One girl. One college. Three thousand guys. This blog is a blow-by-blow [yes, that was a dirty pun] account of the social (and usually sexual) misadventures of a commitment-phobic and ironically promiscuous virgin.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Where do all of my hours go?

In the last two nights I have slept a total of six hours. Not because I've been out late or doing something fun, but because I have been stuck working on the sixty pages of papers I have to hand in within the next week and a half. Of those sixty pages, I have written... one and a half. Only fifty-eight more to go!

Now to continue my recapitulation of recent events in my ever evolving relationships (you've got to love alliteration like that).

After our missed coffee date before winter break, the 28 year-old from the coffee shop decided to "compenstate." This was the email he sent me right the day after classes ended:

"Im very sorry I couldnt c u this week, but i'll be back at the end of
january, and we should definetely (and finally) get together... though at this
point it looks like we should aim at dinner to compensate the delay.. which I
would be very much delighted with"

I said yes, but I don't know. The more I think about it, the less I think it will work. I mean, what would I talk to him about, how much it sucks that I'm not old enough to buy my own drinks? Yeah, awkward. I guess this is my freak out reaction. Instead of seeing where things could possibly go, I just want to end it before it starts. I don't want to be disappointed, I'd much rather be happy with the way things are.

New Year's was a blast. I was in New York at a party full of artists. Male artists. Drool. I hooked up with a painter (if you guessed that his nickname is "the Painter," you were right), and it was actually kind of... cute. We just made out and [don't hold this against me] cuddled [shudder]. We talked over the phone the next day for about forty-five minutes, and it was kind of nice. That's all I can describe it as: nice. It wasn't awkward, it wasn't weird, it was just good. He's too far away to pursue anything with, but I almost wish he wasn't. He is absolutely adorable, talented, and a good person (he volunteers with a creative writing program for low-income students in NY). The Painter graduated from a liberal arts college in '06, so he's just old enough to be "older," but not old enough to have babysat me (like the twenty-eight year-old). I was in la-la land while we were in his bed, but once I got back to school that bubble burst pretty quickly.

Aside from the Painter, another character has resurfaced in my life. I've dubbed him "Billy" for his hillbilly roots, and I couldn't be more pleased with our recent correspondence. I'm not even sure how we began talking again, I met him through Toby, and we talked for awhile before it just kind of fizzled out. Busy schedules. He goes to school nearby, and has a hell of an interesting life. I don't want to give out too many details about him because he's pretty distinctive, but I will promise that the events last two years of his life could be inpiration for episodes of "Grey's Anatomy," "The Great Race," and "Days of Our Lives." Drama, hilarity, and just plain insanity.

We have tentitive plans to go see a movie and maybe grab dinner. I haven't mentioned it to Toby yet, but I'm sure she won't mind. At least I don't think so. I know she's wanted him to visit for awhile, but if she had really wanted to see him she probably would have made more of an effort. I don't know why I haven't told her that me and Billy have started speaking again, for some reason it seems like an awkward thing to bring up. Then again, what if she suggested to him that we get in-touch? I don't know.

After my four hours of sleep last night (well, four hours of lying in bed pretending to be asleep at least), I have to start getting ready for my day. Oh, and I forgot to mention Italia. He's just going to have to wait, the shower is calling my name.


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