“Be Still My Heart”

A short story based on the song by the Postal Service, “Be Still My Heart”, written by me.

The light was creeping in through the blinds as I fell in and out of sleep. It wasn’t until a good while later that my eyes sprang open with the sudden awareness that someone else was in bed with me. I turned slowly over only to be met with a wild mane of blonde curls that somehow looked better the morning after rather than the night before.

I didn’t think she would stay. I hoped and prayed that she would, but I knew not to get my hopes up. Here she was, though. She always had a knack for proving me wrong, though not always for the better. I let out a quiet sigh and glanced at the alarm clock and saw that I was going to be late for work. My clothes from the day before were in a pile beside the bed and I threw them and ran my fingers through my hair. I’d look like shit at work, but couldn’t muster up enough energy to care.

I wasn’t sure if I should wake her or not. She looked content. I liked the image of her sleeping in my bed. MY bed. I remember seeing her the night before, with that jackass in the torn jeans and faux-hawk. She caught my eyes with hers, silently pleading to rescue her. When I walked over, I heard the tail end of a conversation about his band. I fought to the urge to roll my eyes.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but Jenna’s having one of her meltdowns in the girls bathroom.” I pointed my thumb back behind me for good measure.

“I bet it’s about Chris, he was supposed to be here tonight.” She gave Mr. Faux-hawk an apologetic smile and scampered away. I reached to the table next to him to refill my drink.

“Hey, you know if she’s dating anyone?” I tried not to let my shoulders tense, turning it into a shrug. I looked up and saw him looking in the direction of the bathrooms.

“Last I heard, she was getting pretty serious with some guy, but I haven’t heard anything lately.” That’s right, casual indifference. Walk away now. Nothing to see here.

“Ah, forget that then. Chicks on the rebound are the worst, right?” He turned his full attention to me. I held up my red plastic cup to knock against his.

“I’ll drink to that.” I took a swig and made my escape. I must have found her later, although I couldn’t recall how or when.

I left her a note and set it on my now empty pillow, locked the door quietly behind me and made my way to the bus stop. Luck must have been on my side. Just as I settled myself leaning against the light pole the bus pulled up. The bus ride went by fast. No one said anything at work about my attire, but then again everyone pretty much kept to themselves. I sat down and stared at the computer screen, willing myself to work. I should have called in sick. I could still tasted last night’s beer in the back of my throat and my back was killing me.

I kept trying to remember what happened, but all I could remember was her face looking down at me with that smile that I was sure she saved for me. I never saw her give that warmth to other guys she had dated.

I looked at the clock in the corner of the screen and saw that only half and hour had passed. I was sure that my boss had seen me come in. I grabbed my backpack and darted out the side door of the building. I rushed getting back home for some reason. It felt like she might disappear and I would never see her again. I didn’t even remember getting the cab, just tossing the driver a ten dollar bill before bolting up the stoop of the apartment building.

I fumbled with my keys and fumbled more trying to get the deadbolt to cooperate. Suddenly, the lock turned and the door swung open with the key still in the lock. She stood there smirking, like she knew I’d come back for her. I didn’t doubt it for a second.

I smirked back. She let out a giggle and grabbed the collar of my shirt to pull me in. It echoed down the hallway and I could have gotten down on my knees right then and there and thanked whatever god was in control of my previously pathetic life. I pulled her close and aimed a kiss just under her ear.

“All mine.” I whispered. A blush crept up her cheeks and she buried her face in the crook of my neck. I pulled her close and let this new feeling wash over me. It felt like the beginning of something. Like starting over.

The light was creeping in through the blinds as I fell in and out of sleep. It wasn’t until a good while later that my eyes sprang open with the sudden awareness that someone else was in bed with me. I turned slowly over only to be met with a wild mane of blonde curls that somehow looked better the morning after rather than the night before.

I didn’t think she would stay. I hoped and prayed that she would, but I knew not to get my hopes up. Here she was, though. She always had a knack for proving me wrong, though not always for the better. I let out a quiet sigh and glanced at the alarm clock and saw that I was going to be late for work. My clothes from the day before were in a pile beside the bed and I threw them and ran my fingers through my hair. I’d look like shit at work, but couldn’t muster up enough energy to care.

I wasn’t sure if I should wake her or not. She looked content. I liked the image of her sleeping in my bed. MY bed. I remember seeing her the night before, with that jackass in the torn jeans and faux-hawk. She caught my eyes with hers, silently pleading to rescue her. When I walked over, I heard the tail end of a conversation about his band. I fought to the urge to roll my eyes.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but Jenna’s having one of her meltdowns in the girls bathroom.” I pointed my thumb back behind me for good measure.

“I bet it’s about Chris, he was supposed to be here tonight.” She gave Mr. Faux-hawk an apologetic smile and scampered away. I reached to the table next to him to refill my drink.

“Hey, you know if she’s dating anyone?” I tried not to let my shoulders tense, turning it into a shrug. I looked up and saw him looking in the direction of the bathrooms.

“Last I heard, she was getting pretty serious with some guy, but I haven’t heard anything lately.” That’s right, casual indifference. Walk away now. Nothing to see here.

“Ah, forget that then. Chicks on the rebound are the worst, right?” He turned his full attention to me. I held up my red plastic cup to knock against his.

“I’ll drink to that.” I took a swig and made my escape. I must have found her later, although I couldn’t recall how or when.

I left her a note and set it on my now empty pillow, locked the door quietly behind me and made my way to the bus stop. Luck must have been on my side. Just as I settled myself leaning against the light pole the bus pulled up. The bus ride went by fast. No one said anything at work about my attire, but then again everyone pretty much kept to themselves. I sat down and stared at the computer screen, willing myself to work. I should have called in sick. I could still tasted last night’s beer in the back of my throat and my back was killing me.

I kept trying to remember what happened, but all I could remember was her face looking down at me with that smile that I was sure she saved for me. I never saw her give that warmth to other guys she had dated.

I looked at the clock in the corner of the screen and saw that only half and hour had passed. I was sure that my boss had seen me come in. I grabbed my backpack and darted out the side door of the building. I rushed getting back home for some reason. It felt like she might disappear and I would never see her again. I didn’t even remember getting the cab, just tossing the driver a ten dollar bill before bolting up the stoop of the apartment building.

I fumbled with my keys and fumbled more trying to get the deadbolt to cooperate. Suddenly, the lock turned and the door swung open with the key still in the lock. She stood there smirking, like she knew I’d come back for her. I didn’t doubt it for a second.

I smirked back. She let out a giggle and grabbed the collar of my shirt to pull me in. It echoed down the hallway and I could have gotten down on my knees right then and there and thanked whatever god was in control of my previously pathetic life. I pulled her close and aimed a kiss just under her ear.

“All mine.” I whispered. A blush crept up her cheeks and she buried her face in the crook of my neck. I pulled her close and let this new feeling wash over me. It felt like the beginning of something. Like starting over.

New 8tracks mix! Rock Your Face Off!!!

http://8tracks.com/catdavis/rock-your-face-off-srsly

The Archetypes of Internet Dating

Today is the day I give up online dating. The minute I decided I was immediately filled with relief and way more free time. What was so exhausting about it? A lot of things. The constant checking of my inbox. Did I get a new message? Did that guy see that I looked at his profile? Waiting for the internet to cough up the perfect guy was becoming a nightmare. Why? Because it had become hopelessly boring. Maybe I spent too much time looking at profiles but they began to bleed all together. I started to notice that there was a short, dependable variety of guys on the internet.

Type #1: The guy who lives in the bathroom.

Yes, we’ve all encountered them at some point. Shirts and grammar are clearly not their thing. And why take a picture of yourself when you can take a picture of you taking a picture of yourself?  It’s almost like we’re standing right next to him in his mother’s bathroom. Don’t worry about hearing he doesn’t have a job. He just likes to hang out and relax (in his parents basement).

Type #2: The guy who likes to stand next to his truck.

He’s portly and rugged and his budweiser hat is screaming “I AM MAN!” (Hear Me Fart!). He’s looking for a real, honest woman who likes to have fun. In his truck. Yes, his truck is his baby. Not his actual baby, who he sees every other weekend and holiday. Give them one date and they’ll wine and dine you at the nearest Applebees. You find yourself unable to peel your eyes away from his sleeveless confederate flag t-shirt. I hope someone likes pot bellies!

Type #3: Mr. Too-Good-To-Be-True

You can’t  believe it. He’s fit and athletic, yet sensitive and artistic. He’s graduating this spring with a degree in engineering and he lists God, family, and good friends as the three things he can’t live without. You finally read to the end of this profile and, what’s this? Oh, he just got out of a long-term relationship. Well, that’s ok – NOT. You start to notice that all of his pictures feature him and half of a girls face smooshed next to his. All of his pictures are of him and his cropped out ex-girlfriend. Next!

Type #4: The Scary Nerd-Recluse from High School

His hair is jet black…to match his trench coat. He has a dark sense of humor and his favorite hobbies are “writing poetry, D&D, and building his computer.” The only thing darker than his hair are the circles under his eyes – and his soul. Not that you’ll have to worry about him, because he’s an atheist and even worse – he voted for Ron Paul. What’s the most private thing he’s willing to admit on his profile? Virgin!

So there you have it. There are a few more categories out there and I could spend all day taking cheap shots at them, but I’ve spent enough time trying to figure guys out.

It’s not me, it’s you.

I have officially broken up with Twitter. I actually love Twitter or, at least, the idea of it. I hopped on the Tweeting bandwagon sometime in late 2008. I found all my favorite youtube celebs and some great local socialites and blogs that I became quite addicted to.

And then I realized it was just as out of touch and emotionally detached as any other social networking website. Instead of the number of friends, it was the number of followers. Forget @ing anyone of any higher status than yourself and getting a response. It’s useless. No problem, though. I turned to my friends and family, who I know would be more entertaining to me than Ashton any day of the week. Only, they had no idea what Twitter was, let alone anything to tweet about.

I decided to call it quits when I found more “social networking gurus” than real users.  I really like using more than 140 characters to express my thoughts and opinions. If Twitter could somehow incorporate HashTags.org into their site, it could really liven Twitter up before it goes way of Myspace. (sidenote: found out even my mother ditched Myspace for Facebook…does that mean Facebook is next?)

So there you have it. A pretty amicable break-up. I accept Twitter’s simplicity so long as Twitter whores accept my complexity.