<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574</id><updated>2011-04-21T15:57:40.970-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting Nowhere Fast</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>19</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-3673973245437897356</id><published>2007-04-03T07:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-03T08:10:53.235-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This moment is my life</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Spring has brought with it this year completely new beginnings for me. Let me just preface my news by saying that last year was not a very good year for me. I had HUGE family issues that I won't get into, I lost a few wonderful people that I worked with in a very &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;tumultuous&lt;/span&gt; environment, and I had a very extended break-up with my boyfriend of two and a half years, whereby I had to leave the apartment that I loved so much and move into a spare room with no doors (hence rectified) at B.'s house. I've been treading water in my job for awhile, and if you've read my blog at all you know my dating life is nothing to write home about.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;All is about to change, though. I have just been offered and accepted a job in D.C. doing Marketing and Communications for a huge association. I will be moving in a month to an unknown location somewhere in the 'burbs of D.C. and starting a completely different life. I know almost no one in D.C., and I'm very likely to get incredibly lost for a few months just about every day because of my inherited bad sense of direction. Scary? Yes. Am I freaking out a lot? Yes. BUT: as Omar Khayyam so wisely advised: "Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I am finally moving away from the place where I have spent most of my life and making decisions that people would qualify as brave. Sure, I know people move every day. And I moved for college (although, everyone was in the same scary boat there so it doesn't really count all that much). I have wanted to do this for a long time. And this is big for me, because I don't like change. I like comfort and routines and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;spontaneity&lt;/span&gt; only if it involves people I am comfortable with. But I told myself months ago that there was nothing holding me back here in Richmond, and that I really needed to break out and go somewhere with opportunity and lots of young, single, ambitious and fun people. I owe it to myself to at least try. And this is my moment, my time, and I try will be happy  about it (as scared as I might be).&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-3673973245437897356?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/3673973245437897356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=3673973245437897356' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/3673973245437897356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/3673973245437897356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/04/this-moment-is-my-life.html' title='This moment is my life'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-6029391529702258897</id><published>2007-03-21T08:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-21T08:53:59.688-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A self-help post to myself</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Things with the Actor are done. I'm a little cloudy on whether he was seeing someone else and pushed me away, or whether he realized we were getting too close and pushed me away, but it doesn't matter all that much. I know that I was wasting my time anyway. It's all good and fun to have a summer vacation fling, or even every so often that "I just need to get laid so get me to the Bar, stat" fling, but a fling+emotions+a cross-country move=disaster waiting to happen. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Either way, it's focus time. I am done with dating, at least momentarily. It &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;occurred&lt;/span&gt; to me after things with The Actor &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;abruptly&lt;/span&gt; ended that I have been flitting from one person to the next with no real clue of what I'm looking for in my own life or where I'm going. I might be able to tell you some qualities that I want in a man, but a guy not being in possession of those qualities doesn't usually stop me from "giving someone a chance." &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You know what, I realize this is my fault. On &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Maslow's&lt;/span&gt; hierarchy of needs, Esteem comes after Love/Belonging. So technically, I'm right to keep being stuck on trying to find love before I worry about personal/professional success. But here's the Catch 22: men want a woman who already has confidence in herself and passion for something other than him, i.e. she has reached success on the "Esteem" level. I am aware that I have somewhat confused where "love" is supposed to be on these levels and maybe I've put "love" up there with "Esteem" and am sort of basing some of my measure of success on that level with how well I am doing in the dating world.  I have dated a good 20 guys since last August when I broke up with the ex (and no, I didn't sleep with most of them, I'll have you know), and I need a break. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Not good. Basically I think I need to work on myself a little. I am going out with four different groups of people the next four nights in a row, and there is not one romantic prospect in sight. I have an interview in D.C. at the end of next week that I am excited and nervous and scared about. I am going to surround myself with people who like, love, or at least are mildly amused by me until I get out of this hellhole that is my job and do more than wait to be swept off my feet by the next Average Joe that walks around the corner. So I've composed a list of things I need to work on for ME, because I think I , like most women, focus A LOT on pleasing other people:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1.) Learn to breathe and take things one day at a time. You are not under as much pressure as you think you are.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2.) Wait for the right job. You do have a good skill set, charming personality, flexibility, and loyalty, and you CAN hold out until you find something fabulous. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3.) On that note, stop doubting yourself, period. If your friends drop off the earth for a few days they still care about you, they're just dealing with their own stuff.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4.) You are a good catch. You are smart, educated, pretty, funny, have a good job and are independent (well, mostly) and know how to have fun. You are leaps and bounds ahead of most people your age.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;5.) Don't settle for some jerk who lives at home, is unemployed, is untrustworthy, leaves you hanging, or makes you feel like you have to chase him for his attention. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;6.) Spend less time out at the bars. Feeling like shit the next day after a wild night that you can't remember that well is not helping your career, your body, or your love life. You'll save money, too. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;So that's a pretty good list for now. I feel better already&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-6029391529702258897?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/6029391529702258897/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=6029391529702258897' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/6029391529702258897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/6029391529702258897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/03/self-help-post-to-myself.html' title='A self-help post to myself'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-4237432822906437755</id><published>2007-03-16T07:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-16T07:59:58.689-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ms. Cranky Pants</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I am having a bad day and am in a bad mood. I wish I was British and then I could say things like "I'm in a right foul mood" or "I've got my knickers in a bunch so piss off" but I'm not, so I can't. But that's how I feel.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;1.) I think The Actor is dating someone else. He didn't call me on Wednesday, then last night I called him and he said he was hanging out with the same guy he was supposed to be hanging out with on Wednesday. Not a good sign. Also realize that it is a problem that I am concerned he is seeing someone else. Had a good long talk with myself last night and reminded myself that he is:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;a.) not my boyfriend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;b.) not in love with me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;c.) not going to be here in two months &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;2.) My windshield that I got 2 months ago is leaking and my car smells like mold. Looked at the receipt this morning and quel surprise!....a thirty day warranty.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;3.) My hair is frizzy because the beautiful 80 degree weather we've been having the last few days has morphed into freezing cold rain.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;4.) My times for the St. Patty's day celebration/festival/drinking extravaganza tomorrow got mixed up. Told several people the wrong times and got snippy with my roomate for failing to articulate the correct times initially.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;5.) Have to come in to work tomorrow to host a college reporter. On St. Patty's day. At &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;10:00 a.m. On the plus side, I don't think I'll be drunk at that point.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;6.) Slept on my shoulder wrong. Also I am hungry and it's still an hour or so till lunch. And I have a headache&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;7.) Am well aware of how today's attitude may carry over into tonight's birthday thing with The Actor and his friends. He hasn't seen my cranky pants side yet and I don't think it would be wise to bring this into play two weeks into our dating and in front of his friends. Also, I need to be careful to not get drunk and accuse him of seeing someone else. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Cheer me up please :(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-4237432822906437755?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/4237432822906437755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=4237432822906437755' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/4237432822906437755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/4237432822906437755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/03/ms-cranky-pants.html' title='Ms. Cranky Pants'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-4883924098902405190</id><published>2007-03-12T11:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-12T11:37:41.028-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In a Perfect World</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I've been debating whether or not to blog about this new guy that I'm seeing. He has officially made it over a week in my life, and I like him very very much, but it seems like every time I blog about a boy he disappears. And that is embarrassing to me, and kinda makes me look like I meet a new guy every week. Which is kinda true, but I am not the one deciding things should end in a week. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But I can't face disappointing the three people who might actually read my blog, so I must soldier on. I met the Actor at the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;dodgeball&lt;/span&gt; bar two &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Thursdays&lt;/span&gt; ago. My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;roommate&lt;/span&gt; B. plays in an intramural sports league and it's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;dodgeball&lt;/span&gt; season! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Dodgeball&lt;/span&gt; terrifies me, I was never the fastest kid and was not picked very often, so it brings up old humiliations. Plus I throw like a girl. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Anyways, I met the Actor the same night all that crap with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Dodgeball&lt;/span&gt; guy (see last post)  started. I may have made out with him in front of the bar, I may not have. I'm not saying anything else about it. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;He is very California. I mean you look at him and you know this is no Virginian. His hair is perfect and his highlights are better than mine. He wears vintage t-shirts and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;cowboy&lt;/span&gt; boots and bootleg jeans and aviator sunglasses. He is laid back and appears to be flirting with everyone, so his sexuality is often questioned. Plus he drives a Scion, which can't help matters. He wants to be an actor and is from San Francisco.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You just don't meet people like this where I'm from. We've been hanging out a lot, I'd say once every 3 days to once every other day. The first night we went out he took me to a Cuban restaurant and we had &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;mojitos&lt;/span&gt; and he sat on the same side of the booth as me and bought me flowers from a street vendor. He was funny and had a lot of stories and asked all the right questions. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The next time we hung out we went out for sushi. He made fun of my chopsticks skills and mentioned that he might be moving back to California if he was signed with the agency he wanted into. Apparently there aren't a lot of acting gigs (at least in movies) in Virginia. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Now we've hung out three more times since then. Last Thursday we returned to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;dodgeball&lt;/span&gt; bar, where inconveniently enough &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Dodgeball&lt;/span&gt; guy was not there to get it through his head that I was unavailable and to stop e-mailing me. Friday we hung out at my mom's since I am &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;house sitting&lt;/span&gt; this week and watched movies and made out and went to Barnes and Noble. Sunday we went to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Arby's&lt;/span&gt; and watched &lt;em&gt;A Perfect World&lt;/em&gt; with Kevin Costner. He told me on Friday that he got the job in CA and will be moving back in about 2-3 months. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Shit shit shit. I finally meet someone good and I can tell that it's different, that there's a comfort level there and a sense of happiness just being around one another and you know, &lt;em&gt;ease, &lt;/em&gt;that is so different from where I've been in such a long time, and he's going to leave and move 3000 miles away. I&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt; know it's not the be all and end all, and I am trying my best to continue to meet other people because it might hurt a little less when he leaves, but it's very hard. I don't truthfully want to meet anyone else...and I know it's very early yet and a lot can happen in a couple of months and I'm in that googly-eyed-spend-all-your-time-together first stage, but still. It sucks. And it really sucks because I KNOW what I am doing to myself. I know I am setting myself up for such disappointment, but I can't stop! I just want to spend as much time with him as possible before he goes. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Also I need to gather secrets on him for when he becomes famous so I can write my tell-all memoirs. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-4883924098902405190?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/4883924098902405190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=4883924098902405190' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/4883924098902405190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/4883924098902405190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/03/in-perfect-world.html' title='In a Perfect World'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-9168472290961443184</id><published>2007-03-06T08:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-06T08:55:24.237-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Is e-mailing cheating?</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I had met Dodgeball guy a couple of times out at the bar. Cute, scruffy, always checked me out but never really talked to me until last Thursday. I thought he was just shy, so I struck up a conversation while out with B. last week before her dodgeball game. He seemed interested, interesting, and had some potential, so i casually mentioned that I thought Dodgeball Boy was cute to B. in the bathroom:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Her: He has a girlfriend. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Me: That's cool, I just didn't know. Like a serious girlfriend? (I know, I am a total bitch)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Her: Yes, and she'll be here later.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Okkkkayyy then. Decided that was a bud that definitely needed nipping. Except that he kept coming up to me. I was introduced to the girlfriend, who was nice but suspicious (rightfully so I guess). Later, after he left, I was confronted by her in that "I'm trying to be a cool girl and act like I don't care and we're best friends as long as you don't fuck my man you stupid whore" kind of way. I appropriately responded:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt; "I would never do that, girlfriend! I just didn't know, and we're totally cool." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I thought that was the end of it. Not to be so.....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I had a message on Myspace the next day from him, apologizing for leaving without saying goodbye and saying that he had had fun talking to me, and asking if I would still give him a tour of where I work. I responded in a friendly but distant manner, replying that of course I would still give him a tour anytime and that I had to run. Except, I made one little teeny mistake: I gave him my phone number. Why I did this, I don't know. Maybe to say, "hey, i know you're with someone now, but if you ever aren't....." Or maybe just because I thought offering to give someone a tour and not giving them your contact info was rude and kinda fake. I don't know. Either way, that's not the message he got, I can assure you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Of course, he called that night (I knew I should never pick up numbers I don't recognize, dammit!) I talked for awhile, and when he asked me to hang out, I definitely stopped things right there:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Me: What's up with you and your girlfriend? Are you breaking up or something?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Him: It's looking that way....we've been fighting a lot lately.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Me: Well if hanging out with me is something you wouldn't tell your girlfriend about, then I'm not really cool with that. I'm not that kind of person. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Him: So you're saying I can't really pursue anything until I'm done with that relationship?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Exactly, Einstein. So I thought that I had finally done the "I'm nice to flirt with , but not a homewrecker" thing. But here's the problem: the e-mails haven't stopped. He's been chatty, not coming on or anything, just friendly and conversational. But I can't help but feel like I'm doing something a little wrong. Does she know about this? Probably not. Am I flirting with him or just being friendly? Friendly, I think, but because she doesn't know is that by its very nature flirting? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;And, is he just a nice guy who is lonely in his relationship and needs some friendship? OR, is he trying to keep someone (me) on the back burner until he decides that he doesn't want to be with his girlfriend anymore? I mean, he could be having cyber sex with someone in a chat room...is that more or less cheating than a few friendly e-mails with someone you know?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Je ne sais pas....but I have a feeling I'm in dangerous territory.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-9168472290961443184?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/9168472290961443184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=9168472290961443184' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/9168472290961443184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/9168472290961443184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/03/is-e-mailing-cheating.html' title='Is e-mailing cheating?'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-6359561882057446712</id><published>2007-02-23T07:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-23T08:59:45.345-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sushi and Baron Munchausen</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ladies and gentlemen, I'm back in the game. At least that's what I'm telling myself, for now. After weeks of lackluster love stories and no real spark with anyone (since the most Beautiful Boy alive), I have finally had a good first date!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I know, I'm probably getting ahead of myself. But there is no better feeling than waking up the day after a great first date and feeling all excited and nervous and mushy inside. It's a much heightened version of when you meet someone and give your number to him or her and wonder if he/she will call. It's like Christmas morning and you are waiting to go downstairs and open your presents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jesus I hope I'm not getting all mushy for nothing. This is what years of bad dates that never stop calling and great dates that never call will do to you. So here goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ran into an old friend this Tuesday who I knew from my very first job many years ago. I didn't remember his name, but I did remember his friend's name, The Bartender, who used to come in and visit him all the time. Keep in mind we're talking seven years ago or so, so I remember very little about this guy except that I used to have a huge crush on him and he was very funny, and never asked me out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I gave him my phone number, and exciting late night texts ensued (no, not that exciting, dirty mind)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Him: So if had asked you our years ago, what would you have said?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Me: I would have said yes.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Him: That sucks, I never thought you were interested in me&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Me: Whatever I always had a thing for you ;)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Him: So what would you think about us hanging out now?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Me: I would be interested in that.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Him: Awesome....so what about Thursday?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Me: Sounds good :)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So I've been waiting impatiently for last night to be over before I posted again because a.) I wanted good material and b.) In case I got stood up I didn't want you all to know about it. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Here's how it went:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;We decided to meet up at his house and then I would ride with him. Got there and his house was clean and smelled good, which is always a plus. We go out for sushi, which is great, and laugh a lot about the over-attentive wait-staff( we had like 3 servers) and the fact that I was given training-wheel chopsticks. In fact we laugh a lot in general, as he takes himself less seriously than many people I date and is very witty.  Does notice that I am slightly self-conscious(points against me), but opens the car door for me when we leave (of course, I try to reopen the other side and end up locking it)and pays without letting me see the check. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The whole date was kinda like that...funny and comfortable, but enough awkwardness to know that it was definitely a first date. He kinda babbled a little bit, which I think shows he was a little nervous in a cute and good way. We talked about my obsession with karaoke and our mutual obsession with Heroes. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;We were going to go to a movie afterward but got out of dinner in that awkward in-between movie time, 8:00, so we went out for ice-cream and then went back to his apartment down the street to hang out until the movie started. I met his roommate and then I played wii for the first time, which I was of course not good at (being bad at video games and sports), but he was appropriately patient with me and didn't crush me too badly at wii tennis or bowling. At this point we're passed the idea of going to the movie (terrible movie week anyway) and decide to watch a fun 80's classic he had just picked up:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Adventures of Baron Munchausen. That's right. See, and I really like this about him. I love campy 80's movies, and I love that he loves them without a bit of self-consciousness. My favorite part is where the bumbling and awkward Vulcan squeezes a diamond out of coal for Venus Uma Thurman.  Anyways.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Neither of us realized exactly how weird that movie really was though. I mean, it is out there. Robin Williams is the King of the Moon whose head won't stay attached to his body(after more earthly, achem, 'pursuits') and just in general a lot of craziness. At some point we ended up doing some cuddling (very pg rated). He is one of those playful flirting guys, who likes messing up a girl's hair and hitting her with pillows and plays footsie, but then tells her her hair smells good.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You know, more and more I'm realizing what a big kid this guy is. Not that that's a bad thing, just different for me. Usually I date guys who think they are grown-up and act pretentious but yet still behave like 4 year-olds when it comes to intimacy.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But we never got to the kiss in the midst of all of this! There were several opportune moments that neither of us jumped on. Then it was all of a sudden really late and I had to go and we shared a hug at the door and I could just feel the awkwardness of "will we kiss" in the air. Then we both kinda went for it, and bumped noses a little bit and I pulled away a little too fast and there was no tongue but it wasn't exactly a peck either.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Yeah so that was weird. We will just have to see what happens.......&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-6359561882057446712?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/6359561882057446712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=6359561882057446712' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/6359561882057446712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/6359561882057446712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/02/sushi-and-baron-munchausen.html' title='Sushi and Baron Munchausen'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-11057561957311547</id><published>2007-02-19T07:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-19T07:36:42.504-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Flood</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Last night I dreamed about a flood. A huge, sweeping flood filled with debris that swept me and whoever else away and lasted for days and days. This was a flood of biblical proportions. I don't remember dying in my dream, just a huge sense of fear and hopelessness.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I rarely remember my dreams, so this occurrence is fairly significant in my mind. This morning when I got to work I immediately consulted a couple of online dream dictionaries. Here's what they had to say:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dreammoods.com:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="Flood"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Flood&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To see a raging flood with its muddy debris, represents emotional issues and tension. Your repressed emotions are overwhelming you. Consider where the flood for indications of where in your waking life may a situation be the source of stress and tension. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dream Central's Dream Dictionary:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Flood&lt;br /&gt;If the flood was gentle and the water clear you will soon see an end to all the worries that have been plaguing you about a certain matter. but if the water was angry and muddy this denotes that you will have great trials and tribulations in life. If the water does not drown you, you will eventually win out over your adversaries. If you are swept away by the flood, then that is a warning that someone is trying to use you.&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;In all cases, a flood is not a good thing to dream about. It occurred to me then that the last couple of times I went out drinking I ended the night as an emotional wreck. I rarely get sick anymore when I go out and I'm rarely sloppy. In fact, mostly I'm a happy, silly drunk. So breaking down for no apparent reason on both Thursday and Sunday was a little strange for me. Now in the context of this dream I'm a little concerned. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'm always the strong one in my family, the rock, the glue that holds us all together. I am the responsible one, the mature one, the well-balanced one. I'm always the one who handles things well. So when I had several huge life changes at the end of last summer, I held it together yet again. Someone very close to me came out as a drug addict and went into detox. That same week I ended it with my boyfriend of two and a half years and moved out of the apartment that I loved and into my friend B's bedroom until we could install doors on the empty dining room in her house. Then the one who admitted she was a drug addict tried to kill herself. I won't bore you with all the details, but let me just stress that my entire life changed in a matter of weeks, and it was very scary in theory. I was strangely calm through all of this turmoil, and an outsider would probably have thought I was a little heartless watching the way I changed my closest relationships so easily. I couldn't even make myself cry that much. In retrospect I knew I was trying desperately to hold onto my sanity so I could still be that strong woman who could handle anything.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Trouble is, I never dealt with any of this. By the time things were a little more calm and smoothed out, I kinda convinced myself I was over all of it and that there was nothing left to work through. I guess that wasn't the best idea, as now apparently I have completely repressed my emotions and they only surface when I am a.) really drunk or b.) asleep. And now I'm trying to invoke a completely new life change by finding a great job and moving away from this city, and I'm scared again. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Maybe I need a therapist. I don't think I want a therapist, but I don't think that I'm handling my issues at all anymore, just plowing through them. And while that may make me look strong and capable, it really makes me weaker in the end.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-11057561957311547?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/11057561957311547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=11057561957311547' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/11057561957311547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/11057561957311547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/02/last-night-i-dreamed-about-flood.html' title='The Flood'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-285520192013058131</id><published>2007-02-14T06:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-19T07:38:39.967-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pyscho Stalker V-day</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;As I sit here working my way through a large bag of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;reese's&lt;/span&gt; peanut butter cups and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hershey's&lt;/span&gt; kisses and wondering why it is single people always get chocolate on Valentine's Day, I am struck once again by the irony of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not enough that I am single on Valentine's Day. That I can deal with in all the appropriate stupid depressed girl ways (see "bag &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;o'cellulite&lt;/span&gt;" above). My plan tonight was, and still is, to go rent a sappy movie, drink a bottle of wine and eat too much ice cream. Being alone is kinda sad, but sad I can deal with. Psycho I cannot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, that's right. Possibly Psycho has turned into Definitely Psycho. I have been so completely caught off-guard by his psychotic tendencies that I have no idea how to handle him. When I wrote my last post on Monday, he had called once and left a message. That night, I received five missed calls, only one with a message, all from him. There was also a call from a restricted number. Definitely him. These calls commenced at 8:30 and did not stop until 1:30 in the morning. Even still, I thought, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt;, he has probably really embarrassed himself this time He'll realize how psycho he is being and back off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh no, my friends, this was not to be. Last night at 8:00 he called again, very nonchalant on his message this time, just wanting to know what I was doing this week, and if I wanted to get together. Almost as though he had blocked the memory of making 6 previous calls in the last 24 hours. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;WTF&lt;/span&gt;!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a little scared at this point. However, nothing could compare to the warm fuzzy feeling I got in my heart when I woke up this morning, alone on V-Day, to see that my persistent little friend had called me five consecutive times at 2:30 a.m. Oh, how sweet. He really know how to show a girl he cares.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called him back this morning and told him never to call me again. He seemed surprised, almost offended, that I would "lead him on." I told him me and my ex got back together in hopes of deterring his little drunk dialing sessions. What fun on Valentine's Day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have the feeling I haven't heard the last of Psycho. Maybe if I run into him again I'll be so ginormous from all the chocolate I'm eating today that he will run away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-285520192013058131?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/285520192013058131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=285520192013058131' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/285520192013058131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/285520192013058131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/02/pyscho-stalker-v-day.html' title='Pyscho Stalker V-day'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-5002733422927415773</id><published>2007-02-12T10:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-08T07:59:56.474-08:00</updated><title type='text'>To be the hunter or the hunted. Or both.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;The Crooner has not called. I'm beginning to be numb by this sequence of events, and more than a little bitter. Here's the deal: Every weekend I go out. Every weekend I meet one boy who I manage to fall in love with, and one who manages to fall in love with me. The problem lies in that they are not the same boy. Now I don't know what's going on here, but I feel like I'm living in the bitter cynic world of &lt;em&gt;The Rules of Attraction&lt;/em&gt;, where no one can ever know anyone else and we are all destined to live in bad bitter love triangle forever. I'm not that upset that one guy didn't call, don't get me wrong.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;First of all, I'm upset with the guys I fall in love with. Cute, smart, funny guys like Steelers fan, who I met out on Friday. Financial analyst, upper-crust Pittsburghian who is a total jock and down to earth. He just moved here and I told him I could show him around. We talk, we flirt, I MAYBE made out with him some, and then: nothing. He gave me his number( I believe this is a cop-out, forgive me if I'm wrong) and he tells me to call him sometime when I want to take him to a museum. I called him with my number right after, so that he has it, but I still have that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that he will not call.  And maybe I should call. And maybe I'm being judgmental thinking that the man should be the pursuer because he is the one who really wants to pursue and a girl calling, especially the first call, is just desperate. Maybe I am being paranoid, but I don't think so. Doesn't the man want to be the chaser? Case in point (actually, cases):&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;The reason I was out on Friday was to meet up with and attempt to remember Jersey boy from last weekend. Who btw, turned out to not be from New Jersey, but here. And, he was short, and also just rude. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;K.S. and I went back to the far side of town this past Friday. And this might not seem far to you, but 25 min. is hella far to drive in this town. I wanted to meet up with Jersey Boy and see what he was like in a more sober state of mind. When we arrived the bar was already packed. We waited for a drink for 20 minutes and some girl spilled her drink all over the back of my pants. I could tell it was a good idea we had come there. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Not.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I texted him to find out where he was after we had migrated to the back, and of course he replied that he was at the bar. I was a little hesitant to go up there and look for him because I literally thought I wouldn't recognize him, but I sucked it up and started my way up there. Seeing him made me realize why I should never meet people drunk. And it's not that he was all that bad looking, I just had a completely different mental image in my head about what he should look like. Which in itself is bad. So he went to the bathroom while K.S. and I spot an empty table and he has us take his coat over with us to snag the table. Here's where the rudeness comes in: He has his friend (a girl, btw) come over and say that she's leaving and left her coat in the car so Jersey Boy wants her to take his. Thinking nothing of it, I hand it over, not realizing this is his way of ditching us! Unbelievable. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;However, I shortly after meet Steelers Fan which is fine. The worst part about Jersey Boy? He actually showed back up at the bar about 1:30 looking for me so he could try and convince me to come home with him. What a sleeze. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Why do all the shady dudes fall for me? Seriously, I would like to know. Do I exude a vibe of "I am damaged goods, so please try and use me?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;So here comes Saturday. My college roomate's boyfriend just broke it off with her, so she needed me to come to Northern VA to take her out and take her mind off of her ex. It was karaoke night, so you know it was going to be bad. Although I did sing "Strong Enough," by Sheryl Crow, which was actually a good song for me. And "Build Me Up Buttercup", of course. While out I meet a guy who I'll call, "Possibly Psycho." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I don't like it when guys I first meet are all over me. In my opinion, hand holding, putting your arm around me, etc. are things reserved for girlfriends or potential girlfriends. Possibly Psycho started them within 2 minutes of meeting me. At first I was just thinking he was a sweet talker, saying all those things the players say. Then there was some weirdness with his bill , which happened again later that night. I think he is possibly a clingy little liar who doesn't pay his bar tabs. He kept talking about "all the chemistry we had together," and "Is this real, seriously? Because I really like you and I am always honest and I really want to get to know you." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I gave him my number, partly because I thought he could have just been drunk and partly because I do not know how to say no to people. And of course, he called! The crazy ones always call. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I'm just feeling a little overwhelmed right now. I wish I could be happy with being single and meeting tons of guys but it all seems a little fake to me, whether I'm being the fake one and flirting back with a guy like Psycho who I will never call, or someone is talking to me all night with no intentions of calling. I can't get that mad at the non-callers, because I do it too! I just wonder when I'll find someone who doesn't have to try so hard to be cool, and who I don't have to try and be cool for. Because even if there is mutual attraction, I feel like all the games and rules that must be followed, lest you end up looking psycho, always trip me up. My phone is full of the numbers of men who I don't care about but who want me, and men who I want but who won't answer if I call. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I'm not sure who I should be giving chances to and who I should just keep so I know not to answer. Should I be pursuing or sitting back and waiting? If waiting, when does it become okay to initiate contact as if to show a little interest?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;You'd think I was in middle school for God's sake.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-5002733422927415773?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/5002733422927415773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=5002733422927415773' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/5002733422927415773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/5002733422927415773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/02/to-be-hunter-or-hunted-or-both.html' title='To be the hunter or the hunted. Or both.'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-8165290652341807104</id><published>2007-02-08T07:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-04T20:25:53.576-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Karaoke Nights</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I love karaoke. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Going up on stage in public and singing is one of those things I could never do throughout all my years of being in chorus in school. Normally, I'm a decent singer. No doubt, I sound better in my shower and in my car, by myself, than I ever would in front of another human being, but I still have a pretty good voice. The problem is, whenever I would get up to audition for solos in middle and high school some other person's voice would just come out of my body. I know that you are supposed to use the adrenaline to help you focus, but I would just freeze. When auditioning for duets or group solos, I shone. I have an ability to mimic the tone and quality of others' voices when they sing with me, which means I can blend really well. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Alcohol numbs my adrenaline nerves and gives me the courage to bring out that awesome singer. Thus, karaoke. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;1.) I am not in a room full of professionals, so I sound good by comparison&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;2.) I can showcase the good qualities of my voice by picking songs that are right for me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;And yet, I suck at karaoke. Drinking does not a singer make. And all that courage  combined with memory loss  and pacing problems means that last night I decided that singing "There are worse things I could do" at 12:00 a.m. was a good idea. Oh yes, I rocked out to Grease. By far the worst song choice ever....here are some rules that I should have followed for drunk karaoke:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;1.) Pick a song you know like the back of your damn hand. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;2.) Do not choose a song that normally challenges your range. Drunk in a smoky bar means your range is about 2 octaves lower than normal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;3.) Do NOT  partner up with someone else who sucks. I know you have to be brave to go it alone, but the other person WILL throw you off.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;4.) Of course, this is all if you care about sounding decent. Since I care far too much about what others think, blowing the haters off is not an option for me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;5.) Pick something peppy for Christsakes!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I used to sing "Criminal" by Fiona Apple, which I love and know very very well, but it's depressing! People can't sing along to it and they stare at you like you are bitter and they can't wait for the damn song to be over. So mu new standby is "Build me up Buttercup." Easy song, fun, and you have the added bonus of backup singers who love you just because you're singing their song. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Also, I met a guy last night at karaoke. The Crooner was not the cutest guy ever (still attractive, but he was no Beautiful Boy) , but gainfully employed at a professional job, homeowner, and could sing out some Sinatra. I love men who can sing. Too old for me (34) but I am trying to be open about that. He has my number, so we'll see if he calls...........&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-8165290652341807104?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/8165290652341807104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=8165290652341807104' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/8165290652341807104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/8165290652341807104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/02/karaoke-nights.html' title='Karaoke Nights'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-7776492355310767423</id><published>2007-02-04T14:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-04T20:25:53.644-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Night to Forget</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" &gt;Friday night. One of those nights that you wish would just be erased from the timeline of history, and that every person you ran into was just as drunk as you and wishes the same thing. In my case, I'm hardly this lucky. I woke up Saturday morning wondering where I was, and was forced to ask for a recap from my friend K.S. Let me break it down for you...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It started when I made plans to go to happy hour with Biker Boy, who I hadn't seen since way before Christmas. We had decided to try and be friends, which I'm pretty sure judging from his phone conversations of the last few days really meant he was going to try and win me back. I was bent and determined that this would not happen. After all, this guy had run me around so many times I thought I must be clinically insane for continuing to speak with him. The last time before this we had spoken was three weeks after he disappeared from the planet, coming up with a probably bogus hospital story. So happy hour. I thought I could handle it, the friends thing, but I was extremely nervous, and upon seeing him realized I was not over him. At all. It didn't help that he complimented me on how beautiful my eyes were, how he liked my shirt (low-cut, on purpose. I mean, I had to let him know what he was missing out on, right? And yes, I know that's not a friend thing to do.) And although it was very cliched, I believe that he meant those things. Needless to say, I needed a very big drink, and went through 4 skinny pirates in less than an hour. Probably not the best idea. We caught up and were having a good time, until he dropped this bomb on me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;him: So all my friends are trying to set me up with people. There's this girl who is really cool and mature for her age (20), but I just don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: you know, I don't know whether I can talk to you about this. But for the record, 20 is very young.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;him: why, because you're still in love with me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: who said I was ever in love with you? (look of a liar spreads across my face) anyways, don't be so arrogant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Him: I was just kidding. This is why I like being single. You don't have to deal with the bullshit of relationships. Like if we have plans now and something comes up, we're friends so it's not a big deal. But before, you would give me the third degree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: That's because you stood me up. You have no idea what it's like getting ready and being all excited about a date, only to have everything fall apart. Besides that, for the record I don't stand my friends up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Him: I just don't want to have to answer to someone. You'd think, what with my ex cheating on me, that I would be paranoid, but I'm not. If whoever I'm dating cheats, they'll get caught. She could go out all night and I wouldn't care as long as she was coming home to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: I get what you're saying, but that kind of trust has to be earned. And you don't earn it by standing someone up the first few times you hang out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So. I wish Biker Boy had exchanged this little tidbit of information with me when we first started dating. Might have saved some time and effort and feelings, because I don't really want to be with someone exactly like my ex (i.e. I do what I want) again. Am I wrong in thinking that a 30 year old man has no business going out and partying all night without so much as a "where have you been, honey?" to answer to? It seems like he just wants someone to walk all over, and that can't be me. Unfortunately the 4 drinks told me otherwise, and I tried to extend our happy hour, which he denied. Not sure if this was because he knew I was drunk, realized I was more complicated than what he wanted and our viewpoints were drastically different, or he was genuinely tired, but either way. We hugged, I left, and that was it. Although he did pay... Biker Boy's mixed signals just spell trouble. I needed to meet someone new, and fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back at home, I was contemplating the rest of my boring evening with dread, and then I heard from an old high school friend of mine, K.S. Yay! I am not utterly pathetic spinster! I have a couple of glasses of wine, and then go out to the bar...and this is where blackout girl comes in. K.S. and I do a few shots, and a few skinny pirates later I am pretty much gone. Sequence of events:&lt;br /&gt;1.) We get a pool table. Tattooed guy plays with me and K.S. and Redheaded Boy, another high school friend. Small girl, roomate of tattooed guy, tries to fight us and take over the table, claiming "this is her house, bitches." K.S. and I laugh in her face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.) We inexplicably stop by a house party with nothing but underage kids. I try to play flip cup and am terrible, K.S. and I are kicked off the table. I try to sit down and fall off the chair onto my face. We leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Fall again on the way down the stairs. Decide more alcohol is not the best idea. Actually, K.S. and Redhead decide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.) Go to another bar. Events are very blurry here. I can't even remember if I drank. Probably one, according to K.S. I run into a guy I used to go to high school with, who has lost a lot of weight. Proceed to be the girl who probably wouldn't have looked at him twice in high school, but now am infinitely fascinated with his life. Yeah, you can call me a bitch. Also talk to a Jersey boy who I can't remember whether he is good looking or not. I am handing out my number left and right. Slick, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.) Dance by myself while K.S. talks to Chris Porter from Last Comic Standing. Leave, and immediately get a call from Jersey Boy claiming he wants to hang out on Saturday. Yeah, lemme tell you how many times he's called.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.) Drop redheaded boy off. Go to Sheetz and am recognized by the little brother of a boy I used to date in high school. He's  not looking the best, even to my drunken self. I still get his number. Go home with K.S. Pass out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, I have laid low for the rest of the weekend...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-7776492355310767423?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/7776492355310767423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=7776492355310767423' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/7776492355310767423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/7776492355310767423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/02/night-to-forget.html' title='A Night to Forget'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-6793947229804775738</id><published>2007-01-26T12:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-26T12:28:04.857-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I am wondering what the consensus is about a girl going out alone. It's Friday afternoon, and my few available friends are out of town. And yet, the prospect of the THIRD FRIDAY IN A ROW sitting at home alone is almost enough to make me cry sitting here at my desk. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Not looking for a pity party, but I am in serious need of martini therapy. It gets boring sitting at home. BUT I'm not sure about going out alone...can people tell you are alone or do you try to blend? Do you approach others or wait to be approached? What about when approached by super-creepy guys? Are you giving off the wrong impression (i.e. I want to be approached by creepy older men) just by sitting alone at the bar? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Why is it that men can go to the bar alone all the time and no one thinks of it? I would feel incredibly self-conscious, like I was being judged: "Why is she alone? Doesn't she have any friends?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Clearly the fact that I am debating this in my head and on my computer doesn't bode well.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-6793947229804775738?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/6793947229804775738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=6793947229804775738' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/6793947229804775738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/6793947229804775738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/01/i-am-wondering-what-consensus-is-about.html' title=''/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-2566018318725604772</id><published>2007-01-23T10:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-23T11:08:18.094-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thinking about change.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I'm not sure if anyone reads my blog. I know at least two people who have read it at least once. So I guess that's something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've recently joined MySpace, which is intoxicatingly addictive in a way that blogging can never be, because blogging is semi-private(at least in my case) and MySpace is your picture of yourself to the world. You can create your own reality on there, like putting on a different outfit everyday, and your status is determined, not by actual face-to-face skills in interacting with others, but by your ability to self-promote via graphics and photos and clever one-liners. Your popularity is on display for the world to see, via how many friends or comments you have. It's utterly ridiculous, but I am still enthralled with its newness to me and will probably be obsessed with it for awhile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But enough with waxing intellectual about MySpace. I am here to blog, which feeds my soul a lot more. It's at least a little more "me" than a photo taken at a bar and a quiz about what kind of jellybean I am is. Or who knows, maybe not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dating life is atrocious. I went from several mediocre options to none at all in the space of about a week and a half, with no signs of turning back. Much as I complained about the drama, half-hearted efforts, deceitful seductions, at least that was SOMETHING. For the last two weeks, every night, I have been sitting on my sofa watching t.v/reading/checking my MySpace from approximately 5:00 p.m. untill 11:00 p.m. at which time I go to bed alone. My roomate has turned into Ms. Popularity/Ms. I love my awful, boring boyfriend, so she has stopped inviting me out. I think she gets mad because her jerkoff boyfriend hits on me when we go out all together. I know I'm coming off as very arrogant right now, but it is the truth. I have also been dissed by all people I counted as friends(very,very few) inexplicably. I am feeling like most annoying girl in the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to get laid, as well, but am trying not to think about this as I have finally renounced the one-night stand/first date boom-boom lifestyle. Which sucks, because I'm not even good at holding out. I was dating the most beautiful boy in the world, and everything was going really well until I drunk-dialed him the night after he made me dinner. I ended up at a party with him and his friends and playing beer pong, and then I went home with him. We had the conversation where you talk about how you're not this perfect person, in fact you have all this baggage but it's ok, b/c we both have it and we can talk about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I was a merciless tease all night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong, I wanted to do it. And came very close! (sorry if TMI) But for some reason I thought holding out would be better, more special. Turned out teasing him only exasperated him. And he hasn't called me since. I'm just not good at all these games! I thought dating was supposed to be fun, but all I'm getting are mini-breakups over and over. They're like real break-ups, except instead of that long-lasting dull achy-feeling in your stomach you have flashes of intense pain that last for a few days. It's pretty exhausting, actually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the fact that I am getting dumped by people who, at the very least, you would say are less than paper-perfect! Let's see, since January 1, I have been blown off by:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* My pretentious pothead ex-neighbor (unemployed, 6th year of college)&lt;br /&gt;* The guy who fixed our furnace when it was broken after Christmas. Yeah. Seriously.&lt;br /&gt;* The hottie who maybe used to have a serious drug problem and is an ex-dealer. He was at least turning his life around though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the ones I meet! And I, a single, attractive, successful, funny, kind girl who is nothing but straightforward and caring cannot do any better, apparently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the other issue with me is that I have very very few friends left here. I know I'm only 23, but all of my close friends have managed to leave to follow boys, or play house, or whatever. And I followed a boy to here too, but it didn't work out. So, long story short, what do I do? Do I stay here, close to my family, never taking a risk, living a very lonely and unsatisfying life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or do I leave, try and make it somewhere new, being lonely at first but starting over in a place where no one knows me? It's less embarrassing, for some odd reason, the idea of being lonely in a place like that, rather than in my own hometown. Feels less like failure and more like bravery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm working on it, sticking my toe in the water, looking for jobs and maybe even apartment searching. Because something big has to happen soon. I can't be resigned to my sofa forever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-2566018318725604772?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/2566018318725604772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=2566018318725604772' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/2566018318725604772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/2566018318725604772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2007/01/thinking-about-change.html' title='Thinking about change.....'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-5516529973933583110</id><published>2006-12-14T08:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-14T08:20:41.301-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Apparently I'm not as clever as I thought (who knew?)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Why is it that we are so utterly inept at figuring other people out? I used to think I was a good judge of character, and also at reading signals. Turns out I suck at both. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Drummer Boy never called. Neither did the Writer. Within 24 hours both of them had totally disappeared out of my world. It's a concept that is hard to get used to as a single person. When you are coupled up, weeks and months can coast by without much change. You might fight more, or less, or have sex more, or less, but the other person is a constant. Your world is not constantly shifting from one week to the next. I feel like I'm in middle school again, where "going out" long-term meant more than two weeks of awkward french kisses and attempted groping. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;On the other hand, I'm surprised that I don't care that much about either one disappearing, except for as it relates to my own self image. I guess a great date does not a true connection make. I thought that there had been chemistry between Drummer boy and I, but I also thought two martinis and two mixed drinks was a good idea for a first date.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I need &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)"&gt;sooo&lt;/span&gt; much work. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I did hear from Biker Boy, the source of all my single angst and target of the rant letter last week. I had deleted him from my phone, and picked up without recognizing the number when he called yesterday.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Who am I kidding? God I even want to lie about my pathetic-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)"&gt;ness&lt;/span&gt; to my blog. I knew the number by heart. We had a real conversation, in which he revealed not being about to get me out of his head (true for me as well) and of course he said lots of nice things and wanted to get together and you know what? It felt really good. And I may be blogging in a week or day about how he screwed me over yet again, but part of me really wants to believe that he is a good person who truly wants to be with me but is just so fucked up and complicated and damaged that it is close to impossible for him to just let go and trust me. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But even if that's true, is that what I want? A fixer-upper? Despite all the baggage and broken promises and early drama I still feel a connection to this person that prevents him from leaving my thoughts. Am I self-destructive? No. My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;roommate&lt;/span&gt; said that the problem is that I want to believe in the good in everyone, that I have such a good heart that I want to reach out and help him. But I know that's not my job. Everyone doesn't always have it together, and part of being in a relationship is knowing you can lean on another without fear they will pull out the chair from under you. I'm not sure if I'll ever be there with Biker Boy. I'm not sure if he'll ever have it together, and I'm not sure if I'M even ready for that kind of trust and self-disclosure. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I know I'm supposed to have fun with not being sure. Tell me when that part is supposed to start.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-5516529973933583110?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/5516529973933583110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=5516529973933583110' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/5516529973933583110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/5516529973933583110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2006/12/apparently-im-not-as-clever-as-i.html' title='Apparently I&apos;m not as clever as I thought (who knew?)'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-853599763008560606</id><published>2006-12-08T11:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-08T11:23:44.778-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The usual heart and head battle</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;It’s taking everything in my brain right now not to pick up the phone and call and say “Yes! I miss you too!” but I have to keep telling myself that it is all bullshit. Maybe he doesn’t hurt me maliciously, but he certainly hurts me through his carelessness and lack of concern for anyone but himself. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t open up to him and have him disappear again and I have told him this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do some people seem to love drama? I mean, I don’t even really know him. We talked on the phone a lot, hung out very little (like 4 times in the last month and a half). At the same time, I know I felt (and I’m pretty sure he felt) something very special between us, some kind of connection that kept sending me back for more and making me want him to get it together so that we could actually have something real. But he just kept fucking it up, and I get this random text message a week after the last time we spoke that says “I miss you.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we spoke last it’s because I sent him a last-ditch effort text saying “I miss you and I wish I didn’t because you have hurt me already and will continue to do so.” And then he called and we talked and I asked him if he still wanted me to go to New York with him that upcoming weekend. He told me he might have lung cancer and had to go to the Doctor the next week, and said we would talk about NY later. I asked him to come over after he was done with his friends and he didn’t. Instead, he texted me at 3:30 a.m. and I chided him for driving home drunk. I called him the next day to talk about New York. He didn’t answer and never called me back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was on my way to forgetting him when I got this text. Does it tear me up because I believe he’s capable of so much more? Is he a good guy who is scared of getting too close? Is he the most manipulative and cold-hearted jerk-off I’ve ever dated? Or is he just so self-involved he can’t step back and see that this is hurting me and it would be better if he just went away?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don’t understand why I am so much more vulnerable to him than to the other guys that I have dated. Maybe because he was so honest at first and it seemed like he wasn’t looking for bullshit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to live in a self-imposed drama free zone right now. But the truth is that I do miss him. I just have to realize that our instant intimacy couldn’t have been real. It’s just something we both desperately wanted. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;I wish Drummer Boy would call right now.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Also, it doesn't help that I was blown off by the Writer last night.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-853599763008560606?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/853599763008560606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=853599763008560606' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/853599763008560606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/853599763008560606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2006/12/usual-heart-and-head-battle.html' title='The usual heart and head battle'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-2298876600121058679</id><published>2006-12-07T06:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-07T07:19:26.541-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'm trying not to get my hopes up. For a disillusioned dater like myself, even one good date can mean everything or nothing, and I'm honestly feeling like it's about damn time I had some good karma thrown my way. But allow me to back up for just a minute....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Things have been ok with the Writer. He was the last "promising guy"  on the horizon, and I have to say he's doing ok so far. Although it's sort of hard to judge, since I have such low expectations at this point for men (sounds bitter and jaded, but I promise it gets better). First of all, he has a nasty drunk dialing habit. Never fails, I've gotten calls at least 4 times from him after midnight. Also, he can carry on a conversation, but I'm not sure he talks about the kind of things I want to talk about. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;For instance, last week, him, me and my roomate went out for dinner and drinks at this swanky Irish pub (and if you think that's an oxymoron, then you are right). I had warned my roomate NOT to talk about football with him, as they are both huge fans, but most of the night turned into my education on the merits of the game, and how can I NOT like it, and blah blah blah. Also, he didn't pay. And he hasn't paid, ever. Except for one drink, one time, last weekend, when I picked him up drunk at 1:30 from the bar where he works (he spends an inordinate amount of time at this place) and I had to ask. Wow he sounds SO great on paper. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;On the other hand, he is witty, affectionate, ambitious, a free spirit, kind, intelligent, and actually apologizes for the drunk dials. So he has possibility...I'm just think I've found someone who falls into the "not in the same place in life as me" category. He's still in school and parties too much, and all the witticisms in the world can't make up for not being ready for something more. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Now, I'm probably one of the most liberal people you could meet, so I believe in a woman taking care of herself, paving her own way, and not depending on a man for financial security. It's not that I can't afford to buy myself a drink. Somewhere inside my liberated woman brain exists a girl who's  just crying out for a Southern gentleman. Someone who opens doors, kisses my hand, insists on paying for dinner, and buys me flowers for occasions other than deaths or apologies. The stuff romantic comedies are made of...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ok ok so this is what I'm really excited about: Drummer Boy. I worked with him long long ago at my very first job and I had the BIGGEST crush on him. I even took him to homecoming sophmore year. Unfortunately, the feeling was not mutual, or he just had no cajones back then. I lured him back after the dance to my parent's basement, where I was hoping for a heavy makeout session. Alas, said romance never occured, and shortly after Drummer Boy  went away, never to be seen again.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Until.....right before Thanksgiving. The same night I met the Writer I recognized Drummer Boy in the crowd. We chatted, I gave him my number, and promptly forgot that I had even run into him until he called a couple of days later. The conversation was slightly awkward, to say the least. What do you talk about with someone you used to know, have nothing and no one in common with anymore, and you might be interested in? You can't talk about relationships, obviously. On the phone at least, you can't just start from scratch. You have to rely on shared connections, of which we had very few. I told him to call me sometime but it had been two weeks last night and not a text or call in sight.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I had a big presentation at work yesterday, and I HATE speaking in public. Wired after my presentation, I went home feeling a lot braver than I usually do without alcohol, and I decided to call him. I figured, either way at least I'll know I have cajones of my own. We agreed to meet up for a drink after he got off of work at 8. I was in!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I have to say I was a lot more nervous about this date than I've been in awhile. Would I be able to reconcile our awkward past? Would our conversation overcome the aforementioned lack of topics? Would he be taller? (too drunk to notice the other week) I tried to have as few expectations as possible. I can't go down that frustrating road again...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But surprise, surprise. It was the ALMOST PERFECT first date. No awkward moments. Great conversation. Mutual interests, and mutual interest in each other. He asked me questions about myself. He made me laugh and called me sexy. He wasn't taller, but he was more confident and still as cute as I remembered. He asked me out for Sunday before the date was even over and he paid for the whole bill. He even walked me to my car, where he gave me a hug. I wish he had tried to kiss me though. Dammit I've been waiting seven years for that kiss!  I still need to be cautious though, but part of me just wants to just fall in and enjoy it.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I think it should be against the rules to repeat a crush.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-2298876600121058679?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/2298876600121058679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=2298876600121058679' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/2298876600121058679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/2298876600121058679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2006/12/wisely-and-slow-they-stumble-that-run.html' title='Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-3369220603459579472</id><published>2006-11-27T10:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-27T10:31:23.806-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh what tangled webs we weave</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;I'm not sure how I became such an idiot at dating. Probably it began with my first serious  boyfriend, who after 6 months of heated, unrequited lust I finally had sex with, after which he left for the military. We exchanged love letters for months, but somehow my 16-year old self knew there was more out there than him. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Or not. My next boyfriend, a bit of a control freak, lasted through one semester of college. He was too insecure, and I needed to get out there and explore. Lo and behold, I didn't find that love of my life at a University where anyone could literally go out any day of the week and find a different sexual conquest. Being a little insecure myself, I eventually went back to the insecure boy, who in an ironic twist of fate was eager to sow his wild oats (while I cooked and cleaned and generally played Mommy). I believe this relationship has taught me to seek the company of sexually aggressive and emotionally unavailable men. Or something like that. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;So now I'm on my own again. And if I thought dating was tricky in college, it's much harder in the "real world." For starters, where does one meet people? Most of my friends are coupled up, I don't work in a hip, cool place where I'd be likely to run into that Jake Gyllenhaal  lookalike I'm searching for, and I refuse to attend church just to land a man (pretty sure God wouldn't like that too much). So I'm resigned to meeting single guys at the bar. I'm sure you can sense the potential problems with this particular strategy:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;a.) I'm not myself, just some crazy drunk girl who tends to lose things&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;b.) They are not themselves, just horny drunk guys trying their best to get laid&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;We don't have a shot in hell.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Mostly I meet students from the local University, smart (or not so smart) artsy types who always play guitar and may or may not call. But I am dating one guy in particular who is driving me absolutely insane. And of course, it's all my fault because I let the extenuating circumstances from his life (baggage from a divorce, a busy life, a child) affect how I view his increasingly bad behavior.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;The night before last  I was stood up again for the second or third time by Biker Boy (motorcycle, not a bike bike). We were supposed to go to dinner according to our 2:30 plans. 6:30 rolls around, I'm hungry so I call and leave a message, 7:00 he calls back and delays because "he has to go get an X-mas tree for his son." Plans or not, how am I supposed to compete with that? He says give him an hour, my phone finally rings at 11:30. I may have turned into super bitch at this point, but who could blame me? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;Accountability is very important to me. He called me yesterday, blew up my phone in fact. He was near my house and wanted to come over and pick me up and take me out and "have a talk." I was out though, and although his remorse sounded genuine when I called him this morning claiming to be free to talk tonight he has to pick up his son, of course. Maybe I'm just not good at sharing, but I feel like you should see someone you're dating more than once every three weeks, extenuating circumstances notwithstanding. Who knows? We'll see how our plans on Thursday work out, especially as I'm meeting a friend for martinis beforehand. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;There is one kinda promising guy on the horizon though. Smart, student, independent, optimistic, sarcastic, funny, a little too sexually aggressive (how can I get him to ease up and be a little gentle??? because seriously I'm getting hickeys, and past the ninth grade that's a mark of trash), very cute. Doesn't seem like I can count on him for the long term because he is still in school and a very adventurous guy. I can see him going places for sure, but not with someone else hanging on. Although he has been remarkably attentive these last few days, so who knows?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;It amazes me how hard it is to even find one guy who's good on paper to go out with, but again I think it's the bar scene. And also I think the "good" guys (good looking good job good family good personality) know they are few and far between, so they can go for girls far more beautiful than me and easily get them. Not that I'm unattractive, far from it, but I'm nowhere close to 100 girls I see everyday about town.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;This post is too chaotic. I just pray I don't settle for someone. After all if I wanted to settle for mediocrity and rudeness I could have stayed and played house with my ex.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-3369220603459579472?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/3369220603459579472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=3369220603459579472' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/3369220603459579472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/3369220603459579472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2006/11/oh-what-tangled-webs-we-weave.html' title='Oh what tangled webs we weave'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-4791336984731611893</id><published>2006-11-15T11:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T11:46:56.945-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Boxed Wine and Missed Connections</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;It's always bad when you're blogging at work just to stay awake. This is only my second post and already I know enough to know that.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I like to think of myself as a cynic most of the time, although that doesn't stop me from doing very stupid things when it comes to dating and love, most of which involve desperately trying to hold onto something that doesn't make me remotely satisfied or happy. I think this is probably one of those Daddy complexes; or, it could just be because I hate to fail at anything. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The weird thing is that I don't even have to really like a guy all that much, or see us together in the future, I just want him to want me and do all those things that guys do in Reese Witherspoon or Meg Ryan movies. If this ever does actually happen one day I'll probably reject him, but I like to think I'll be able to appreciate this imaginary guy, not write him off as totally desperate. BUT, this is highly unlikely. All guys who approach me recently either want a one-night-stand or they're weird and creepy.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Example A: While leaving my friend's Redneck Wine Tasting Theme Party last Saturday, I was congratulating myself on not giving my phone number to anyone weird,  not trying to take someone home, and not acting like too much of an ass in general, considering my copious consumption of Franzia. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Can I deviate from topic for a minute? What is with Franzia? I mean, I can usually drink like a bottle, bottle and a half of decent wine and be totally smashed. I can literally drink 5 drinking glasses full of Franzia and still be somewhat coherent. In college my roomates and I would kill a box of that stuff every 2 days, just for pregaming with! I don't know why we didn't just pony up and buy the good (i.e. mediocre stuff). &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ok back to it: I followed my roomate home, only a few houses down, and planned on a grilled cheese sandwich and an early bedtime. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So I'm out on my porch, smoking the last of too many cigarettes and talking on the phone, when two boys from the party show up to steal our pumpkin and smash it. Having two, I generously relented. When they came back for the second one, it was time for a brawl (we were in redneck mode, mind you). So roomate gets into a knock-down dragout with one of the boys until a dog-poop incident forces us all inside. For future reference, wrestling in a dark yard where a dog lives is never smart. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Either way, roomate doesn't last long and staggers off to bed still wearing her "Just a Good-Ol-Boy" hat. Left with two boys in the room, one with dog poop on his pants, I figure I can just chill for a few minutes and then go to bed and they will just boogie away down the street. Not that easy, apparently.  Our friend with the attractive jean stain leaves, and I'm stuck with this weird guy who by the way I DID NOT TALK TO at the party. Now I get it, it's closing time and everybody wants somebody sometimes. But did I really come off as that slutty going home by myself? After an eternity of weirdness I tell guy I'm going to bed, to which I get a look with: "and me too, right?" written all over it.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;WRONG. This is just all wrong. He asks for my number and at this point I'm just like: get out of my house!!! so I give it to him. Now keep in mind that I give my number out pretty frequently, with infrequent responses, sorta like a direct mail campaign. But go figure the one time I give it out without even hoping the guy will call he's like clockwork in 2 days. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;No chemistry=he will call. And like any good hypocrite, I will not answer. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So my latest thing is reading those "Missed Connections" on Craigslist, and I think if I ever showed up on one I would go crazy and print it out and frame it. What a way to bring romance back to the internet, although most of the postings go a little like this:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Saw you in line at the grocery store. You had on  the acid wash jeans and pink sweater. You rock my world. I was the guy in the blue sweater with brown hair. I would drink your bathwater. "&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ok maybe that's not so romantic, but at least there's a little effort. Besides, "hey, I'm here at your house and you're drunk, isn't that good enough for you?" It's a step beyond the leering most of us ladies encounter on a daily basis. And most people don't even know about craigslist, but I'm still not giving up hope. Stranger things have happened. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-4791336984731611893?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/4791336984731611893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=4791336984731611893' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/4791336984731611893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/4791336984731611893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2006/11/boxed-wine-and-missed-connections.html' title='Boxed Wine and Missed Connections'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222473718017282574.post-5455857455385003202</id><published>2006-11-13T07:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-13T07:31:55.095-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Starting off Square</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So I'm sure that I'm starting this blog much in the same way that all the veteran bloggers do, thus becoming unoriginal from the start&lt;em&gt;.&lt;/em&gt; But...it may take me awhile to learn blogger etiquette and all the niceties of social networking on the internet. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I don't even have a myspace. And here's why: Why am I going to create an online profile so people who I wouldn't have kept up with anyway can find me and probably annoy me and make me wish I could get away from them like I did in real life? Now I realize many of you will argue with me and I may eventually have to give in and make a little page announcing all my quirks and featuring drunk photos of myself and my friends to the world, but for now I'm not giving in, dammit. (Can I curse on here?)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;For those of you unaware of my name or title's referent, you need only look to &lt;em&gt;Reality Bites, &lt;/em&gt;my favority movie ever for its all-star celebrity cast and clever zingers like:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Did he dazzle you with his extensive knowledge of mineral water? Or was it his in-depth analysis of, uh, uh, Marky Mark that finally reeled you in?"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This blog may be from time to time about any of the following:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Rants and raves on pop culture, politics, drunk drama, my love life(actually, this is pretty much guaranteed), and more. See, I told you this is starting off with an incredible amount of unoriginality! &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And just for a little background, I work in a city that my roomate refers to as "The Orphan of the East Coast" for its blank refusal to be accepted by either the north or the south. I grew up here and moved back after college a year and a half ago  for two reasons:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;a.) I had delusions of playing house with my now-ex boyfriend&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;b.) I was too chicken to move anywhere where I didn't know people (ironically, after my boyfriend and I split I suddenly realized how few friends I actually had here and am now attempting to broaden my social horizons one drunken weekend at a time)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So this is a decent start, I hope. Please enlighten me with your tips on blogging so I don't make too much of a fool of myself.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2222473718017282574-5455857455385003202?l=laneypierce.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/feeds/5455857455385003202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2222473718017282574&amp;postID=5455857455385003202' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/5455857455385003202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2222473718017282574/posts/default/5455857455385003202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://laneypierce.blogspot.com/2006/11/starting-off-square.html' title='Starting off Square'/><author><name>Lovely Lelaina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15919530165763339353</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
