Love and Other Things I'm Bad At, page 22
And speaking of Beth, what gives her the right to be in Italy on term abroad when I need her here? Normally I’d already be at her house. But no, she’s learning about art and architecture. And Italian leather.
Me, sitting, staring at wall.
Wall not responding.
Learning about walls. American walls.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Whatever happened to true love, anyway? Like, wasn’t it supposed to be all perfect? Remember Snow White? She saw that prince guy once, and after a year he came back for her. Shouldn’t Wittenauer be coming back for me any day now? Because I’m dying here.
OK, so Prince Charming went away for a year and let her lie there, half dead, which was not cool, but he came back.
Of course, she sang very well. To birds and animals who followed her. The only animal that follows me around is Oscar, my epileptic mutt.
And occasionally pigeons, when I have food.
8/31
Journals. Overrated.
Blogs. WAY overrated.
There was a period—a very brief period—when I kept a journal online. I created my own blog where I was known by my blogger name, Courtney Von Bloggen.
Several negative things happened, which I will keep brief—you, dear journal, will never turn on me like that, will you? If you do, I will shred you.
Anyway, here’s what happened.
Current boyfriend read blog.
Ex-boyfriend read blog.
Courtney got hideously embarrassed.
Also, Cornwall Falls College started its restricted-access-blogs policy thanks to me, but I don’t want to get into that right now. Involved certain photos of certain faculty members that no one could find on Facebook but were apparently screaming to be noticed once there was a link to my blog.
Link schmink is what I say. Links are chains that bind us to responsibilities, like being responsible for the downfall of Cornwall Falls College’s Dance-a-thon. (And student blogs.)
(Don’t drink if you don’t want to see yourself on the internet in an embarrassing picture that will haunt you forever, I always say. It’s a public service announcement waiting to happen. I mean, if you can’t even uphold one of the most basic principles in life . . . !)
Anyway, here I am, back home in Denver.
Well. Uh. What can I say?
Ooh! IM from Beth! I’d emailed her the news that I was home.
shoe92gurrl: C, u there?
crtveg17: Beth, what am I going 2 do?
shoe92gurrl: IDK. I don’t know what 2 tell u.
crtveg17: Well. Something!
shoe92gurrl: Enroll @Metro? DU? CU, CSU?
crtveg17: No. Stomach hurts just thinking about it. But maybe it’s because I forgot to eat breakfast.
shoe92gurrl: Just had dinner. You won’t believe food here. Gained 5 lbs already. OMG, I know. Come 2 Milan!
crtveg17: For the weight gain?
shoe92gurrl: Lol. OK. GTG. XOXOXO
I smiled. Maybe Beth couldn’t actually help me with this, but just talking to her a little bit helped improve my mood.
First thing I’ve got to do if I’m going to live here is reclaim my bedroom. Mom has converted it into her personal workout center. Treadmill in the middle of it. Mom’s gotten into good shape since I went to college. Now she wants to run a marathon with her new man-friend. A freaking marathon.
Forever and ever after she and Dad divorced, I wanted her to find a guy. Now she has. His name is Sterling. He’s a triathleting consumer credit counselor. And she’s become Ms. Luna Bar.
More like Ms. Lunatic Bar.
Anyway, the thing is that I am afraid to leave the house. What if I run into someone and, well, I don’t know. I’m just so aimless right now. Without aim. It’s like I got fired from a job or something.
And Grant? Where is Grant? Not too far away, actually. Should I call him? I should. But I’m so nervous. I haven’t spoken with him much over the past six months. The last time I talked to him was . . . well, I don’t know. I left him a message back in March. A couple of them, actually.
Agh. No idea what to do. Maybe an email, let him know what’s going on and ask him for advice because I’m totally lost here and only he, cool calm collected type, might know how to help me?
Ew. Hands are too nervous and sweaty to type well.
Hey, Grant. Bet you didn’t expect to hear from me. I didn’t expect to, either. I mean, I didn’t expect to write to you. I mean, not that I didn’t want to write to you, because I totally did, but . . .
Delete. Babbling.
Hey. You won’t believe what happened. Or maybe you will. I had to leave CFC because my funding ran out. So I’m home now. Nothing to do. Don’t have a car.
Delete. Boring.
Hey, Grant. How are you? How’s college? I’m actually at home now. In Denver, I mean. Oscar says hi. It’s a long story but basically my financial aid was canceled so I had to leave—now I have to find a place near here to go. Any advice? I’d love to hear it. Plus, it’d be nice to get back in touch.
And sorry about being such an idiot about the spring break thingy.
CVDS
Man. My initials are hideously close to national drugstore chain.
Also, VD, but we’ve been through that before.
Not VD!!! Just the fact that my middle initials are unfortunate.
Crap. Can’t put this off any longer.
Or can I?
Send.
Sitting here waiting for Grant to instantly write back.
Why would he answer me now, when he refused to before? Maybe he’s over it by now. Maybe he no longer wishes I would be buried by an avalanche.
And you know what? If I have a BF, maybe he has a GF. So there’s no reason why we can’t be friends. That happens, right? All the time. People break up and stay friends. That’s, like, the natural order of things.
Still nothing. No response. This was a big mistake. Am going to bed.
9/1
Just completed watching 13th consecutive episode of Project Runway. Marathon weekend.
Meanwhile, rest of family is running a marathon. Practically.
Oscar has been licking my feet for the past ten minutes. His epilepsy has clearly taken a turn toward scurvy or something; he needs the salt.
Why are my feet salty? I haven’t moved enough to sweat.
Have talked to Jane (who says sophomore year still sucks and am I sure I want to be one), Mary Jo (who saw Corny at student center looking miserable), and Alison (who wants to know why I don’t transfer to her college, when it’s obvious, it’s even farther away from W, and I’m not a musician).
Depression setting in. Must do something. Must get out of house.
Ooh—email just dinged. Hold on.
Mailer Daemon. Returned email. Addressee unknown. Address has permanent fatal error.
Well, that’s not going to work.
Facebook? No, Grant once went on a rant about it and Twitter. “Why do I need to know what people are eating or listening to or how late they stay up and why they can’t sleep and—”
Well, I had to cut him off. It was a seriously long rant and I had other stuff to do. Like, eat, listen to music, stay up late, and post about it.
#Courtneyfail.
LATER
Not sure leaving the house was the best idea. First, ran into strange neighbor across the street, the Broncos–obsessed guy who never stops working on his yard.
“What are you doing here?” Mr. Novotny paused mid–leaf blow to confront me.
“Excuse me?”
“Thought you were at college.”
“I was. I mean, I still am.” I coughed. “I’m transferring, I guess.”
“Dropped out, huh? Why?” He didn’t seem thrilled about the idea of me living at home. And why did he automatically assume I was a dropout? I was on dean’s list, Mr. Novotny! I wanted to say, but that seemed like TMI.
“The economy?” I said. “And, uh, I didn’t drop out. I was asked to leave,” I said softly, realizing it didn’t sound any better to phrase it that way.
“Stupid economy. You know that’s the reason they got rid of Shanahan.”
“Shana . . . who?”
“Mike Shanahan. Greatest coach in Broncos history. Surely you haven’t forgotten him.”
“No, surely not.” I smiled and raced to the car. I hadn’t had a car in Wisconsin—I hadn’t needed one on campus. Now I have to beg and plead to borrow Bryan’s. There is a certain amount of lost dignity involved when you’re driving a Hyundai hatchback with a BOYZ WILL BE BOYZ bumper sticker.
Anyway, drove to Truth or Dairy to visit Gerry. A friendly face would cheer me up, I thought. Also, so would a Coconut Fantasy Dream smoothie. Perhaps a couple of them.
Got a funny feeling when I walked in.
One: no teen employees like me around. Just Gerry, former high school counselor and current owner of smoothie ice-cream shop.
Two: Gerry looked as though he had lost about 50 pounds, and while that is no doubt good for his health, it just didn’t look right on him. I’m used to him being a friendly bear, not the Biggest Loser.
Three: He hugged me as if he hadn’t seen me for 10 years, rather than a couple of months.
“Gerry. Everything OK?” I asked.
He reached into a bin and scooped a cupful of nuts. “Remember when we used to have pecans? You loved pecans.” He handed me the cup. “Have a peanut.”
“Um . . .”
“Pecans are just another unfortunate victim of the new economy. Premium toppings?” He made a slashing motion across his throat. “Oreos? History.”
“Oreos are premium toppings?”
“You learn to make tough calls over the years.” He hoisted his loose pants with his belt loops.
Riggggghhhhht. “Are you, um, eating OK, Gerry?” I asked.
He laughed. “Fine. Just trying to get fit.”
What’s with everyone? Is the city of Denver giving people money to lose weight and get in shape or something?
And if so, how much does it pay and where do I sign up?
On my way back to the car, glanced over at the other stores in the strip mall. Pet Me was still there. Memory flashed back to the time I accused Grant of stalking me when in fact he worked at that store, that happened to be in the same strip mall where I worked. So. Embarrassing.
But he forgave me for being such a conceited twerp. And I started falling for him.
Then there was the time I went to apologize to him to try to win him back and he was so cold to me, because I hadn’t been honest with him, and then I got upset and tripped over a fish tank on my way out.
But then we made up and he helped me organize this big fund-raiser where Pet Me gave our school half the proceeds from dog groomings and Truth or Dairy served up free smoothies. The perfect event.
Why did we break up, anyway?
Oh, right. Consequences of the Long-distance Relationship. He and Beth had a minifling. That was hugely awful at the time, but I decided I couldn’t NOT forgive Beth, and now when I think about the two of them ever kissing it’s almost laughable. Almost. If I’m in a good mood.
Anyway, the fact that they kissed meant that I didn’t feel so bad when Wittenauer and I kissed. But basically, everything went haywire. LDRs. Hate them.
And that was freshman year, in a nutshell. Preferably a pecan. A premium topping. As if.
9/2
After using superhuman powers to turn off VH1, I rode my bike over to the University of Denver campus to look around. Even if Beth is in Italy now, it’d be fun to go to the same school when she gets back. Beautiful campus, students roaming around looking happy and not stressed. DU sounds a bit like “DUH,” but is nowhere near as bad as CFC, chlorofluorocarbon, my previous school. Where, I’d like to announce, again, I made dean’s list spring semester. Even if that same dean did call me to his office to tell me I was being cut from any and all CFC lists.
Am I obsessing about dean’s list? Sorry. I just find it so ironic that it makes me a bit ill.
When Mom got home from work, I told her my brilliant idea.
She just chopped a leafy green and said it would be too expensive because DU is a private school, and that I need to go to a state school, for in-state tuition. “You know, Metro State.” Chop. “Colorado State.” Chop. “University of Colorado.” Chop chop.
My stomach turned into a giant knot. Those are no doubt awesome schools. The problem is that I know people at two out of three of them. And by “people” I mean my two ex-boyfriends that I don’t want to see because I kind of hate one of them, and one of them kind of hates me.
Probably I should be mature enough to not let that bother me. But I’m not.
Then Mom asked if I wanted to go running with her before dinner. Um, no. But I did go for a long bike ride. Since that’s my primary mode of transportation right now, I’d better get in good biking shape. Can just see me riding round-trip to Boulder every day. I’d barely get there in time for my classes and would be a sweaty, disgusting mess. Mom would think that was so great. Classmates would think I smelled. And would be correct.
9/3
Have been talking to Wittenauer on the phone for two hours straight. Ear hurts. He wants me to move back to town even if I am not going to be in college anymore. Said he knew he was being selfish but didn’t care. Said I could work for a year and then reapply for aid in the spring and in the meantime we’d be together.
“Where would I work?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Bagle Finagle? Or you could wait tables somewhere.”
“Right. Right! Definitely!” I said, though the thought of returning to BF made my shoulders slump.
Being a senior, Wittenauer has a different outlook on life. He’s been thinking about “the real world” a little more than I have, which is to say, a little, anyway. He said I could wait and apply to wherever he decides to apply for law school and we’d be at the same college again, like at UW.
The way he described it, and us, sounded nice, better than nice even, but as I’m lying here thinking about it, that would mean postponing college. A whole year.
And then maybe not even getting another financial aid package for the next year. “I don’t want to do that. I want to finish college in four years because . . .”
“I’ll be done with law school then,” Wittenauer said. “I know.”
Actually, it has nothing to do with him or his plans. I just want to be done in four years. I have my own goals, and the sooner I graduate with my degree, the sooner I can save the environment, animals, planet, etc.
Plus, I have this cousin, Karl, who has been in college for, like, eight years, and everyone complains about him all the time, and his parents have totally cut him off.
9/4
I’m on the bus to Boulder—Bryan claimed he needed his car today. I’m all in favor of public transportation, but this bus seems to run on an endless cloud of diesel fumes. Thought that Colorado had a zero-tolerance emissions policy. Or maybe that’s a zero-tolerance admissions policy, so why am I heading to the University of Colorado?
Because Mom and I got into a huge fight. Huge. One of our worst ever.
She said I must find a new college to attend and move out. Me? Loser of financial aid? Now must be homeless?
“You know, when I was your age, I wouldn’t have wanted my parents looking over my shoulder. You want to be free to live your own life, don’t you?” she asked.
“Well, yeah.”
“And besides, I need my privacy,” she said.
“Hold on a second. Bryan still lives here,” I pointed out.
“That’s different.”
“How is that different? Because he’s a boy? Because he doesn’t cook with tofu and isn’t vegetarian? Because he’s a runner, so that’s OK because now everyone has to take some kind of running test to live here?”
“No. Because he’s still in high school, he’s under eighteen, and he needs me. And two, because he leaves the house occasionally to go to school,” Mom said. “And you don’t.”
“Oh. Low blow, Mom. None of this is my fault.”
“No, but if you ever want to graduate from college, you’d better start moving. Sprinting. Now.”
Everything she says now has to have some sort of running connection. Annoying.
OK fine, I know that, and I’m the one who wants to stay in school and not miss a semester, but I still don’t want to go to Boulder.
Too many unpleasant memories of visiting ex there and thinking we’d get back together when we so obviously weren’t. Am getting off at next stop.
Phew. This bus is better. Much better. Less smelly.
Wait a second. Where is this bus going? Thought it was back to Denver.
Just asked overly cologned guy sitting next to me. “Fort Collins,” he said.
WHAT? Totally misread schedule. No, no, no. Grant is there and I’m not ready to see him yet!
OK, so it’s a big town. A city. And chances of seeing him are really slim. But I have just that kind of luck lately.
Or. Perhaps universe is sending me a signal. That I should ditch CU–Boulder for CSU–Fort Collins. But am I in any position to ditch anyone? Actually, this is more of a begging and pleading because my life is passing me by kind of situation.
Miles are going by. I should call Grant, I thought. I should ask him for help, tell him what’s going on. But I don’t want to see him, or at least, I’m dreading the first time I do. What would I say, anyway? “Remember when I asked you to go on spring break and we totally made plans, but then I freaked out at the last second and told you I wasn’t coming and I was seeing someone else?”
Crap. Just spilled Diet Squirt all over my transcript.
