This is how I chose to spend my Saturday night.

Crap.

I texted Him.

I went against my better judgement, and I texted him. I'd been doing so well---thinking of him day in and day out, yet not giving him the satisfaction (or dissastisfaction, perhaps?) of knowing it. Until tonight. When I texted him.

Me: Miss you. Hope you're doing well.
Him: :) Thanks. Miss you, too. We'll be there in a few weeks.
Me: Wow. Cool. Maybe we can hang out. :)
Him: Yep, that would be awesome.

He lives five hundred miles away, if I haven't already mentioned it. He plays bass in a band with roots near here, and though they moved those five hundred miles a few months back, they're still good at scheduling local shows fairly often. (Note: I knew the band before they moved, and I'm not one of those ridiculous groupies.) I haven't seen Him since we ended things, near the beginning of June.

To the untrained eye, this textual exchange might seem positive. We're talking. I miss him, he misses me. He alluded to a possible meeting, right? But then, you'd have to know Him. You'd have to know that he's that guy. He's a nice guy who says nice things to nice girls whose feelings he'd rather not hurt. You simply can't read too much into anything. But I do. And I will. For the next... who knows how long. These brief messages are enough to send me spiraling back into that same slump. Once again, I'll be crossing my fingers when my phone rings, wishing with all my might that it's his name that shows on the Caller ID.

But it won't be.

See, a few weeks after we broke up and I didn't hear from him, I texted him. (I told you I was a text whore. I am. And in certain situations, like this one, it's much less risky to send a text. Actually hearing rejection is something I'd rather not.) I told him that, though I'd never before cared to maintain friendship with an ex-boyfriend, I wanted to try with him. Considering he'd once told me that he always preferred to remain friends with exes, I figured he'd be all for the idea. And he was, or so he said. Except, any time we've talked since, it's been by my initiation.

And for a while now, I've tried to rationalize it. He mentioned once that it was hard seeing me, talking to me since the break-up. But isn't it that way with every break-up? How could he find a way to be friends with past exes, and not with me? Why am I any different? And after some time, I've wondered, has it been long enough that he's over the initial heartache and realized that he doesn't need me in his life, that he can do without, that he hadn't cared as much as he'd once thought, enough for a reason to now attempt a platonic relationship? Is he over me, in all respects? Has he moved on, hoping that I'll do the same? Should I?

This. Sucks.

And I now wish I hadn't texted him.

[untitled]

"He was my escape. And sometimes, that can feel a whole lot like love."
-Unknown

a blogthing.

At some point, everyone does it. The 100 Things. Here's mine:

1. My middle name is Nicole. I go by my middle name. Always have.
2. I see the world in Crayola colors. Robin's egg blue is my favorite.
3. I make a mean chicken quesadilla.
4. Aside from quesadillas, I can't cook. Unless it came from a box and with detailed instructions.
5. I've never broken a bone, or gotten stitches. *knockonwood*
6. I'm slightly, just slightly, superstitious.
7. I'm a glutton for punishment. I watch sad movies and listen to sad music, by choice.
8. I bite my nails.
9. After four years of college, I was merely a semester from graduating with a degree in elementary education when I decided I'd chosen the wrong career field.
10. Meredith Grey is my hero.
11. I once had a pet hermit crab. I accidently killed it.
12. I hate mathematics.
13. I hate Arkansas, too.
14. I could go vegan. Easily.
15. I'm ridiculously addicted to MySpace.
16. I want to visit Paris. At night.
17. I go nowhere without my little pink iPod.
18. I've never had a good dream, ever.
19. I am. not. a morning person.
20. I miss 80s television. Who's the Boss, ALF, the Wonder Years? Man, yeah.
21. I tried sushi, and loved it. Except for the raw fish thing.
22. I can't manage money for shit.
23. I had a lip piercing. I lost "friends" after getting a lip piercing. Apparently, it wasn't yet the cool thing to do.
24. I drink tequila, and I hate the taste of it.
25. Generally, I drink to get drunk.
26. I oversleep.
27. I'm a cat person.
28. I have a crush on Edward Scissorhands.
29. I'm extremely unphotogenic.
30. I don't like Dunkin' Donuts.
31. Or David Hasselhoff.
32. My Mammaw's chicken and dumplings are boss.
33. I play piano. I began lessons at the age of five-ish.
34. I still prefer old-school Nintendo over any other game system. Mario kicks ass.
35. I'm anemic.
36. In college, my friends jokingly referred to American Hi-Fi's "Flavor of the Weak" as my theme song. I dated a lot. :/
37. I'm late. Always. No matter what. It annoys even me.
38. I've never seen a Harry Potter movie. I've no desire.
39. I used to dance. I quit for a jealous boyfriend.
40. I love roadtrips.
41. I have three half-siblings, but I count only one.
42. I love Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Especially Everything But The..., Phish Food, and Half-Baked. And all the others.
43. I worked for Wal-Mart. For three completely miserable months.
44. I express myself through music lyrics.
45. And quotes. Obviously.
46. I was in a sorority. And was booted for partying too hard.
47. I like bananas, but only if they're mainly still green. No brown spots, none.
48. I drove fourteen hours, round-trip, to see The Used. Bert McCracken is sick and twisted and wonderful.
49. I'll all-but-pass-out when on the receiving end of a needle.
50. Except with piercings or tattoos, strangely enough. I like piercings and tattoos.
51. I have five piercings, two tattoo.
52. My heart. Never healed.
53. I've never been on a diet.
54. I don't do socks.
55. I don't mind the Summer Olympics. The Ryan Lochte part of it.
56. I'd rather go barefoot.
57. But I have a ridiculous shoe collection.
58. I have the wittiest comebacks. But only after the moment's long passed.
59. As a child, I thought I'd become a writer. Until I realized I can't write.
60. Converse go with anything. You'll never convince me otherwise.
61. I'm a sucker for anything acoustic.
62. Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper from Sonic. Makes me happy.
63. I've driven the same car for 10 years.
64. I refuse to wear orange.
65. My very first concert was Lynyrd Skynyrd.
66. I'm afraid of clowns, as cliche as it might be.
67. I'm addicted to crossword puzzles and rounds of Tetris.
68. I'd love to believe that Seattle Grace exists, and that I'll one day work there. No one crush my dream.
69. I rarely match.
70. I text. A lot.
71. I still think emo is cute.
72. I've seen Juno so many times, I could quote it. And oftentimes, do.
73. I have an addiction to Coca-Cola.
74. I love animals more than I like most people.
75. I call everyone "kid." Age doesn't matter.
76. I'm a night owl.
77. I've never cheated on a boyfriend.
78. I believe in God only because it's surely impossible to be angry with Someone in whom you don't believe.
79. I'm a Leo. Passionate, lively, and a little egocentric.
80. I won the sixth grade spelling bee.
81. I don't wear a lot of makeup. But I can't go without eyeliner.
82. I'm the spitting image of my mother. I also inherited her temper.
83. I don't understand the fascination with the Jonas Brothers. Aren't they Hanson, made-over?
84. At the age of thirteen, I had a rather unhealthy obsession with Hanson.
85. Jack Black annoys me.
86. Animal rights.
87. I'm a procrastinator in the worst way.
88. I hold grudges.
89. I can't play guitar. I've tried. And tried.
90. I have a subscription to Better Homes and Gardens. I'd swear it made sense at the time.
91. I was born in Arkansas, but I'm destined for the city.
92. I'm usually a ripped jeans-and-hoodie kind of girl.
93. I have The Hills, seasons one and two, on DVD.
94. I'm a terrible driver.
95. I'm even worse at telling stories.
96. I've been to Disney World.
97. I started smoking at the age of 19, confident that I could quit at any time. And it wasn't until this year that I realized---I'm addicted.
98. I still care, and I'll never tell him.
99. I don't exercise. I wish I did. But I won't.
100. I'm a people-watcher. It's what I do.

Give me chills.

I saw a re-run for So You Think You Can Dance, featuring this piece from Chelsie and Mark. It's easily one of my most favorite routines, ever. Beautifully awkward choreography from Mia Michaels. It's perfect.

And it makes me miss dancing.

what it means to break a heart, again.

I'm 24. Officially.

Monday was my birthday, and it was quite possibly one of the strangest birthdays I've had yet. I came home late, only to find a mountain of atrociously wrapped gifts piled near the garage door. From the ex-boyfriend I left behind nearly six months ago. Each gift had its very own card with an explanation of its significance. I'll admit, it was a nice thought, but it's all so very... awkward.

When I ended things back in February, he gave me the "I'm-not-giving-up-this-easily" line, a line I attributed to sheer dramatics. I cut all ties and hadn't heard from him since. And six months later, this grandsweeping gesture? From the same guy who forgot Christmas?

The things he wrote in those cards were exactly the things I'd wanted to hear...

But not now.
And not from him.