Xanax For Sale

My baby sister is now 21. sniff...

When I see the new boy I want to tell him all the things about me. I want to tell him what makes me, what moves me, how he moves me. I know he feels the same, as he has told me so. But we question ourselves as well: how much is too much information? Relationships are so often played as games. We all know this. We carefully plot our next move based upon predictions on observed behavior. We craft our advances in order to meet our goals. But in this game, your opponent isn't an adversary, but rather your prize. So does it help or hinder us to be completely honest in our feelings and desires with one another? Do we give away the game when it becomes obvious of what the current situation is? It seems that we have no game plan. We excitedly tell each other how strangely different and wonderful we feel with each other rather than acting coy. We tell each other we can't wait to see each one another again rather than play the slightly disinterested role. We don't have to have that cool exterior to protect us from hurt and disappointment (that never really worked anyway, did it?). It seems that if both parties are in agreement, the game is forfeited. We are a pair of giddy 16 year olds when we're together, and you know... it isn't so bad after all.

I am in a piss poor mood today for no apparent reason. I need the boy and a drink, pronto. While I am in a mood, enjoy some Asian humor. I love being able to say I'm Asian. It's not often you can automatically be part of someone's fetish.

The phone rings at lunch. It's him. My mind races: Why's he calling? Is he going to cancel plans? Break up with me? Has gone gay? Moving to Khazikstan? I decide to answer after a 20 millisecond debate and given up hope that anything good could possibly come out of the conversation. He says hello, and he just wanted to say 'hi' and wish me a good day. What? Granted, I've not had the best luck with boys on the spreadsheet. This last streak of losers has certainly tainted the horizon with unexpected angst and aggravation. There was A who called every hour and sent 8,962 text messages because he was so insecure and demanded my complete attention at all times, only to berate me if I was in a meeting or class and missed it. Then there was M, who would call and have nothing to say which would only remind me that he was so wrong to begin with. There was R, who would get so offended if I even described the weather differently than he did. There was E, who was fantastic to talk to but never really got around to telling me he wanted me. There was C, who would say lovely, dirty things to me, but it seemed obvious that these calls were only roundabout ways to schedule our next erotic rendezvous. And lastly, there was M, who was the quintessential too-busy-to-call, never-return-your-call, and call-only-to-cancel-plans type of caller whose last feat was to just not call - at all. So, is it surprising that I'm taken aback by the new boy's gestures? Since meeting him, I've talked to him every day. They are long, lovely conversations in which no teeth-pulling is necessary. He calls when he says he will. There are no awkward silences, but instead a lot of laughter. D tells me that this is what normal is like. Is it possible that I've come only to expect horrible, shallow things spoken out of the receiver?

Good food, good drink, good company. A cold, crisp night in which the stars gleam across the sky. Walking hand in hand around the lake. Quoting Wordsworth. Reliving the joy of swingsets in the playground. Burying my face in your sweater for warmth. Seeing the city that I've lived in for 15 years in a completely new light. Bliss.