022005Sometimes you just have to ask yourself: Is the juice worth the squeeze? 021505Yanking my middle drawer open, I tore through the stack of pants situated in the back. �Too big, too small, wrong color,� I said out loud as I thumbed down the pile. �Dammit, I don�t have anything to wear!� I slumped to the floor, my legs forming a W � the way I used to sit when I�d pout as a little girl. I crossed my arms and could feel the corners of my mouth slanting downwards, forming a frown. �This sucks,� I muttered. I glanced at the clock and realized my time was slowly ticking away. Though downtrodden, I pushed aside one of my closet doors in the hopes of the perfect outfit leaping out at me, but I had no such luck. His outfit kept ringing through my head, as I wanted to wear something equally casual yet dressy. I spied a blue and green silk dress against the right wall, but knew that was out of the picture. For a minute, I imagined sauntering into the restaurant, the uneven ruffled hem catching a breeze and making every head turn in my direction. But tonight was not that night. A gray, pleated wool skirt caught my eye. I knew it wasn�t jeans, but with a casual top, I might be able to look like I�d just come from work. I pulled it on, threw on a red sweater with a bow accent (for the right touch of girlyness), and matched it with a pair of tan heels. Stepping back a few feet, I surveyed my attire in the mirror. Not bad, I thought, this could work. My heels clacked on the wooded floor as I headed towards the bathroom. I turned on the light above the rusty, stained mirror and lifted my chin to rate my makeup job. Though I�d been wearing the cover-up, mascara and blush all day, it didn�t look too shabby. A quick swipe of my powder and I was shine free; a coat of red lip stain and gloss, and I was ready to go. Grabbing my heated curling iron, I began working on my limp mane. It was too late in the day for any style to hold, so I gave a simple flip to the ends. I tucked my hair behind my ears. Fin-ished, rang in my head, echoing Cecile�s drunken completion of her love letter in Cruel Intentions. It was then that I realized the last piece of my Valentine�s Day dinner outfit was missing: a purse. The clock read 8:17 p.m. I�d planned on leaving two minutes ago. �Shit!� I yelled as ran to my room and flung open the opposite side of my closet. I pushed aside the sweatshirts and began frantically scanning my handbag collection. I lifted and pushed, considered and dismissed. Did I want the purse to match my sweater? Or my shoes? Fendi? Or Coach? I grabbed two viable options and bolted for Liz�s room. She was on the phone, so I threw one purse on each shoulder. �Which one do you like?� I half-mouthed at her, turning to the left, then the right. She furrowed her brow, unable to make a decision. I turned back to the right, showing my tan Coach purse. She shrugged. �Coach,� I decided, and spun 180 degrees before heading back to my room. Wallet, check. Keys, check. Phone, check. I grabbed each item and stuffed them into the tiny purse. There was no time for organizational perfection. I was late. I heard Liz settle onto the futon as I buttoned my pea coat and shut off my bedroom light. �Bye, I hope I don�t get lost,� I yelled to her as I left. Holding the doorknob, I unlocked the back door, fumbling for my keys and feeling a burst of cold air hit my nylon-covered legs. And within minutes, I was speeding down I-94 towards Uptown. 021005All good things... 020505Ever met someone you can�t figure out? I�m usually quite good at that, with my journalistic prowess and all, but for the life of me, I can�t get Tim. We�ve been seeing each other for almost a month and a half. Having talked every day on the phone since our first date, I�m comfortable saying I know a fair amount about him. But even then, he�s a complete mystery to me. Just when I think I�ve got him nailed down, he�ll say or do something I never saw coming. It drives me crazy! For one, he�s incredibly sarcastic. Luckily, I know he�s only joking, but there have been a few instances where I have to repeat that statement so I don�t get offended. Also, he knows how to push my buttons. Be it incessant tickling or throwing covers over my claustrophobic self, it�s like he enjoys watching me squirm. I�m sure you�re wondering why I put up with all of this. Sometimes I ask myself the same question. But it�s quite simple really. He�s upfront with me. I like that. He calls it like it is and isn�t afraid to tell me when he disagrees. Don�t dance like that. Take the hat off. You whine too much. It�s a bit harsh, but I admire that fact that he knows what he wants. Also, I trust him. And for our situation, it�s quite an odd concept. I�m putting my trust in someone who�s told me from the beginning that he�s trouble. It would appear I�m setting myself up for failure. However, he hasn�t done anything to make me lose trust him in, so I really don�t think my feelings are that far-fetched. Tim and I�we�re complete opposites. He pushes me. He challenges me. One minute, I want to hug him; the next, punch him in the face. But with all the snafus, I do like spending time with him. There�s something about this one. Maybe I�ll never figure him out. Maybe that�s the point. Who knows? I�m still willing to ride this one out and see where it takes me.
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