Author and Columnist
However, we are infatuated and wont to take any chance to be together. Utterly lovely feeling.
Infatuation does feel pleasant. That is the point of it, but it is also a shallow puddle of hormones and neurotransmitters meant to evaporate in a short time.
The dread of feeling you are leading on someone sweet whom you do not think you like in the right way is markedly less pleasant.
She looked stunning and was wearing a little Superman hat, which was adorable in the extreme.
I wish -- and imagine that I will keep wishing -- that you stopped writing for her audience of one. It is conspicuous.
(Though I am not willing to deny that you are writing for Kate as well, wanting her to step up her game to try to lure you back from your overemphasis on another woman.)
I would willingly spend a great deal of my time in such a place and frankly (lloydly wrightly) welcome the chance to do so.
You do spend countless nights there. Her parents feel like yours at times, her father especially. For his flaws, you admire him. Stuart never made you feel less than welcome in his home, though never his studio.
I was most struck by the four porch tile designs that represented each member of her family. Emily's tile was going is all directions and made an "M" no matter how one looked at it.
I wish you had been a bit more liberal in taking pictures. I struggle now to imagine what this porch looked like.
As I leaned against the kitchen cabinets ala Jordan Catalono (if you don't know My So-Called Life, you missed one of the best show to have only existed for one season. Read up, it's nearly as good),
I find this writing forced and cloying, but you are experimenting with your voice.
I will forgive you for the moment.
Somehow, every tiny gesture about them convey paragraphs and you feel almost awkwardly voyeuristic (well, a little voyeurism is fun and educational, of course) but you are unable to take your eyes off of them, you want to see them from every angle because you might be tested on this later.
Emily isn't hard to watch, especially in the nervousness of her infatuation.
M pointed out that my pancake looked like a brain and began pointing out the various sections (the dear lass has taken many psych courses).
She's a smart cookie, but she has also seen psychology from the other side often enough to have etched each section of her brain that betrays her.
Wait, she is allergic to felines
Is she? Because you later own two cats together, and her allergies do not come into play. In fact, you are the one who is allergic to Seltzer and Pyewacket. After she leaves you and takes the cats, she foists them on someone else, then gets new cats.
I suspect that this may be less than accurate information.
(Incidentally, I have two charming cats; the long-haired one fed a kibble that is supposed to keep her dander in check. Cats are an inevitability and, as long as the allergies can be made milder, are likely worth the minor inconvenience of sprays up one's nose.)
(are we all seeing the almost poetic justice of falling for a girl who is allergic to cats after a relationship with a lass nicknamed Kitty?
No. No, we are not. You are reaching.
Also, you may have been the only one who called Kate "Kitty."
After we had finished eating, two and a half pancakes remained. So she offered me one to fling at the trees like a frisbee.
She does have something of the Manic Pixie to her at this point.
This is precisely the tack to take to make you fluttery.
Despite my kissing her neck and face, she was able to bring us to a collection of trees that had many limbs amputated.
Do not kiss young women who have boyfriends. It does nothing good for anyone.
Oh, and I thought kissing made you vomit? Did you forget about that so quickly? You mentioned it in the previous entry.
Once we got to the gym, her master made full use of me by having me hang flags and I helped M place the right sized boards in the appropriate places when I was not too busy lying on my back, mewling like a child at how great it was to be around her.
I do not like you sometimes. Have some inner strength, buddy. Have some self-respect. You are trying to force yourself into this. It is, at best, your second date.
I wish she had made it your last to teach you a lesson.
I have cultivated falling for someone into an art form in the six months I have been single, for just such a moment.
You have done no such thing. You have made a mess, made attempts, made mistakes. What you have not made was a practice or art.
Okay, granted, that force came from the limbs of M, whom I firmly believe would never try to hurt me.
This would be where I would, if this were in person, look into the middle distance as though it were a camera. I may wince a little.
You know what the best/sexy move of all was? The axe kick.
Yeah, I'll give you that. She will retreat into her Tae Kwon Do -- something she warned you that she had done to avoid her ex -- but her ability with it never stops being impressive.
It destroys her body, though she only suffers a few notable injuries while you are together (torn ACL, broken nose). Still, she is unrelenting.
After she had broken something like ninety boards, she informed me that she was fairly sure that she had broken her pinky. She said so calmly, but I believed her.
During one of her tests, she breaks her wrist because she buys the wrong patio block, one that is not made for martial arts.
The girl knows her injuries.
I was half in shock, as this was only our second date and we were already dealing with a trauma. But I was very glad that I was there to take care of her, and I think that says something very important.
I mean, I'm not suggesting that this could be emblazoned on parts of your relationship...
As the admitting nurse was checking Emily in (with my corrections for where the nurse mistyped), she asked M what relation I was to her. Emily stated confidently, "Boyfriend." I glowed and quipped, "So this is how I find out?"
Cute, yes, but still filmic. Do you feel like her boyfriend? Do you want to be her boyfriend after one and a half dates? Or do you just know a good line for this scene?
I was someone's boyfriend and they were very happy about this.
I wish you were more confident in yourself. Maybe you would have still been her boyfriend, but you could have taken your time to get to know her.
You break up with her in several months because, while you do feel like her boyfriend, you never got around to feeling like her friend. I wish you had taken your time. Rushing did no one any good.
Also, she has a boyfriend right now.
Then I sat and read an article from the Weekly World News about an angel painting that spontaneously heals people. So I touched it to M just as she was leaving to get irradiated. As I stated then, who need medical science when we have faith healing from a tabloid?
Cute again. I do not deny that the two of you have any lack of adorable moments. In many ways, you were highly companionable. And I am not suggesting that you don't like her. You do. You are smitten. But you are still rushing, and your reasons for doing this are poor. They are not about her.
As she was getting wrapped, she told me that she would rather have a broken pinky and me than not have me and be fine. I told her that was one of the sweetest things anyone ever said to me, and reminded her that she had both a not-broken finger and me. She thought for a second and stated, "I win!"
I am not sorry that you recorded this in such detail. I genuinely like to read this. It reminds me of who the both of you are at this point.
Things between you are sweet on occasion. Yes, they sour, but you are cute at the moment. You are fun to watch.
If you were not rushing. If you did not agree that you were her boyfriend. This could have been better.
In the car, she looked down and said "My hands are sad" in a curious fashion, then asked if I remembered the Kids in the Hall sketch where they did that.
Here, I remember regret. It was not as powerful as when you kissed Kendall and thought you had ruined that friendship with rashness, but it was still present.
You had rushed and wished that you hadn't. You didn't know how you could back out of this and slow things down -- if not stop them. (Probably not stop them, but you would have liked the option.)
And she quoted Kids in the Hall. Not an obscure show. You decided that maybe you didn't have to find a way to plan a breakup with a woman whose middle name you didn't know based on this. It was a funny thing for her to bring up, representing a shared sense of humor. You weren't sure you wanted to be with her, wanted to be her boyfriend, but you found her likable at that moment and relaxed a fraction from your worry. Maybe you hadn't ruined your life by allowing yourself to say the funny line rather than keeping a wise boundary.
Gods, dear readers, she looked like the more charming sister of Reese Witherspoon.
This is a largely accurate description. It's in the blonde hair and pointed chin.
Since I know the lack of me for this time shall be just as sharp for her, I hid notes in her house where she would find them so she can think of me.
Again, cute. This seems potentially sincere, rather than you playacting.
Maybe you like her enough not to panic. You do not like her enough to be a good boyfriend, but why should you? This is a second date, albeit one that seems to have lasted most of the day.
Of course, she has a boyfriend already. I am not going to stop reminding you of this fact.
Red threatens of poison in insects but ardor in human.
Red is the blush of my darling's cheek when I confess like a thief myself, how she is stealing my heart.
You are not Tom Robbins. You are not some passionate poet.
If she is stealing your heart, it is only because you are not careful enough with it.