So That Happened...

No Pressure

Today is Valentine's Day, or as Big Greeting Card, Big Flowers, or Big Chocolate* would tell you, The Date On Which If Someone Does Not Tell You That They Love You Today, Then Their Actions During The Rest Of The Year Mean Nothing - NOTHING! Instead of making myself feel obligated to write some post about twu wuv, I am just going to redirect you to read this post, which is about the most romantic thing that has ever happened to me.

* I didn't include Big Cupcake** in that triumverate because those three pretty much have the lock on gifts given today, plus I also REALLY love cupcakes and wouldn't exactly turn them away on this or any day, to be quite honest.

** I just realized that Big Cupcake would be an AWESOME name for the bakery I want to eventually own, so no one take it, okay? I can already envision motifs and graphics for it!

"A mix tape! He made a mix tape!"

I left this comment on Three Words Back... when David asked about mix tape/CD stories. I was going to hold on writing about it until Valentine's Day because it seemed more appropriate, but it's been on my mind and so I wanted to share it with you now instead.

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I was a BIG Michael Jackson fan when I was young. Who wasn't? I went to school with a boy named Jon who teased me mercilessly. Of course, I didn't know at the time that that was Boy Code for him liking me; I just thought he was mean and that he didn't like me at ALL. Ah, youth.

One day in the third grade there was a knock on the door. When I opened it no one was there, and nothing was there but for a small package. I opened it, and inside was a love letter from Jon (on notebook paper!) tied around a cassette of Thriller. Not a purchased cassette, but rather a copy he had made from a record. Being a kid, I was embarrassed and got rid of both things in due time.

Even though Jon and I are no longer in touch, I would give *anything* to have his letter and that tape back - that little black cassette that Jon made just for me, because he knew how much I loved Michael Jackson. I really, really would.

Fin.

(Today's title is from the song "Mix Tape" from Avenue Q!)

The Valentine's Day After Post

It never fails.  Every year around this time a guy wants to make a Big Fat Deal of proposing marriage to his girlfriend, and so he does Something! Big! like renting a billboard to do the job for him.  The girlfriend is more often than not shocked as well as a little embarrassed, and (usually) says yes.

To which I say, UGH.

Listen.  I'm all for love and being in love.  I just really do not like excessive PDA (the kind that elicits responses such as "Get a room" or "Okay, you can stop trying to prove to the world that you love your girl"), nor do I enjoy being put on the spot, so the thought of being proposed to in public is my absolute worst nightmare.  For me, I would rather it be done quietly, somewhere out of the public eye and preferably without the aid of public advertising space.  That one moment isn't for sharing.  Should anyone ever propose marriage to me and do so publicly, I would know without a doubt that this person had absolutely no idea who I was, and I would drop him in a heartbeat. 

Just once I'd like to see a woman turn a guy who made a Big Fat Deal of their engagement down.  Just ONCE.  I want to see someone do what Melanie Griffith did in Working Girl and just shoot down Alec Baldwin and his big public proposal with an "I'll think about it."  That would be awesomely satisfying.  (She didn't, by the way; she ended up with Harrison Ford and a cushy new job plus her own cubicle and assistant!)

Tangentially speaking, shut it, Mr. "I! LOVE! THIS! WOMAN!"I LOVE THIS WOMAN!" DeBeers from the commercial, because you come off like a loudmouth jerk.  And that goes double for you, Mrs. "I love this man!" DeBeers, only because you say it after he gives you your diamond.

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Dear Car In Front Of Me On The Freeway,

Really?  It's Valentine's Day?  I had no idea.  Thanks for writing "HAPPY <DRAWING OF HEART> DAY!" all over your rear view windshield with that window paint stuff, otherwise I would have never known.

By the way, the hearts all over the side windows?  Nice touch.

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I spent my Valentine's Day night with Jen at the Arclight watching Breakfast at Tiffany's.  (Celebrity sightings: James Denton and that dude from Entourage who is dating Nicky Hilton, but he was outside Amoeba.) That is one top-notch film, no?  George Peppard is so handsome, Audrey Hepburn is luminescent perfection, and her entire Givenchy wardrobe is something I will covet until the day I die.

The one thing that comes very close to ruining the entire film for me is Mickey Rooney in yellowface as Holly Golightly's perpetually annoyed (and annoying) Japanese neighbor, Mr. Yunioshi.  Yeah, you read that right.  FREAKING BUCKTOOTHED, CLUMSY-ASSED YELLOWFACE. 

"MISS GORIGHTRY!!  If you don't turn that down I rill carr the PORICE!  Did-a you HEAR ME, MISS GORIGHTRY??!"  Just...ugh.

Rooney's performance offends me so very deeply that I am driven to punch holes into various walls, OR HIS FACE.  I'm not kidding.  I can feel my whole body turn into one big knot whenever he is on screen.  I can't even talk about it anymore, it makes me so mad.  Shut it, Mickey Rooney.

Didn't We Almost Have It All? Okay, Maybe Not. But Still.

Aye, but It is the darkest of days. 

My beloved Neil Patrick Harris - my lifelong crush for whom I have nothing but deep, unabiding, and hateless love - made it official and came out to People magazine. 

My co-worker called me to break the news, and also to make sure that there was nothing sharp with which to slit my wrists nearby, or any ledges from which to jump off of.

We'll I'll always have Harris, I guess.

Sigh.

Next Stop: Rumination Station

I am what you would call a Thinker.  I'm constantly going over events and exchanges in my head, which is (perhaps too) easy to do considering I spend a great deal of time alone.

I've been thinking about my earlier post as well as Jessica's thoughts on said post, and I came to the same conclusion: while I am loved by my friends and family (and for whom I am so grateful), I do wish to have someone hold me and tell me that I am pretty, smart, loved, and that everything really will be all right. 

On that same note, I miss the sense of security I felt knowing that someone cared for and was thinking of me, and the sense of joy knowing that I felt the same way for them. 

I miss the little things: the silly e-mails full of newly developed inside jokes; the phone calls just to see how I was doing; the hand on the small of my back when we enter a room; the simple yet powerful gesture of someone taking my hand in theirs.

I miss the look that crosses a man's face when he first sees you after a period of time has passed.  It could be five minutes, five days, or five months, but when someone looks at you with that expression of relief, desire, and happiness, it makes you feel so special, as if there is no one else in the room but you.  I miss being seen in that way.

The problem is this: every relationship has a Gardener and a Flower.  I tend to be the Gardener - the one who wants the relationship more and is always working to make sure the Flower is okay and that everyone and everything is happy happy joy joy.  In turn, the Flower does little to nothing to help cultivate the relationship because they don't have to do anything.  The Gardener is doing enough work for both of them.  It's exhausting, unfulfilling, and unrewarding.

I'm tired of doing all the work.  I want someone who is willing to put in some effort - to be the Gardener - for ME.  We can be two Gardeners trying to make the best of it.  That would be nice, wouldn't it?

(Crap.  This post is making me sound desperate.  I don't like it.  I'm not desperate to hitch my wagon onto someone else's at this time.  In fact, I am feeling quite wary of dating and have my guard up.  Getting hurt will do that to you.  However, I know that my guard won't stay up forever, and that I will put myself out there again.  Just...not right now.)

Damn You Sandler and Barrymore

Tonight Jen and Lauren introduced me to The Wedding Singer, which I had not seen before until now.  Although I bought both soundtracks (yes, there was a volume two - did you know?), I purposely stayed away from the movie because I am not an Adam Sandler fan, nor am I a fan of Drew Barrymore and her face which seemed to be touched with a bit of the palsy.  That mouth thing of hers annoys me to no end!  So, for that matter, does Alicia Silverstone's, but that's for another post.

Anywho, the movie.  Turns out I really liked it.  A lot!  Color me surprised.  I adored the music (of course) and just loved the costume design, although Drew's Julia was the only character who seemed totally out of place.  She was in very '90s-inspired clothes, y'all.  Whither the crimped hair or crunchy bangs, Drew?

Now that I like this movie, I can't say that I hate Adam Sandler or Drew Barrymore anymore.  Dammit.  I hate it when this happens.

Somewhat Related and Yet Somewhat Embarrassing Aside: The line that kind of got to me was when Robbie's best friend, Sammy, says that all he wants is for someone to hold him and to tell him everything will be all right.  Now that I've been single for some time (well, the Boy - and I'm not calling him a man because he ultimately didn't act like one - and I never said we were exclusive, but we were dating, and that whole "Are we just dating or are we exclusive?" period where you don't know where you stand with the other person is just so weird, but now not having heard from him in months pretty much tells me where I stand with him, I guess), I've been thinking about love and other matters of the heart, and I can't help but believe that that sentiment is true.  We all want that, don't we? 

"There's a fine, fine line..."

I'm going to keep this short. 

Remember the Boy? 

Well, I haven't heard from him in over a month, even after earlier promises made of calling me, blah blah blah.

He's going through a lot right now, but still, A MONTH.

I was quite disappointed and hurt because I thought he was better than this, and I am still admittedly licking my wounds, but I will not let this get me down.  ANYMORE.

Because I am part optimist, I will retain just a modicum of hope, but honestly, if I ever hear from him again, I will be very surprised. 

What I know is this: I tried on my end as best as I could, and it is ultimately his loss.

So there.

(Today's title is from Avenue Q.)

I Still Don't Get It, But Okay

After days of silence, the aforementioned Boy?  Has called.

At least I know he wasn't trapped under something heavy.

I Just Don't Get It

Girl meets Boy.  Girl likes Boy.  Boy likes Girl. 

Boy and Girl start going out.  Things seem to be going well. 

Suddenly, Girl doesn't hear from Boy for days. 

Sigh. 

"This is SO going in my blog!"

Just stick a fork in me, guys, because I am done.  DONE.

I, I just...I have no words.  I am verklempt, people, VERKLEMPT!  Verklempt and filled with nothing but mad love for Neil Patrick Harris!  And look - he didn't even Suit Up!, but he is still ever so adorable, and I didn't go blind or turn into a pillar of salt by looking at him or standing in such close proximity.

I love you, NPH!  Call me!

(Note: If you don't know where this post's title is from, well, you are already beyond help.)