It's like the goddamned plague!

I haven't written in awhile because I've been busy with school and work and the dramatics of being an RA. Let's start the craziness from where we previously left off.

I went to Matt Forte's birthday party last Friday and it was amazing. I had a lot of fun and got to meet several players who were gracious enough to take a couple pictures with me. It's always kind of weird to see football players in person because, although you expect them to be really large, the images you have in your head don't compare to what they really look like in person. The club that it was at was alright, I probably wouldn't go again unless there was a special event like this held there. The vibe was a little weird, a little off and I can't put my finger on what it was exactly. Maybe it was just too much. Maybe it was too much martini drinking, I just got back from a long day at the office, yuppies. Maybe it was that no one was dancing except the supremely inebriated older women in fur coats with stiletto boots on. Maybe it was that I felt like if I walked into the bathroom at the right time, I'd witness a beyond gorgeous woman doing a line of coke off of her compact mirror. I don't know what it was, it just felt so....not me. Maybe I had different expectations of it, I'm not sure, but I guess I'm not the type of city girl who goes out to these clubs and pays $8 for an amaretto stone sour that's mostly ice cubes and who can see herself dancing with a guy that looks like he's trying to prove to the world that he's a successful business man, yet is wearing cheap cologne and a false smile. I just can't lie to myself and pretend like it was something that I'd do usually. I mean, for one night it was fun, but by 11pm, I was sick of it. It could be an acquired taste though, so I'm going to leave my judgment open on this, but for now, I'm more of a go to the bar that has a dancefloor that will play music I've actually heard of instead of weird techno music that reminds me of the discotechs in Rome.

On another note, this past week was finals week for me and it sucked. It started out well until Tuesday morning at about 4am. I heard a knock at my door, so I woke up and opened the door and saw one of my residents standing there. He looked very disturbed and upset, so I tried to focus and push the sleepiness to the back of my head.

"Can I come in?" Of course. Fuck, I knew this wasn't going to be good. Getting woken up at 4am during the week is never a good sign. I asked him what was going on and if he was okay. He just rambled, "I don't know what to do. I need to know, like I need to know the right course of action to take." I had no fucking clue what he was talking about, there'd never been a problem with him before, so I tried to calm him down and he started to tell me what was going on when one of his roommates came in my room, also.

I told them that I couldn't do anything to help them unless I knew what was going on, so someone better start talking. They told me that a girl, who I know of, but don't know that well, was in their room and that they'd been talking to her for a couple hours and that they think she is suicidal. I asked them why they thought that and why was she in their room because I knew she lived in another residence hall. They said she had texted them around midnight and asked if she could crash at their place because she didn't trust herself. I asked them what that meant, and they said she has been saying things for a few weeks that gave them the impression she might try to hurt herself.

My initial reaction was pretty horrible. I didn't want to deal with it because of this girl's past. Last year she had told people that she had ovarian cancer. Suddenly it disappeared. At the beginning of this school year, she told people that she had a malignant brain tumor and that she probably wouldn't survive the rest of the school year. Usually, I'm sympathetic to people, especially because I can understand that having these illnesses is devastating because I've been there with my heart condition, although I never thought I would die. The whole brain tumor thing has pissed a lot of people off because 1) she suddenly seems prone to cancer scares 2) there is another girl at our school who recently had to drop out because she lost a significant amount of her short-term memory when her brain tumor was taken out, thus failing out of her classes and 3) because she's known to create drama.

I put these feelings aside because I knew I had to be responsible and because I didn't want her to do anything and have it be on my conscience. I went to their room and she was sitting there on the couch, cuddled against a freshman basketball player who was clearly intoxicated. There were two other girls there, one a resident of mine. I greeted the suicidal girl and told her that I needed to take action for her own safety and for those of my residents. I told her that I either needed to call an ambulance or that I needed her to go to the hospital on her own free will, but either way, she was going. She nodded and told me that she knew she had to go and I noticed scratch marks on her wrists. It looked like she had either tried cutting herself with a butter knife or perhaps with plastic dinnerware. It didn't look serious, and the boys later told me that she had informed them she'd been cutting herself to "try and make herself feel better because cutting releases endorphins." I was irritated when I found this out. I've been a cutter in the past and when you're a cutter, you don't cut in obvious places such as the wrists, where people will notice and may ask you about it. You cut secretly because cutting isn't about killing yourself, it's about release. When I cut, I'd usually cut on my upper leg or somewhere obscure that people wouldn't see before it had a chance to heal. And I didn't cut with a butter knife. My weapon of choice was a straight blade razor or a big kitchen knife. Butter knifes wouldn't do the trick. They don't cause enough pain and they don't tear the skin. When I cut, I wanted the pain and I wanted the blood. I wanted to see the blood come out of me so that I could soak it up and throw it away; it was my mind's way of throwing pain away.

After my dad cheated on my mom, I noticed cuts on her. They were long and smooth, not deep, but enough to create some blood and leave behind a mark for a few weeks. I knew she was a cutter when I saw them and I wondered if it was some type of genetic trait that could be passed on. Once, I asked about them. She looked down at a few on her forearm and told me that she had been gardening, and brushed up against the wire fence that surrounds our little garden plot. I knew it was a lie. There was no way the fence could have been that perfect in several different areas. After she told me, she looked me in the eyes, maybe to see if there was belief there. We stared at each other for a moment and I think we both figured out at that time that we were cutters.

Back to the girl, now. She insisted that she would not go in an ambulance, so I asked her what it would take to get her to go on her own volition. She told me that she wanted to talk to our school's counselor, so I paged him and they talked briefly. She was still crying, but something felt fake about it. Like they were planned tears. I tried to put these thoughts out of my head, but I just couldn't. She finally agreed to let her friends take her to the hospital and I was relieved that I didn't have to clean too big of a mess up. What a horrible thought...here is a girl crying for help and I'm thankful that I don't have to get too involved.

The next day, I asked a few of my residents how she was doing since they had taken her to the hospital and had gone to visit her. Miraculously, the brain tumor had disappeared and she now had a clean bill of health. Obviously, she has some serious mental issues that I can't even fathom. Some people around school said she's a hypochondriac, but I don't think that's the case because I don't think that she truly believes she is sick in a physical way, she just uses it as an excuse to maybe mask that she's fucked up in the head.

I'm glad that her mental problems are documented because maybe she'll get the help she needs now. I don't think she is a bad person, I just think she needs to get help before she truly does hurt herself or hurt others.

Finals week continued and I got brutally raped by one of my tests. The teacher had given us a study guide, but the study guide did absolutely nothing to prepare me. There was 51 multiple choice questions on the test. Not 50, not 55, not even 45...but 51. I looked at it and laughed and called the teacher a snatchface in my head for doing that. I got through it and hopefully I'll pull a high B in the class, ruining my streak of straight As in college.

Another couple is engaged at my school. It's starting to make me think that the school is putting something in our fucking water. That's...like 7 couples this past semester that have gotten engaged or who I know are about to. I swear, it's spreading like the fucking plague. It's great that they found someone who they think they want to spend the rest of their lives with, but holy hell, we're so fucking young! What's the rush? I feel like people don't realize that their relationships are going to change once we graduate. You're not going to be the same exact people that you are now. Ahhhhh, but I digress.

Now, for the better part..................
I met someone.
Are you excited to hear about him? I'm excited to tell you about him. It started when I found out that I'm getting a violin for Christmas, something I've wanted for such a long time. Don't let the foul mouth and dirty mind give you the wrong impression, sometimes I can be kind of cultured. I looked on various websites for lessons because I don't know how to play it at all. A lot of the places seemed like they were for intermediate players and I knew I was definitely a beginner. My mom told me that I should look at Craigslist, so I did. I put an add out and got a on of responses, some were very strange, but nonetheless, that's essentially how I met him. He doesn't know how to play violin or anything, but I did meet him through Craigslist and the thought of that kind of makes me want to puke, but whatever. Craigslist is how I met Rocker. That's obviously not his real name, but that's what I'm going to refer to him as, and for good reason.

We talked through a couple emails and he gave me his screenname so we talked through instant messaging for a few days. We seemed to have a lot in common, definitely music to say the least, and we soon learned we had a lot in common in regards to our family dynamics. He told me he was in a band, but that he had a real job, too because he realizes that the whole Rockstar thing probably won't work out and I respected him for being honest to himself like that. He sent me a picture of himself playing the guitar and I might have drooled a little bit. I'm a sucker for rockers. Such a fucking sucker..Anyways, we've been talking for almost two weeks now and we seem to have a good connection, but I don't know what the hell kind of connection one can form over phone calls, texting, and talking online. I love his voice...it's deep and a little harsh, but fuck it's hot. There's an age difference, he's 26, but it doesn't seem like that big of a difference to me. I actually like it because he can spell correctly, has a real job and goals for his life, and, actually, we like to play the same video games. How fucking nerdy. We talk about music alot and he talks about his guitars, 13 of them, with admiration and passion. It amazes me that he knows so much about them and about the history of them and what great musician has played this type of guitar and used these type of strings. It's adorable to me when he gets on his little kicks about what the best guitar is and how there's so many common misconceptions about what guitar is the best, etc, etc.

We talk daily. He texts me to tell me good morning every single morning without fail. He tells me about his family and how awesome they are and how spoiled his niece and nephew are. We talk about the best concerts we've been to and how I was pissed he got to go see Iron Maiden last year and I didn't. Douchebag was supposed to take me, but he bailed. Rocker promised me that when they come back to Chicago, he'll buy us front row seats and when I said that'd be really expensive, he said that I seem to be worth it. He couldn't believe that I'm a Metallica virgin, but we're going to the same show next month. When we go like ten hours without talking, I miss him. Is that crazy? I mean, we haven't even met yet. Does that matter? We've seen pictures of each other, but I mean honestly, pictures lie. Will we feel the same type of connection when we meet? He's asked me a few times when I'm free, and I've told him that after the holidays will work best because my mom is a tradition nazi and refuses to let her daughters do anything that goes against tradition, so that means cooking, decorating, cleaning, celebrating, hot chocolate drinking...everything must be done that has been done for the past years. When he tells me that he'll call me later because he has to go to the gym, I think about him working up a sweat and I imagine seeing him all hot and sweaty and what it'd be like to kiss him and feel him. I finally told him that tonight and he said that he looks damn good and I told him to prove it and he said that maybe if I'd hang out with him tonight, he would. What a tease. I think about talking to him and I compare it with how I talked to douchebag. With douchebag, it was all about sex. I only wanted him to come over so we could hook up. I wanted him to want me all the time. With Rocker, I just want to talk to him. I think it'd be fun to maybe talk a little dirty with him, but it's...deeper than that. So strange to me...I've told Rocker that I'm inappropriate. Okay, that I'm inappropriate a lot of the time, but he didn't seem daunted by it. He didn't ask how, just kind of laughed at it. Hmm. I haven't told him that I love giving head. I haven't told him that I've kissed other girls. I haven't told him about my vibrators. I haven't told him that I watch porn. I haven't told him that I'm kind of insatiable when it comes to physical pleasure and that if I don't masturbate for a few days straight, I go crazy and get really pissy. I wonder if it would freak him out or make him think that I'm a slut. I mean, I am who I am and I like what I like, but I want him to accept me for some reason.

I do like him and I feel like we have a lot in common and maybe something could work out with him...but do things that start online work out? It seems weird to me kind of. Like, it's one thing to bullshit with a person online, knowing you have no interest in seeing them or whatever, but it's different this time. I want to meet him, but I'm anxious about it too, I suppose. But, as my mom says, "What do you have to lose?"

Nothing, mom. Nothing at all.