Living Dead

"I am a writer, writer of fictions...
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones"
-- The Decemberists, "The Engine Driver"

I don't know if I didn't want to publicly acknowledge Adam's return for fear of calling a false alarm or for fear of jinxing it and having him disappear again.

He said he wanted to be friends. He said he "actually [meant] it this time." However, our e-mails had been getting further and further apart. Adam had become less responsive about the details regarding his life and had just been inquisitive about mine. I somewhat understood the situation: he had a new relationship that required his nurturing.

Sometime in late November I had sent him a "where are you?" e-mail. He responded within a half-hour, saying he was really busy with finals for law school and that I would receive a proper response over the weekend. The weekend came and went. The following week came and went. It took him two weeks to respond and even at that, it was composed of roughly two sentences.

I knew I had to let Adam go. Every time I sent Adam a letter or a response to his, I was giving away pieces of myself to him that I would never get back. Adam had been very good about keeping tabs on me: he still visits another one of my blogs daily and checks my MySpace in addition to his e-mails. However, I knew nothing about him. I deleted his last response and walked away.

When I returned from my beach vacation right before New Year's, I logged on to my computer for the first time in almost a week. And I almost toppled over. Adam had sent me an e-mail on Christmas Day. I clicked over and read his first. It was a personalized e-mail, not a mass one. Moreover, he sent it at 11:45 AM instead of around 4PM when the magic of Christmas wears off and everything is kind of... boring.

Adam thought about me on Christmas morning. Did I think of him? I'm not sure. I do know that at 11:45 I was driving across the state to switch families and do Christmas with my father. I didn't get any other messages on Christmas Day. Matter of fact, I didn't even respond to the three text messages I received. Was he lonely? Did he not have his daughter? It would have been his first Christmas without her. Where was his girlfriend? If that relationship was a long time coming like he said, they should be practically living together by now. Why was he thinking of me?

Stunned, I couldn't respond to his e-mail. I was fixing to go back out of town to spend New Year's Eve with David; I didn't have time to anguish over an e-mail that wouldn't get a response. Sometime in the new year right before I started work again, I sent him an "Adam" response: I'm well. I had a drama-free Christmas and I just got back from vacation.

Within a couple of days Adam broke tradition and responded, requesting more details and elaborating on his own. So I did. And he did. It's been a couple of weeks like this. Friday morning my inbox was filled with several messages from Adam. The building I live in was apparently featured on "House Hunters" and he had been giving me updates from the show.

The old Adam is back: Classic Adam. I liked Classic Adam. I liked Classic Adam a lot. Ex-Adam, not so much.

I am hurt: Classic Adam chose someone else over me. I played the game right, and I lost.

I am angry: I am friends with 99% of my exes for one reason: they all leave me and they all come back. If I am so cool and valued like they say I am, then why to they leave in the first place? What about me is so volatile that they walk way? I already know why they come back. Just once I'd like to break this cycle -- I want someone who knows what he has and doesn't throw it[me] away.

I am confused: What's with the sudden return? Did something change? I'm a person who prefers the dark as opposed to knowing the truth. Because in the dark there's hope.

Am I hoping?

I guess I am.

I don't know

I had a post up for about 10 minutes today. Something about it made me feel uneasy so I edited and picked it apart until I jabbed the Delete This Post button.

What I realize a few hours later is that the post was not aimed at other bloggers, like it was intended to be, but rather aimed at myself.

Here is the orginal post as best as I can recreate it:

While catching up on my blog reading today, I learned that it is Blogger's Delurking Week.

What? Since when has comments gained such importance? Think back to why you began your blog -- you had something you wanted to say. When did your little space on the Internet become a popularity contest? When did it stop being about your words? Is blogging even fun for you anymore? What stress that must create.

In the face of Delurking Week, I dare you to post that story you're too afraid to show the Internets instead of worrying what other people have to say.

This afternoon I stared at my Blogger Dashboard. It pretty much reads like this, Draft, Draft, Draft, Post, Draft, Post, Draft, Draft. I am the one who has something to say, but am holding back. I'm not doing it for fear of no one commenting, concerns like that have always bewildered me, but I am holding back for fear of being judged. Not that anyone on here has ever judged me (well current readers, anyway).

Somewhere between beginning the blog to get over moving to a new city for a boyfriend that would change his mind after I was here for two weeks and today, I have created an indentity for myself. I receive e-mails from strangers hoping for advice on their love lives. The thing is, and the thing I don't want to tell them, is I don't know. Just as you e-mail me, I e-mail and IM others. I don't know; I don't have the answers.

I've had things on my mind that I haven't been forthcoming about. I want to seem strong to you. I want to seem put together and brave. But some days, some weeks, I am not.

I don't want Phil to think I'm being a whiny little girl. I don't want Indiana to think I'm not intelligent. I don't want Mez to think I'm any less cool than I already am. I don't want Amber to think that I'm not brave. I don't want Pink Jellybaby to pity me. I don't want General Boy to think that I'm not desirable.

I'm not posting these things for the same reasons I hide from even my best friends when I get upset; I don't want you to think poorly of me. I'm going to finish those posts and I will publish them, but just be careful with me.

I'm feeling vulnerable.

Cryptic

I can't get into where I've been or what I've been doing, but I am absolutely exhausted at the end of the day. I don't have the energy to even put forth even the crappiest of posts, so I'll be back in a few days when this is all over.

MyStalkingTM

Laugh all you want, you MyHaters, but MyStalking^TM is critical for the single college student up through the 20-something. There is some very important and necessary information that can and should be learned by someone before agreeing to go out with another. MySpace is easy to access and someone's page can be found with an e-mail address or even a name. With time, it can also be found through circle of friends' friends lists.

Is he single? Check the relationship status box, does it say In a Relationship or Single? People are quick to change that when relationships go sour, so it's an accurate indicator.

What is he here for? Is he here for Friends? Dating? Serious Relationship? Although no one actually uses MySpace to meet new people (at least no I know does, we use it just to keep in touch), his answer will indicate what he's looking for and how serious he wants to get. Having Dating listed, but not Serious Relationship, will give you an idea of his mindset.

Does he have his shirt on in his profile picture? Seriously? Do you really want to date that guy? You know, the one who doesn't have his shirt on in his profile picture? Forget MyStalking^TM, that's just a good rule of thumb.

Who is in his Top 8? Is it all girls or is it a mix of males and females? What do the girls look like? If it's eight barely-clothed, slutty looking girls, he's a player. If it's eight normal looking girls, he might just have a lot of female friends, however, most guys will at least have a best bro in the Top 8. It's just not normal to have a unisex Top 8. The same applies to guys who have all-male Top 8s.

What do his comments say? Check out his comments section: who is leaving them and what do they say? 20-something girls are fairly conniving and will leave, "Thanks for last night ;)" all over a guy's MySpace as an attempt to stake claim on him. How often do these comments appear? Do they appear from the same girl, or different girls? You can also check the date for frequency. In the case of an ambiguous flirtation, click on the girl's profile to see what he has written to her. This is often a missed, but very important step.

And, for the MyStalking^TM Pro, try reverse stalking. Put a stat counter that works without javascript on your MySpace page. This is the one I use. Because MySpace doesn't allow javascripts, the stats are going to be limited, but you're still going to get a location and an IP address and anyone with a blog stat counter knows how to use this to figure out who someone is.

It's how I found out despite limited messaging through MySpace, David still visits my page at least 4 times a day. And every visit is a thought.

Still nay say about MyStalking^TM as a reference check for future dates? My friend in New York City found out through a combination of MyStalking^TM and Googling a potential suitor was fired from his school teaching job for molesting children. If that's not a reason to start, I don't know what is.

New Year's Eve

"Sarah!"

"What?"

"You didn't!"

"I did, what's wrong with that?"

"This is why you're single. This moment right here. You need me to move back in with you to dictate all your e-mails," scorned Satchel. I called him in Florida to get the scoop, if any, on his friend that he so highly recommended. "Read it to me again."

"David, thanks for the offer for New Year's Eve! I have a few more calls to see what's going on tomorrow and then I'm going to weigh my options. I haven't even settled the debate on which city I'm going to spend it at yet. I'll give you a call tomorrow when I know for sure. Sarah."

"You're awful, you know that?"

I eventually worked out a plan: score an invite to at least two more parties back at school and then accept David's invitation. If David gave me an insincere invite, I would have places to fall back on and I wouldn't have made the drive for nothing.

Poor David's party was lacking. I made 5 people, and I was the only chick. While the others watched 12 Monkeys, David and I stood in the kitchen and gathered all the information that we were too distracted to get last time. There was a definite vibe coming from him that my invite was sincere.

After an hour and a half of standing in his friend's kitchen and drinking beer, my phone began to ring incessantly. The other two parties wanted to know where I was. David drained another beer, "You know of other parties?"

"Yup, the one I went to last year that I had such a good time at is not a mile from here."

"You wanna go?"

"Your friends won't miss you?"

"Naw, it's cool."

We grabbed our coats and made our way to his truck. He opened the door for me, I swooned and kissed him. I made my usual party entrance into Bryan's house: people saw me and screamed my name and cheered (sometimes I have no idea why I left that place).

Bryan, the boy I hooked up with last NYE, meet David, this year's slot. Maybe this is why I left that place. We drank and socialized with my circle of friends and then the door opens. In walks two families. Families. Two middle-aged women and their children. I cannot cannot be drunk around children. I gathered David and a couple of boys and headed to the third party at a bar downtown.

Because of the blue law in the south, only one place was open. State law says no bar can be open on Sundays unless it earns half its revenue from food sales. Even at that, last call is at 11:50. I bought a round of drinks when the band began announcing the time.

I eyed David, "Are you going to be my midnight kiss?"

"I think I can make that happen."

"Because, if not," I pointed to the crowded bar behind me and flashed a sinister smile, "I'm sure I can find it elsewhere."

David wrapped his arms around me, "No, I want to be it."

And just like that people were counting and David and I leaned in to each other and kissed a long slow kiss. I turned and looked at another friend of mine who came out with us. He was sort of standing off to the side, watching everybody celebrate. His glass of champagne was empty and my heart lurched for him. I walked up to him and grabbed his face and kissed him and gave him a hug.

Not five minutes after midnight, they were ushering everyone out of the bar. I can only imagine how many establishments lost money by being forced to be closed. Driving back to Bryan's party, I popped a cork of champagne and took a swig from the bottle and passed it on to David.

We stumbled back to more cheers and thankfully the children had left. Conor was there and his girlfriend was already passed out on the couch, under a comforter. I don't understand why she couldn't have done that a week ago at the Christmas party. The silly antics and socializing really began as I drank the rest of our champagne from a Dixie cup and administered shots of vodka between Conor, David, Bryan, and I.

When I was in conversation with someone else, I heard Bryan turn to David and ask, "So are you with Sarah? Are y'all dating?"

And David gave a pretty emphatic no. It was less than, "Oh god no," but more than "Not really." If I was being honest, it was much closer to "Oh god no," then the latter.

Which is fine, I'm a big girl. He does live an hour away and I only just met him last week, but I was so embarrassed he would say that to my friend. That he would imply with his rather emphatic no that I wasn't someone worth being with. Moreover, to my friend I was very briefly involved with. My feelings weren't hurt; my pride was hurt.

I guess David just answered my question on whether he was being sincere or just a gentleman with me. Since I wasn't a part of the conversation, I didn't react to it. After I was done talking to a friend I sat down on the couch and took some more photos of friends. David collapsed on the couch next to me and put his arm around me.

What the hell. I just heard him say that he wasn't interested in me in pretty much any capacity and then he puts his arm around me. It pissed me off. He would talk to my friends about me like that and then be affectionate towards me-- I don't understand what he's thinking.

He caressed my shoulder with the side of his thumb and I leaned my head against him. It was getting late and I was not a part of the conversation and technically I'm not supposed to know anything. We sat and watched everyone party; the two of us were pretty drunk and tired.

David says quietly, "I guess I should take you back to your car."

Remembering the conversation I had with him before I made the drive, that if I come up to school, I need to spend the night at school. I had finagled Conor's couch, but Conor was drinking 10 feet away, and I was pretty much done with the party as well. "Do you want to get some food?" thinking that food will allow me to drive home.

"No, if I eat, I'll throw up."

Okay then. He picked up my hand in his truck and put it in his lap. I thought back over the night to see if I had said or done anything to make David say what he did. I couldn't come up with anything; I was on good behavior: I didn't talk too much or say anything wildly shocking or inappropriate. "Okay, well have a good night," and I slid out of his truck and into my own.

I stopped at a gas station and refilled my tank and bought a bag of Combos to soak the alcohol before I made the 30 mile drive to my father's house, where the closest bed lay. Leave it to me to bring out the inner asshole of even the nicest of people.

Drunken Photo Envy

I woke up face first on my mattress like a floating dead man. It was 1 PM on the actual Christmas Eve and I was supposed to be driving across the state to see my mother. My mouth was fuzzy, my eyes were fuzzy, and, most importantly, my head was fuzzy from alcohol and its subsequent dehydration.

I dressed slowly and packed a bag that lacked a toothbrush, deodorant, and a hair brush and leashed up the dog and got in the car. At a stoplight, I saw my camera sitting in the passenger seat, still sleeping from the night before. I turned the camera on and laughed so hard I almost threw up.








That's right, I went to a party and took nothing but crotch shots. I mentioned in my 100 Things that I'm a persistent girl: when I get something stuck in my head, I have to follow it through. That night, apparently I wanted crotch shots.

And not to be outdone (or maybe it was drunken penis envy) I made a self-portrait.


Sometimes even I don't know what to do with myself.

Christmas Eve (well it was after midnight)

"David, he took my car. My car!"

"Shh. It's okay. I told you I would give you a ride." He grabs a bottle of beer from the cluster between us and pushes it towards me. "Here, drink some more."

After a few more rounds of cards, and a visit from some very nice police officers, the party winded down and the boys and I headed off to Waffle House. While walking to David's truck, he pulled ahead of me and opened my door. Swoon. While walking into the diner, I fell behind and David reached both his hands behind him and wiggled his fingers. I hopped forward and grabbed his hand.

I had fun with the boys. I usually do. While I had never been out with this group before, I am an official invitee to Boys' Night Out in two different cities. Hanging with the boys is just something I do well. And I don't even like sports that much.

While walking back to the car, David again ran ahead of me to open my door. Sigh. Good manners will get you so far with me. My only fault is I can't tell the difference between him being a gentleman, or being sincere. We dropped another boy off and David's hand immediately found mine. We asked tentative questions of each other: he travels into the city frequently for work. We've met each other several times before, but neither of us really remember. We went to the same elementary school.

"When did you graduate from high school?"

"You just want to find out how old I am," I joked.

"No seriously, I want to see if you knew some people that went there."

"It was a big school, so probably not. Anyway, I graduated in '99."

"I'm 19."

I howled with laughter and half-shrieked. I quickly did some math in my head to figure out if that was a possibility. It wasn't.

"Look at how quickly you snatched your hand away!" He laughed.

I returned it into his. Swoon.

At Conor's he put the truck in park and stopped the engine. He followed me inside while I fumbled in the dark and swore while I tripped over the various Christmas presents left discarded on the floor, reminding me of the discomfort of this evening's earlier activities. I finally found a light switch.

"You've never been here before?"

"Nope, they just moved in together." I wanted my car keys to go home; I didn't want to stay in this house after Caroline's bitch fit. I found them three rooms into the house, alone on a coffee table. "Aha!"

I killed the lights and we left. I paused in front of my car door. David kicked the dirt in front of him and shrugged his shoulders, "When will you be back at school?"

"When you call me."

He leaned in and kissed me. They were butterfly kisses: very soft, light, and quick. He would pull back and land again. It was welcomed after the Kissing Bandit's aggression. I tried to put both of my arms around his neck, but my arms were restrained due to my Penny Lane coat. He kept pulling away and landing until I pushed him further and the breathing got heavier and my fingers intertwined with his belt loops while he kissed down my neck. I groaned.

We began to make out pretty heavily and his hands wandered. Up my skirt was okay, but when he went under my shirt, I was afraid he'd feel the "insulation" I've acquired since Thanksgiving (which will be immediately shed now that it's the new year).

A car pulled up and stopped in front of the driveway. I wondered what kind of pervert would stop and watch two people making out in one ex boyfriend's driveway, but it was so late (or early) that it was the morning paper being delivered. It was our cue to part ways.

"You seem like a nice girl."

"Sometimes."

David made a satisfactory noise. He took my number and promised to call. And I made my hour drive back to the city by sunrise.