What I said

STOP! Before you read this post, make sure you read this one, and this one, and then this one. Okay, you may proceed.

Me: So can I ask you a random question?

Him: Sure.

Me: I noticed you walked in with a book and I'm doing a little bit of a social study and am wondering if you came in with the intent to read the book, or did you bring it so that you have something to do sitting here at the bar alone, so that you don't look alone, or desperate, or anything?

Him: (Looks at me quizzically)

Me: See, I came here alone and brought my laptop, because I normally bring something--laptop, book, magazine--to kill the time and so that I look like I'm the single girl who's so self-assured she can come out to eat alone and do her own thing because she's an independent woman, she's got it together, she doesn't need no stinking other person there! So, I'm sitting on my laptop, pontificating about that very point when you walked in the door and saddled up to the bar with a book, and I thought to myself, I should see what happens and should also see if other people think like I do, or if maybe they have pure intentions to read or whatever, which they could do in the quiet comforts of their own home.

Him: (Laughs). You are so right. What did you say your name was?

Yes, friends, that's how the conversation went... in my head.

As I was leaving the pub, I ran to the bathroom and got my courage up to talk to him on the way out. I looked cute, smelled good, and knew what I was going to say. I headed back up to the front, took a deep breath, gave myself one last cheer (You can do this, Little Ms. Notetaker! Make your readers proud), took one step in his direction, course corrected and walked myself right out of there.

I chickened out.

And I already know what most of you are thinking. And don't worry, I've already given myself a talking to. I can't believe I didn't go talk to him, 1.) because I think he actually would have been receptive, and 2.) because I clearly need the practice. But I didn't. I just hopped in my car and came home. And I know why I didn't, but that's a topic that I'm not delving into in this post.

Suffice it to say that I'm feeling a little exposed now. I mean, normally I go through this whole process in my brain. But this time, I put it out there--in pseudo real-time--for all to read about, and now the Internets knows that I'm chicken.

That, in and of itself, may be enough for me to change my typical behavior.

Get off it and go talk to him

Lenny's still alive... barely. Must type fast.

If you're joining this blog already in-progress, let me catch you up to speed:

Me; lonely; head to local spot to grab dinner and take laptop with me so as not to appear as lonely as I am.

Guy; enters local spot; cute and flying solo; carrying book which in my mind is so that he doesn't appear as lonely as he is.

He just had a friend join him, which makes it harder for me to go talk to him, and I was actually going to muster up the courage to go do it.

All of the sudden this place has become Dude Fest '08. Oh, and I think I like the bartender, too.

Note to Self: Hopvine is hopping on Sunday nights.

Forget everything I said about wanting to cook on Sunday nights, I think I found myself a new tradition!

I'm not the only one with that M.O.

Still Sunday night. Still in my favorite pub. Still with Lenny.

In walks someone, someone meaning a cute, tall, and solo fellow. But he’s not solo, he has a book (I don’t know if he’s a freak like me and has a name for his book).

Well, wouldn’t it be something if Little Ms. Notetaker got over her extreme shyness and talked to him? But maybe he’s not of the same mindset, and he brought the book because he wants to read, not as the item-that-you-bring-with-you-when-dining-alone-so-you-appear with-it-and-cool-and-not-at-all-pathetically-alone.

Lenny, no! Lenny’s running out of juice. Which means I have to end this date early and you’re just going to have to wait, on the edge of your seats I’m sure, to see what I do next (don’t hold your breath, I probably just pay my bill and leave).

Table for one

It’s Sunday night. In my former life, the one where I had a kitchen, I used to love to cook on Sundays, have an impromptu dinner party or just have lots of leftovers for myself. When I had my first apartment in grad school, the Link and I started a Sunday night tradition of having each other over for dinner on Sundays. We’d take turns hosting and had one rule: each time we had to try a new recipe. I miss those days.

Being the kitchenless Little Ms. Notetaker that I am (although I am only about a week away from having a working kitchen, check out the progress I’ve made in the past week), I find myself at my favorite Seattle pub, dining alone, well, me and my laptop. Yep, I’m on a date with my laptop—heretofore the laptop will be known as Lenny. I’m not going to lie, I’m lonely, sorry Lenny but it’s true. Now, it’s not all the time and it’s not all that bad, but I’m getting tired of dining solo. My life is extremely full of cool activities and amazing friends, and most nights of the week I’m busy, but that busyness is just a front to the fact that I’m a little bit lonely.

Take for instance this weekend; I was a hermit (granted I was working on the kitchen pretty much non-stop). The only contact I had with the outside world were the trips I made to Home Depot and Lowe’s and then the few hours when my plumber stopped in. So tonight, after completing the HUGE task of tiling the kitchen, I forced myself to shower (yes, hermits don’t necessarily see personal hygiene as a priority), put on some cute clothes, and join world of the living.

So here I am, looking Seattle-cute, at my favorite place, with Lenny. Lucky for you, I have him here and am cranking out this, and future, posts. But unlucky for me, Lenny’s not much of a conversationalist. However, without Lenny (or a book, or magazine, or something) I cannot handle the solo dinner. I get so bored just sitting there eating, just me and my thoughts (hello, that’s what it’s like in my house so why bother going out to pay for that experience?). And I kind of hate the fact that I have Lenny here, because it makes me seem like I’m completely self-absorbed (okay, which I am), but nobody’s going to talk to me with Lenny here, and I’m PAINFULLY shy (it’s very true), and even though it would make my week if someone came up and talked to me, they won’t because I’m keeping them at bay with Lenny, and I’m keeping them at bay because I don’t want to be seen as that poor lonely girl eating out on her own. Ah, the vicious cycle.

So until I’m not solo, and/or until I can start hosting those impromptu dinner parties, looks like it’s me and Lenny.

And then the next moment

Now how do you feel about your kitchen, Little Ms. Notetaker?

Better.
I do love my counter top. I don't love the fact that the company didn't tell me that the holes for the faucet and fixtures were going to be partially obstructed by part of the cabinet. Now I have to figure out how I'm going to fix that one with drill? saw? file? sheer will power? But I'm surprisingly calm about it.

Thanks for putting up with my temper tantrum.

In the moment

How do you feel about your kitchen, Little Ms. Notetaker?

F#$%&*#&%$^!

Yeah, that about sums it up.

Regret numero uno

Note to self: When taking family portraits, limit it to FAMILY. Legitimate family. Practically family never counts.

While I was packing up my bag in a back bedroom at my grandparents' house over the weekend, I heard my mom call my name from another room. Actually, what she said was, "Come here, I want you to see this," and it was said in a way that made me think I had done some thing wrong. Little did I know that, although innocent, I really had.

I found her in the living room with a framed picture in hand. Tilting the frame my way, she asked me to take a look at it and let her know what it was. Simple. It was a picture from my cousin's wedding last year in May. As with all of the family weddings, we always take a family picture, and as we are a large family there were around 40 people crammed into this one.

Then she asked me where I was, I had to look really hard to find myself as I was stuck behind one of my uncles, at an angle where you could only see half of my face peering around his head. And just as I was beginning to question why she had dragged me out here to ask me these obvious questions, she asked, and who is that next to you?

Gasp.

Marinara jar.

Not only is he in the family picture (which by the way, I had NOT suggested, but someone else in the family had coaxed him in, saying, well, you're practically family. Yeah, we broke up three weeks after this), but you can clearly see him. In fact he has space all around his head. And then there's me, looking like I'm struggling to be seen in the picture--hey guys, look I'm back here, farther left, up a little, yeah there, it's me, see, here I am--and I am family!

Needless to say, I won't be making that mistake again.