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There are a lot of unhealthy things that I do when I have a crush on someone. 

FIRST STEP: MEET BOY.

This can happen in a couple different ways.  My past infatuation history is as wide and varied as my taste in cheese.  I’ve had crushes on boys I worked with, boys I went to school with, and boys who work at Guitar Center.  Boys from the beach, boys from the gas station, boys from the Internet, boys driving behind me who I stare at in the rear view mirror who turn out to be elderly Asian ladies.

SECOND STEP: TALK TO BOY.

This is where the grand majority of my possible relationships fail.  Sometimes I will just watch my prey crush from afar, hawk-eyed, other times I will venture a word or two.  Attempts at humor will be made quietly to myself, or as an aside to an available friend.

If I have the Gryffindor courage, I talk to him. 

When I am lucky, we get along. 

THIRD STEP: QUICKLY DEVELOP ENORMOUS CRUSH ON BOY.

You know how this goes.  Being aware of their every move, whether they are going to the bathroom or speaking to someone else.  Wanting to follow them around just to watch them.  Thinking of completely inane things to say just so that you can hear them speak.  Jumping up and down in private five hours later when they say something to you.  Staying up late to talk to them about anything, usually of minimal importance.

This part is fun.

FOURTH STEP: GENERALLY AT THIS POINT I HAVE TO GO FOR SOME REASON.  THE PROFESSIONAL/ACADEMIC/SOCIAL EVENT IS OVER, OR I AM SLEEPY.  USUALLY I AM SLEEPY.  WE SEPARATE.

If the boy is lucky, we are already friends on Facebook/I can easily friend him on Facebook and they are unlikely to see the majority of my crazy. 

If the boy is unlucky and they aren’t already friends with me on Facebook, they are subject to a controlled spiral of increased obsession.

FIFTH STEP: I ENSURE THAT THE BOY IS A DECENT HUMAN BEING USING THE INTERNET SO AS TO SAVE MYSELF POSSIBLE HEARTBREAK.  ALSO I FIND PICTURES OF THEIR EX-GIRLFRIENDS.  ALSO I GO THROUGH ALL THE PICTURES OF THEM THAT I CAN FIND.  ALSO I FIND OUT IF THEY WERE ON THE TRACK TEAM AND WHAT PRIZES THEY WON THEIR SENIOR YEAR.

It’s pretty simple.  I start with Google and Facebook, depending on what information I have.  If I have their first and last name, it’s pretty simple.  Sometimes I’ll have an email address, or a mutual friend. 

The less information I have, the more determined I become.

In a purely hypothetical situation, if I had someone’s phone number, I could reverse look up their number, or put their number into Facebook to see if they’ve written it anywhere public, or I could just fucking text or call them.

I generally pick the easy route.

A year ago, I met a guy who worked at “Guitar Center” whose name was “Hyacinth” (I’ve cleverly covered my tracks) and I just kept searching “Hyacinth Guitar Center Pasadena”.  It didn’t work very well.  Also his name wasn’t Hyacinth.  Gross.

SIXTH STEP: DESPERATELY TRY TO STOP HAVING CRUSH ON BOY.

Why even try, just to face rejection?

SEVENTH STEP: EVENTUALLY GET OVER SELF & BOY.

Maybe he has a mullet & makes this step easier.

EIGHTH STEP: MEET NEW BOY. 

I hate everyone.

FIRST:

I recently became friends with this guy who lives in Michigan and now we are sending each other letters and I think it’s fucking great. 

Calling someone a pen pal or penfriend is unconscionably silly and I wish that those words would go the way of the hoop skirt.  We should put some money on coming up with a better word, but for now we are stuck.

Anyway he wrote me a letter that he typed on a typewriter and I think that’s amazing; when I opened the envelope I was really confused for a second and thought it was a form letter.

In the past whenever I had a pen pal one of us (read: me) would usually drop the ball, but now I’m older, a little wiser, and I have a lot of stationery so I should really try and use it. 

SECOND:

Securely in the middle of George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series, and I AM ALL LIKE WHAT??? IN MY HEAD because it’s so, so good you guys.  I haven’t read a fantasy series this good…ever.  I also haven’t been this swept up in a book in a few months and that is always a nice feeling.  Except for the parts where I have to go to sleep and eat and work.

THIRD:

Man, Heidi, I don’t know if you read this.  Probably not, because you are busy.  But I really like you.  Your house is adorable and I really wanted to pet your cats and your taste in TV is kind of exactly like my taste so I just want to hug you all of the time. 

You absolutely go hard in the paint.

FOURTH:

My friends are cute.  I like them.  Can we go find a pool and a house and some wine already?

FIFTH:

A week ago tonight, I got to see Zach Galiafinakis do stand-up before he opened for Andrew Bird.  I guess it was one of the best surprises of the day, the week, the month, my life.  I GUESS.

SIXTH:

The concert itself was beautiful.  No regrets.

SEVENTH:

“Runaway” by The National, from High Violet.

Generally my experience with The National is that I will listen to an album and be like, yeah, I like this, but not really consider them to be mind-boggling and then I will hear a song that will just slam into my ribs and make me cry. I’m listening to this song right now.  It is good for nights.

we got another thing coming undone and it’s taking us over

I will always love “I’m Yours”, by Jason Mraz.  Please don’t take away my indie cred. 

I hate it when Matt’s funny.

I feel kind of obligated to write about the fact that I am taking a break from Facebook, but I don’t even know who gives a shit about the fact that I am taking a break from Facebook besides me.  Like a legitimate shit, not this one that Matt is pretending to give.

I don’t really have a lot to say about it.  I recognize that wanting to check your Facebook as you are already checking your Facebook is a problem. 

Not going to assume that by being off Facebook, my life will automatically align into picnics & dancing & standing on cliffs or other romanticized montages of someone really Kicking Their Shit In Gear, but I think it will be healthy & that is enough. 

Please continue to remember who I am & please continue to invite me to parties.

I’m reading a lot of REALLY GOOD writing lately—my friend Natasha has a blog that is terribly funny & becomes even funnier when you imagine her saying it in her posh British tones. She’s really smart.  The first day I met her, a bookcase fell on us.

I’ve recently (as in today) discovered the column Bering in Mind, by scientist Jesse Bering.  I tend to have a big crush on social psychology and evolutionary biology, which are just two of the topics he covers with ease.

Also, as I am sure you know, I’ve been covering my ears with the music of Said The Gramophone.  It is also important to cover my mind with their words.  You should go over there and take some time.  (“I’m not talking in hypotheticals, in theory, I’m talking about this, your wrist and your ankle and my pointy hips.”)

Even after I read excellent writing I do not automatically become a better writer. What a shame.  This was initially going to be a post about how I am not an excellent writer the way these people are but that would just be fishing for compliments and you can send those to me by post, because I’ve never even been fishing.

I don’t consider my writing to be abhorrent because sometimes I can properly use words like abhorrent but when I try and describe something in real life I tend to shy away from being articulate the way I want to be.  And then there are the days that I continuously abuse run-on sentences and the tolerance of my few readers, those days are the best. 

I like reading things that fabulous writers have written because it makes me want to just Be Better.  If you like doing that, I suggest that you click any or all of these links.

This kind of devolved into a post about how I am not an excellent writer so I guess I’ll take those compliments now.

• To yell at people to “Just fucking go for it” whenever they have been sitting for a while without any aural indication that there is someone in there.  I know they have to fart.  And they know that I know.
• To sidle first my toes, then the arch of my foot and then the heel of my foot one stall over and waggle them in a friendly wave.
• To yell “we’re all peeing!” when all the stalls are full.

HONORABLE MENTION BECAUSE IT DOESN’T FIT THE CATEGORY ALL THAT WELL:

Whenever I am forced to poop in public restrooms, I will check to make sure that the stalls are empty in case I make bodily function noises by bending my head down and checking for feet.  To date, I haven’t yet seen anyone else doing the exact same thing, but I’m sure that it’s just a matter of time.

I guess in such an instance, the impulse I would need to curb is the one to smile hugely and strike up a conversation.