Lucky Week

I've the absent minded professor syndrome. I think I inherited from my dad.

In one week I left my wallet at a bus stop, forgot my binder in a sushi shop, lost my phone, left my hat and book and eyeliner (?) in my friend's dorm room and finally, dropped my hat on the floor on my professors office and didn't know it.

By the grace of whatever keeps the universe together, every single thing came back to me.

My professor ended up giving the hat to another professor and by doing so, I was able to have a good conversation with both of them about international education opportunities and a few different mentor-ships with the college of forestry faculty.

On top of that, my good Jewish flirt buddy has promised to spend the night before his birthday watching the meteor shower provided that the skies are clear. Side note: He has a meteor shower on his birthday every year. How awesome is that? Mom, why didn't you plan better so that I could have a meteor shower for my birthday?? Seriously.

Basically, Everything has fallen into place and I'm incredibly grateful.

Nice Jewish Soon to be Lawyers.

Once upon a time, there was a Jewish girl that looked like a shiksa. She was tall, naturally blond and had blue eyes. In high school, she rarely dated. Her father, a professor at the local university, worried that she would never learn how to have a relationship. He tried time and time again to set his daughter up on dates with his prize students. He would ask, "Is ___ years too old for you?"

Now this same young woman is studying at the very same university where her father still teaches. She has many potential boyfriends. The problem though, is that they live all over the world. She calls them her "guy friends" but means that they are "options" for the future.

One day, her father calls her. " Young Man A just graduated with a degree in construction engineering but he decided to become an environmental lawyer instead. I just wrote his letter of recommendation. You two would hit it off. He's an independent thinker, well-read and has good politics. Plus, he looks Jewish the way you look Jewish." He's excited but doesn't want his daughter to feel pressured into a date so instead he says "Here's his e-mail. You both are going to Israel this year. You should talk about it."

The daughter laughs a little. Sends the nice, young Jewish soon to be lawyer a brief e-mail and calls one of her favorite guy friends. She tells him "Guess what just happened!.... My dad tried to set me up with a nice, Jewish boy who's going to be a lawyer...again."

Her guy friend breathes a deep breath and exhales "Can't you just tell him you already have one of those?"

She can see where this is going but wants him to admit it. "And who might that be?"

"Well...me."

"And... there it is. Potential." She thinks to herself and smiles.

Rant

Why do guys always say that I'm a "sweet girl" or "so cute" or "fucking adorable?"

I know that most young women want to be told that but I'm tired of it. Being told that I'm sweet or cute is demeaning. Puppies are cute, kittens are sweet and babies are adorable.

Multi-lingual, motorcycle wanting, forestry students are not. We're badass. Why can't guys tell me that I'm impressive or intimidating or intellectually stimulating or even sexy? No, I'm "Sweet." So what if I'm blond, wear cardigans and ride a pink bicycle with a basket. I'm more than that. Does friendly translate into adorable? I should start glaring more often.

Stupid boys.

You with Your Voice

I see you once a year.

We talk

maybe once a month.

We're friends.

I can be an absolute bitch and you don't care.

I don't care that you are a bit of a dick.

We match.

Remember, when you helped me break up with my boyfriend a year ago?

I tried on my own and failed. Miserably. I remember, I called you. I was terrified.

You said,

"Just breath. Call him back. See him in person. Say the hardest thing first. Be honest and say you're ending it. If he wants an explanation, give it to him. But don't try and dip you're toe in the water because you have to jump right in or you'll back out of it."

I called him back. I broke his heart and as the rain poured down and the tears came down his face, I felt relieved.

I called you back, exhilarated. I said I had done it.

You said, "good, because now if you're ever in my neck of the woods, I can have you to myself."

And I wanted to slap you for it. And I wanted to giggle and I wanted to laugh and dance and hug myself.

You're taller than me by just an inch but you don't mind if I wear heels. You said it's nice to look a woman in the eye and a powerful woman is something to be respected, not feared.

You have bright green eyes, a constant five o' clock shadow and silver flecked hair. You're only a year older than me but you look about ten years older.

Then you open your mouth and speak. Although the words are articulate and well placed, the voice is husky and boyish.

You seem young but precocious.

I remember meeting you. I couldn't remember your name but you so clearly remembered mine. You tackled me in the snow. I was speechless. Not because you blew me away by your looks or charm, but because I couldn't place you. At all.

You grew on me though. Persistence. It's a virtue. It took you over a year to gain my respect. You have it now. Whole-heartedly. You've grown up a lot though. The past few years haven't been easy on you.

You still make me furious sometimes. There was awhile when you would call me to flirt with me so that you felt wanted. I'm more than an ego boost. We dealt with it though and you realized that it was a shitty reason to call someone. That said, you make me feel wanted too.

Neither of us are ready for real relationships. We live far from each other and our schedules aren't conducive to visits. Maybe a little long-distance flirtation isn't a bad thing.

Last time I saw you, I brought a friend. You were dating someone at the time and I didn't want to find myself kissing you and getting in the middle of something. I could feel you staring at me though. You undressed me with your eyes and every time you came near me, I could feel your sharp intake of breath as you tried to stealthily smell my hair. You weren't very sneaky.

And yet, being wanted with those eyes of yours makes me melt.

Someday, we'll go on two dates that won't be a year apart.

Names

child, I am flower

my reproductive powers bring other people

and with them,

beauty into the world.

I grow and wilt

Give me water, nutrients sunlight,

I will blossom.

You, dear soul, are stone.

Practical and handsome.

You are smoothed by rivers and waterfalls.

Finely ground against the molecules. Softened.

I harden, fossilize against you.

I leave my print within you

and you

will never be the same.

Tall and Dark, Short and Sweet

I'm a practical romantic if that makes any sense. I don't want phone calls wishing me goodnight or to be inseparable from my boyfriend. I want a guy that has good conversation, good body and good chemistry with me. Those three things are actually incredibly hard to find.

I met two guys with the same name at the same time. I kissed both of them almost exactly a year apart. One is tall with dark hair and green eyes. The other is short with sandy blond hair and brown eyes. The tall one is passionate, opinionated and driven. The short one is sweet, playful and relaxed. They are both incredibly intelligent and were bit by the travel bug like I was. We kissed and left town. They live far away from me and from each other. We've kept in touch and are still friends.

I know that I create expectations that are too high and that often, I over romanticize people and situations. It's just that in the middle of the night when I'm having trouble sleeping, I think about the tall one and the short one and I would take either of them if they lived in town.

Friendship

I held your hand for a split second as we ended our hug tonight. I didn't mean to. It just... happened. I saw that look on your face. You seemed so confused but somehow okay. I know we say our friendship is platonic, but is it?

You tell me I'm beautiful and call me at three in the morning. You ask about my day, my family, my life. Detailed, specific questions that make my mouth open and the words flow out. I ask you about your day, your life and your family. You answer with cryptic, deflective answers.

And the hugs. Your hugs. They start out platonic and then at that moment when most hugs release, you pull me closer and hold on. I can feel your head lay on my shoulder and then the connection is lost and you drop me down and turn away. Somehow I ended up with your hand in mine after this last hug. I don't know how, but I did.

I wonder about you. Somehow, you can take me seriously even after I climbed into a giant cardboard box behind a building at 1 in the morning and said we should pretend we lived in a Hooverville. I picked a broom out of a dumpster and walked around until I saw a sign that said "Parking for bicycles." I plopped the broom down next to it and said "I wish I had a pen. Then I could write "and brooms (for those magically inclined)" on the bottom of the sign. You smiled that smile of yours, laughed a little bit and said "You are fucking adorable."

I normally hate being called adorable. I'm 5'10. Adorable implies small, cute, fragile. I'm tall, strong and opinionated. You made me proud to be adorable. Maybe it was the "fuck" that you added.

I love that I can be silent with you. We walk all over town, stand in the middle of bridges, climb trains and lie down under the streetlights while it's raining. You embrace the quirkiness and you don't need an explanation because you feel it too. This lust for life.

I don't understand you sometimes. Once you offered to walk across town to give me your coat because I mentioned I was cold during a phone call. You've seen me walking home and given me a ride even though my house was in the opposite direction of your destination. You even drove me to another town because I forgot my wallet on a train. I offered to pay for gas and you wouldn't let me.

We've had conversations about how you give off the wrong signals to women sometimes and that's why you don't have very many friends that are women. What are you doing to me then?