…the way forward…

As simple as a phone call just to make it known
That you’re gonna be a little late
Pure as a kiss on a cheek and a word
That everything will be okay

Call in the mornin’ from my little sister
Singin’ to me, “Happy Birthday”
In the quest for fortune and fame
Don’t forget about the simple things

(It’s the little things) It’s the little things
And the joy they bring, yeah
(The little things) It’s the little things
And joy they bring

This was my boyfriend’s away message this week. Sometimes, it’s the little things that mean so much.

I ran. I ran a nice slow jog. (Yeah, stop laughing.) But hey, I ran for 30 minutes and even broke out into a small sweat. (I mean, that’s how you know it’s working right?)

I will see if I can get my ass in gear and do it again tomorrow before I go to church. Because if I can make myself get up on a weekend and do it, most certainly I can do it throughout the week, right?

That’s what I’m hoping for at least. Wish me luck.

I’m going to need the support of everyone out there. I have finally decided to actually start working out and stick with it. My workout plans of the past have started out strong and then came to their own demise about a week and a half later. Truth be told, I think sex is the only good workout I’ve been able to maintain, and with my boyfriend 1,000 miles away, it’s not a good workout plan.

So the weather is supposed to be nice….and I’m going to take that opportunity to go out and run and bust my ass.

Anyway — wish me luck.

Why would you put an ass that big in pants so small?

I hate Starbucks. Not in that, I really don’t like to go there way…but in that, I’ll drive 15 minutes out of my way to go to a local coffee shop so that way I’m not bombarded by preppy little whores exchanging blow jobs for $5 cappucinos.

Ok, so maybe it’s not that bad, but it feels that bad. So in the middle of the night, when I have my coffee craving, I hit up the local Waffle House and slide into a seat aided by the thin layer of grease that has accumulated there since 1966, pretend my silverware is clean and try not to offend the toothless waitress when I stir my lukewarm sludgy coffee with my finger.

It’s the experiences that make the place. Waffle House has character. A certain charm that makes you slightly nostalgic for it, even though you really never “lived” that bad in your life. There’s something about Waffle House that makes you yearn for the drunks that appear there every once in a while, the grimey truck driver who looks like he hasn’t washed his hands in 15 years, and the pimply faced teenagers who have probably been locked out of their house because they missed curfew so they’re sitting there until their parents “wake up” about 7 in the morning. (Oh wait, I was one of the those teens.)

So it’s ironic that I’m sitting here inside a 24 hour Starbucks in the middle of the night, D&G sunglasses perched atop my head making one very expensive headband (I *don’t* wear my sunglasses at night), next to my boyfriend while paying too much for an internet connection, and becoming one of those girls who almost sees the logic in bartering blow jobs for cappucinos.

I’ve discovered that I might just be a hard ass about punctuality. I hate being late. I always arrive about 15 to 30 minutes early for just about everything. Yet, somehow, I’ve connected with a bunch of people who never have a plan and are always…*shudder*…late.

Wednesday night, I called the guy that I was supposed to meet up in Cleveland. We agreed to meet at a hookah bar (oddly enough, this was the first time that I had EVER been to one, and did not even know what it was — yes I’ve probably led a very sheltered life.)

My friend and I arrived there about 11:20 (after I had called him at 11 and he said that it took him 15 t0 20 minutes to arrive). I called him when I got there, and he claimed he’d be there in “fifteen minutes…” Twenty five minutes later (I don’t know where I got my patience from), I call him and he tells me he’s 10 minutes away, but he got caught up in some stuff at home.

That was my last straw…seriously. I just couldn’t do anything about it, I just went off on him and told him I was going home. There was no sense in waiting there any longer when it was clear that I could’ve been sitting there all night. (And he claimed to have the same issues with punctuality that I do.) In what country, can you leave a woman waiting for you at a bar in a city she’s never been in before, at a place she’s never been to, for more than a half an hour? WHERE THE HELL IS THAT SHIT ACCEPTABLE? (If anyone knows, please kindly tell me, and remind me not to go to those countries…EVER)

I figured, I should at least update before I take off for Cleveland for a few days. The boyfriend is recovering nicely. A few minor complications…but nothing major. He’s back to being his sarcastic a**hole self, and I’m happy.

He’s currently researching a trip up here this weekend (gotta love spontaneity!) to see me, and I’m ecstatic as I haven’t seen him in quite some time. (Note to self: if this doesn’t work, I will not do another long distance relationship.)

So yep, I was right…I will have definite stories to post later…but meanwhile, I’m going to continue floating on cloud nine thinking about how wonderful he is.

(And he reminded me today that we’ve been together for way too long, more time than I ever imagined possible for me.)

I’m going away for a few days…not that anyone would really notice because I don’t update this thing half as regularly anymore. I’m going to Cleveland a.k.a the mistake by the lake, for one of my best friend’s graduation. Her major: Nuclear Medicine.

So she finally graduated, and I’m next…and well, I’m making the trip up to Cleveland to see her. Of course, there will be parties and alcohol, parties and alcohol, and a boy. (Yep, there shall be stories to come).

STORIES!

I will definitely have stories.

Until then…talk to ya’ll when I return and I will try to catch up (once again) on all the blogs that I’ve missed.

I found my summer theme song already…come dance with me…

Nelly Furtado – Promiscuous Girl

So this weekend, I ran into a former “fling” of mine. We’ll just call him Chris.

I saw Chris over the weekend, just in passing at a local mall.

He had changed some. Put on some weight. Looked a little older. Much different than the man I was lustfully interested in before.

And then I thought, Wow, if he were trying to talk to me now, I’d have to find another reason to like him…

Wow… just how refreshing that my life is not like that anymore.