 

She wandered away some more, and I followed her closely. A boy and a girl froze around a fountain - was that fountain always there? - heads bowed, faces transfixed on their smart phones. There's no Pokemon here! I shouted to them in my head. And why would Pokemon want to hang round this fountain? It was full of sludge water.

As I led my little one back to our bench she picked up a discarded tube of Burt's Bees Strawberry lip balm. "Don't pick that up. That's garbage!"

My mom was waiting for us at a park bench. She'll be 74 soon, and a lifetime of backbreaking labor has taken its toll. This time next year she'll be in a wheel chair. 

The girls ran around playing hide-and-seek while my wife kept an eye on them from a safe distance. "Ready or not, here I come!"

I noticed something lying on the ground. When the girls weren't looking I showed Mom and D. This is why we don't let the girls pick things up off the ground. 

"What is that?" D asked. 

It was a tiny plastic bag, small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. And it contained two long white pills. Like aspirin, only flatter. 

"Drugs." I replied. 

I didn't examine the pills closely. I simply tossed the contraband back to the spot where I found it. 

Don't pick that up. That's garbage!


I spent the first 24 years of my life in this town. Mostly unpleasant memories. I couldn't wait to leave. But it's where I grew up, and I'm the nostalgic sort. I see the town now as a scrapbook - This is where Vicki used to live. And Kenny. This is where we used to climb trees and cover the slide with mud for Super Sloppy Double Dare. This is where my frememy lived. He showed me his porn collection in that garage. This is where I sucker-punched Ed for no apparent reason. This is where my dad and I used to collect cans and bottles. This is where we used to return them. This is where I played little league.This is where I bought a Dodgers hat, and a baseball sticker album, and there used to be a WaWa there and we'd get Peanut Butter ice cream and eat it right out of the carton....

Everything changes. 

My mom has lived in the same two-family house for 35 years. Our first neighbors were a rowdy bunch. I don't really remember the parents but I heard stories about their teenage children. The girl hated my sister. The guy liked my sister. 

Somewhere around 1990 they moved out, and my aunt moved in. We used to sit on the porch and chat - about school, or work, or family life. She always asked about my writing.

The house I grew up in. My aunt lived on the right side.

There's a wooden sliding window in the kitchen connecting both sides of the house. Mom or I would slide open our side, knock on Aunt C's, and she'd come and open her side. Sometimes we'd chat, or leave things for each other, or if we ordered dinner we'd just open the window and say "Food's here!" 

When my aunt died last year, my nephew and his wife moved in. They're expecting their first child in October. Aria will begin her life in that house, but she won't grow up there. My mom and my nephew and his wife and their child will all have to find a new home in the next year or two.

A long time ago my mom started hearing about plans for a new waterfront shopping center which was to be built along the bridge area that borders New Haven. She always sounded so excited about the West River Crossing project, which would be a short walk from her house.
WEST HAVEN >> Two developers with a track record of success are looking to build a $200 million “high-end” shopping center with 100 outlet stores, six restaurants and, in its second phase, a hotel and possibly apartments on the West River Crossing site the city has spent two decades trying to get off the ground.

Sounds great, right? Well, the project was finally green-lit earlier this year - and it was more ambitious than anyone expected. "Phase one" would redevelop the dilapidated shoreline area.
I decided to tour the site Sunday morning.

I stood on the corner of the main road, a block away from my childhood home. I used to work at that Rite-Aid. And over there was a cheese steak place with an arcade in the back room. And this building? Well, no one was sure what was in here. I always thought that it was secret CIA headquarters.

I turned left, towards the bridge. There's a shady looking crap-shack or two... and then a brand new plaza whose parking lot extends onto my mom's street. 

This was all a big dirt field once. I used to play Wiffle Ball here every summer. Home plate was back by the dumpsters, and any ball hit over Larry's fence was a home run.

They paved paradise, and put up a parking lot.

Closer to the bridge is a take-out seafood place called The Sandbar, which has only been around for a few years but became an instant favorite.

I did not take this picture

Meanwhile, on the other side of the street...

I took this picture...from another blog.

This area definitely needed to be rebuilt. A lot of the old structures were falling apart but some were still in good shape. My dad used to work at one of those factories. And my mom and I cleaned offices in that building. There was a furniture store at the far end still doing business. D was going to get a job over there. I played hockey in that park. We lost every damn game - to a team of ten year olds. Let's turn back.

The furniture store is way back, at the far left. 

Another block inland, away from the construction site, there stands a long row of houses. All empty. Some of the owners happily sold their property to the city. Some of them reluctantly sold their property to the city. But they all sold. They had no choice. Even the popular luncheonette and the gas station/mini-mart conveniently located right off the highway. 

It didn't matter if the building was an eyesore or a thriving enterprise - the city threatened to use Eminent Domain to take every last lot.

And in phase two, they're going to take more property - on our side of the main road.

The marina next to my (mom's) house will be rebuilt.
The street I grew up on. All of this will be demolished. 

My sister-in-law works for City Hall. She called my mom with the bad news.

That fancy new shopping plaza that Mom was looking forward to is forcing her out of her home. And she doesn't own it so she can't even negotiate a "fair" settlement with the city.

The whole town is sort of sketchy, and it seems to get worse every time I visit. There are million-dollar homes on the opposite end of town, by where my Grandma used to live. (Mom plans to move somewhere in that general area - as far away from the construction as possible.) Other than that, West Haven really isn't anything special at all. If my old neighborhood is "blighted" enough to justify Eminent Domain then they could legit knock down 90% of the city. 

And whatever they build on the seized property will lose its luster before long. Some gang bangers will jump off the highway, rob one of the stores, and drive away. Maybe someone will be assaulted or stabbed. Or maybe the stores will be crime-free but also customer-free as fewer and fewer people shop in brick and mortar stores -- and no one in "Waste Haven" has enough disposable income to shop at an upscale boutique. 


I stood in the wooden pavilion and waited for my family to emerge from the ladies' room. Faded pictures of Old Savin Rock displayed in a cracked frame caught my attention. I could hear my mother's voice narrating stories of each attraction. This is where the roller coaster used to be. And the fun house. And over there was a seafood restaurant. That road was a speedway and we'd watch the races every Saturday. We used to sit on those rocks and boys used to buy us lemonade. 

None of these pictures are mine.

There are plaques engraved on the grounds where the most famous attractions once stood. I noticed one next to the sludge fountain, which read:

The carousel was destroyed be vandals in 1967." (yes, it was misspelled)

Everything changes. 


Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Only In Dreams

I have lots of time to daydream when I'm riding the bus, or walking home, or trying to fall asleep. Sometimes I dream about being a star athlete, or the lead singer/guitarist of a band that re-invents rock music and ascends to commercial and critical success not seen in this pop-obsessed country since Nirvana. Sometimes I dream of leaving the world the same way Kurt Cobain did.

Usually though, my daydreams follow the same storyline, within a fictional universe I've built for myself - including an ideal age, backstory, body type, hometown, occupations (yes, I have two jobs), social status... and relationships. But all of that centers around MFG -- and I promised I wouldn't blog about her anymore. 

And I think that someone in my subconscious is getting jealous of all the time I've spent thinking about that girl (and Taryn Southern, and Anna Kendrick...) 

Organic dreams are so random and strange but really fascinating to me, and I like to write them down so I can remember and analyze them. So here goes...

I'm in a sun-lit conference room with large windows on the far side. I get the sense that I'm in an office building, maybe fourth floor or tenth. Not ground level, but not too high up, either. There are six or seven other people with me - an Asian girl, an African-American guy, and a few other faceless people. 

And Jennifer Lawrence.

We must have taken some sort of test because I ask her how she did. "Aced it." She says, with a nonchalant shrug. I don't know why she was so confident in that moment, the "real" J-Law is often modest and awkward.

Then we're in a buffet line, and she's in front of me. She's holding a plate, but I'm not - and I can't see any food. All I see is her. 

You know that feeling when you really like someone and you try to play it cool cause you want to impress them.. but they suddenly seem so intimidating? That's me right here. I'm so aware of her advantage in this situation - I'm behind her, trailing her, trying to get her attention. And she seems so tall. I'm 6 '2" and I think she's 5' 8" but in this moment she cuts quite an imposing figure. 

As I'm sizing her up, planning to make my move, I breathe her in. I can actually smell the freshly-washed shirt she's wearing. I can feel the thick cotton. 

Finally, I position myself between her and the alleged food spread. I stand in front of her, place my hands on her hips (I can feel her hips!) and pull her close to me. This does not seem like the most romantic locale my brain could have produced, but whatevs.

"You know," I say to Jen. "I've loved a lot of girls. But you know I love you best." 

She responds with this doubting smirk, almost like an eye roll. I wish I could tell you that I backed up my bold (and poorly-worded) statement with an earth-shaking kiss... but I didn't. I must have woke up or something.

Still, that dream felt sooo real. I'm always amazed at what sort of surprises lay deep within my subconscious mind. I immediately search for meaning because there has to be a reason why I thought of this. 

Obviously I can't just go ahead and kiss Jennifer Lawrence (though that would be pretty sweet!) But I can try to divert my attention from one favorite female to another. And maybe that's what my subconscious was trying to say. 

Have you had any interesting dreams lately? Do you immediately journal them and/or try to extract a meaning or message? Let me know in comments! 


Monday, August 15, 2016

Hey, I may be ugly and hate-filled, but I.. um.. what was the third thing you said?

I need a new hobby. 

I've been collecting baseball cards for 30 years. That's... nearly my whole life. And I suck at it. 

I will not bore you with the details (Mich might remember this story from my old blog) but I once sold a Mike Trout rookie card for about $228 while he was stumbling through his first professional season and some kind of virus sapped all his strength. 

Basically, I could not have picked a worse time to "sell low" and I only did it because a) he was playing like crap, and b) my four year old was about to enter the world. 

Mike Trout is now thee best player in baseball, and that same card sells for about $3,000. Not $300. $3,000. 

I mention this because apparently I've done it again. Earlier this summer I sold a rookie card of a Yankees prospect named Aaron Judge. 

He was struggling a bit in the minor leagues and the scouting reports said he would strike out a lot in the pro ranks. I didn't like the idea of rooting for a Yankees player to succeed anyway, so I cashed in his card about two months ago - for an eBay 'best offer' price of $400. 

This past weekend he made his big league debut by blasting a 445-ft home run. He hit another homer Sunday, when the same card I recently had in my collection sold on eBay for $945. 

Okay, so mine wasn't exactly the same. The $945 card was in slightly better condition. Still, had I waited until this weekend to sell his card I probably could have made another $300. (Also, I may have just assured that Judge will be a baseball legend.) 

But honestly... I don't know what I would have done with the money anyhow. I have about $300 in my PP account right now, which was set aside to attend a major sports cards & collectibles show in my area. A show which I will not be attending. And here's why:

When my aunt died last year, she left quite a bit of money for my mother to divide amongst the family. I received a large check equal to about four months of my salary and promptly discussed allocation of said funds with my wife. 90% would be put in the bank to pay our bills, and 10% would be my own personal play money. 

My mother knew I wanted to attend the big sports card show and said that my aunt would have wanted me to enjoy the money and buy some nice cards... and I knew that if I set aside at least $300 and gave my wife every other dollar, she couldn't possibly stop me from going to the show.... 


We ain't goin ta no damn card show. 

And I can't really blame D this time (though make no mistake - she was absolutely ready to use her veto power). See... I had plans to go back home and see my mom for my birthday weekend. Which was this past weekend. I even took Friday off so I could stay an extra day. 

Then, on Wednesday I got a call from Mom. She fell down the stairs (two, okay? she fell down two stairs) and twisted her ankle. The doctor said she has to stay off it for five days.

Five days. That would be Wednesday, Thursday, and... the three days we would have been in CT. I'm not saying I would ever want my mom to get hurt, but the timing of this made me more annoyed - and less sympathetic - than I should have been. 

Immediately Mom asked, pleaded, and then insisted we re-schedule for this weekend.

The weekend of the card show.

It's just as well. I suck at sports cards anyway. 


Have any of you heard of Halsey? 

D asked me that question yesterday, and my sports-centric brain immediately thought of the newest New Jersey Devils star. (note the twitter handle)

But apparently she is a musician. And she's from my town. And her mother went to school with D. I think they might even be Facebook friends, or at least they have mutuals who shared some news about the singer, 'cause that's what prompted this whole thang.

Here is a video of a song Halsey performed with The Chainsmokers. I have never heard it before, but this specific song was mentioned and so I shall play it now.

Sounds like every other damn thing on the radio. I ain't exactly hearing the Panic At The Disco influence, but maybe that's in her solo work? (spoiler alert: it isn't)

I like the use of Polaroids in the video because Polaroids are timeless and awesome.

"We ain't ever getting older." Bull f^cking sh!t you're not. Trust me, I'm there. 

I dunno. Maybe you gotta be in love to enjoy this type of music. 

Anyway, here's a sixty second tour of Big Sur by Go Pro Bro featuring MFG. 

Sigh... I'm going to hell.


Wednesday, August 3, 2016

My Last Post Ever*

*about my favorite girl.

Six months ago I set out to stop subjecting myself to things that bring me temporary joy but are hazardous to my long-term health. I wasn't ready to give up watching hockey or drinking soda, but I thought that if I could quit crushing on MFG (her real name rhymes with this classic rock song) perhaps it would set a positive precedent.

My will power held for quite a while - roughly 1/6th of the time I've crushed on her. In those six months I relaunched my blog, I spent more time with family, I played more video games, and I spent way too much time and money on sports cards.

I did everything I could to flood her out of my mind. 
But I knew the levee wouldn't hold forever. 


I often wondered how life was treating her. Random things would remind me of her, like when I'd see ads for Graze because that's exactly the kind of thing she'd sample and discuss on her blog/vlog.

I thought of her every time there was a mass shooting or terrorist attack (which is to say, every day and twice on Sundays). After the Paris attack, she posted a picture of herself as a little girl, wrote of her trip there, and lamented that "This world is not what it was intended to be and every day I become more and more aware of that."

Those words stuck with me as much as anything she's ever posted; I began to daydream of a more peaceful world, populated only with pure-hearted people like her, and I wondered how my outlook on life would be different if she were here with me.

Every night the cracks would expand - mainly from a lack of affection, intimacy, and physical contact in my home life. I couldn't sleep. Ever. I ran the same dream sequences on repeat. Her face started to fade from my memory. Yet somehow, I held myself back from her blog.

Some days the only thing that stopped me from breaking the streak was the streak itself. You've held out for 120+ days. Don't give up now. Don't go back to zero.

Returning to her blogs would only remind me of all of the failures and mistakes I've made. Short-term pleasure, long-term pain. 
The whole thing was just stupid. Why did I have to feel so strongly about this girl simply from reading her '"About Me" page? Why did I have to put her on a pedestal like I always do with girls I like (I even got called out for it by one such girl - in high schoolWhen will I get over this childish infatuation? When will I pick myself up, dust myself off, and move on?

If I didn't crush on her so hard perhaps we could have been friends or at least occasionally communicated through social media like normal people. But I have never been normal. If I was, I would have no need for such a crush because I'd be in a mutually satisfying relationship.

I'm self-aware enough to know all of this... but I can't just forget she exists, no matter how inconsequential and utterly useless such knowledge might be. This isn't Eternal Sunshine

Perhaps the only way to end this madness would be to go back to her blogs. Perhaps I'd see something there that would be such a major turn-off that I'd be 'cured' from crushing on her.
Is she engaged? Is she voting for Trump? It was a long shot, but I had to try.

And so this morning I woke up with nothing to look forward to and nothing else on my mind. I had no desire to read any more political news, and there's nothing interesting happening in sports until the Olympics get going. The dog days of summer are officially underway.

So I thought, fuck it. Let's get this over with.

I started by visiting her blog, home of the aforementioned "About Me" page that forever changed my perception of her from a random cute girl on YouTube to someone I instantly respected, admired, and desperately wanted to connect with. I was pleased to see that she had written something; her blog had become a ghost town, and it never seemed like anyone appreciated her long-form writing like I did. 

At one point she had decided to take a break from blogging (and YouTube) because she felt like it was isolating her and she wanted to focus on strengthening her real-life relationships. I have no real-life connections, I am always lonely, and blogging actually helps me feel less alone. 

She returned to blogging and social media because she felt God was calling her to help people out of darkness and depression and whatnot, which sounds like the girl I adore... except that same girl wasn't there for me when I took her up on that (bad timing), and I immediately felt like I was unworthy of her time. Rather than cutting my losses and letting go, I got upset and impatient and lashed out a bit (totally my fault, I projected all of my rejections on her.) 

I only had 20 minutes to absorb all I could before work, so I was only able to skim-read her posts. Then I skimmed through her Tumblr blog. She really did take a two month sabbatical from social media - which is like five years to a millennial. There was more on Instagram, but a lot of it was based around this new fitness plan she's doing, which seems to work well for her (but she's said that before.) She's done with heavy weight training and her workouts are more efficient and effective. 

And I gotta say she looks amazing. Definitely more fit and sculpted than I was expecting (not like Muscle Mom, but still.) She only posted a couple YouTube videos, and I half-watched one while spooning mouthfuls of sugar-laden Raisin Bran into my big fat face.

She was driving through L.A. with a friend, being her usual silly self, and they went to a gym. There was this Aussie trainer guy with them, and he was pointing to their muscles as they did some goofy-flexing poses, like Look at these guns, aye. Look at these buns, aye. Look at these abs, aye. 

[not embedding that, sry.]

And on that cue another guy enters the frame, lifting his shirt to reveal a bit of a round belly. Better than mine, but not exactly ripped. MFG plays along, running her hands over his belly like oh yeah look at them abs and I don't remember if she actually touched him or not but I couldn't imagine anyone who claims to have depression and anxiety issues doing such a thing to some random guy. But then I noticed an Insta pic of her meds and it made more sense. 

The cynic in me often rolls my eyes at taking antidepressants, like what's the point? My life won't change. But they work for her and that makes me happy.

this is what winning at life looks like

I've watched and read and followed this girl for three years. She's been a cover model for (at least) two different local bands, she's gained thousands of followers (and lost quite a few when she quit veganism), and one of her YouTube workouts was spotted by (who bestowed upon her some free swag.) 

I've seen her at her physical peak, when she was deadlifting close to 200 lb, and I've seen her worn down and defeated by her health issues. She was unable to work out for a whole semester, and "ballooned" to her highest weight - which I won't even post because it's laughably low. Still, even though I thought she looked beautiful when she was softer, curvier, and "fluffy" as she put it, I knew she worked hard to be fit and strong, and I knew how frustrated she must have felt whenever her illnesses impeded her progress. 

I read along as she struggled through school, health issues forcing her to take a semester off (which may have saved her life). I followed her blogs right up until her last semester, when she crammed a ton of high-credit classes into her busy schedule to make up for the lost time, and pondered what she was going to do with her life (and how to utilize her major.)

And when I first "met" her, I paid special attention to her personal life. I'll never forget her one Tumblr post about having all this love to give - but no one to give it to. She had been stood up for dates by more than one guy, and it frustrated her that men only seemed to show interest in her body. That sent my imagination into overdrive. 

Yeah, she's hot. She's beautiful AF. But there is so much more to this woman, and it's a damn shame that anyone in a position to get to know her as a person flat-out didn't care to. 

A few months later, she began dating a good guy, one that she had had her eye on since her freshman year. They just celebrated their two year anniversary.
2 years ago today, I had a 102 fever and this man was next to me watching Date Night.. Because when you can't actually go on one, just watch others do it. The day after he asked me to be his girlfriend, snotty nose and all. Love you boo thang
This also makes me happy. And a couple months ago she found a good job she actually enjoys.
er life is good. It's all fallen into place for her. 

Maybe that's all I needed to know. Maybe I just wanted to be certain that the world is treating her right because she's one of the good ones and she deserves all the happiness.

So My Favorite Girl's not engaged (yet?) but she and Go Pro Bro are still going strong. And if she does plan to vote for the Donald she sure as heck isn't bragging about it. 

And yeah, I found out some things that might fuel a few daydreams. But honestly, I'm... satisfied. I'm okay. I don't need another fix. I just needed to get all of this out of my system. Maybe now I can resist visiting her blogs. Maybe now I can stop wondering about her. 

Back to zero I guess. Such is life.

Next week I'll blog about more mature subject matter... like cartoons or something.

I promise I won't brood about this anymore. And I'll stop by your blogs soon. :-)