Blogger was having one of it's periodic spasms earlier today, and would not allow me to post. Then, I'd allotted time and was in the mood for blogging; now, not so much. Also, I ran into Matt *asshole* Lindeman. Oddly enough, today's still been a pretty good day.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
24. I'm very impressed when you ask for my advice.
Um, okay. Why? In my specific case, I can understand, as I am reluctant to ask anyone's advice, largely owing to the fact that I hold the intelligence of the average person in the same esteem as that of the average dog. So, if I do ask for your advice, it means I must think you're either really smart or have a specific field of expertise that I may find helpful. In general, though, what's the big deal? Are most guys so caught up in their own insecurities that they play macho and won't ask a woman for advice? If so, that's really sad. Sadder still, it's not surprising. If I've solicited your advice, and please don't take this comment to be as arrogant as it will sound, that's one of the highest compliments I can give.

Also, Skeeter, if Anne doesn't know much about the Bible, it's mostly because she was raised Catholic. There is no major faith on the face of the earth that does a worse, more lackluster job of exposing its youth to the beauty of its own traditions than Holy Mother Church.

Yep, Brad's thing last night was about as bad as I'd thought it would be. Not terrible, but I had to listen to his moron friend Joe's opinions on pop culture. Joe's a nice enough guy, and he's funny, but he has all the wrong ideas. Seriously, he loves crap and denigrates quality. Movies, tellie, music, it doesn't matter what. Joe's got an opinion and it's one hundred eighty degrees wrong. But, I've suffered through worse. Then, out of the blue, the Mountain showed up. I guess Brad had mentioned it when David was over on Sunday night. I love seeing David, but it threw me for a complete loop. Not only was it unexpected, but it invoked the hated mixing of friends (for those of you who knew me in high school, I haven't made any progress on this one, nor do I want to) and involving David in an overall unfortunate situation. Honestly, I'd really rather not have David subjected to people acting like idiots on their birthdays. Despite attending the twenty-first birthday "celebrations" of many associates, and some beloved friends, I still think it's fucking stupid to waste your birthday drinking for the amusement of others.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
Monday's...
22. If I slept over, you owe me breakfast.
If she slept over as in sleeping together, yes. If she just crashed on the couch after a fun night of platonic revelry, no. Now, breakfast would still be a nice thing to offer, and of course there's always the fun time of going out to breakfast, either as a pair or a group, after a late night of fun and frolicking.

Today's...
23. If you ask me out directly, I will say yes.
Bullshit. A month after meeting her, I asked Lindsay out. I said, "Do you want to go out this weekend?" Not "Do you want to hang out?" or "Do you want to do something?," but "Do you want to go out?" That's a date folks, yet when she showed up, she pretended that the whole deal was just two friends hanging out. Bullshit.

21. You should never tell me what to do. cont'd
True. A loving relationship is based upon mutual respect, not dominance. Requests and suggestions are fine, orders are not. Now, there are of course exceptions. After a night of drinking, when I'm sober and everyone else is drunk, it is perfectly fine for me to tell you to not walk in the middle of the road. And sometimes people just have to trust each other, like I have to give you specific orders to follow and I just don't have time to explain right now, but please trust me and I promise I'll tell you everything once this is all over. That's fine, too, as long as it's a legitimate emergency, not standard procedure. A specific complication is that Lindsay does not take unsolicited help well. Some people can't wait for others to offer to help, she hates that. The why is her private business, but we've talked about it and it's something she's working on.

I know you'll all seriously contemplate hari kari, but I urge you to not panic. I just don't feel like writing today. I've got stuff to say, but I'm not in the mood to say it.

Okay, one thing. As a gesture of friendship, I was going to take Brad up to Conor's today, his twenty-first birthday. Unfortunately, he and some other friends were already planning to go to Charley's. Ugh. So, I'll make as short a guest appearance as I can manage. It would be dishonest to say I'm surprised, I'm just a little disappointed in Brad for being so very much himself.

As David said yesterday, I'm a monster.

Big thanks to both Julie and Dylan, who both remembered my birthday. This is the first one in years to not freak me out. 23. How about that?

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
Wednesday's...
19. A man I love plans the occasional fancy-schmancy dress-up date and impromptu weekend getaways, and he buys my favorite cnady in advance when we're just going to the movies.
Okay, the candy thing I can do. The other two, well, first I'd need the opportunity that has thus far been denied me. However, I did fly out to California, far and away the first person to do that, just to see her, and I timed it specifically so we could go to Warped together. The bridge of "Riot Grrl", the part about my perfect girl in the pit, I wrote that before I met Lindsay, but it could not be more her.

Thursday's...
20. You look hot in hooded clothing items.
I've chosen to read this as saying I'd look hot in a hooded Jedi robe.

Today's...
21. You should never tell me what to do.
This is a complex one. I'll come back to it tomorrow or Monday.

I had lunch with Seth Perkins today. What I love about Seth is that he lets me ramble on and on like a bloody madman and he just sits there laughing and nodding his head. He finds me both funny and insightful and has a general distain for people. That's not true, it's just that people don't get Seth and Seth doesn't get people. So, he tends to just keep his mouth shut. When he does speak, though, he's fucking hilarious. We once had a conversation about Hee Haw that was the funniest ten minutes of my entire life.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
18. When I compare my flabby tummy to a kangaroo pouch, say nothing.
I love Lindsay's stomach.

I had to attend a housewarming party at Alber & SSG's new apartment on Saturday. Well, that was not much fun. It wasn't terrible, as I'd feared it might be, but it certainly wasn't a good time. SSG hugged me twice, when I arrived and departed. What the fuck? Okay, I've never been a big fan of women hugging in lieu of a handshake, but I can live with it. However, in the almost two years I've known her, SSG and I have never had a hugging relationship. Either it was simmering mutual animosity or simply the fact that I saw her four or five times a week. Probably the latter, but I keep a candle burning for the former. I haven't seen her in a while, though; so, now it appear we hug. To quote The Thing, "What a revoltin' development!"

Justin asked me why I hadn't called Scott while I was out in California to get in touch with the two of them and Steve. I told him I'd run out of time. This is true, but not the entirety of the truth. Steve and Justin planned to go out to California. They had no intention of inviting me. I only found out when I told Scott I'd be out there to visit Lindsay. The three of them planned this without me; I'm not saying this bitterly, it's just the facts of the case. I was not invited to be a part of it; so, why should I invite myself? Resentment? Maybe a smidge, but I can't blame them. The three of them shared a single room together for their first two years of college. That has to have formed a hell of a bond.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
17. I own a Debbie Gibson CD, and I'm not afraid to use it.
It's worse than that, Matchbox Twenty is her favorite band. Music is perhaps the issue on which I am most annoying. But, it's only because I believe passionately in the music I love. However, music's an issue on which we're reaching an understanding. She is in love with Mike Herrera, the lead singer/bassist of MxPx, and is as fierce and fearless in the pit as anyone. Plus, when I specifically requested we listen to Matchbox Twenty while she was preparing her absolutely delicious lasagna, she admitted that she could see how I wouldn't like them from a musical point of view. My taste in music can work for me, not against me, I just need to learn to heed Coach Oldham's advice and not overpower people. Hmm, on that note I should try to get back in touch with Oldham. I miss that old bastard.

To whom it concerns: I sincerely appreciate all the love that's been steered my way over the last week. Thank you all. You're far better friends than I've earned, and living proof that my comeuppance has not yet come. I'm recovering from the hysteria of Tuesday and Wednesday, and once again gaining some perspective.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
16. Shoes determine whether you're fashionable or not.
Black, high-top Chuck Taylor All-Stars, baby! Fuck yeah.

Today I'm wearing a new Flogging Molly T-shirt I bought at the San Francisco Warped. It's the Molly shirt we're all been waiting for: black with a white skull-and-crossed-swords, Flogging Molly written in red in an archaic looking font. It's awesome. My only concern is that between the shirt and my tattoo I've got too much skull going on. Actually, I'm entirely certain I've got too much skull going on, but I love this shirt too much to care.

David's against me getting more tattoos. I think he's afraid I'll become some sort of tattoo guy. This stikes me as an unreasonable fear, in that during all of my visits to the tattoo parlor, I've felt very much that I do not at all belong, other than the fact that I have a sweet tattoo. I've never belonged, no matter where I've gone. So, why should the tattoo parlor be any different? (Or, he's just worried that I'll look like a tool. Have faith, my blue friend. I know what I'm doing.)

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
15. You did something bad. I seem cool with it. I'm not. (See directly above. [In our case, yesterday's item.])
On the contrary, Lindsay very clearly lets me know when I've done something to piss her off. I hear about it. Hell, I even hear about it when I haven't done anything wrong. I don't hold it against her because I well understand that none of us is perfect, and that I am perhaps the least fair person I know. But, I understand the principle, in that we often overlook things for the sake of someone we care about, but that it would be really cool for that person to appreciate that he or she has done something and to freely offer an apology.

It is at times like these that I really wished I cried. Or got drunk. Something cathartic would be really helpfully. (Example, sleeping with Lindsay. Wait, crap, the whole problem is that I can't do that. Damn it!) (This is one of my facetious, non-crazy moments; so, please take this as gallows sarcasm.)

I think it's perfectly reasonable for me to feel incredibly lonely right now; so, I'm not going to beat myself up about it. That's the predominant fact of my life at the moment: the absense of Lindsay. Right or wrong, there it is.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
14. I'm more forgiving of you than I really should be.
The absolute truth is so rare, that we must savor the beauty of it when seen. At best I am an oaf. Easily, I am an ogre. I am afraid that I am a monster. All of my friends are patient souls, lest they would have fled from me long ago. I am terribly trying. This is true of no one more than Lindsay. She has a terrible temper (which I am only now beginning to understand and predict), yet she puts up with so much from me. It's fucking incredible. At one point last week we were talking about why she liked me, and she said, "It's inexplicable." At this, I started teasing her, "Ha ha, you like me!" Poor girl. My task now is to be better than I am, better than I've ever been before. To be less of an asshole. To be less frustrating. To be what is good in me, and not what's bad.

I've never loved anyone as completely as I love Linz, and to be honest it's scaring the piss out of me. I'd never spend more than a consecutive day and a half with her prior to this trip and was worried about the theoretical effects of prolonged exposure. But after five days all I wanted was more time with her. We talked about when we'll probably next see each other; I'm not going to last until Christmas...

I'm back. "45 Things" resumes tomorrow. Those were perhaps the greatest five days of my life. My head's all screwed up; so, be prepared for major and disconcerting mood swings.

Bought a new Hawai'ian shirt at Sam's Store today. Man, I love that place. What a great concept: a store that sells Chucks, Levis, Hawai'ian shirts, brimmed hats, Swiss Army knives, Maglites, and monochromatic T-shirts. And has a pair of size sevety-six levis hanging from the back wall.

"This one's for all the suckers who still believe in love / This one's for you."

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
13. I'm scared of losing my independence.
I'm not sure if this one is true. Many girls seem to be ravernous, blood-sucking demons who want nothing more than to attach Ramora-style to a guy and slowly kill his will to live. Since she has to stay attached to him to do this, her independence would then seem to be forfeit. (Are these critiques overly bitter?) Now, when Lindsay rejected my first advances, she said that she is a very consuming, possessive girlfriend (saying this to illustrate that I wouldn't be happy with her even if she'd have me). It's rather hard for me to reconcile that with desiring independence. Hmmm, further thought shall be required.

I saw Attack of the Clones this weekend with Dad, in digital projection in Birch Run. I have equalled the number of times I saw The Phantom Menace during the summer of 1999, though I need to see Clones one more time to tie Phantom's total theater screenings (remember, they rereleased it in December 1999 with all the proceeds going to charity).

1500 yards today and Friday. If I can keep this up, progress will be swift. I'll never again be what I once was, but I can be far more than I am now. I should seriously look into joining a Masters team in the Fall. I had much to write on Friday, but Blogger was down for server maintenance; it would have pissed me off, but it seems entirely reasonable that the server would need work now and again, and as this is a free service, my temper was held in check. Nothing I would have said was terribly important, and it would be impossible to reconstruct now; it was very much of the moment. Tomorrow will be the last I'm heard from in a week. Try not to miss me too terribly.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
12. Only rock stars are allowed to wear leather pants.
True, and even then only because most people listen to fucking terrible music performed by loser, has-been, dried up old piece of shit rock stars (sorry, but Lindsay really likes Aerosmith and it's really pissing me off; I may very well go out of my way to be critical of her music while I'm in Berkeley). You'd never see Dicky Barrett or Chris of LTJ (why don't they have last names?) wearing leather pants. Now, Aaron Barrett probably would, but that's not to say it wouldn't be unfortunate.

Seven days until California. Weird. It has been hot as Hell* in Michigan for the last two weeks. We've got high humidity and temperatures in the nineties. Nighttime lows are around seventy, and we all know that there's no chance of recovering a day when you're woken up hot. This weather pretty much sucks, and, I would argue, given how warm a Winter we had, these high tempeatues are also profoundly unfair. If we'd had a nice, snowy Winter, then I could at least understand a hot Summer. But we had the pussiest Winter on record. Where the fuck is the balance?! Hmmm, maybe last Winter was warm because last Summer was cold. That I could live with, because it suggests that this coming Winter will be a beast. Excellent.

Anyway, given the suffering caused by the heat and Julie's dire warnings about New York as a pressure cooker, I'm going to put off visiting her until the Fall. Since I've bought Brad's football tickets (one of the few nice things about Ann Arbor is Michigan football), I'll find a nice non-football weekend and go see the colors in Central Park.
(*I would have said "hot as Hades," just because I like the word Hades, but as anyone who has read their Greek myths can tell you, Hades was not a sea of sulfur or lake of fire like the Christian Hell, but a place as cold and gray as the grave itself.)

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
11. I expect you to call me.
And I do. Although... I don't know.... It used to be that I would always call Lindsay. She usually seemed rather short on the phone; rather eager to get back to whatever she was doing. Now, yes, I do have more than just a slight tendency to be longwinded (i.e. brother, do I know how to not shut up), but I always read that it was more than that. Maybe she had other things to do. Now, given my phone-as-rude-interruption theory, this shouldn't have bothered me. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't. Now, however, she calls me more often than I call her. She initiates contact more frequently than I do. I'd like to think this is because absense makes the heart grow fonder, but most likely it's because she's just moved to a city where she knows no one, and she's lonely. Still....

The phone. The phone is an incredibly rude device. At my whim, I can call you up, and almost regardless of what you are doing you are expected to drop it and respond to the ringing like Pavlov's dog. Yet, amazingly, this is not considered rude. And, as I do not forego the use of the phone, I am as guilty of this as anyone else. Think about it, though. Of course, there are exceptions. Last night, David and I had just begun watching Schindler's List when the phone rang. I sprang up from the couch and unplugged it. David had hung on my door the sign reading, "DO NOT knock unless it's important." Nevertheless, a few moments later, Brad knocked on my door. I stopped the movie and answered it, emplying one of my best scowls. He said, "I know you don't want to be interrupted, but it's from California." Lindsay! Hurray! Brad made the right decision; so, I thanked him and took the call. So, yes, sometimes it is good to be interrupted. The moral of the story is that philosophical purity is very attractive, but dauntingly impractical.

The Mountain and I finally saw Attack of the Clones again last night. It had been fifteen days since I'd last seen it. What the hell is wrong with me? I didn't want to go that long without seeing it, and I did have a lot of things going on, but it's my own fault for not making it the priority I should have. Rest assured, "I won't fail again."

I spoke to Lindsay last night. I'm feeling better about California, though still distrubed by Sunday night's festivities. Hmm, "dangerous and disturbing this puzzle is. Mediatate on this, I will." (Seriously, everything I need to know I leanred from Star Wars.) Do I say too much about Lindsay's and my inner dealings? I'm intensely pivate, yet I mention almost everythig we do here. I helps to work things out, if I can get them out of my head and before my eyes, but am I violating her right to privacy? Am I airing our dirty laundry in front of this gawking rabble? "Use the Force. Think." I'll have to give it some thought.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
10. I get turned on simply seeing that I have an e-mail from you.
This is a complex one. For me, this is absolutely true. A day's fortunes can rise and fall on whether or not I have received an email from her. (Yes, I prefer to spell email as a single, hyphenless word.) I think that is as it should be. I'm thrilled to receive word from all of my friends, and it is thus appropriate that I'd be especially excited to hear from her. Now, the complexities anter in diving what, if anything, she meant to be read into this statement. Linz and I have a complicated relationship, making her comment near the end of our one date very prophetic; "You're going to make this complicated, aren't you?" Though she knows I have strong feelings for her (I've never said to her, "I love you."), we pretend that I don't, so that she has openly discussed in front of me how hard it is to find quality guys and other such matters. Mr. Alber has been highly critical of this practice, but as I have said before his inexplicable affection for SSG renders his judgments void. So, is it insensitive of her to have sent me a list contain an item such as this? Or, is it a piece of advice she believes in, and she feels comfortable enough in our friendship to share it with me? I don't know. It's complicated.

I'm beginning to feel weird about California. There's a strange vibe in the air. Last night, rather late at night (past midnight in Berkeley), I went online and started IMing with Lindsay. She said she was tired of typing and asked me to call her. As soon as I did, she asked me what was wrong. I was taken aback, because there was genuine concern in her voice. Lindsay's delightfully abrasive, but when she gets serious her voice become softer and painfully beautiful. Her voice was very soft. My mind raced to find something I'd done to make her think anything was the matter, but found nothing. I said nothing was wrong, but she persisted and asked me again what was wrong. Now, to my horror and embarrassment, you all know that I am an ogre. I trample over people's feeling without any regard, not out of malice (usually), but out of emotional oafishness (or, less charitably, retardation). So, I'm trying to be more open. In the parlance of the Beltway, more transparent. I asked her, gently, what I'd done to make her think something was amiss. She told me that I'd been combative the last several times we'd talked. I told her that nothing was wrong, and pleaded with her to tell me what I'd said to give her such an erroneous impression so I could avoid doing so in the future. Still speaking very softly, she told me not to be a dick.

For a time last night, I entertained the thought that she doesn't want me to come to California. Upon learning of my impending visit, her friend Teresa, a former co-worker here in Michigan, in whom Lindsay has confided about our friendship, told her that by having me visi so soon after her departure that she was leading me on. This prompted Lindsay to beg me to reassure her that she had, in fact, not been leading me on. I told her the truth: of course she hadn't. Linz and I are dear friends, and the timing of my visit was determined by the San Francisco dates of the Warped Tour, that is why I am coming out. And this is the truth, because she and I are friends. It is not her fault I'm in love with her. Alas, time grows short as the lab is closing. More on this later, as I am sure it will dominate my thinking.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
9. I'm terrified of becoming my mother even though I admire her.
This, my friends, is the truth. We all fear becoming those we have idolized, though we've idolized them for good reason. I don't know why this is, except perhaps the fear of being not ourselves, but mere clones. And as we all know, a clone is neve quite as good as the original. But, it may be a good deal more complex. I hope to revisit this topic.