Made in Richmond

While stopping by the mall this evening, I walked into Macy’s and suddenly felt like I was 14 years old.

It was the cologne that did it.

Ross never wears cologne and never has. His natural smell (when showered and, who am I kidding, even when not) is deliciously wonderful and I would be devastated if he tried to cover it up. But, there was a time when I liked boys who wore cologne. Specifically one boy who wore cologne.

We’ll call him Jonathan because that was his name.

We had gone to school together since 6th grade, but I didn’t meet him until we were both in Mrs. Kass’s (why in the hell do I remember her name?) class for 8th grade science. This was the class in which I discovered the glory that is *boys.*

I don’t know why it was this class specifically, but that’s how I remember it. Before that class, I was able to tell if a boy was cute, but never felt any interest. Once that class started, I was well aware of the opposite sex and of Jonathan specifically.

I remember him as always being nice to me and that he smelled really, really good. Plus, I thought his brown hair, brown eyes, and dark skin were about the best thing ever. And I knew he liked me, too.

But alas, we couldn’t get our eighth grade acts together and our interactions never went beyond the 60 minutes we spent in class together.

Then high school happened.

I hadn’t thought much about Jonathan over the summer; I was too busy getting my braces off and going through Puberty: The Accelerated Edition. I remember being slightly disappointed that we didn’t have any classes together, but my new ninth grade wisdom told me that ship had sailed and not to give it another thought.

And then we saw each other in the hall and that ship turned right back around and headed straight for my 14 year old heart.

Various flirtations took place for the next couple months, leading up to when he finally asked me to be his girlfriend. A relationship an entire year in the making - I felt so grown up and mature.

We talked on the phone a lot and never saw each other outside of school. The only time we saw each other in the evening was when we met up to see the fall play. It was then that he gave me my first kiss in the hallway outside of the auditorium, next to the girls’ bathroom (across from the chorus room, for those of you who are familiar with this setting). I remember not enjoying the specifics of the kiss very much but it was a boy! who liked me! who wanted to kiss me! Who cares?!?!?

I got over the who cares part pretty quick.

A few months later (during the Blizzard of ‘96, actually) I decided that I didn’t want to be Jonathan’s girlfriend anymore. While we talked on the phone that day, I told him so.

“I don’t think we should go out anymore.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t really want to.”

“Ok….well, can we be friends?”

“Yeah, sure.”

We weren’t.

We didn’t talk for 3 years after that. I felt pretty horrible about it.

I tried to talk to him right after it happened but he wasn’t into it. And then I was an asshole and got pissed at him for not wanting to talk, and just stopped trying.

By the time we were seniors, we had become so different from each other that it reached the point where it wasn’t even like we were those people who once went out. We’d see each other in the hall or at lunch, say hi and smile, both of us (well, at least me) thinking, “We went out? What was that all about?”

I’ve heard just a few things about Jonathan since we graduated, but nothing very specific. We haven’t had a full conversation since the day I broke up with him almost 12 years ago. But I still think about him from time to time.

Especially when I walk into a department store.

Do you know who’s at the mall? Teenagers. Lots of them. In droves even. And they run and yell. A lot. And they make me weep for the day that my children will be the cause of headaches of complete strangers (much like the one I have now).

Today I had a bona fide rant about people failing to use the serial comma. To multiple people. And then I realized I was insane.*

I am a rabid supporter of this neglected punctuation mark. Guys, it’s important. Look at these two sentences modeled after book dedication (a variation of which appears in the wikipedia entry, but also happens to be the example I frequently use when arguing the issue):

“To my parents, George Washington and God.”

versus

“To my parents, George Washington, and God.”

That, my friends, is a HUGE difference.

I’m not asking you to change your habits, but I do want you to realize that if I see you failing to use it, part of my soul dies. If you’re ok with that being on your head, then go along your merry-and-unspecific way.

*I am aware of at least one person who would feel equally passionate about this, whether she agrees with me on it or not.

This is currently in our refrigerator:

To *me*, the item to the right looks suspiciously like what can be found in a sick baby’s diaper. To Ross, it’s what he and Justin will eat while tailgating for the ACC Championship.

(On the left is Pom, the key ingredient to Step 1 of making Valerie very suggestible.)

It’s called Quarter Life. TheBossMan told me about it. It’s from the creators of My So-Called Life, and anyone born between 1975 and 1983 knows what that means: overly thought out dialogue that kinda makes your heart ache.

You should watch it. It caters to our lack of attention spans with episodes that are around 10 minutes long.

Go take a look. But don’t join the social networking part because, come on, you don’t need another one.

Go here to read about Jeremiah, husband of Leah who is the sister-in-law of Jennifer.

*Credit to Zoot for posting it first.

Ross let me know this afternoon that he was starting to get a sore throat. He asked me to pick up soup, orange juice, and Zicam on the way home. He’s now lying on the couch with a very snuggly dog preparing to alternatively sleep and “pee out” the sickness. And it will totally work, as it always does. I honestly think I could bring home an exotic strand of smallpox and he would just drink some water, take a nap, and it will all be over in a matter of hours.

Cut to a week and a half ago with me having the same symptoms. Instead of resting, I decided to keep staying up late and stressing out about important things like how I will never keep our dogs from scratching up the new floors. Then I spent 3 days in bed with a 100+ fever.

You’d think I would have caught on by now.

It’s currently 1:54am. That’s in the morning. I’ve been trying to sleep since about 10:30. I spent most of the evening fighting off yawns, apparently to the point where all of my adrenaline kicked in and I’m now a nervous wreck. It doesn’t help that this song is also stuck in my head. I’m going to try and stay out of bed until 2:30, hoping by then I’ll be tired again and therefore able to get about 4 hours of rest before getting up for work. Awesome awesome awesome.

Wednesday: Left work at about 12:30. Home to vacuum the upstairs. Got my antibiotics refilled. Some puttering. Um, yeah I don’t remember really at all.

Thursday: Thanksgiving celebration at my dad’s. Went to Matt’s parents’ house and caught up with great friends. Home for a whole lot of nothing.

Friday: Slept in probably. More of nothing. Visited with Maura for a while. More vacuuming. Rearranging of the living room. To bed.

Saturday: Thanksgiving Part 2 at my mom’s. Home to nap. Saw Superbad. Wished I were a boy. To bed late.

Sunday: Up and to the gym for the first time in like a million years. Sold a chair on craigslist and made $20 in about 3 seconds. To church. Dinner at Kuba Kuba. Now I will frantically work on my Project Runway post for RVANews. I hope remember how to do my job when I go back to work tomorrow.

Have a great week!