the wheels on the bus

the world can be broken down into two types of people – those who wait for the bus, and those who don’t.

which may seem like an oversimplification of humanity (especially since most people don’t even RIDE the bus anymore), but let me explain.

lets say you need to go somewhere (i.e. downtown).

and you decide to take the bus.

you go to the appropriate bus stop, and you wait for the appropriate bus.

there is no schedule posted, but you ask some people at the bus stop about your bus, and you learn that there are several other people who are also waiting for the same exact bus.

an old lady kindly tells you that the bus will come eventually.

but she doesn’t know when.

several buses pass by in the meantime – but none take you close to where you want to go.

people get on. and people get off.

you wait.

and wait.

and finally you are faced with a dilemma – do you continue to wait for the bus or not?

if you wait for the bus, you may wait for a very (very) long time – but eventually you will get where you need to go.

if you don’t wait for the bus, you may find a faster way to get to your destination, you may find a slower way to get to your destination, or you may not get to your destination at all.

but at least you’re not standing still.

if you were put in this position, what would you do? which kind of person do you think you are?

and more importantly, what do you think this reflects about WHO you are?

what is interesting is that the answer (no matter what it may be) is not an indictment on anyone.

because there is no WRONG answer.

this decision - like many in life, is composed of no absolutes, only varying shades of grey slush.

in life, there are many people who refuse to wait for the bus.

these are the people who take action when faced with an obstacle, and an objective.

they’ll take a different bus.

or they’ll walk.

but no matter what they decide to do, they refuse to stand still.

and sometimes this will work for them.

and sometimes it wont.

because although these people have the determination to MOVE around an obstacle, they may lack the DIRECTION to translate this movement into forward progress.

movement does not necessarily equate to progress.

movement without direction is merely movement.

and is movement (for the sake of movement) really better than standing still?

some might think so.

others may not.

after all, there are just as many people who refuse to move (and decide to wait) as there are those who simply get up and go.

and just like in the tortoise and the hare, those who wait may get where they need to go sooner than those who hurry (perhaps in the wrong direction).

because you never know when the bus will actually show up. ***

***in case you were wondering why the hell im preoccupied with buses, you should realize that this whole post is an analogy for dating. i often equate my friday night meet-market escapades with this ‘public transportation’ scenario. is it better for me to stay at home and wait for my bus? or am i doing the right thing by going out and running in traffic?

of course this is all absolute bollocks, because there is ABSOLUTELY no guarantee that A) im waiting at the right bus stop B) a bus even exists for me to get on.

in other words i am fooked.

note: if i ever meet the ‘one’ – it will be our little secret that i used to refer to her as a bus. ha!

the only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage

valentines day is for eight year olds.

im not saying this because im single.

im not saying this because im bitter.

im not even saying this because im a guy.

im saying this because im right.

im right – and you know im right.

because if you think back to when you were eight, that was the FIRST, and the LAST time that valentines day actually meant something.

valentines meant eight year old butterflies flitting about in eight year old stomachs.

valentines meant eight year old hearts resonating in eight year old chests.

valentines meant eight year old eyes widening as eight year old fingers lifted up the top of that eight year old’s desk.

and amongst the papers and pens, maybe that eight year old found the valentine that they sought.

or maybe they didn’t.

but for that one afternoon (and perhaps only for that afternoon), valentines day actually meant something to someone.

even if it only meant something to an eight year old.

car pay muthafukkin dee em

to me, bloggin’ is a lot like dating...

you shouldn’t do it unless you actually want to.

and ever since i moved to boston i havent had much of an inclination to do either.

which is a total effin lie, because if i had the opportunity to do 'it', i would.

which is another effin lie, because i believe that people (i.e you and me) make our own opportunities – so if i haven’t blogged, and if i haven’t dated, its because im a slackass bitch and i haven’t been ‘seizing the day enough’.

which is kinda sorta true.

for instance,

i haven’t seized every opportunity that’s presented itself.

i didn’t call a cute doctor girl who gave me her number on new years eve. even tho she was cute and i really dug her vibe.

i tried to call, but not very hard.

i also haven’t taken the moment to blog down everything that’s happened, and every thought that ive had over the last two months. even tho alot has happened, alot has been thought, and alot has been forgotten.

i tried to write, but not very hard.

which is really the crux of this issue – why do something, if you’re not going try to do it right?

why call a girl that lives in RI, when you know that its not going to work out?

why write a work in progress, when you know that you don’t have the time to finish it?

why?

****

you tell me.

i totally effed up on the girl from new years.

she looked how i wanted her to.

(tall. short jacket over a dressy tank top, w/ tight jeans and a pair of heals. great auburn hair. clear blue eyes)

she acted how i wanted her to.

(bubbly. engaging. animated. vivacious)

she was who i wanted her to be.

(med school. well spoken. intelligent)

so why didn’t i call her?

i don’t know.

****

my best friend and i crashed a house party for new years.

small – intimate gathering, but surprisingly a decent amount of cute single girls.

i noticed her immediately – it was hard not to.

but i played it cool.

i grabbed a beer and started a conversation with my friend, and another guy.

the three of us clustered, until she segued into the group.

first she started talking to the dood. apparently they knew each other.

then she introduced herself and spoke to my friend.

whats your name? what do you do? how do you know the host? etc etc.

her laser-like concentration was directed at my friend – so much so, that i actually made a mental note that she had absolutely no interest in me whatsoever (but maybe my friend had a chance).

not even a glance in my direction.

im standing RIGHT there.

and she walks away.

no prompt.

no break in the conversation

no one saying, ‘hey laurie, come over here and check this out!’

she just picked up and left us.

so we dispersed.

the end.

****

im standing by the cocktail table picking over the drink selection when she floats back into the room.

and i don’t even remember how things started, but suddenly we’re talking.

i have no idea what we’re saying.

the words tumble and jumble out of my mouth, but i have no idea what they MEAN.

but it seems to be working, she’s smiling and nodding.

she’s laughing– an uproarious knock your head back laugh.

and every so often, she reachs out and touches my arm to emphasize her point.

point about what?

i don’t know.

but at that point in time, i didn’t really care either.

its all good in the hood

****

we talked for more than an hour.

but eventually our conversation waned (as conversations will) and we drifted apart.

the new year rang in, and i sang auld lang syne alone.

i didn’t mind

i had tried to position myself next to her for new years, but that shit only works in movies.

shortly after midnight, i convinced my friend to leave early so that we could catch last call at a local bar.

on our way out the door, i took a detour into the kitchen to say goodbye to the girl.

she gave me one of those, ‘oh you’re leaving?’ kinda looks.

she said, ‘let me give you my number in case you want to talk more about italy’.

i said yeah that would be great, and punched it into my cell.

she said, ‘let me give you my email address too.’

and clip clopped around the party looking for something to write with– eventually settling for an eye liner pen.

****

i forgot her name.

****

which is no reflection on her, im just horrible with names.

and i did call once – hoping to get her voicemail and find out what her name was…

but i never called back a second time.

****

i have my doubts over whether or not i misread that evening.

was it deliberate when she blew me off the first time?

was she interested and playing hard to get?

did i blow it?

why did i blow it?

or is this situation, and this blog entry the perfect example of not doing something right?

i don’t know.