One more day of work before Thanksgiving break. I can't wait. It makes me think back to when I was a naive college student just beginning my studies in the education school, at which point I sincerely thought that teacher breaks were a pleasant but unnecessary part of the job. Ha! Had I only known the heartache that is the fall stretch or the sudden increase in gravity that happens every year on the first morning back after winter break (keeping me in bed, of course), I may never have finished out my years in the Curry School of Ed. They tell you teaching is hard the way a doctor tells you a shot will sting a little. It doesn't matter how many times they say it, it's not real until you're passing out in one of their exam rooms and nurses are swarming you with water and cool towels to try and get color back into your face. Not that I know what that's like.
As many of you have heard, the house is officially mine now, and the reality of homeownership is beginning to sink in. This week, I wrote the largest check I've ever written in all my life (times like 10 or 15). I've also stood outside of my house every single day this week just admiring this bit of mine. The way my neighbor used to admire his rose bushes with a glass of wine every evening. The way I'd stand outside of my parents' house my fourth year of college and admire my first car, a 5-speed manual, back when I didn't know how to drive stick shift. With love and an overwhelming desire to give it back.
My premise for today's visit to the house was to make sure that the contractor had picked up the spare key I left by the back door last night, so he'd have access to the bathroom. I recognize that putting a key in an envelope next to the door it opens is probably a fairly unsafe and potentially stupid thing to do, but I figured that no one would bother trying to hazard their way past the leaning metal fence and strewn trinkets on the side of the house. They would likely get tetanus from an exposed chain link, and all they'd be able to do inside the house is wash off the wound. There is nothing of value in that house right now, unless they were planning on stealing a shower curtain or the refrigerator. Good luck with that.
Anyway, as I stood outside of the house this evening, hoping my tenants hadn't noticed this weird daily ritual, I began to notice things I hadn't before and began to dream dreams. Of the Home Depot variety, that is. Wouldn't it be nice if I had a screen porch? If there was a shed in the backyard? If the siding was repaired and painted? If I added soundproofing to the walls inside? If I got one of those cool fans (haha, get it?) whose blades retract every time you turn it off? I suppose that's one of the upsides of getting a fixer-upper. On the one hand, there's always something. On the other hand, there's always something.
My Tinder life has been slightly less active this week. I find myself apathetically left-swiping most of the people that show up, and the conversations feel a little forced. I'm not sure why, but I imagine that this app fatigue has something to do with the increase in scheduled activities and my various new adult responsibilities. Also, I think I'm still a little pissed that a guy I was supposed to meet up with last weekend went completely dark on me 15 hours after convincing me to get drinks with him. We set a time, we made a plan, and we said "See you then." Then the day of the date, he didn't respond to any of my texts. Almost a week later, I still haven't heard from him. I also haven't tried to contact him...it's his loss, after all. I can't help thinking that maybe I'd been catfished and the other person felt bad. Maybe I could be on that MTV show! My little sister would be so proud...
I do have a date this weekend, though, with the guy I went on that kickball date with last week (the one I made out with in the Shamrock parking lot, "Jack"). He texted me on Sunday (does this mean he abides by that stupid 3-day rule?) to ask how my weekend had been thus far. We exchanged a few more texts back and forth before he wrote: Well, I'll give you a call later this week and see what your schedule is like.
And then, get this, he called me. Like, on a phone. He didn't facebook me, or email me, or text me. He actually dialed my phone number and then proceeded to have a 25 minute conversation with me about horror movies, cable, work, and family. We decided, based on our conversation, to go to the movies tomorrow and see Birdman. I feel that my want-to-seem-intelligent side was the determining factor in deciding which movie to watch, despite the fact I really probably would like something less critically-acclaimed better. But I didn't want to seem like a dolt on the second date.
I'm kind of excited about the date. I mean, I'm trying to be very reserved in my excitement. After all, how much do I know about this guy? Maybe kickball was a great first date, but what if he turns out to be a dud? What if the things that seem endearing now are actually red flags? And what were we thinking, choosing a movie as a second date? You know what happens between two people during a movie? Absolutely nothing. No talking. No flirting. No endless discovery of mutual friends (because that's what happens when you're both from New Orleans). Maybe we share popcorn. Maybe our hands brush against each other at one point and there's the briefest of eye contact (which is worthless anyway because it's dark). In movies, interacting is actually literally frowned upon. People frown at you. And there are numerous ads before the movie begins telling you not to interact with other people because it bothers everybody else. Sure, the movie will give us something to talk about if we decide to get a drink afterwards, but is it worth it? I guess we'll find out.
Also, a cute side note. I checked, and kickball guy hasn't checked his Tinder account since the day he asked me to play kickball. I'm either that great, or Tinder hasn't been working out for him. I suppose neither are bad news for me.
Saturday drinks guy ("Sean") turned out to be kind of a bust. He was very nice, and I enjoyed talking to him, but in the way that I enjoy talking to pretty much any new person I meet. It was friendly, and I'm glad I went, but I just wasn't feeling it beyond that. Plus, and I hate to be a Tinder stereotype when I say this, he's short. Like, a good few inches shorter than me. And as much as I have dated and appreciated attractive shorter men in the past, I'm getting kind of tired of feeling like a giant. So, I think I'll stick with guys at least my height from this point forward.
One of the other reasons I think I'm getting Tinder fatigue is because I'm having a hard time figuring out how to set up dates, knowing that my schedule doesn't give me a whole lot of time for cavorting with potential suitors. This upcoming week, I have a date Friday night, volleyball on Saturday, a party Saturday night, volleyball on Sunday, drinks with coworkers Sunday night, a date Monday night (maybe, different guy), and a host of family activities and house-related phone calls over the course of the week. I'm also trying to fit in an extra volleyball training session while I'm off. Basically, I'm returning to the good old days of wearing myself out by doing way too much all the time. Hopefully it won't last too much longer, and I can get back to reading, playing piano, and watching TV until bedtime every single night. Maybe I can even do it in my own little piece of mine by the bayou before Mardi Gras hits. Start brainstorming your house-warming gifts!
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