Love and Loss, or: too much info about my personal life, Part 2

II.

You see, while I was abroad, I met a guy. I know, I know – shocking. Something that is so normal is big-ass deal for me. Seriously, all of my guy friends, save one or two, since elementary school have been gay. So meeting as straight guy who seemed to like me and I liked and who wasn’t a douche and whom I actually had stuff in common with was a miracle. It seemed too good to be true. It was.

[X] was convinced that he liked me after I mentioned to her that I liked him. Which I conveniently realized at the end of the trip, when it was too late to do something. Fail. But when I returned home, I friended him and wrote him a message, asking about the rest of his trip. He was polite, but not forward – if he liked me, he wasn’t doing anything about it. So, after taking some advice from [X], I asked him out for coffee. Which he agreed to. I couldn’t believe it. I was high on delight and hope.

By this point, some of my friends were already referring to him as my boyfriend. I didn’t like this, as nothing had happened yet, but one friend said it was “inevitable” that we would be going out.

So we went to coffee. It was fun, sweet, charming. But I wasn’t sure I’d gotten my point across. He seemed to recognize that it was a date, but I wasn’t sure that he got that I liked him. So I told him via text that I had a good time and that he should let me know if he wanted to do something again. I basically got an “ok” and that was it. Frustrated, I waited a few days and, rolling with the advice of a pal from the Scotland trip, asked him if he wanted to do anything that weekend (okay, so the friend said to call him but I felt more comfortable with texting. As said before, I apparently don’t know how to use a phone). He said he was busy so I asked if he wanted to do something after my trip to Indiana to see family. He said he’d have to see. I was not happy, to say the least.

So I went to Indiana (which is a story in itself) and came back home, waiting for text, a call, a message, anything. Nothing. I refused to text him – mostly from the bidding of my friends, who said it was his turn to do the work. And besides, he’d shown no clear signs of liking me – which meant anything I did would look rather clingy and desperate.

Love and Loss, or: too much info about my personal life, Part 1

I’m making myself write this or I’ll never do it and I’ll regret it. Not because I think anyone cares but because this is my modern way of journaling and it’s not healthy for me to keep a bunch of thoughts like this piling up in my noggin, which is cramped for space as it is. And it is a huge cultural study – one I’m actually really interested in *cough, probably because it involves myself, cough*. So here goes nothing.

This starts with another blog for class that I wrote months ago (which stemmed from something I said in the blog about White Noise, actually). I’d been thinking a lot about what it’s like to be single in America and how much it fucking sucks. Not only is there an edge of loneliness to it, there’s this whole idea that you’re screwing up your life because you haven’t gotten a boyfriend or a girlfriend yet. And I especially noticed this when one of my friends from high school got her first boyfriend. As I’d said before regarding this topic, this runs the risk of sounding like a Dr. Phil show or me psychoanalyzing myself (which would both be lame and totally awkward). So I’m going to try very hard not to do that. It’s going to run like this – the first part is going to be a rough rendition of my original blog about capitalism and why that affects me being single (I know, I’m recycling another blog. Give me a break – it was one of the hardest I’ve ever written. Except for this one). The rest is going to be my reflections and how it’s gotten weirder. It’s gonna be long, so hold on for a bumpy ride.

I.

My friend, who I will refer to as [X] (because I can’t use “her” a thousand times, I can’t think of any girl’s names that start with [X], so no hints at who I’m talking about and, even though not many of my friends read this and if they do, it’ll be easy for them to figure out who I’m referring to, I’d rather be safe than sorry and at least show that I’m not trying to bitch about people online. It’s my way of working through feelings – and cultural concepts. Okay, I’m just a bitch, I admit it. But I’m working on it)… anyway, [X] is nice person (I emphasize she’s nice because, despite anything disparaging I say about her, you the reader should remember that I am biased from knowing her and not without faults myself. Thus it’s a hell of a lot easier for me to point out her downfalls). [X] was my best friend in high school and we bonded over a mutual appreciation for sarcasm, English literature and a sort of solidarity from both being only children. However, now that we’re in college, things are weird, possibly because we both have communication issues (she’s never online the same time I am, I apparently don’t know how to use a cell phone, she won’t really message me first unless it’s really important, and I don’t know how to begin conversations). But then things have gotten really weird.