I gave this valentine to three different boyfriends, three years in a row. They each mysteriously changed their phone numbers, stopped answering email, and moved out of town.
I just don't get it.
Monday
Or else.
I gave this valentine to three different boyfriends, three years in a row. They each mysteriously changed their phone numbers, stopped answering email, and moved out of town.
I just don't get it.
Monday
Stalking
I don't know how we made it out of January alive. So far, February has failed to launch a death threat, but it's early days yet. Keep your guard up.
I will here and now admit that my favorite thing about Facebook is looking at photos of children and spouses and vacations taken by people I have not seen in thirty years. Or, sometimes, ever. That half-remembered girl from photography class who friended me because her best friend once dated my once-best friend's younger brother and so my profile showed up and she felt guilty? Possibly, she thought, she knew me and just forgot, but really, she didn't and I was too embarrassed for her to say anything - and so I accepted her friend request. And now I love her niece's water skiing photos. My ex boyfriend's older daughter's prom photos? I adore them. You have an album with access - or better yet, a friend with an unrestricted profile, who has an album - or four? I'm there. Oh, good. I think, flipping through holiday family photos. By New Year's, Tricia stopped wearing that unfortunate sweater.
Only? I don't know Tricia. I don't even know anyone who knows Tricia. But I really wish her father-in-law would fix the color balance on that "Bahamas '09" folder.
It's a little weird, right? I also don't use the treadmills at my gym that face the bank of televisions. I prefer to work out while looking out the huge picture windows that face the street, so I can watch people walk by. Good lord, I sound like my dog (peoplepeoplepeople! hi, people!), but needier.
I just like the stories. Yesterday, a guy walked by the gym windows. Nice looking, college kid, with a jacket and jeans. Cleanly shaven, showered. No shoes. He walked quickly, on his way somewhere (a movie? lunch?) - barefoot. I know we're in California and all, but it was 60 degrees out and he was downtown. Last week, a woman got off her bike and locked it to a parking meter right in front, and then sat on the ground next to the bike, cross-legged on the sidewalk, and cracked open a paperback book. She was still reading an hour later, when I finally left. Months ago, when I was on the treadmill and the transom window in front of me was propped open, a food vendor passed me the most amazing samosas, still hot. "They're good for you!" he yelled, grinning. "Made with vegetables!"
I will here and now admit that my favorite thing about Facebook is looking at photos of children and spouses and vacations taken by people I have not seen in thirty years. Or, sometimes, ever. That half-remembered girl from photography class who friended me because her best friend once dated my once-best friend's younger brother and so my profile showed up and she felt guilty? Possibly, she thought, she knew me and just forgot, but really, she didn't and I was too embarrassed for her to say anything - and so I accepted her friend request. And now I love her niece's water skiing photos. My ex boyfriend's older daughter's prom photos? I adore them. You have an album with access - or better yet, a friend with an unrestricted profile, who has an album - or four? I'm there. Oh, good. I think, flipping through holiday family photos. By New Year's, Tricia stopped wearing that unfortunate sweater.
Only? I don't know Tricia. I don't even know anyone who knows Tricia. But I really wish her father-in-law would fix the color balance on that "Bahamas '09" folder.
It's a little weird, right? I also don't use the treadmills at my gym that face the bank of televisions. I prefer to work out while looking out the huge picture windows that face the street, so I can watch people walk by. Good lord, I sound like my dog (peoplepeoplepeople! hi, people!), but needier.
I just like the stories. Yesterday, a guy walked by the gym windows. Nice looking, college kid, with a jacket and jeans. Cleanly shaven, showered. No shoes. He walked quickly, on his way somewhere (a movie? lunch?) - barefoot. I know we're in California and all, but it was 60 degrees out and he was downtown. Last week, a woman got off her bike and locked it to a parking meter right in front, and then sat on the ground next to the bike, cross-legged on the sidewalk, and cracked open a paperback book. She was still reading an hour later, when I finally left. Months ago, when I was on the treadmill and the transom window in front of me was propped open, a food vendor passed me the most amazing samosas, still hot. "They're good for you!" he yelled, grinning. "Made with vegetables!"
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