Awkward Things I Say To Girls


IT ALWAYS SEEMED LIKE THE RIGHT THING TO SAY AT THE TIME

Archive for April, 2007

It’s kind of weird that there is foreshadowing and allegory in this chapter, even though this is just what actually happened that day

Sunday, April 29th, 2007

Part 2, Chapter 9

On (Tuesday) July 9, 2002, I woke up to an unconscionably blue sky pouring into the little Michigan lake cabin. Hot Copy Editor was brushing brown hairs from each other and squinting asymmetrically at me. “It’s about time you woke up. I’m not going to row myself around the lake.”

“I would have been up earlier, but you kept me up with all that excruciating conversation last night at the beach.”

Her mother walked in when we were ~80% finished with bowls of Cheerios (“Do you like Cheerios?” HCE asks. “I eat Cheerios every day for breakfast!” I exclaim.) and ~18% finished with the spread-out puzzle on the table in front of the window overlooking the lake, continuing to chatter like extremely sarcastic little children. “What are you planning for the day?” the mother asks.

“We need to go to the beach and look for Petoskey stones,” chirps Hot Copy Editor. “And then, Justin, do you want to go to Arcadia? It’s a cute little town right on the beach with little gift shops and ice cream shops. It’ll be fun.”

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I exist!

Friday, April 27th, 2007

I apologize for my unannounced and entirely too-long vacation from writing about awkward things I used to, currently am, or intend to say to girls. Here are some examples of what definitely are not reasons why I haven’t been posting on my blog:

  1. I have become polished and suave.
  2. I ran out of old stories that could be written about. That’s it. The website has all my awkward stories.
  3. I started another blog.
  4. The Hot Copy Editor story is done. Nothing else happened.

In order: yeah right, as if, I don’t cheat, and we’re just getting started. So don’t worry. I feel rejuvenated and refreshed, blog-wise. Life-wise is a different story, but, then again, if everyone went around happy and unstressed all the time, who would be left to create and use the Internet?

One or two contextual points that I want to just get out of the way, here:

  • Those of you who ever previously noticed the sidebar to the right may pick up on the sudden glaring omission in the Cast of Characters. I don’t really want to talk about it. I’m still processing and moving on and mourning a little.
  • The Hot Copy Editor story was getting a little intense for me to write, I think. I’m glad I took a step back. But I’m totally ready for another shot.
  • Thank you for clamoring for my return. I know I have appeared to have been turning a cold, callous ear on the cries of my adoring fans, but I thought about each and every one of you the entire time I was spending long hours working on real, actual work (or, let’s be honest, having fun and wasting time) instead of writing awkward memoirs.

So, buckle up. I’ve got a whole backlog of awkwardness, all kinds of (entirely non-personal and in no way to connected to any particular relationship, necessarily) dating thoughts, and it’s a long way from a Lake Michigan beach in 2002 to an apartment not far from a highway in Northeast Ohio in 2005. I’ve got some writing to do.

The only part I didn’t remember clearly was the phase of the moon, which I looked up online

Monday, April 2nd, 2007

Part 2, Chapter 8

“Whoop!” she whooped as I knocked on the screen door leading into the little kitchen. In a blur of arms and brown hair and jeans, there she was in front of me opening the door, being casually stunning. “You came!”

“I know! I’m sorry I’m late. Here is some banana bread I made. There are walnuts in there.”

“Thank you!” She took it and put it somewhere, beckoning me into the cabin. “My parents are out taking a walk. Come take a tour!”

Cabin was a pretty good name for the interior. For all the prettiness outside, inside was a cozy mixture of wood paneling and huge windows. It was a perfect summer vacation home. We walked through the foyer-slash-kitchen-slash-mud-room into the living room, which was dominated by a massive window showing Portage Lake. To the left of the window was a little partitioned off area (there was a curtain rod with a swept-aside curtain acting as a divider) with just enough space for a bed, some suitcases, and a bedside table overflowing with books.

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