A Bowl of Rocky Road Can Buy Some Good Therapy

Last night, Best Friend and I sat down to a big bowl of Rocky Road, my favorite zero-degree thinking fuel. Ice cream has moods too, just like people: Coffee is pensive, Birthday Cake is nostalgically silly, Peanut Butter is good natured and gregarious...and Rocky Road is for complaining. Not only is it chocolate, the best food therapy that dining hall food points can buy, but there's also all those hard crunchy nuts just waiting to be pulverized with feminine rage.

The topic was, of course, Boyfriend's antics. Usually my Get Angry at Boyfriend schedule looks something like this:

Step One: Get angry at Boyfriend for something stupid he did/did not do.
Step Two: Rant to myself.
Step Three: Organize rantings into an Anti-Boyfriend Rage Soliloquy
Step Four: Recite ABRS to various uninterested girlfriends and collect their half-baked feedback.
Step Five: Take feedback to Best Friend, who throws all the garbage feedback away, calms me down, shows me the big picture, and proposes a new Boyfriend Amnesty Plan.

Best Friend, true to form, was able to calm me down. She pointed out that setting an ultimatum, like Gal Pal 1 had suggested, or dumping him without talking to him, like Gal Pal 2 had suggested, were both unnecessary. She said that she thought our problem was that we weren't communicating well - that is, that Boyfriend was just a terrible communicator in general. She said that she didn't think I should talk to him about how I wasn't getting what I wanted out of the relationship (at least not the messy details, like not rushing over to see me the second his 747's wheels slapped the tarmac) but focus on the communication issue.

I thought long and hard about her advice, which usually is pretty spot on. In fact, I began to believe her a little bit. I was prepared to be fair, and ignore the things that had been bothering me before.

Then today, I thought about it some more. And even though we had worked out a deeply analyzed reason to why I was unhappy, and the ways I should fix it....

Nope. I'm pretty much just pissed at him for not missing me enough. I guess everything can't be solved by in-depth analysis.

PS: Boyfriend saw me last night. He stood and stared at me while I was in line to get food, with that little sad-puppy-caught-in-the-rain look that just melts my heart. It's as if he's saying "look how adorable I am...so cute...PLEEEEASE take me back!"

I tried so hard to glare...but I couldn't help smiling. Darn those puppy eyes.

No More Miss Nice Girlfriend

I am very fond of Boyfriend, but his recent antics have exasperated me beyond the point of no return. Relationship-wise, he is about as mature as a green tomato. The potential is there...but don't expect much if you taste it now.

Here's a history lesson for you: about a month before school ended last semester, Boyfriend suddenly stopped talking to me. No calls, no emails...nada. He even stood me up for his OWN birthday dinner! His avoidance of the subject went to extremes unknown even to the Bush administration. Case in point: He didn't talk to me for a month, even though we sat next to each other in history class. I finally hunted him down...by staking out his dorm room. Apparantly he is not only ridiculously good looking, but also ridiculously commitment-phobic. We talked about his freak-out and he told me he needed some time to think, so we went into winter break together, but farther apart.

Things were looking up when he started calling me more and more often over the break. "I miss you," he said. "I can't wait to see you!". Good, I thought. You'd better. He told me that he wanted to stay together, and that he was sorry for his commitment-phobic tendencies.
I was scheduled to get back to campus on Saturday, and he was driving back on Sunday. When I didn't hear from him on Sunday I was disappointed, but not surprised. He probably got back late - it is an 11 hour drive.

But the next day, he still hadn't called. So I messaged him: "Are you back yet?" An hour later he responded, "Yeah, do you want to get some lunch?". Weak, but fine. I went to the dining hall.

When I got to the dining hall, he looked excited to see me. I think there was even some eager five-year-old-esque hand clapping involved.
"So when did you get back?" I asked.
"Yesterday at 8." he said.
Umm...excuse me? Wow, I guess he wasn't THAT anxious to see me. He usually doesn't go to bed until 2 am, no matter how tired he is.

Still, we had a good time talking and catching up. He told me about his trip, and I told him about playing with sea lions and the creepy guy I ran into at Target. He was cute and adorable and seemed legitimately happy to see me. That night he brought pizza, picked me up, and we watched old TMNT episodes until midnight.

Something was still nagging at my mind, though. I still didn't get the impression that he had really truly missed me. He also hadn't kissed me once since he got back. I was there when my friend's guy had gotten back: she waited up until 2:30 for him to get home, and when he did he immediately dropped his stuff and raced over to her room. "Get out, get out, he's coming over!" That's how couples are supposed to act after a month apart. They don't hug, then watch antropomorphized turtles battle politically incorrect Asian foes.

So last night, I stopped waiting. We had agreed to talk about our relationship when he got back - he was back, and I didn't want to wait any longer. I had spent two months waiting, and now I was done. I am sick of being patient, and I'm tired of being nice. I have tried to be a kickass girlfriend during his time of troubles: I know he really does want to be with me, despite his actions, and I had tried to be supportive and kind.

But enough is enough! I'm done being nice. I'm done taking care of him - I want a guy that can take care of ME. When do I get to be the emotional wreck? Because so far, he's done all the wrecking in this relationship.

"I hate to bring it up, but we need to talk eventually," I texted him.
...
...
Nothing. An hour later, he still hadn't responded. Since we had been texting regularly before that, I know he was ignoring it.
"[Boyfriend]? Come on, I know you got my last message by now"
"I know, I just didn't think I needed to reply," he wrote.
"I just wanted to make sure you weren't ignoring me, just in case that was what was happening"

Then he texted a garble of sentences that made absolutely no sense at all. In fact, they were completely and totally unrelated to the subject matter at all.
"What?" I texted. "I'm confused."

This was followed by another random sentence, this one a little graphic and unfit for print. This pissed me off.

"What's going on? Who is texting this?" I asked. His friends had stolen his phone before in the past.

"Roommate and I were just quoting a movie," Boyfriend replied.
"So was that you or Roommate?" I asked.
"No, it was me."

That was the last straw. He usually starts joking when he is in an uncomfortable situation, but I was in no mood for jokes. Before I had gone along with it, even joking back to make him more comfortable. But in my new No-Nonsense Girlfriend role, I was NOT amused.

"Whatever [Boyfriend]. I'm tired of jokes. Call me when you are ready to take this relationship seriously."

End transmission. He didn't respond, and hasn't since. How will this end? I don't know, but don't be looking for my story on the Hallmark channel anytime soon. It may be real life, but I'm guessing the ending will be more WWF Smackdown, less Oprah.

All Work and No Playstation Makes Me the Least-Favorite Child

A few years ago, before I left for college, I wrote a post detailing how a child knows when their parents are anxious for them to leave for college. (Motherly Love) Little did I know that this anti-sentiment would continue long after I moved away, got my own house, and learned to do my own laundry.

The Conflict began when I mentioned that my Playstation 2, which had been functioning mainly as a dust-collecting shelf decoration in the 2 years since my graduation, would better fulfill its purpose if it were moved to my house at college. This house not only includes me but three of my frat-boy friends, who undoubtedly would relish the opportunity to have yet another diversion from their studies in the house. I even got Boyfriend to admit that yes, he might spend more time over at my place if we had ample zombie-killing opportunities (which we were heretofore lacking).

My parents surprisingly agreed. So I began merrily packing up the various odds and ends of the PS2 (what ARE those little extraneous connectors for, anyways?) when Little Sister came waltzing in.

"Are you taking that?!?" she shrieked in a pitch that only little sisters can attain, and most train whistles passionately envy.

And with that, the doors of zombie-killing magic slammed in my face. My parents, now realizing that their precious baby daughter's happiness was threatened, immediately revoked their decision. What ensued was a heated and ultimately tearful debate, which culminated in my dad stating that "Emily works extremely hard all the time, so she deserves to have it if she wants it".

Ummm...excuse me? Hold the phone? Stop the train? Pull the brake?
There we have it folks: proof that I am the least favorite child. Because once your father admits that your sister works harder than you, thereby deserving to claimjump your dearest posessions, its all over.

And it's not the first time, either. When I left for college, they decided to give her my beautiful shiny red Corolla, Petey. This car was more than a rudimentary four-wheeled means of transport from A to B: He had actually saved my life once. Now it was my Playstation. What's next, my college fund?

Also: My vintage Mickey Mouse shirt occasionally appears "mistakenly" in her laundry pile. Foul Play? I believe so.

Raising the Dead

Three years ago, I began this blog at the request of my high school AP American Experience teacher, posting essays and commentary on various themes and works we encountered in class. Though it was originally required, I soon found myself comforted by the creative and psychological outlet that it afforded me. I began writing on topics as diverse as forks, fish and pizza, with the occasional erudite composition thrown in for good measure.

However, upon my graduation from high school my blog fell into disrepair. It wallowed in cyberspace, unread and untended, a lint-crusted peppermint in the dusty recesses of the cyber-cushion.

But now, once again, I have decided to revive my blog to its former glory. Now a sophomore/junior in college, with my 20th birthday looming before me, I have decided that it is time to open the floodgates of my personal outlet. Why, do you ask? A fight with my parents, a boyfriend with commitment issues, a spoiled sister, and an inordinate quantity of Persian food.

Will anyone read it? Probably not. Hapless internet-goers googling nonsequitor phrases may stumble amongst it from time to time, but that doesn't bother me. This blog was, and still exists, for my benifit only. Here I place my thoughts, fears, and doubts. Here I rant, rave, and relish the twisted cart path that is my life.

Let the blogging begin!