Minutes past

Hello, readers.

Ten minutes to eleven. It’s been over a month since I’ve written anything. It’s been over a month that I’ve read anything that doesn’t talk about Biostatistics or healthy public policies. Life has become a whirlwind that seems to stand still. Like going for surgery, disconnecting from the world only to wake up and find that the world has gone on without you. It has changed and so have you. And it’s not one of those emotional improvement changes, it’s a visceral/physical change.

Two minutes to eleven. Grad school is everything and nothing like I expected. Everything and nothing. I’m happy. My hands digging into the doughy bits, there’s no mold just the shapes your hands can make. And it’s liberating to feel that control, to grasp it firmly in your fist in a show of victory.

A minute past eleven pm. I miss my friends. Life has gone on without me, as it should. And in a few short weeks we’ve reorganized ourselves into new dynamics. It’s an exercise in anxiety management, these worn paths of friendship suddenly diverging. We’ve become many small roads, instead of a four lane highway.

Four past eleven, time flies. I miss the quiet moments. The not doing anything with someone else. I miss my wife, passionately and profoundly. Like I carved out my heart to make space for new knowledge. Like I was put under and someone scooped it out without my consent.

I close my eyes and panic a little because I didn’t know this would happen. I panic because I should’ve known. This heartache of missing people that are there, feeling whole in their embrace and shattered in the knowledge that you’re the one that’s unavailable.

Eleven past eleven. Make a wish. I wish you were here. Not so quietly playing The Sims, while that annoying Kim K soundtrack plays on your tablet.

Thirteen past eleven. I wish I could take you for granted again.

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Alphabet Soup: W is for Wife

This segment titled Alphabet Soup: The alphabet according to someone with very little shame and a lot of time on her hands was inspired by blogger Mandy Wallace and the Writers of Kern A to Z challenge. Enjoy!

Happy Friday, readers!

I hope you’re all doing well and getting ready for the weekend! My version of that is to stay at home studying all day because tomorrow I have my grad school admission test. Wuuuuuut?! Terrifying stuff, man. I haven’t taken a math class since high school. So, I’m hoping the cram session will do me some good. And what am I going to do afterwards, you ask? I’m taking my wife to Disneyland! Nah, I’m too broke for that. I’ll probably take her out for a beer though, or something.

W is for Wife

People always react weirdly when I say I have a wife. First they assume I’m legally married to someone and also a lesbian, then when I clarify it’s neither they dismiss the whole thing as a trend. And it definitely is a trend, girls saying they’re married to their best friends. It’s usually just another term for best friend though, which doesn’t make it less just different.

When I say she’s my wife, I mean I’d probably actually marry her. The closest I can come to describing it is being in an asexual relationship. She’s the one person I love doing nothing with. The one person I can picture spending the rest of my life with. Commitment with her, in any of its iterations doesn’t seem daunting. It seems normal, almost obvious.

I see her and I think she sees me, which is really all we’re looking for in life, isn’t it? We all want that person who is always there for us. Who gets our jokes, who listens, who is actively interested in what we have to say. That one person who is excited when good things happen for us, whose words are never empty.

So no, it’s not just a trend. I don’t just mean she’s my best friend, although she is that too. The fact that you don’t quite understand it, doesn’t mean it’s something to be dismissed. It’s real and kind of electrifying when you think about it. To have stumbled upon something so solid, so there. She makes me happy, ya know?

She’ll read this at some point. We’ll both be mildly embarrassed because neither one of us has any idea how to deal with feelings. It’s nice.

(By the way hwife, we’re going for a beer date tomorrow after my test. Yes? Yes. Kloveyoubai!)

Until next time, readers!

Alphabet: S is for Side by Side

This segment titled Alphabet Soup: The alphabet according to someone with very little shame and a lot of time on her hands was inspired by blogger Mandy Wallace and the Writers of Kern A to Z challenge. Enjoy!

It’s Fridaaaaaayyyyyyyy. #Excitement

S is for Side by Side

It’s currently 1:21am. I’m sitting in front of my best friend, while we sip Hot White Chocolate. She’s on her computer. I’m on mine. There are moments when we don’t speak. There’s music on. This has been going on for approximately 5 hours. And it sounds like we’ve run out of things to do, but this was the plan. She came over expressly for this, this being absolutely mundane in each other’s company.

There’s something to be said for it. Sitting next to her, the silence feels like home. Like making everything else irrelevant. Like understanding what people say when they talk dreamily about not needing anyone else. She mutters under her breath, while I surf the web aimlessly.

Suddenly a song comes on, we start singing at the same time. Bobbing our heads in exactly the same way. Because we’ve danced together enough to get to that place. Enough to anticipate, to merge our styles – my head sways, her fist pumps.

And I can’t help but wonder if our hearts have synchronized. If our breath flows in tandem, a push and pull of the world around us that’s never the same, but complementary. I wonder if the world has learned to grow around us. Covering us in layers of time, fine powders that get into everything. The sands of time settle in the corners of this thing we’ve built. And it’d be so easy to drown in them with someone else. But she’s not someone else. She’s the silence I look forward to. The person that makes the mundane something to look forward to. The one who makes forever seem like not enough.

She’s still in next to me. Skyping with someone. The hot chocolates are gone. TLC is on. Life goes on, but it goes on better with her. You know?

Until next time, readers!

Alphabet Soup: P is for Paris

Hello, readers! I hope this Friday finds you full of energy for the coming weekend. I know I’m feeling primed and ready to go. For some reason though, I ended up feeling nostalgic and thinking about that time, so many moons ago, when I was in Paris.

When I was in my third year of college an opportunity arose to visit Paris on a study/travel trip. Basically, we’d take a few classes at the university, then head off to Paris to see it all firsthand. At the time I was saving up for a car, but I decided to do the trip instead. Which, in hindsight, is when I started putting travel above anything else.

I remember being scared, but also incredibly excited. I’d never done anything like it and I didn’t know anyone on the trip, at least not well enough for them to be a safety net. I ended up rooming with the person I sort of knew, which turned out to be a disaster. But despite that, the trip was excellent. I ended up meeting people who are among my best friends today, like Nelson and Denise.

Traveling to Paris, although I didn’t quite know it at the time, marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life. A time of new friends who would push my boundaries. Of trying new things and breaking out of my shell and feeling the world change beneath my feet.

I don’t think they know it, but they’ve been such a huge part of shaping who I am today. We’ve traveled together, laughed and cried together. In the years I’ve known them they’ve become two of my favorite people.

In the end, this post isn’t about Paris, but about the people I met there. The ones I still talk to and the ones who were there and gone. Because they were all part of it. Part of the strange magic and odd convergence that was Paris. This post is about the friends I made and how my life wouldn’t be the same without them.

Have a good one, readers! Enjoy your weekend!

Rangent: Mixed Signals

Middle of the week ranting tangents? Let’s do this!

I don’t know about you guys, but I hate mixed signals. Maybe it’s just cultural? Bleurgh. I’m going to backtrack for a sec, so you can get the full picture.

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While I was traveling I received a message on OkCupid (Yes, I online date.), from this really adorable Israeli guy. I was traveling though, so not much could be done about it. I figured nothing would come of it, I barely had wifi so it’s not like we could talk. Except, when I got back home he messaged me again asking how my trip had been. We talked and decided to go out.

This date was one of those almost straight out of a movie dates. He came to pick me up, opened the door for me, refused to let me pay for anything. He was funny, charming, smart, well traveled. I’m telling you, it was a pretty great date on paper. On paper.

After the second beer we decided to go for a walk and ended up sitting somewhere looking at the water, surrounded by stars and dim lighting. We were talking and suddenly he starts going on about how he recently broke up with his girlfriend. He’s just looking for friends because he gets lonely.

Gee guy, isn’t this something you should’ve said before? Just sayin’. Alright, I’ll go with it. That’s fine. He’s cool, so we can be friends. Except he keeps asking me on outings that are clearly dates. It’s like dating someone without all the sexual benefits. Ugh.

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I realize that it’s probably me overanalyzing things and being annoyed because I want to make out. Butt fuck it. I just want him to organize himself.

Hope you’re having a more sensible week than I am! Stay cool, readers.

Rangent: I’ve Had the (Most Awkward) Time of My Life

A new week has begun, ending what was arguably one of the most awkward weekends in my life. Mind you, it wasn’t that I was being awkward, rather that I ended up in situation after situation that was. Lemme tell you.

On Saturday, my best friend and I were meant to be having a packing party at her place so she can get everything together for her upcoming trip. We’re both traveling for long periods, outfit planning is essential. It always is, but you know what I mean. Instead we ended up hanging out with a trio of guys whose idea of drinking together was watching a movie. In the dark. In Silence. With a beer in hand. Heap on that the internal issues that were happening in the group and you get a fairly awkward situation.

On Sunday, even though we stalled and procrastinated, we went to an ex-coworker’s baby shower. Attending baby showers is baffling to me, until I realize I’m 23 years old and that’s what people are doing at my age. Having babies, buying cars, settling down. And I’m over here just hoping no one asks me to hold a baby or talks about how of course I’ll have one some day.

No, I won’t, you hear me!? No. I. Won’t.

Back to the baby shower though, it was as cute and awkward as you’d expect it to be when you’re the expecting mom’s only two female friends at the party. Made worse by the fact that, of course, the brodude leading the games decided that we were the ones who JUST HAD to play. This lead to about five minutes of him begging and telling us he wasn’t going to beg. When that didn’t work, he sulked and expressed it by making unnecessary comments all night long. There was a long period of truly terrible jokes. I’m sparing you the details because I have no desire to relive it.

Thankfully, mom and dad were really nice and happy for us to be there. So, the weird was mitigated by nice, friendly people. Pregnant people, but that shouldn’t be held against them.

These are the times when it pays to have a stable, solid relationship with your best friend. That way the crazy and, at times uncomfortable, events around you become funny and bearable. And that’s true of a lot of things in life, having good friends who get your humor and the faces you make and that moment when you’re over everything. It means, at the very least, that someone will laugh at your jokes, respond in kind with a face of their own, and save you from murdering a few dozen people.

At the end of the day, that relationship is the one that keeps you happy and sane. It’s not about being the same people, but rather about having the same alcohol minded priorities and lack of shame.

So, buy your friends a beer. Get them some candy. Buy them a puppy. And say, “Hey! You’re a buttface, but you’re my buttface.” It’s something everyone needs to hear once in a while.

Happy Monday, readers. Until next time, here’s a weird video.