Here it is. The entire month of July for the year 2001. Don't you just feel like a part of my life? Doesn't it make you all warm & fuzzy inside to know that I'm sharing a part of myself with you? I know it does. Read on, starting from the bottom.
July 13th, 2001: So, today, Friday, the 13th, I was walking around the dinosaur exhibit at COSI when I ran into a volunteer who had a little cart set up to teach people a thing or two about dinos. I began talking to him, and after a moment, Chuck joined us. We moved away from the volunteer and began talking about our days, our lives, our inability to be nice to one another. After this, I was able to ask him something that had been on my mind since a few days before, when he told me that cuddling was the most intimate way that he could show a girl that he liked her. Assuming that he believed this to be true, I asked him how it was that he thought it okay to go ahead and cuddle with me during the movie, knowing that nothing was going to come of it. He told me that he was unwilling to kiss me for fear of leading me on, and yet he was fine with doing something that he considers more intimate than that. He thought for a moment and told me that when I had pulled away from him toward the end of the movie, something felt better, that my cuddling was good, but it wasn't superb.
Keep that in mind, men. You may wish to look elsewhere for your cuddling needs.
I was a bit shocked, naturally, and asked how it is that I'm not a goddess to him. Honestly, I'm not trying to pass myself off as any more than I am, but Chuck is certainly not deserving of me, and I would hope that he’s aware of this. He should be adoring me and worshipping me and pining for me all over the place. Instead, he said that I'm lacking something that his goddess would be chock full of. When I inquired about this, he told me that his goddess would be okay with his past - accepting, forgiving, and forgetting. Now, I was fine with his saying that. I have accepted it, though I would never condone it. I have forgiven it, though it was never mine to forgive. But I haven't forgotten it. You just don't forget things like pre-marital sex, okay? I told him that all of the jokes I make surrounding his experiences are just done so because I know that it's a rough spot for him. Maybe it's not right, but it's something that everyone does - attack what hurts. I could tell that the attacking wasn't the only thing bothering him, though, so I inquired further. And then the truth came out. I'm a huge, huge fan of people who can tell the absolute truth with no inhibitions, but I never expected that Chuck would be able to totally deconstruct me like he did. He ripped me apart, though, telling me that he dislikes everything from my hair (his goddess's hair wouldn't be short and curly, he says) to my clothes (his goddess wouldn't own green pants, apparently). I was taken aback in every way. My hair is like my child. It sets me apart from everyone, as no one else has anything like it. And it seems that Chuck dislikes it. But that I can deal with. His assaulting my clothes, however, was unacceptable. Not only did he say that he could never marry a woman who wears green pants, he also told me that he was unimpressed by the pants that I wore on our outing. I mean, whoa. It's one thing not to tell me that I looked fabulous, but it's another thing entirely to actually tell me that he thought I looked bad. Not okay, Chuckles. Not okay. Especially since Chuck is possibly the worst-dressed man I know. And I won‘t even get started on his hair. I won‘t be petty. Even if I am.
At that point, I had to move on to do another part of my job, so I played my "you dirty pig" card and walked away. I was able to avoid seeing Chuck for the rest of the afternoon through careful planning, but at the end of the day, he approached the desk to talk to me. I was putting something away and turned my back on him, which he took to mean that I was ignoring him. He came behind the desk and told me that I couldn't do that forever, and when I told him that I wasn't, he asked why I was acting the way that I was. I followed him around to the side of the desk to talk, where he told me that he thought I had taken what he said incorrectly. I was pretty sure that I had understood all of his complaints about every facet of me, but he very definitely cleared things up by saying, "You're not repulsive or anything."
I'm not repulsive.
I thanked Chuck for his reassurance and told him very sarcastically that I had been so worried that I was hideous and grotesque, but all was well now that he had informed me otherwise. He said, "You always have to have a smartass comment for everything, don't you?", which I do, but I was fairly sure that I was done listening to him at that point, so I dismissed him and went back to work. I talked to Chuck tonight, though, and I ended up confessing that I probably would have married him to avoid hurting him after leading him on at the fireworks, which he said would have caused major psychological damage to us both. I think I would be okay with damaging him now, actually. He did say the one nice thing that he's said since this all started while we were talking tonight, though. When he told me again that he had been worried that I was in love with him, I said, "You know how I play, and you had to know how unserious I was," to which he replied, "no...I didn't know how you played when I asked you out....holding your hand while watching the fireworks was one of the coolest experiences I've ever had....and I really wanted things to work out when I asked you for that date." I was impressed. And yet, I could still damage him with no feelings of remorse, I believe. And I laugh maniacally.
July 12th, 2001: Just to make myself feel better about all of this, I'm going to throw out a conversation that I had with my lovely friend Nick, who drove me around in his Jeep yesterday and listened to my sad tale of rejection and said exactly what needed to be said exactly when it needed to be said.
Queen Katie Ett: I'm so angry at myself.
July 10th, 2001: The day after the horribly confusing date, I had a horribly confusing day. I saw Chuck at noon, and we leaned up our rocketship in Space at COSI and discussed the little pieces of himself that I think he's given to his women and how we plan to discipline our children. (Our children meaning the separate children that we have with the separate spouses that we marry separately, as we all know that Chuckie-boy and I aren't quite meant to be together as one.) I got called away after a short while, so I didn't see him for a few hours until he approached the Guest Services desk and asked for some paper cups. Sarah (Mole) and I were busy gossiping about the Red, White, and Boom! fireworks, and we just happened to be on the topic of Chuck when he came over, so we turned to each other and laughed at his perfect timing but didn't tell him what we had been saying. He asked for the cups, and since we didn't have any readily available at the desk, I offered to go retrieve some for him. I expected him to follow me so that we could mull over the occurrences of the night before, but he stayed at the desk. So, when I returned and he began to retreat back to work, I asked him where he would be at 3:00, my next time to rove around the building. He gave me a quite frightened look and said, "I don't know" with a certain degree of snotty distaste that bothered me a bit, as it seemed rather unfounded. When he was out of earshot, I asked Sarah, "Is it me or did he just totally blow me off?" It wasn't me, she assured. Then, I was traveling out to my Blazer after work to grab some clothes to change into for church, and I just happened to end up behind Chuck and some chicks whom he was walking with. He turned around for a moment and saw me quite clearly, but rather than waving hello or smiling or anything, he just quickly turned back around and very obviously avoided me. I wasn't worried that Chuck had had such a horrible time the night before that he was unwilling to speak to me ever again, because I was sure that he had had as much fun as I had. (Had, had, had.)
So, when I returned home, I left him some Instant Messages about the bad vibes that he was sending all over the place. I then went and spent the night at Scott's apartment (like the dirty, two-timing whore that I am), so I didn't get to read his response until I returned home at 2:30 yesterday afternoon. He had said some frightening things, my favourite being, "I wasn't trying to send you bad vibes, but I think there needs to be some clarification about things." Clarification. Mmm-hmm. So, when we started to clarify, Chuck explained that it seemed like we were standing in two different places after the "let's see where we stand" date on Saturday. Further, he said that he was getting signs from me that I was head over heels in love with him (though he actually said "head over heals"), as I was always talking about him with someone else when he saw me on Sunday. Of course, he didn't know that I hadn't told anyone but Scott, my confidante, about our little outing. Furthermore, he found me unmarryable at this point in my life, thought he would be leading me on by kissing me goodnight, and thinks that he's perfected the art of being affectionate. Cheapened, I am! My favourite Chuck quote of all of our hours of discussion was, "it's not like you are repulsive to me, it just didn't feel right." Love it. Nothing makes a girl feel more loved than being told that she's not repulsive.
I think what bothers me most about the whole dirty ordeal is that there's nowhere for me to go with Chuck from here. Before the date, I would flirt with him for hours in Space each day, knowing that he knew that I was really not interested in a relationship past that. But I think my holding his hand put us past the "just flirting" stage for him and tattooed the words READY AND WILLING to my forehead. We were talking in Space today about the fact that I'm always the one who does the rejecting. No one is ever good enough for me, and I inadvertently always let everyone know that, I think as a means to discourage men from even trying. But Chuck actually rejected me, which is hard for me even to write, especially after I've talked so much about him falling short of The Katie's needs. I think the main reason that I accepted his asking for a date was that I felt guilty for sort of leading him on at the fireworks. Not only was I staring at him all night, but I was the one who took the bait when he told me that his friend does the nail-scratching thing when she wants to hold his hand. Guilty! The funny thing is that Chuck's been rejected in the past, so he claims that he only asks girls out when he's sure they'll accept. I was his "sure thing". I hate that! I should have just said no like I told myself that I would and avoided this whole mess. It's not that I've stopped flirting, but I'm sure that Chuck thinks that I'm doing it with the intention of changing his mind about my being unmarryable. And now all we seem to be doing is fighting about who the bigger child is in this situation. Chuck thinks that I need to have more "life experiences", as he calls them. Maybe I take too much pity on myself, but I think that my losing my mom last year is a much bigger "life experience" than his having sex with a random woman due to lack of self-control. But I'm totally ready to move back to the way things were. When I see Chuck next year as he comes back for the Camp-In season, I'm sure that I'll stare at him mercilessly and offer to let him thrash me if the situation calls for a good thrashin'.
I honestly can't help but wonder what would have happened had we never gone out, though. Maybe this will eventually make us better friends. Or maybe he just served to help me learn that I shouldn't settle for less than what I want or deserve. Or maybe this was just a random occurrence due to a shift in the Earth's crust. I think I'm done caring.
July 7th, 2001: So, tonight was it. I really couldn't think of a single thing other than Chuck today, which is almost embarrassing. I was working in the theatres at COSI today, so rather than being able to walk around and pretend to help guests when I'm really just going to stand and talk to Chuck, I only got to see him for about 5 minutes in the morning when he came up behind me and kicked my knee to try to make me fall. Ahh, the cute Kindergarteness of it all. At the end of the day, I found Chuck waiting for me at the front door with another girl whom Chuck used to want to date, and we all walked out together, whereupon I followed Chuck back to his house. He had to park for me due to my lack of driving skills and told me that he was putting me in a spot that I could only occupy until 7 AM. I asked, "Am I going to be here until 7?", to which he answered, "If everything goes well." I laughed. And then, after many, many minutes of uncomfortable changing in front of the blonde chick hanging on Chuck's wall, we climbed in his car (which smelled very manly, though his house doesn't) and headed down the road to Applebee's.
Dinner was so comfortable. I told Chuck so. Actually, I told him that he's refreshing. And he doesn't mind my staring. When I mentioned this, Chuck confided that when he first met me, it frightened him a little, this Guest Services chick just ogling him during Camp-In without knowing him at all. But now, during the silent times when we were mulling over things that had been said, we were just able to sit and look at each other without feeling uneasy, because we were friends before the date. Date. That word seems to strange to me now after just "going out" with men and never actually going on a real date all year. I believe my favourite part of dinner, though, even more than the staring, was Chuck telling me that the only person who ever mentioned anything about the fireworks hand-holding was Chuck's most-recent drunken conquest, who apparently thinks that she owns a little piece of Chuck. She wrote him an e-mail asking, "So are you playing with Katie's heart now?" Quite frankly, I think I'm the only one playing, though not entirely on purpose.
When I told Chuck that I had been pondering all day how things would go, he said that he too had been nervous, which made me feel good. I think Chuck may be bothered by how young I am, though. It's not that 22 is that much more ancient than 19, but Chuck always mentions things about how certain parts of me are so mature, as if that's not expected of a young'un such as myself. And when an old song came on that we both knew, he pointed out that I was only a freshman in high school when he was graduating. And Chuck is in a totally different stage of his life than I am. While I just got through my first year of college, he just graduated from OSU and is heading to Dayton this fall for graduate school. That isn't a big deal to me at all, but I think that Chuck is totally ready to get married and start having kids, while I'm going to need a few years. Chuck did say that he wasn't expecting to get any "play" from me on the first date, which he told me was a good thing, as apparently only evil comes from girls who are willing to do first date things.
We left and headed over to the movie theatre, where we decided to see Moulin Rouge. Chuck was excited about the prospect of hearing Nicole Kidman speak to him in French, while I was all about hearing Ewan McGregor sing to me. After I bought our tickets, we headed to Barnes and Noble to waste some time. Upon entering, I asked Chuck his favourite book, of course, to which he mumbled and grumbled and finally replied, "Stephen King's The Stand." I lovingly informed him that that was the wrong answer. We then went to the restroom, which is a detail that can usually be omitted, and I only include it because when Chuck emerged, he sneaked up behind me and rubbed my back in this really Chuck-like way that I can't describe. You have to feel it, son. And I have to feel it without actually looking at Chuck, which is a horrible thing of me to say. We fought over the pronunciation of Titian's name, which I can't imagine doing with any other guy, and exclaimed over a book of gothic architecture. And when Chuck read the name of a French painting with his "I minored in French and you want me" accent, well, let's just say that I had to step away to avoid the imminent raping. He then shared a book of natural wonders with me, and as I stood looking at glaciers and mountains and the bluest blue springs over his shoulder, I realised that darn it, I really enjoy Chuck in a totally unromantic way. We'll never get married and we probably won't even go on a second date, but still, next to mustard, Chuck's my favourite condiment.
We left for the theatre a moment later and traveled to one of the four corners of the Earth to find a seat in the horribly close 3rd row. Ahh, the joys of never getting to movies on time. As I situated myself and my bag, Chuck asked if he could raise the "cuddle bar" to make our two separate seats into one, which I obliged, knowing that all of our cuddling would be totally in jest. However, rather than setting myself up for a good cuddle, I leaned my head back and gazed longingly at Chuck every few minutes to let him know that I was willing and ready . . . to lead him on in every way. He kept doing this cute thing that he always does that involves sort of grabbing at my leg and pretending like he's going to pinch it when all he really does is snap at my pants. It's so darn adorable and makes me want to give him my body . . . and possibly my soul. I took his hand and did my nail-scratching thing. That escalated into hand-holding, of course, which is so good for me for some reason, even if it is Chuck. It makes me desperate for more, though, which I figured would get me into trouble until Chuck wrapped his arms around me and I realised that it was definitely all for the better. I totally couldn't concentrate on the movie, though. I kept thinking about the way Chuck's hands felt and the way his funny little mustache rubbed up against my hair and . . . I know that it's not the Chuck-touching that I love but the touching in general. I've missed my touchy-feely college boys since I've been home, being the touchy-feely girl I am, so I'm just willing to get it from whoever's giving it at this point. I actually felt really horrible for the guy sitting next to us. The poor man must have been terribly uncomfortable what with all of the wild cheek-caressing and the fact that I was practically laying on top of Chuck. The movie was excellent, though, even more than I expected from the illustrious Baz Luhrmann. I'd have to say that hearing Chuck laugh in my ear and say, "That's awesome," during all of the songs was my favourite part of the movie portion of the evening, though I did love my turning and whispering, "I left my shoes in your room," at the most inopportune time, which Chuck didn't understand at all. I think that the look of ignorance on Chuck's face when I turned to him and said, "Rufus Wainwright!" during the Rufus song in Moulin Rouge says everything about the fate of our relationship, though. I thought to myself at that point, "Well, that's that."
When we got back to Chuck's house, we headed up to his room to grab my Sauconys and talked for a moment before going back downstairs to his living room, whereupon I asked, "So, are you done with me?" He looked at his watch and gave me some nonsense about it being late and him having church in the morning, my hint to leave and Chuck's way of telling me that he's about as uninterested in me as I am in him. It was 10:30, for God's sake! Nothing says "I don't want a thing from you" like sending a girl home before midnight. There we were, totally alone in his quiet house with many hours left until I planned to be in bed, and he was sending me on my way without so much as a hint of having to restrain himself. Yes, Virginia, sometimes one can respect his date too much. Nevertheless, I set my shoes down and gave Chuck a goodnight hug. And when we parted and my hands trailed down his arms without any indication that they wanted to stop exploring him, I knew that I was merely lying to myself, but I went in for another, anyway. I had a good time, all right? But that's all I gave, and he didn't ask for more. He did ask if I wanted an escort, though, and followed me out to my car for what I had told him was my favourite part of any outing - the deciding of how to end the night. I wasn't going to offer if he wasn't going to ask, and well, he obviously wasn't going to ask. So I was content to just bid him goodnight and get in my car. But before I could, Chuck requested one more hug, either feeling me out or feeling bad that he just couldn't seem to kiss me. He ended up giving me a kiss on the cheek, his funny little mustache pricking my cheek. I hate that mustache. Love the way it feels. I told him that it makes me want to kiss him. But it only adds to my not being attracted to him. And then, he walked back to his house while I stood alone on the sidewalk, waiting for traffic to let up so I could get to the driver's side of my beast.
Commentary: Blah. I like Chuck. I like Chuck a lot, in fact. But I get the feeling that he only asked me for a chance because he can't have what he really wants - Heidi or Bethy or any one of several hundred boyfriended women whom Chuck loves. And I think that I only accepted because I can't find what I really want - a man who shares my taste in my music and my love of personal style and my need for affection. I think it cheapens our entire relationship, and yet, I can totally see myself leading Chuck on or allowing myself to be led if he wants to do the leading. We have a great time together. And even if I have to pretend that he's never had drunken escapades with multiple women and tell myself that he really doesn't like Christina Aguilera deep down, that's something that I'm willing to do if it means that I'll be able to spend this last month with him before he goes off to the United Theological Seminary this fall. Or maybe I'd just like to go out with him as a friend - you know, all of the fun of dating without the need for sexual favours if he pays for dinner. I have no idea what Chuck's thinking about us. I know that he's thinking that I'm too young to begin creating the family that he's ready for and I know that he's thinking that we're not the least bit right for each other. But maybe that's not true. We're terribly right for each other in some ways. He does things that he knows I'll appreciate and I let him know that I appreciate them. We can both carry on conversations of nothing but sexual innuendo for hours on end. We were meant to be together . . . but maybe only as friends. I suppose that I'll just wait and see what he has to say and base my opinions on that. Taking the high road. All right.
July 6th, 2001: So I lied to myself. It's happened before. See, yesterday, two days after I wrote that I would only go as far as to flirt with Chuck, I was asking him about the "I can't think of you as a sister" incident to include in my previous story, when he slipped in, "So...um....I expected more people to ask questions today..." When I asked what they would ask questions about, he replied, "The fireworks," which I interpreted to mean, "Your holding my hand during the fireworks, you dirty whore." I played dumb, though, of course, and let him explain to me what he was talking about, just to avoid looking like a fool in case my Chuck translator was malfunctioning. He then asked me if Red, White, and Boom! had any significance or if it was just a random act of hand-holding. When I couldn't really say and when he couldn't really, either, he just asked me to do "dinner and a movie or some other kind or random date thingy Saturday" to see where we stand. And I accepted, of course, as I knew that I would if he ever asked. Such a pushover, I am.
July 3rd, 2001: Tonite, I marked the passing of another year with my second trip to Columbus's Red, White, and Boom! fireworks display while employed by COSI. I invited along Scott, Chuck, and Dale, all COSI men whom I love dearly. When Scott, Chuck, and I were ready to head out for the festivities after work, Dale still hadn't shown up to meet us, so the men chided me for being ditched as we walked back to our cars to put our work clothes to rest. Some other COSI employees were standing around a car in the parking lot, laughing and carrying on as if they were beginning to get a little tipsy in honour of the evening's happenings. My Blazer has been dying on me lately (sob), so I've been driving Dad's 2000 Mercury Mountaineer, a big, beautiful, manly SUV. The car-gatherers began saying things like, "That better not be her car," and, "That car is way too nice for her to be driving." I wasn't offended or anything, because well, I am young, and I am a horrid driver, but really, the loud shouting behind my back wasn't all that discreet. So, we opened the umbrellas that I was forced to steal from COSI's lost and found and walked up the hill toward the city.
Because I had been the one to do the inviting, the men expected me to know what I was sending us into, which I did not. We approached the area that we believed to contain the COSI hospitality tent and saw two little kidspace employees with a friend of theirs, so figuring that we were in the right place, we hung out and waited for the security guards to tear off the chains and allow us to go to our tent, me "accidentally" hitting everyone with my massive stolen golf umbrella every chance I got. Dale showed up, evidently arriving at COSI a mere .24 seconds after we left, and the guards finally let us in a side entrance. The four of us sat down with the little kidspace folk for a moment and then grabbed some so-called grub before we were attacked by Sarah. Sarah is . . . unique . . . to say the least. She's a glassblower at the Columbus College of Art and Design, so she's a little alternative and a little punk and a lot big, skankin' dork. Her nickname is Fairy Princess Molina (Mole, as you'll see her referred to as), for God's sake. I enjoy Mole immensely; most people at COSI do not. She's just so . . . weird . . . and people at work are so concerned with appearances. She sat down at our table and basically just took over, which bothered the little kidspace people. I mean, I talk. I talk quite a bit, in fact. But Sarah - Sarah talks. So many Philippino neighbour tales; so little time. She and Dale hit it off right away, because Dale is also quite the conversationalist. He was talking to her but still looking at me (which I love), but to discourage him from making Sarah feel unwanted, I diverted my attention to Chuck across the table and began staring at him. That turned into my motioning him over to sit by me to show him that I wear the pants and can control his every move, but when he wouldn't give in to my pouts and wannabe-seductive glances, I resorted to asking to paint his fingernails. He explained that there are only two instances in which he would ever allow me to paint him up - 1) I pay him $200 per nail, or 2) he's "getting some play" from me. I politely asked him to never use the phrase getting some play again, I'll have you know. I didn't think that Dad would fund my polishing escapade, and I'm certainly not about fulfilling Chuck's every desire at this point, so the nails were forgotten for a bit while I asked Dale his favourite bands. He mentioned Primus and the Misfits, which I would have assumed by looking at him. Finally, after the men were done gulping down their blackened cow flesh, we headed out for a little walk around the block.
No one could make a decision as to which direction to head first, so we ended up standing in the middle of the street for several minutes until I took some initiative and pointed us South. We passed millions of hoochie 12 year-olds and met some of Mole's friends, whom she introduced me to as her "COSI arch nemesis", which I loved. Mole thinks that we're different sides of the same person; she's the good part, while I'm the evil, she says. When we got to the end of the road, Sarah and I discovered that we needed to use the restroom, so we were forced to brave the perils of the Port-a-John. I truly believe that it was the single scariest experience of my life. We told each other not to touch anything and scurried inside. As soon as I shut the door, I was in another world. I heard someone walking up behind me as I crouched, carefully avoiding touching the seat. I heard someone else climbing onto the roof of the John, pounding on it for a bit, and then whipping out an axe to get to me that way. I looked up and saw that the roof was covered not with the shadow of an intruder but with feces, human or otherwise, which was almost worse. I started thinking about the feces dripping off into my hair and making Scott, Chuck, and Dale pluck it out. Just then, one side of the toilet paper holder broke loose from the wall, and the toilet paper began to slide off, so while fighting off my would-be attacker who didn't actually exist, I had to grapple with the toilet paper to keep it from touching the floor. To add to my pain, I suddenly remembered the story I heard about the guy who hid down in the muck of a Port-a-John with a video camera to film girls using the restroom. And then it was over. I ran out into the safety of the street, and Mole and I cried with each other over the trauma of it all.
When we got back to the men, I quizzed them on their pronunciation of the word lawyer to see which of them actually says law instead of loy. I find people who say law to be terribly unattractive, even if that's the way it looks like it should be said. (Check your dictionaries, kids.) We then continued back up the road, where I passed 400 people I know, including one of my cousins and one of my sister's unmarried pregnant friends. We watched kids slide down a balloon mock of the sinking Titanic for a moment while Dale contemplated joining them and then took the trek back to our hospitality tent so Scott could try to work us up to the roof of Columbia Gas for the fireworks. While we were walking, Chuck and I were talking about something or other that neither of us can seem to remember ("Why in the world were we talking about that!?" I asked. "Why do we talk about a lot of stuff that we do?" Chuck replied.), and somehow the topic of my being like Chuck's sister came up. He casually slipped in, "No, I can't think of you like that, because it would destroy all of my fantasies," which now that I think of it, could have been the turning point of the evening, though I imagine that he meant it totally in jest. However, I did receive a slap on the butt a short while later that caused all of my comrades to say, "Whoa, did that really just happen?" When we got to our area, we stood around for a moment and talked about my criteria for marriage, which Scott clearly laid out for everyone else, much to my amusement. He said that in order to be considered for marriage with The Katie, you must be able to return my sexual innuendo, have good grammar and spelling skills, and not cuss extraneously. I corrected him and said that lack of drug usage is more important than cussing, and cussing is both cool and necessary at certain times. Saying those things made me wish that I knew exactly what Dale is like, as we could have been making him feel terribly uncomfortable if he is, in fact, an asexual, illiterate drunk with the mouth of a sailor. When this was through, I asked Scott if I could touch his stomach, as it's my favourite part of him. Once he was done thinking that I was calling him fat, which is about the last thing he is, I got to rub his tummy, which was probably the highlight of my evening, if not my life. Ann, a woman that Scott dated a couple of times, broke away from her family for a moment and came over for a moment to talk to Scott, which I'm sure was the highlight of his life. The men then wanted me to ask my boss if he has enough clout to get us on the Columbia Gas roof, so I was forced to meet his special friend Kevin before I could question him. As soon as I did, though, I ran back to my group so we could all exchange opinions on whether my boss is gay or not.
We were all pretty tired of standing at that point, so we gave up on the roof and just went over to the massive amount of chairs that were saved for the tent folk. Dale sat on the inside of our row beside Sarah, who had completely taken over his mind and body at that point, while I sat between Scott and Chuck and tried to keep from raping them. We sang along to You Shook Me All Night Long, which I proudly claimed to want to have played at my wedding, and now that I think of it, I would enjoy having an AC/DC cover band do all of Back in Black at the reception. Let Me Put My Love into You will be the song that my husband and I do our first dance to, undoubtedly. But I digress. Chuck and I discussed my lovely sister and her hoochieness as three equally hoochie 14 year-olds stood up and began dancing to Nelly for the crowd. Chuck was all over that, so I had to begin to threaten to paint his nails again in order to keep him from getting arrested. He mentioned "getting play" again, so while I was busy beating him for that, I inadvertently found out that he's terribly ticklish, especially on his sides, so that became my next threat. Just then, Chuck's friends Sean, Cheryll, and Ellen showed up, so all of his attention was turned to them in order to discuss the Best of Dancemania CD that Sean had made for the Camp-In Team after this season's Camp-In ended. Scott took this chance to ask me what I thought Ann's taking the time to talk to him meant, so I knew that he was dead to me for the rest of the night, all of his thoughts on her, the poor boy.
Chuck kept asking what was wrong with me, and the truth is that nothing was wrong, but it sure is fun to have people dote on me. I put my arm around his shoulders and smacked his head against mine, which allowed him to tell me that I have soft cheeks, the opposite of the reaction that I was hoping for but cute nonetheless. He made fun of the way that I tap my fingers on my knee, saying that by moving from my pointer finger to my pinky, I'm tapping backwards. My hurting apparently amusing him in some way, Chuck then made fun of me in several other ways, which eventually culminated in him kind of petting my knee in consolation. When he moved his hand away, though, rather than lifting it up and over to his lap, he just allowed it to slide down the side of my leg, and since our legs were resting against each other, it sat there, unmoving in the leg crevice. Now, the touching could have been total innocence on Chuck's part, but I decided not to take it as such and reached for his hand. I began to use my fingernails to scratch his palm, telling him that Tracey and I always did that before bed when I used to spend the night with her, as I tell every guy whom I do that to. I love using my nails for evil, you know. Chuck told me that his friend Allison with the Boyfriend does the same thing, but she does it with the intention of holding his hand, apparently, which I was not. When The Star-Spangled Banner began, I dropped his hand as we stood and watched the giant flag snaking up the side of the Columbia Gas building. When it was through and we sat back down, Chuck asked if I was going to tickle his hand some more as if he didn't really mind if I stopped, but I knew that I had the pants at that point. As the first fireworks rocketed up above COSI, threatening to send it up in a blaze of red-orange (oh, wonder of wonders!), I finally broke down and slid my fingers through Chuck's, as I'm sure Allison with the Boyfriend has many a time. He stroked my thumb with my every "oooh" and "ahhh" at the booming flashes until I put my other hand on top of our already clasped hands. The fireworks were over far too soon, naturally, but we got up and began the hike to our cars nevertheless. Chuck said, "Madam," my cue to take his arm as to not get lost in the crowd. Scott skillfully weaved us between the madding throngs of white trash and whores until we ended up on the Broad Street bridge, passing by the Jesus look-alike with his wooden cross and the cops grunting commands to the deafened passers-by. By the time we reached the parking lot, my hand had somehow ended up in Chuck's again, so when my boss and his special friend called out from behind us to ask if we'd ever made our way up to the roof, I couldn't decide whether to drop my hand and avoid the ridicule that's sure to come later or to hold on and not be horribly rude to Chuck. I chose the correct path, of course, and let my boss think whatever he wanted to.
We played cards on the back of Scott's car for a moment until the crowd cleared off the road, Chuck dancing to the music from the party across the way. The Safety Services guys drove by, and I stopped them to ask for directions to 70 East from the parking lot, which they handed out with extreme certainty, saying that even I could find it. Scott agreed to allow me to follow him, so we said our goodnights as Chuck and I made our way over to my car. I offered him a hug instead of the beef jerky that Dad keeps as spare in the back seat, and he gave me absolutely nothing back, so I berated him but offered him another shot. Scott had pulled his car around and was watching us, so I stared him down for a moment until he looked away, as if he thought that we were about to do something that he shouldn't see. Chuck gave me a much more acceptable hug and a little neck kiss in order to let me feel his mustache on me, which he knows I love. We then parted ways, whereupon I became utterly lost and ended up almost hitting a small child in the ghetto after losing sight of Scott. Fun times. Truly.
Commentary: I don't want Chuck. Okay, actually, I do want Chuck, but I will never allow myself to have Chuck. I'm a pure, little lamb, and Chuck is a big, bad, woman-eating wolf. It drives me absolutely mad that he knows exactly what he has to do to make women want him. And he does those things. And it's irresistible. And I hate him for it. And I'm not attracted to Chuck at all . . . which is also a lie. I'm very attracted to Chuck's personality, almost more than anyone else I can think of. But even his fabulous persona can't make up for the fact that I don't find him physically attractive in any way, even if other women supposedly do. I don't mean that to sound terribly superficial, but a little animal magnetism is a good thing, yes? So, you have nothing to worry about with me. I love the flirting and the innuendo and Chuck in general, but that's as far as it goes, kiddies.
Queen Katie Ett: How could you let me do this?
TheUntouchable2k: You didn't ask me, I would have told you that you deserve better
TheUntouchable2k: you knew you deserved better
Queen Katie Ett: I know!
Queen Katie Ett: Darn it.
TheUntouchable2k: but what did you do? you dated chuck!!!
Queen Katie Ett: I didn't date him.
Queen Katie Ett: I went on a date with him.
Queen Katie Ett: No, an outing.
TheUntouchable2k: Hes CHUCK for gods sake
Queen Katie Ett: Don't say that!
Queen Katie Ett: Can I quote you on that, please?
TheUntouchable2k: A DATE D-A-T-E
Queen Katie Ett: You just encourage my evilness.
TheUntouchable2k: I try
Queen Katie Ett: I know. I love that.
TheUntouchable2k: What are you doing?
TheUntouchable2k: I know its something
Queen Katie Ett: I'm just being bad.
TheUntouchable2k: I knew that
Queen Katie Ett: I hate when I get to the point that I no longer care what someone thinks of me.
Queen Katie Ett: I just totally offended Chuck in every way I know how.
TheUntouchable2k: How?
Queen Katie Ett: Just attacking his drunken sexcapades and the fact that he's a child.
TheUntouchable2k: are you IMing him?
Queen Katie Ett: I am.
Queen Katie Ett: Well, I'm not anymore.
Queen Katie Ett: Haha.
Queen Katie Ett: He left me to pray.
TheUntouchable2k: for what? celibacy?
Queen Katie Ett: Oh, my life would be complete.
Queen Katie Ett: He compared cuddling with me to cuddling with his sister.
Queen Katie Ett: I laugh.
TheUntouchable2k: Thats hardly an insult
Queen Katie Ett: He says that he didn't mean it that way, but well.
Queen Katie Ett: Do you cuddle with your sister, you pervert?
TheUntouchable2k: I'm wondering why he cuddles with his sister
TheUntouchable2k: Thats funny stuff
TheUntouchable2k: What else did he say about you?
Queen Katie Ett: He said that he can't date me because I like to fight.
(slight disconnection on my part)
TheUntouchable2k: Having problems?
Queen Katie Ett: It would seem.
TheUntouchable2k: I thought you had just left so as to abuse a little chuck voodoo doll.
Queen Katie Ett: Chuck is not going to affect me any more.
TheUntouchable2k: good idea
Queen Katie Ett: I don't want to totally badmouth Chuck.
Queen Katie Ett: I do care about him.
Queen Katie Ett: I just want him dead.
TheUntouchable2k: You are such a confused person at times
Queen Katie Ett: ALL of the time.
TheUntouchable2k: Think happy thoughts
Queen Katie Ett: About?
TheUntouchable2k: Whatever it is that makes you happy
Queen Katie Ett: I just don't know how he managed to do this to me.
Queen Katie Ett: It was a pity date!
TheUntouchable2k: But who is more in need of pity?
Queen Katie Ett: Me! All me.
TheUntouchable2k: In the grand scheme of things, I don't think so
TheUntouchable2k: You will move on to bigger and better things, for chuck, you are the pinnacle of what he will have in his life
TheUntouchable2k: It is all downhill for him
Queen Katie Ett: Ahh, Nick. You make things so simple.
Queen Katie Ett: And I'm using all of this in my journal to make me feel better.
TheUntouchable2k: I'm glad I could help, despite my simplemindedness
Queen Katie Ett: Oh, ouch.
Queen Katie Ett: I'm just horrible.
TheUntouchable2k: And thats what I love about you
Queen Katie Ett: How could you?
TheUntouchable2k: How could I not?
Queen Katie Ett: Whatever you say.
TheUntouchable2k: You just used the word "whatever"as if there was no significance to something.
Queen Katie Ett: Which we all know is untrue.
TheUntouchable2k: right
Queen Katie Ett: Chuck has made my life meaningless.
TheUntouchable2k: How did he do that?
Queen Katie Ett: I think he made me feel unattractive by rejecting me.
Queen Katie Ett: I'm going to wear nothing but tee shirts and jeans from now on.
Queen Katie Ett: I won't have cool shoes.
Queen Katie Ett: I won't bother with interesting bags.
TheUntouchable2k: what??? no cool shoes?
TheUntouchable2k: I love your shoes
Queen Katie Ett: I'm sure.
TheUntouchable2k: Why can you not accept the fact that you are too good for him, and all he did was do you a favor by turning you away before you had to dump his sorry butt.
TheUntouchable2k: Saved you some time, thats all he did to you.
Queen Katie Ett: I'll just take that and run.
TheUntouchable2k: exactly
TheUntouchable2k: These are the secret things guys say to eachother when they've been rejected, you must not speak of them.
Queen Katie Ett: Of course not.
TheUntouchable2k: I tell you as your writing your www journal
TheUntouchable2k: I'm sorry "you're"
Queen Katie Ett: Thanks.
Queen Katie Ett: I'll just need to read this years from now when I've forgotten about him.
TheUntouchable2k: Right
Queen Katie Ett: All right. I guess I'm going to go to bed, then.
TheUntouchable2k: alright, try to relax
TheUntouchable2k: I will talk to you later
Queen Katie Ett: Hey, I'm cool.
Queen Katie Ett: Goodnight.
TheUntouchable2k: I know
TheUntouchable2k: night
Queen Katie Ett: And thank you.
TheUntouchable2k: anytime