Awkwardly Social

If you had a desk with a little paper sack adorned with pink construction paper hearts sitting on it, I would put a card in it.

I want to hold your hand

and pet your head

and kiss your neck

and refresh your drink

and get you a blanket

and grab your ass

and tickle your armpit

and hook my finger through your belt loop

and sit in your lap

and catch your eye from across the room

and get your inside joke

I want you to be my Valentime.

Happy Valentime’s Day.

xoxo

I don’t like live music.
I can’t remember if I told you that before.
Tom Jones is the exception.
But isn’t he always?

Also, I think dancing to live music is weird.
Unless you’re at a wedding.
Then it’s just awkward.
But then again, aren’t weddings supposed to be awkward?

Another thing about weddings-
Does it make anyone else uncomfortable that your grandparents think you’re totally going to do it for the first time that night?
I don’t like it when grandparents think about penises and vaginas.
And hymens.

Love is patient
Love is kind
Love washes the dishes
Love wakes you up accidentally to get into bed even though you sort of wish you weren’t woken up but you are and you get kind of grumpy about it but then feel bad, because it’s only 10 PM and who goes to bed that early any way
Love is good in bed
Love touches the rotting chicken in the fridge that you bought before you decided that meat is gross and feel guilty about not eating, but raw chicken has never really been a strong suit for you and so it’s good that love can deal with it
Love forgives you if you snap
Love is never having to say your sorry, but saying it anyway
Love is never wrong, unless Love says that Lost is not worth watching
Love is kind of tired of your bullshit, but puts up with it because there are some things you can do…
Love knows the importance of DSL
Love is patient
Love is kind

You cover my body
And that makes you awesome.
I can’t imagine what my cellulite
would look like without you.
Actually, I can, and it’s gross.

But sometimes I hate you.
I want to storm out of the room and leave you on the couch
slamming the door and screaming SHIT!
But then I realize I’d get blood and muscle everywhere.

If we could talk,
for the most part, I’d say good things.
It’s not like you have boils.
But there’s something I need to ask-
Why are you so mad at me right now?

I really am sorry about that sunburn.
You handled it well.
Only a few wrinkles and one scary discolored patch-
Good job.

People always disrespect you, skin.
They say it’s what’s on the inside that matters.
But you and I know the truth.
You’ve got my back, and well, I’ve…
got the brain.

I’ve been eating my vegetables,
drinking lots of water.
And wearing sunscreen.
You’d think you’d give me a little break.
I’m just wondering-
When are you going to grow the fuck up?

That was mean, I apologize.
I really do love you, Skin.
Moles and all.
Even that dry patch.
-You know the one.
That said, can we work together next month?

You were kind of fat.
Not like, super fat,
but there is definite chunk happening in those early photos.
And the middle photos.
And even some of the late photos.

Drink, drank, drunk - all achieved ad nauseum.
Drinking became fun again.
Really fun.
Throwing up out of cabs fun.
waking up in my own vomit fun.
That doesn’t sound like fun.
And then it wasn’t fun.
But by the end it was fun again.

My, oh my, twenties, you really were distraught.
There was much hand wringing.
And letter writing.
To boys who never intended to make you love them.
And boys who never knew you existed.
I hope they don’t still have those letters, twenties.
Because some day, if someone reads those letters to me-
I’ll be embarrassed.
Or maybe not.
Maybe I’ll think it’s funny that I wrote a free verse poem to
Marcus Russell about how he broke my heart.
And actually gave it to him.
And he kept it.

We moved a lot, twenties.
Nine apartments.
I only wish I could have made it an even ten for some reason.
That’s not a regret.
Just a wish for symmetry.

I don’t really remember the beginning part of you anymore.
I see the fat photos and think -
What was I eating?
And then I remember how Jack in the Box became a regular feature.
Morning, noon and night.
And how I would order a Diet Coke with my Super Sized Jumbo Jack.
That makes me think the early part of you, twenties, was a bit…
misguided.

The middle part -
Oh. Well.
Grad school was awesome.
And then I hated it.
And then I loved it.
And now I’m paying for it.
And honestly -
I wouldn’t do it any differently

Because if I never went to grad school.
I never would have met Jen
And then I wouldn’t have been set up with Louie.
Which brings me to the end part.

I owe a lot to the end part of you, twenties.
Mostly because wine became palatable,
But also because my friends started aging
and they did it sort of awesomely.
And gracefully.

And I fell in love.
For the first time.
I didn’t know it would be like this.

I’m glad you’re over, twenties.
I liked you, sure.
But, I didn’t “like you” like you.
You were over rated, twenties.
I’ll say it.
It wasn’t awesome like the movies make it out to be.
It was more -
Awful.
And lonely.
And scared.
And super fun.
And then hangovery.
And self conscious.
And overreactive.
And melodramatic.
Like my teens, except with credit cards and my own apartment.

I’m not really going to miss you, twenties.
I mean. Maybe a little.
But not as much as some people do.
You’ll get over it.
I promise.
I did.

You are stained with my slobber
I didn’t know I slobbered that much
but you wear the proof of my night time salivation

I bring you everywhere
That is, everywhere I know I’m going to be sleeping
I didn’t bring you to Europe. I guess I thought I wasn’t
going to be sleeping there.

I have never washed you because
I washed your mate and now it’s lumpy
And you remain perfect, if filled with mites.

Now you’re gone.
I bet you never expected to ride in my sister’s suitcase
all the way back to Seattle
But I’m glad you didn’t get left in the hotel room.

You, Pillow. Pillow of mine.
My favorite place to rest my weary head.
Deserve better than being shoved in a closet or under a bed.

I worry that you aren’t going to be as awesome as I remembered
When I finally get to come back to your flat cozy surface.
Seriously.
I’m not joking.