See You in the Real World

My last post was about doing things you’ve never done before and how it may change your life for the better.

Well sometimes it doesn’t.

Tonight was shaping up to be a great night. I’d already been to the driving range, gone on a run, had a great dinner (Japanese), and my friends and I had decided to rent the new Batman Movie before shifting back into exam-week gear.

Two friends and I drove to the nearest Blockbuster to pick it up only to realize after 15 minutes of searching that it doesn’t come out on DVD until December 9th.

After spending 20 more minutes arguing over what to get instead (I even called a third party to offer some insight), we gave up and decided to just see what was On Demand.

Half an hour ago, my friends decided to see The Strangers, the scary movie of this past summer.

They asked if I wanted to join them and as much as I love spending time/watching movies with my friends, I was forced to decline…

…and here’s why:

This summer, knowing that I’m easily scared, a girl invited me to see The Strangers in the theater. I think it was some poorly planned, twisted form of flirting.

I initially declined but when she offered to pay (making it officially a date), I obliged.

Now, I don’t see scary movies. I freak out enough as it is during the darker parts of movies like Signs, The Bourne Identity, James and Giant Peach, Fantasia and Step Up 2.

So I made a conscious decision when I was 12 never to see a movie that’s advertised as ’scary’.

Until The Strangers.

I didn’t go into the movie blind though. No, no. I was smarter than that.

I read all the spoilers and knew all the plot turns. I knew every time something popped out or someone died. I knew it all.

I knew it so well that I went into the theater with something resembling confidence.

I even had grandiose visions of her being more frightened and surprised than me. She’d have to curl up next to me and I could be the strong, confident man to protect her from anything that might actually come out of the screen and endanger her.

Then the movie started and all my something-resembling-confidence dissolved into the opening song.

I immediately started shaking and when I tried to cover my eyes or ears (or both), the girl found it inexplicably hilarious and forced me to stop.

She kept this up until around halfway through the movie when she realized that I had begun crying…

At that point she pretty much stopped acknowledging me and just focused on the movie.

After the movie, we avoided talking about what happened at all (especially the crying) and conversation, as you might guess, was forced.

I drove her home and after I dropped her off, texted some sort of awkward apology.

Needless to say, she did not text back.

So right now, while all my friends are pretending to enjoy The Strangers, I’m here with you, my real friends.

Thank you for understanding.

UPDATE: They just started Happy Feet. I think I can handle that one. See y’all later.

It’s great. You can now watch TV on your computer, find the answer to any question with a few clicks of a button, or identify a song’s title and artist by holding your phone to the speaker.

But sometimes, it’s not so great.

Sometimes, it’s miserable.

I woke up this morning ready to take on the world. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the squirrels were scrambling around desperately trying to store enough food so they don’t starve this winter.

Life was good…

…and then I sent a text message…

…to a girl.

And everything went dark.

There’s just something binding about a text message. When you call someone on the phone, when she doesn’t answer, you can always not leave a voicemail to keep her guessing. With texting though, you might as well preface each text with, “I want to talk to you now and here’s why…”

That’s why it’s so stressful when she doesn’t reply immediately. And if you’re anything like me, she rarely does.

And here’s the thing, it’s not like I’m in love with the girl I texted today. She changed her major to advertising, wanted to talk to me about it, I told her I’d let her know when I was free, end of story.

Yet, I still checked my phone every four minutes for the next three hours and every time I saw no missed calls and no new texts, I got that sinking feeling deep in my stomach, you know, just below the rib cage.

Each time I looked at my phone, for some reason, I thought you know what, this is it. This time she’ll have responded. And each time I looked at my phone, that feeling sank just a little bit deeper.

As more and more time passed since my initial text, I began the doubting stage: Did I phrase the question wrong? Should I have called instead? Was it too long? Was it too short? Did I type “hand” instead of “game”? What was I wearing the last time she saw me? Oh no, it was the new shirt my mom got me that I promised I’d wear. I knew I shouldn’t have worn that damn shirt. Why did you wear the shirt? Why?

And then just as I’d resigned myself to the fact that I simply wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep tonight…

She responded.

And like an idiot, I immediately replied back…

…and it started all over.

That’s how my life is everyday I send a text.

Well you know what, tomorrow I’m sticking to email. So if you’re reading this and are considering texting me (unlikely), don’t consider it.

Because if you do, you’re gonna have that sinking feeling…

…not me.

I just bought $25 worth of pudding and apple sauce at CVS.

Shall I explain?

Just kidding, dumb question.

It all started Saturday. I woke up and felt a little under the weather. Not really unusual for me. I’m not really a morning person.

Actually I’m not a morning person at all. In fact, the second I wake up is the worst second of my day.

Everyday.

So waking up and feeling crappy isn’t really out of the ordinary. I started to get suspicious however, when a shower with Sexed-Up didn’t rouse me out of my funk. I started to get really suspicious when I didn’t feel better after a quesadilla and some chips and guac at a restaurant/bar in Athens while watching the Georgia-Auburn game.

As the day went on, the feeling got worse. Saturday night, I definitely had a fever. Chills, sweating, light-headed, sore throat. Not good.

By Sunday, the fever had gone down and by Monday, I felt like a new man…

…except my throat was still killing me.

Every time I swallowed food, it hurt. And each swallow was worse than the one before it.

Naturally, I did nothing and figured I’d be fine when I woke up Tuesday.

Naturally, I was wrong.

Tuesday morning I woke up and had a sip of water. As the water crawled down my throat, I eeked out a painful scream (a high-pitched, girly scream, not a masculine, shot in the arm in a bar fight scream).

I choked down 3 generic brand Tylenol and decided that a nice warm cup of coffee was the antidote to my ailment.

So on the way to class, I stopped by Alpine (a bagel joint on Chapel Hill’s campus) and picked up a large coffee. Unfortunately I couldn’t drink any of it on the way to class because it was too hot (I’m very sensitive). When I got to my class however, I took a gulp and had to punch myself in the (you know, down there) in order to distract myself from the pain. I then vowed that I would call my step-dad/doctor as soon as class let out and figure out what the hell was going on.

After class, I recounted the above story to my step-dad and he asked a couple questions before telling me what to do. The conversation is kind of fuzzy because most of it was doctor-talk (which I don’t speak/understand but he pretends I do) but a few quotes stand out in my sitting memory:

“You ate Wendy’s, Arby’s and Qdoba with a sore throat? What were you thinking?”

“Wait, you ate Wendy’s twice?”

“You thought to drink coffee? That’s like pouring battery acid on your throat.”

I think two things are clear here.
1. I don’t know what to do when I’m sick.
2. Regardless of whether or not I’m sick, I need so change my diet. Soon.

The conversation ended with instructions to get some Prilosec OTC (which I later found out is ‘frequent heartburn’ medicine) and to only eat ’soft’ food.

I then convinced a friend to go with me to CVS in exchange for accompanying him to Wendy’s.

We went to Wendy’s first and I decided to try my luck with a large Frosty and a large Dr. Pepper ($4). I immediately regretted the purchase after my first sip of Frosty hung on my throat like a girl on whatever guy is standing next to me on any given night.

At CVS, frustrated and starving (I’d eaten a burrito and four chicken nuggets in the last 36 hours), I picked up some Prilosec OTC ($10) and $25 worth of apple sauce and pudding ($25).

A lot of people wake up each morning with a full day planned. Sometimes though, unexpected things happen and you have to change accordingly; you have to make do with what you’ve got.

And right now, all my friends are downstairs eating chicken and broccoli on rice with breadsticks and drinking sweet tea…

But hey, I’ve got tons of apple sauce to eat…

…and a melted Frosty to drink.

Alpha Chi (a sorority in Chapel Hill) has a cocktail every year called Hayride. It’s supposed to be one of the better sorority cocktails. As a senior, I’ve never been and my last chance is tonight.

Earlier in the week, I was joking with a friend of mine named Jordan (girl) about how I was never going to get to experience Hayride. She told me she’d try her best to get me a date.

Yesterday, she send the following email to the Alpha Chi listserv:

“Hey ladies. Still need a date? I know just the man. I don’t want to say Alex Pomer is desperate to go, but no other word comes to mind right now. He is a senior Chi Psi and tons of fun. I know plenty of Alpha Chi’s who have taken him to functions, but none who’ve regretted it. He is the self proclaimed best dancer in Chapel Hill and impossible not to get along with. When I say he’s one of a kind I’m not kidding. Seriously, if you don’t have a date yet and you’re looking for a good time (and I mean that in the most innocent sense) Alex would be an incredible date. I’ve already got mine, but I’d love to see Alex there with any Alpha Chi having a great time. Bonus, I bet he’d be so excited to go he would carry your cooler (if you know what I mean). But in all honesty he’s wonderful and it’s his last year to try and go. Did I mention he’s desperate and a ball of fun? Let me know if you want the hook up.”

Today at 4:00pm (the cocktail starts at 6), a sophomore girl called me and needed a date because her date couldn’t go. I don’t know anything about the girl but who cares?

It’s Hayride. And I’m a senior.

I’m in my first online course this semester. It’s a learning experience for me. There’s just something about never actually seeing or talking to a professor or other students that makes it hard for me to believe that it’s a real class.

Each week, two students are in charge of leading the discussion. Next week is my week…

Last night, in an effort to treat the online course like the credit that it’s worth, I emailed my partner (Erika) and we decided to meet for lunch today and figure out a plan of attack.

In an unbelievable stroke of luck not only was my partner a gorgeous southern belle (redundant?), but we are in the same class which immediately followed lunch.

Lunch when swimmingly, we walked to class together and I sat next to her.

Allow me to digress…
Two years ago, my poetry writing professor mentioned to the class, “Each of us believes that we can accurately read someone else’s thoughts while still keeping our own thoughts hidden.”

I disagreed, thinking, I’m better at judging people than they are at judging me.

(End digression)

There’s a girl in our class that keeps a food blog. She eats something weird everyday and blogs about it. Before class, people were talking about her next culinary conquest, some kind of exotic bratwurst sausage. It went a little something like this…

Blog girl: “I really don’t know if I can get it down”
Male student: “What do you mean?”
Blog girl: “I just don’t think I can put it in my mouth, it just looks so gross”
Professor: “You should blindfold yourself”
Erika: “Yeah, then you can just put the whole thing in your mouth and be done with it”
Blog girl: “Maybe I’ll try it. I don’t know, it’s gonna be hard…”

(I listened in silence with a small smirk on my face)

Just as class was beginning, without even looking at me, Erika leaned over and said, “You’re a pervert.”

Poetry Professor – 1
Pomer – 0