tripper...

When I was 19, I fell in love for the first time. His name was Collin. He was a San Francisco kid that moved to San Diego to be with his mom after high school. His teacher was the woman Michelle Pfeifer played in “Dangerous Minds.” I was so in love.

He was street (to this day, to quote Destiny’s Child, “You better be street if you looking at me/I need a soldier in here”). He also was intrigued with a checker at the grocery store where we all worked. I know that days after we broke up he was already with her. He was 19, she was 32. And they both made a big deal of making sure that I knew they were together. Goodness. I simply can’t imagine being like that, particularly to a little lovestruck 19-year-old (moi). Butthead. I didn’t like her for a long time.

Ive let go of any grudges long ago. And while this blog doesn’t seem like the most appropriate place to post this, this is what I’m thinking now. And since I don’t carry a normal journal, this is where it’ll go.

I do not understand how “events” get to me as they do. I mean, birthdays can come and go. Let’s grab a cocktail, I’m fine. But now I’m turning 30 and it’s like, whoa, hey, hi, member me?

It’s like Valentine’s Day, my first single one in 5 years. And I spent the entire day tripping about how I was alone and sad and how the guy I was seeing – the one that’s entirely wrong for me – wasn’t gonna be with me. In that way. So I made a nice call to him late at night about why couldn’t we be together and other nonsense. Sheesh.

Try as I might, Im still a girl. Can’t help it. I try. But I’m still a girl. Then when I showed up at his place late at night he had bought me my favorite perfume. And I was like way too delighted. Girl.