I wish I could convey the way that sounds. But how do I convey wide eyes and a high-pitched tone in the title of a blog post?
At some point last week while I was mired in my car drama and unable to really see or think about anything else, an e-mail popped up in my Yahoo account from Match.com. I pretty much only use my Yahoo account when I have to sign up for something these days -- I'm a Gmail girl. And the e-mail was from Match? I haven't actively used that in years. However, it's really nice to still have an account, as I have friends who are using it. And when Mrs. Dirk was all, "Oh, I'm going to go out on a date with this guy," I could actually check him out. Or, I can spy on other people for my friends who are using it to find the love of their lives. Oh, come on. You've not done that?
So, the last time I logged in to Match was this summer to spy on someone for Mrs. Dirk. Why would someone be winking at me? And why would this someone be the guy who works the front desk at my gym? Oh. Boy.
Actually, I'm not worried that he will realize the girl whose card he indifferently scans several days a week is the same girl he winked at on a popular dating site. The picture of me on there is old as hell and I roll up into the gym every night with "makeup" that's about 18 hours old and hair that's up in a half-assed bun or covered by a hat. Not to mention that I look about a billion times worse when I leave.
Oh, but that's not enough. The dude at Trader Joe's who offered me workout advice a few months ago and always discusses my Celtic cross and shamrock pendants, his Celtic tattoo and our Claddagh rings noted that mine was upside down on Saturday.
"Oh, you're still looking?"
No, I'm really not. However, I'm weird about shit like that. Despite the fact that The Boy I Currently Like and I have been seeing each other for well more than a year and we've been exclusive now for a year, he is not my boyfriend. So, the ring remains upside down. Don't get me wrong -- I dig him. Big time. More than I've dug anyone in a long, long time. But the day you apply those labels is the day one of us could break up with the other. Right now, we'd just stop seeing each other and in theory, it seems much less awful.
Yeah, I'm still gun shy after all these years. It's not that I don't eventually want to get to the labeling point. I do. However, I'm totally happy with the way things are now. No need to rush things, right? Maybe you can see why I just told the TJ's guy "Yeah."
As it turns out, Winky wasn't working the desk tonight, so I didn't have anything to worry about. Man, I gotta tell you, I was so glad to get to the gym tonight. I went yesterday, too, but tonight was yoga night. And after not doing yoga for about a week-and-a-half, I needed this. Yoga did not disappoint. I felt so good after class tonight that I think I love everyone.
Okay, that's not true. Dammit. I still hate the douche on the elliptical machine next to me who stood on the machine for 15 minutes reading the paper in a busy gym with very few pieces of cardio equipment open.
Oh, and the douche from my yoga class, who, a couple of weeks ago, said something to our instructor about not knowing "yoga etiquette." And then said, "Oh well." No. Not, "oh well." You see everyone else in the class waiting until the class before us has their equipment off the floor before we go to take our places. It's not that difficult to figure out how shit works. And then when you realize what is going on, you just say, "Fuck it. I'm more important than everyone else. I'll do what I fucking want." Man, fuck you. I hope that girl who is always dropping her weights drops that shit on your foot. I'm sure some crushed toes will help you figure out yoga etiquette. Ass.
But everyone else? I love y'all.