Boy Crazy.

The only thing worse that the tinge of guilt and tons of awkwardness you feel from not liking someone the same way they like you is liking someone too much. Let me define too much so that the lines are clear. It's when you spend more time online reading their Facebook page than you do thinking about what you're going to eat for dinner while at work. It's when you dissect and analyze their body language, word choice and general aura instead of breathing. It's when you can't talk around them because you are so dumbfounded by their presence you can't form coherent thoughts. In fact, you more than likely pause for a bit too long when you converse with them, this often results in their assuming you have mental deficiencies. Of course you're lack of ability to access that reservoir of information called your brain doesn't stem from biology, it stems from chemistry. A bit too much chemistry. Like in high school, if you go into a a class, or a courtship, without a handle on the material, or in this case yourself, more often than not you will flunk and your teacher, or potential mating material, will quickly disregard you and your intelligence.

I remember once I liked a boy so much that I spent a whole afternoon with him and his friends and said an average 5 words every hour. I spent more time freaking out about not having a thing to say that I did trying to think of something to say. And the kicker is that I would have done anything to have a chance with him and when he made his move, it was like he liked me more than I liked him. No first kiss will ever compete. Sorry boys.

He was a dream, everything I could ever want and a side of mac and cheese. And the thing is that before that kiss I was a normal person. I mean I liked him but I didn't make a fool of himself. I didn't stutter and puff up um my conversations um with um filler words. Um. I didn't check myself in the mirror to make sure I didn't have lipstick on my teeth. Sometimes despite the fact that I wasn't wearing lipstick. Before, I was my normal sarcastic, overly technical, overly inquisitive and slightly malicious self. Before, I could multi-task. In fact I remember on more than one occasion I talked myself up before I went over to his place. And one evening while watching Conan together I was so scared to move I got a leg cramp.

I'm not quite sure I ever learned anything from that experience but I catch myself a little better now. Instead of fretting during I fret in advance. I get as much of it out of my system as possible. I talk to as many as 4 or 5 friends about all my stupid paranoid sociopathic notations before I head in, that way there isn't one sole person who thinks I'm so banana's over a boy that I need neurologically altering medication just to be within a 100 feet radius of the poor boy. But I get a chance to say it out loud and hear my neurosis for myself. Life saving really.

And if that doesn't work I just fuck things up just so I can get over him quicker in hopes that I can maybe lower my blood pressure back to a normal level. Otherwise I'd already have heart disease.

Yours Truly.

Someone's Someone.

I, like many, tell myself I want someone who I can truly be myself with. Who I can let go and depend on, despite my i-know-better-than-everyone societal backsliding ways. I want a someone who will meet me for french fries at 2:40 in the morning just because. And not just talk about doing stupid crap like collaborating on making music but actually call you the night before super excited to get jamming and bring sheet music or a tape recorder or something. A someone who will know exactly when to ask me how i'm doing and when to shut the hell up during my stories. And by stories I mean various television shows that I follow religiously on Hulu. I mean who likes the person that talks during the jokes on 30 Rock? I mean really? Really! There are just some people who can control time, I mean they can literally turn a half hour show into an feature film because every time they open their chapstick overloaded indigestion reeking trap they make you rewind just to try and hear for the 35th time whatever made Jack McBrayer make that quizzical brow face. You know, that face Kenneth the Page makes whenever he talks about some kooky Stone Mountain, Georgian folklore. Which by the way almost creeps me out as much as his grin. His blinding presence-of-Zeus smile is from either the pure angelic innocency of the Second Coming or all knowing apocalyptic Satan Incarnate. I just figure it's the Second Coming. But I digress.

I'm lying. The truth, I am scared shitless to admit to my failures, rejections and basic humiliation. I don't want anyone to know all the fucked up things I've done to myself. It terrorizes me to think that there would be someone who would know exactly how cracked I am. But I tell myself that I want that someone because it's easier to be disappointed by the fact that there is no "someone" out there who I can be so invested in that i'd probably hate them because I love them than to be disappointed by myself yet again. I mean, I can only take so much self deprecation.

I'm lying. I have put up with a lot of self deprecation. The truth, I think ultimately I'd be happy with a someone who will at least text me random notes of kindness or call me in the middle of the night to ask my advice and be totally cool with me having no clue what they should do but just being glad to tell me. I think I feel the best, I get the most high, from helping out the people I care about. I guess it's because I hope that by being someone's someone I'll be just a little closer to having my own someone. I mean, they say that you get back what you give. I don't know if I give out enough to make up for all the crap I put out too but I hope I can at least break even.

At least being someone's someone is rewarding, really, try it sometime. It's better than finding a twenty dollar bill in your favorite jacket you just broke out for the winter months. Ok, maybe not better if you don't have a job these day but it's better than that Red Vine that was also in that pocket. I mean what's up with that. Red Vines? You really just took a bite off a Red Vine, despite the fact that you don't like Red Vines, and decided to stick it in your pocket? Who does that? Did you think you'd snack on it later? Did you think it would come in handy? Were you saving it for someone? Gross. Take care of that situation. At least a someone's someone would know to keep that situation under wraps. Which is why it feels so great. You get to be the person who laughs with your one. It brings you closer and opens up the chances that when they're feeling down you'll be that amazing someone who made them feel better by bringing over a tin of Red Vines when they get laid off, just in case.

Because isn't that what love is?

Yours Truly.

Nice To Meet You.

My name is Hot Mess. Don't worry, you'll get to know me very quickly, or rather you'll find out all my dirty little secrets and then some. I'll never tell you who I really am because what would the world of blogging be without anonymity? It would be just as dull as your everyday life except you don't know how dull your everyday life really is.

I'm not your best friend. I'm not even someone you would like. I'm just another nobody who wants her own place to scream.

Yours Truly.