The Loch Ness Baby

Last week, I had dreams about babies. Talking babies. In fact, I dreamt of talking babies three times in one week.

The first dream involved Eloise, the girl I used to nanny. She's 7 now, and she was in my dream, but she was a 7-year-old baby who could talk. The second dream was even more bizarre. I had a baby of my own (also a girl), but she was covered in scales, and I had scales too, under my arms. I decided we would both go to the doctor so he could treat our "psoriasis." The third dream, I don't actually remember much about the talking babies, but I know they were there somewhere. What I do remember is that I got a giant bouquet of red roses from none other than Tom Brady, only Tom is apparently short for his real name, which is "Colonel." I know because that's what was written on the invoice for the roses. 

I was freaked out by these dreams, so I turned to the expert in dreams: Grayer. You may not know this, but in addition to being a professional DNA machine builder, Grayer is also an expert in dream analysis. And this time, I think she hit the nail on the head. 

According to Grayer, the talking babies are my rationalization of wanting to actually have one. The baby with scales represents the fact that I think there's something wrong with me, either for wanting to have a baby, or for not having had one by now. And as for Colonel Tom Brady? That's easy. I want a man to come in and take control, just like a quarterback, or a colonel. 

Huh. This all makes perfect sense. One half of me feels like there IS something wrong with me. Not necessarily that I don't have a baby by now, but that I'm not at all in a position to have one. The other half of me feels like I shouldn't feel this way. I'm a modern, independent woman, and I should be completely fine with that. I don't need anything to hold me down. So yes, I'm a bit conflicted. 

And yes, I DO want a man to come in and take control and be there and not play games and not disappear. Is that so wrong? 

I'm sure this was brought on by Luigi's flakiness, and my disappointment that he couldn't step up to the plate.   Batting next? We'll see.

My life in an e-card

This e-card sums up my life so beautifully I want to send it to everyone I know. In fact, I already sent it to my mother as a reminder of how proud of me she should be. She'll just be so tickled.

Change of subject:
You know how guys ask for your number and say you should get together sometime and then they never call you? Or they cancel on you? Well after Luigi and I exchanged about 10 text messages trying to find a time to get together and settled on lunch on Thursday, he called me while I was in class on Tuesday... to tell me that he had changed his plans, and did I still want to get a drink after my class? Um, yes please.

So we met up for a drink that turned into dinner. My crush is definitely justified. He's still adorable. Still funny. Still comfortable. And he doesn't smoke. Whew! (Seriously, while I was walking to meet him, I kept thinking to myself, "if he's a smoker, I'm going to be so crushed." It's just so gross.) We shut the restaurant down. The staff was polishing silverware by the time we finally paid the bill. Or, rather, the time he paid the bill. I had gone to use the bathroom, and when I came back, I realized he had already asked for the bill and paid it. When I asked how much it was, he ignored my question and changed the subject. Awwww.

The best part is that our lunch date for tomorrow is still on. I was already looking forward to it by the time he kissed both my cheeks and said ciao ciao!

I'm not a player, I just crush a lot

I don't generally crush a lot. But now I have a crush. And no, it's not Don Quixote.

Don Quixote has actually fallen out of my favor, shall we say. My friend Cecilia, who was playing double agent by getting the scoop from him and reporting back to me, asked if I wanted her to give him my phone number. I told her she could give it to him if he asked for it, but not to push it. And I meant it. He didn't ask for it. I didn't too much care. Don Quixote was just... fun.

On Saturday, Don Quixote had people over to his tiny flat for his birthday. My friends and I were invited, so we all went. The last time I had seen him was in his tiny flat, when he showed me out the door while he was stark naked. This time, though, he was fully clothed when he answered the door. It wasn't awkward or anything, and while I had shaved my legs (just in case), it wasn't long before I realized that I really didn't want to be spending the night again at his place. The flat had an odor to it that I hadn't noticed last Saturday night. Then again, so did Don Quixote. It was a bachelor odor. Sweat and alcohol and a lack of fresh air. It wasn't a turn on. 

But it wasn't just the odor. There was something about Don Quixote that I just wasn't feeling as much as last Saturday. Then he got sloppy drunk and kind of obnoxious, and my view of him really went down. 

But not all is lost. Between the time that I realized I didn't want to hook up with Don Quixote again and his obnoxious drunkenness, I met Luigi, the Italian. He was friendly and funny and (even better!) he thought I was funny. And he was kind of downright adorable. Or, as my friend Amelie put it, he's "not too ugly." He's not ugly at all, but she's French, and they are a very negative people. To them, "not too ugly" is probably one of the highest compliments. (Luckily, he had only met Don Quixote about two days prior to this through a mutual friend so it's not as if they're BFFs.) 

Finally, it was time to leave Don Quixote's stinky apartment and go out. I asked Luigi if he was joining, but he said he was due at someone else's birthday party about 3 hours earlier. He might want to join up with us later though, so he asked for my phone number. You know, in case he wanted to meet up with us later. 

We managed to ditch the drunken Don Quixote and his drunk Spanish posse by ducking into a random bar, which seemed great until we looked around and realized the average age of everyone around us was approximately 18. We tried somewhere else, but we had lost the motivation to be out, so decided to head to the tube... just as Luigi texted me asking where we had ended up. 

I decided against making everyone stay out on the off chance Luigi actually found us. If he didn't, I would have ended up feeling pretty stupid, and I don't like that feeling. So I told him we were heading home, but that we should get together for a beer soon. He agreed. 

He texted me today to wish me luck on the assignment that I have due tomorrow that I had been complaining about on Saturday. (He remembered!) I wondered out loud if I should ask him for a celebratory drink on Tuesday night after handing in my assignment.

"Do you want to?" said Amelie.

 "Yes."

 "Then do it!"

 Ok then. So I did. The rest of the text conversation went something like this:

Luigi: I would love to get a drink on Tuesday, but damn it, I can't. How about Thursday? 

(I took it as a good sign that he was suggesting another time, as opposed to saying "some other time, though.")

Vi: I can't on Thursday. How's your Friday look? 

(Thursday I'm watching Glee with Fen and I won't cancel for a boy.)

Luigi: I might have to go to Italy on Friday for the weekend. How's Wednesday before dinner?

Vi: I have class on Wednesday until 8:30 (Which Fen advised me to skip.) After?

Luigi: I can't, it's my flatmate's birthday. I won't give up though! How about lunch? Tuesday? Thursday?

Vi: Oooh! Thursday! I can do lunch on Thursday!

So we're having lunch on Thursday. I told him that was really complicated and it better be worth it. He told me it would be. I kind of like him. I have a crush.