Lifeguard Girl called me not long after I'd blogged on Friday. Instead of going out to dinner, we went swimming. Yeah, I know. Weird. It was great, though. I love innertube water polo, but there's nothing else in this world like pounding out a few thousand yards (okay, only 1600, but I hadn't been swimming in something on the order of two months, so leave me alone) to make you feel alive. Afterward, feeling in the mood for greasy food, we zipped over to Denny's; we had the cool, punk rock waitress, but she was wearing long sleaves so we couldn't see her cool star tattoo. We sat there for three hours, mostly talking about her inability to decide between her best friend/back-up and her fuckbuddy. She loves her best friend, and he wants her, but she's just not attracted to him enough to give up her fuckbuddy, which she'd be obligated to do if they started actually dating. She doesn't want any kind of greater relationship with her fuckbuddy; at present, it is nonexistent except for every once in a while, when he lives up to his title. I don't think I've ever been an actual back-up, but I am a back-up kind of guy. The same holds true for most of my friends; we're nice guys, so we finish last. My advice was requested, and I discerned three options: a) give dating the best friend a genuine go, b) tell him she would never be his girlfriend, c) inertia: remain at rest until acted upon by an outside force. I asked her what she would say if her best friend said, "I want you to be my girlfriend." "I'd say yes." With that, we both agreed that as she does not want to take any precipitous action, she would give in to inertia and wait for him to do something. I really like hanging out with Lifeguard Girl; she's only a sophomore, so there's no possibility of anything ever being between us, so it's just really comfortable. Plus, she's a lunatic, which is always fun. Conclusion: Jodi rocks.

I held Bachelorette No. 1's hand for a while on Saturday. She was sick; so, I didn't even make an effort to kiss her. Why would I want to kiss her? Because she seems to want me to. But I don't want to be that guy, I don't want to be the guy who goes out with a girl just because he needs to go out with someone. Gah. Note to self: assuming there is anything there, take no provocative action; let it fizzle out of its own accord. But she let me hold her hand. It was cold, nothing more. She moved several times just to remain next to me. That doesn't mean she wants you to kiss her. Oh yeah? Then what does it mean? Burden of proof lies on the affirmative. Remember debate? We were always negative. I don't think I'm chasing phantoms here. Sure you are, chumley, you're always chasing phantoms. Killjoy. Dreamer. Stop messing up my action. What action? You held her fucking hand! Remember what happened when I tried to hold Lindsay's hand? Fair enough. I conceed the point, but it's hardly an all-clear signal. Besides, you don't particularly like this girl except that she seems to be attracted to you. You've got me there.

The third and final regular season All-Stars game is in a couple hours. For tomorrow's co-rec game, Lifeguard Girl, Katie (Steeze's erstwhile girl), and Whitney (Katie's constant companion) are all going to play, doubling the number of girls available for the playoffs. At the RCY show over Christmas, I wore a specially made T-shirt which read, NOT A FROG. I meant this in relation to the night's headlining act, Tommy's Frogs, and my status as the only member of Real Can of Yams to not also be a member of Tommy's Frogs. Whitney had other ideas, though, as I discovered when I saw her at Macho Grande on New Year's Eve. She said, "You know your shirt from the other night? When I first saw that I thought it meant you weren't a frog, like in a fairy tale. Like, you didn't need to be kissed to turn into a prince since you already weren't a frog. I thought you were a prince." That's one of the oddest and best compliments I have ever been paid.