The Good Kind of Dorky


Wednesday, January 31, 2007

As Opposed to The Good Kind of Dorky

Everyone seems to have a case of the blahs these days, myself included, but it hasn't all been bad. For instance, today I g-mail chatted (?? I don't even know what the cool kids call it) with my blog friend Piglet of Fire. I mentioned that what weirds me out about blogs is that I have these friends and I have no idea what their voices sound like. I don't know why it weirds me out so much, but it does. Thank goodness for Jenny, who graciously shared her voice with the world in a video blog. I then remembered that I hadn't even seen Piglet's picture, except for the one he posted around New Year's in which he was too far away and I really couldn't tell what he looked like. He is just not ready to show the world his face and that is okay, but it is NOT okay that he doesn't show me. So I asked nicely demanded that he show me. Of course I cannot share a picture of hotty hotness himself because that would be so uncool and I am not one to be uncool (oooh, just wait...)! But ladies, trust me, he is easy on the eyes.

Besides discovering that someone I already thought was cool based on personality alone, also happens to be good looking, sure makes the blahs a bit less...well, blah. Another thing that has been cheering me up is the return of American Idol! My obsession with the show began last season. It's actually about to start, but I am prioritizing you guys above the show (don't worry, I have DVR). Right now, as I'm sure you are aware, is the audition part where many sorry individuals are publicly humiliated on national television. Watching the really god-awful auditions really cheers me up! Part of me thinks I should try out just so I can see if I am bad enough to make it to the try-outs in front of Randy, Paula and Simon. I mean, you have to be really good or really bad to get to that point. I think I am bad enough, I really do. One time in college I was hanging out with one of my best girlfriends. I started singing along to a Britney Spears song and she turned and looked at me with a straight face and said, seriously, "Don't ever do that again."

When I was younger, my dad said he would pay for singing lessons, to which I said, "Why? I don't need them." Yes, I should be the next American Idol. Who cares if I am tone deaf? Why should that matter. Let's let America decide.

So, in an attempt to cheer you up from your case of the blahs, I am bringing you something special. It is not my speaking voice, unfortunate for you. Today I share my very own American Idol audition, just for you. What you are about to hear is not only my "duet" with Ashlee Simpson, it is also grounds for the termination of our friendship. Enjoy, as I publicly humiliate myself for all to hear. I have a feeling I will soon regret this.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Are you Trying to Kiss my Ass?

Like Janet, I have also been experiencing the "blahs." I'm trying to snap out of it by pretending to be enthusiastic about my job, my goals, my life, my blog etc. What I am really thinking is that the couch looks good. Maybe I should just sit around and eat. Hopefully with Valentine's Day and my 3 year anniversary with Edgar just around the corner (ok, it's not all about me, my Dad's birthday is also in February), I'll be able to snap right out of it and into 2007. Hellllooooo 2007. In the meantime, I am trying to just take things day by day. Like this morning, I had my first session with my personal trainer, Patrick. I really like him a lot--today he gave me some exercises for toning my lower body. I'll see him again later this week for upper. I am sore. Good sore, but sore. My muscles are so out of shape it's pathetic. On a positive note I did say, "So if I do all of this I will look like Jessica Alba?" To which he said, "Better than Jessica Alba." Being lied to is sometimes necessary. If I am paying you to hurt me, kissing my ass doesn't hurt any. That sounded so dominatrix.

Maybe a dominatrix would wear these during the summer...
(Those knee-high pleather boots are just so restricting when it's hot out. mmm restricting. hot.)

...because how Christian Dior calls these "couture" is beyond me.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

But Wait, It Gets Better

Apparently after the gods of sketch read yesterday's post they sat around snickering and then one of them said, "You thought that was sketchy? Wait until you see what happens in the morning."

So this morning I went to the gym to burn off the cake that had found a home in my thigh overnight and sure enough, John was there. Drell or Tony is a night gym goer, but John is there most mornings. To recap, John is probably in his mid 40s, married and has kids. At first he came across as just a regular guy and he never weirded me out. Lately his sketch factor has been increasing exponentially, i.e. he has been asking me out to lunch each time he sees me. When I tell him that my boyfriend wouldn't like that, he tells me not to tell him. However, it was this morning that the sketch factor reached an all time high.

I was on the eliptical machine and he came over to say hi. The last time that we saw each other was a week or two before and I had mentioned that I was planning on seeing a personal trainer. I must have been specific about which trainer, because he told me that he talked to Patrick and told him that he wanted to "pick up the tab." Patrick, bless his lil' heart, told John that I was thinking about doing group training with my boyfriend, to which John said, "Nevermind." What the fuck?! A random guy at the gym was going to pay for me to see a personal trainer?! Personal training is no drink at the bar; personal training is expensive!

Patrick was there this morning, too, and I signed up to meet with him Friday morning. Of course, I thanked him for not letting random men pay for my personal training. He said, "Are you sure you don't want to sign up for 10 sessions for $300 instead of 3 for $100? I can go talk to John." To which I replied, "You know there's no such thing as a free lunch."

Seriously people, this has reached a new level of just plain wrong.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Diet Anyone?

Disclaimer: Do not read this if commentary about black men and white women is going to offend you.

I was at the gym last night and saw this guy who I occasionally talk to. He said hi and we got to talking. I found out that his name is Drell or Tony. I love a man who gives me options. Did I mention he has a gold tooth? And a small chunk of his hair is blonde or gray or maybe missing? It wasn't apparent last night, but I swear in the past he had a patchy head. You won't believe me now, but this dude is actually pretty good looking regardless of the "abnormalities." He is buff too. And works contruction, so extra buff, but not scary buff. He is also black. And buff. And not scary.

According to Edgar, men who talk to women at the gym are up to no good. I am naive. I like to think the best of people before I think the worst. On many occasions people have told me their entire life story after meeting me, like, twice, i.e. the sex offender who lives across the street from me, the redneck dude who lived below us when we lived in the apartment, etc. Being open, friendly and giving people the benefit of the doubt is a blessing and a curse. This also makes me the perfect prey candidate for gym stalkers friends, who coincidentally all happen to be male. My "friend" Farron just got divorced after 14 years or a really long time, I can't remember. John, who I think is unhappy in his marriage and is probably in his early 40s, gave me his number last week. See the thing is I actually still believe these guys are nice. Naivete is hard to come by, but I digress.

Back to my story. Drell or Tony and I were talking about working out because, well, we were in a gym and that's what you do when you talk to people in the gym. I said I wanted to see a personal trainer and tone up because I am seriously weak. He said that I look good and "fit" and that I shouldn't lose weight because "I don't like scrawny girls."

Newsflash, when a black man tells a white woman that she looks good and shouldn't lose weight because then she will be scrawny (which in my book is synonymous with skinny), that white girl probably has some excess junk in the trunk. It is not a compliment and said white girl will probably obsess over it and binge on cake the next night, skip the gym altogether and watch American Idol instead. But tomorrow is another day.

So, what diet do you guys suggest?

Friday, January 19, 2007

Show and Tell or Self Deprecation? You Decide.

Finally the weekend is here! What better way to kick off these two precious days away from the boredom that has become my life than with embarassing pictures from my past. Before we move on to the pictures allow me's not that my whole life is boring, I'm just not enthusiastic about work right now. It's the whole post-holiday slump I think because, truly, I do like my job.

I asked my mom to look for pictures from my awkward stage. You know what I'm talking about. For me, it all happened around seventh grade. She kindly agreed to scan the best (and by best I mean worst) pictures she could find. She was such a good sport about it. Here is what she sent. Thanks, Mom.

Here I am (left) with Mom and Sara. It appears to be Mom's birthday and nothing says "Happy Birthday" like a toilet scrubber. What a thoughtful daughter I am! Anything for you, Mom!

Wow, this one totally shows off my sexy bangs and bang-swoop, which was generally hardened with hairspray. My braces were totally hot too, but not as hot as my beyond the grave complexion. That's the longest my hair has ever been. If you ever wondered what my natural hair color is, there you go! I haven't seen it in years. I wonder why I didn't have a boyfriend?

And here I am with my cousin and Sara. Apparently I was growing out my bangs? I am totally rockin' the scrawny pale look with style.

This is my favorite picture of all (akward) time. The other sleeve of that Limited Too sweatshirt was red. Hey, it's a lot more conservative than the titty tops young girls wear today. Kids these days, I tell ya. Also, notice how my dad's hair gives him a striking resemblance to Christopher Walken.

Perhaps because she felt bad for me, Mom sent this picture and entitled it "swan." She just wanted to end on a good note I suppose or maybe she wanted to block out the fact that the above are pictures of the spawn of her loins and she is deeply ashamed.

I did go on to win prom queen later that night. All of those afternoons at the tanning salon were totally worth it.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Does this count as mama drama?

It's a little late for a weekend update, so instead I'll just call this a story. Monday night Sarah, Lauren and I went over to a co-worker's house to hang out and last night, hello, American Idol premiere. Needless to say I have been a little preoccupied.

On Sunday Edgar and I decided to take Bugs and Zoey to a fenced in dog park. We had never been to a dog park before. Bugs used to do day care occasionally and loves being around other dogs so I knew he would love it. Zoey is a typical poodle and likes humans more than other dogs, but I figured this would be a good experience for her.

The park was awesome! It's a fenced off part of a Byrd Park, in Richmond. It was such a beautiful day so there were a ton of other dogs. They even have a part fenced off separately for smaller dogs. The best part is that humans go in the fenced in area with the dogs. There are picnic tables and benches too. I decided to put Zoey in the small dog part and obviously, Bugs in the regular area. At first Zoey was okay, but then when I went to check on her she started freaking. You know how kids are just fine until they see their parents sneaking away from the classroom on the first day of kindergarten and then they start screaming? Yes, my dog was the one barking like a crazy biatch.

Here she is at maximum freak-out

"Get your sweet ass down here so I can hump you, you sexy poodle"

After her little break down, we decided to just bring her into the "big dog" area with us since there were a few other small dogs in there too. This just made her day. Well, until some lab started getting all up in her nether-regions. For the most part she just sniffed around and followed us.

And then there was Bugs, who was as happy as he could be. Just look at that smile.

Cooling refreshing!
Now let me tell you a little bit about Bugs. He loves to be where the action is, but he does not like the be the pack leader. He will run around and just wait until a group forms and he'll run and join the group. Yes, my son is a follower, a poser, a big ol' joiner. I am okay with this. Bugs is not one to just hang out on the sidelines. He runs with the active, slightly more rowdy crowds. At one point he did get in a fight with another dog. They just stood there taking turns barking at each other. I can't blame him though. The other dog did say something about doing his mom because she is such a MILF. He was sticking up for me, obviously. What a loyal son. Well, Edgar went over and pulled Bugs away...he was very embarassed.

After much of his posse left the park he started walking around just looking for trouble. He kept trying to get this one dog to play with him, but the damn dog wouldn't share his toy with Bugs. So of course, Bugs just barked and barked at this dog. The owner of the spoiled, non-toy sharer said that Bugs has quite the mouth and I about smacked that bitch upside the head. Don't talk shit about my child, you skanky slut.

However, it had become quite clear though that Bugs was getting a bit cranky, so we decided that it was probably time to take the kids home. So in conclusion, yes, if you are at a dog park and there is barking, freak-outs, tantrum throwing and just general rowdiness, you can bet that my dogs are probably involved.

I really do feel like a mother sometimes, even if it is just to dogs. I even mentioned today at work that if I had a baby there would probably be spit up on my black winter coat along with the dog hair and fuzz. Yes, I am the crazy, disheveled one who shows up to work with dog hair on her coat. Yes, I think of my dogs as little people. Yes, I am that girl.

Saturday, January 13, 2007


A few days ago Cece tagged me and asked that I tell you 5 things that you didn't know about me. Around this same time I also learned the origins of meme from Bones. I understood the concept, but never really questioned where it came from. I'm glad there are people more dedicated than I am to looking things up when they don't know and it is nice that they are willing to share this knowledge with others. When I was a kid and I didn't know what a word meant my dad would tell me to go look it up in the dictionary. After a while I was like, screw it, I don't care that much. Yes, I was content not knowing. Sad? Yes. But apparently things haven't changed. So here are five things that you may not know about

1. I have never, ever in my life smoked pot. I've smoked a cigarette probably 5 times top and I occasionally (maybe twice a year) smoke cigars, but never, ever pot. It's not because I have something against pot. I just never cared about it. I am, however, very much against smoking cigarettes. I wouldn't date someone who smoked unless they were Johnny Depp. Not even if the dude looked like Johnny. They would actually have to be Johnny. Do you know how a lot of memories are tied to smell? Well when I think of my late grandmother, I picture the living/dining room of her town house. She always sat in the same seat and she was always smoking. The wall behind her had turned yellow from all of the smoking. She had these brown place mats on the table that somehow I have tied this visual memory to the smell and it makes me nauseous to think about it. My stomach is turning a little bit right now thinking about it. Well, if the wall turned yellow, think about what her lungs must have looked like. She died in her mid 60s of emphysema. She talked out of one of those voice boxes. I think she would have had one last cigarette if they would have let her. This is all to say, don't smoke.

2. On a happier note, I was Prom Queen my junior year of high-school, but trust me I am not that girl.

3. I lost my virginity to the Prom King a few months before prom. I was 17. We ended up dating for 3 1/2 years. We had been dating for four months before I had "vaginal intercourse" with him. I don't like the word vaginal, but I am using it because I think the way our society defines "sex" is very limiting. Does this mean lesbians who make love are still virgins? I think not.

4. I can count the number of people I have "slept with" on one hand. I only regret one of them. I hate the word regret, too. Regret isn't even exactly how I feel about that person. It is more like, well, Lindsey, that was pretty stupid of you. You better learn from this you skanky slut. Even though I sometimes use the word slut, I actually do not believe in that word. I do not believe that sluts exist. There is this great feminist book entitled SLUT! that is worth the read. Yes, I consider myself a feminist. I don't always act like one. My life is made up of many contradictions. I'm working on that.

5. Apparently sex and cigarettes are on my mind today. Okay, let me tell you something unrelated to these two things that you might not know...If I could have a super power I would want to read minds.

That way I would know if you wanted to have sex with me or smoke a cigarette. After sex of course, because I am just. that. good. :-P

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Who's My Daddy? You're My Daddy!

Just last night I was telling Edgar how I want to try to save money this year. At the very least I'd like to limit my spending to things I really want or need and refrain from buying random clothing/household/pointlessly adorable items from Target just because they are cute and/or cheap and/or I just feel like spending money because I had a bad day. Hell, I may even limit my trips to Target because let's face it, the merchandise practically screams, "Buy me." Okay, so it isn't always a scream--at times it is more of a slow seductive whisper. Do you know how deep and sexy Josh Turner's voice is? You know, that country singer? Well Target kind of has his voice. Get me turned on I'll do just about anything, including spending a minimum of $30 per visit. One time and you're hooked! Oh yes, Target has me coming back for more like a bad relationship that I just can't get enough of. You know, the ones you drunk dial at 1:00 a.m.? Well I decided enough is enough--the constant rendezvousing must stop. That is not to say that I won't go every now and then, i.e. when I need somewhere to hang out during my lunch break, but I have sworn to limit my visits.

Yes, I articulated this last night, in less words.

I felt in control.

I had won the battle. I was on top.

Well, Target apparently was not going to have it, because when I got home today I found this little love note in my mailbox.

Apparently Target does not like when it is not on top. This was almost as passive aggressive as my Letter From Claude. The damn booklet is full of deals on hair care products, feminine "items," my favorite Cover Girl mascara and even Swiffer Dusters. If that wasn't inticing enough, there is a coupon for buy one get one free Orbit gum. Yep, I'm fucked.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

New Friends and Some Old Ones

Yesterday Sarah and I did something that we had never done before. We met a blogger real life! You may be familiar with my new real-life friend. Her name is Erika. See picture below.
Erika is from Northern Virginia, but was in Richmond for the day. Lauren joined us later on. Here is a picture of the four of us.
Me, Erika, Lauren, Sarah

Since Sarah and I had never met a blogger in real life, we felt like we were going on a date, but since there would be three of us it was more like we were lesbians in search of a surrogate mother for our love child. Like we were in search of the missing link to complete our menage a trois. Would she like us? Would we like her? Well, we already knew we liked her and she liked us, but would it be different in person?

So how was it, you ask? Or maybe you don't, but I am going to tell you anyway. I had so much fun. Erika is so cool and sweet and down to earth (and really pretty too!). There are some women I meet and I think, "I could totally be friends with her. She is my kind of people." Well, that's how I felt about Erika. She is someone I can relate to. I'm so happy that she was in town and I had the opportunity to get a cup of coffee with her. We're planning on getting together again in the next month or two. Yay for turning blog friends into real-life friends. I highly recommend it.

In other news...

Edgar and I went to a Hamilton College gathering last night, for alumni in the Richmond area. It was held at this couple's house--they both graduated from Hamilton and later married. There are shocking statistics about the number of Hamilton graduates who marry another Hamiltonian. Shocking I tell you. Something like 64% I've heard. I'm not sure of the accuracy of that number, but dear lord, I could be just another number, a mere statistic before you know it. Anyway, we had a blast at the event! A few minutes after we got home I heard scratching at my front door. I thought maybe it's a raccoon or a cat. Hoping for the latter, I opened it to find this little cutie, who got stuck in between our wooden door and the glass door. The glass door is on springs and takes probably 30 seconds before it actually closes. I'm glad we opened the door or our new little friend would have spent all night stuck between two doors. I would have felt so bad.

The kitty didn't have any tags, just a flea collar. Maybe it is an indoor cat? I'm not sure. Well I offered the kitty some milk and he/she obliged.

The dogs at this point were still out in the back yard. I decided to let them in to see if they would get along with kitty. I quickly learned that you do not hold onto a cat while letting dogs in the house because claws will puncture the skin on your back.

Bugs and Zoey were so good with the cat, which suprised me because I was under the impression that when Bugs frantically tried to get at cats on our walks it was because he wanted to eat them. It appears that, in fact, he was just looking for a new friend. The cat was good with them too. No slashed faces or gouged eyeballs. Edgar so badly wants a cat. This did not help my case. My allergies are my last hope. After playing with the cat for a little bit, we released him back into the "wild." I hope it comes back sometime for a visit and a bowl of milk.

So how is your weekend going? Has it been as eventful as mine has been?

Friday, January 05, 2007

In Keeping with the Theme of Teenage Angst or A Lesson in Cliche

In drudging up the past I discovered some tid bits of literary genious. I may have mentioned that I write (or should I say should wrote?) poetry. I may have also mentioned that I wrote poetry during my teen angst phase in life. For you, my readers, I went searching through my electronic files for these priceless gems (if I do say so myself). I bring you now the lamest poetry ever written. Let me also preface by saying that I had an amazing, healthy and even over-protected childhood. The complete fabrication that you are about to read is brought to you today by my dramatic, active, teenage imagination. Enjoy!

Hair on my legs stands up,
I slowly submerge myself into the lukewarm water.
I tightly grip the bar of Zest,
it slips through my fingers,
I feel for it under the bubbles.
I scrub fiercely,
along the contours of my body.
I scrub off the blood,
the water gradually turns rose.
Why did I do it?
She was my wife.
I must leave town now,
I must leave my life,
everything I have must be put behind me.
I yank on the chain,
pull the drain stopper out,
bloody water whirls,
a tornado of truth.
Water can wash away blood,
but never the weight of guilt in my soul.

I run through the darkness,
leaves slash my face as I dash through the forest,
I pant from lack of oxygen,
my heart lodged in my throat.
I hear him shouting not far behind,
fear fills my blood,
my scraggly red strands of hair whip my cheeks.
I want to be in bed,
all safe and sound.
I thought I trusted him,
I should have left him,
I never knew.
A gun shot punches through chilled air.
I pick up speed,
so does he.
I feel a vine of fingers grasp my ankle,
My scream is suffocated by the forest.
I see myself descending to the ground,
though my eyes are closed.
I see his bloody, drunken face,
I smell beer on his breath.
I see anger streaming in his eyes,
bitter and sweet and sour,
all at the same time.
I am in another world now,
his world.
I see a bullet shooting into my skull,
I feel nothing now.


The night closes in on her,
she runs,
shadows bounce playfully among the weeping willows.
A salty tear runs down her cheek,
among the blood, sweat, and dirt.
She’s scared but feels safe
as she lays down,
among the cool moss of the August night.
Now she’s hidden,
away from the world,
away from alcohol,
away from drugs,
away from addiction,
away from obsession,
but most of all,

away from tomorrow.

1997 called. They want me back. Something about a Pulitzer.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Part 3: The Grand Finale

Now, what you have all been waiting for. The dramatic conclusion of the letter I received from Claude, the boy who for years was in love with me.

And why was Claude a target for people who couldn't act maturely? What did the "pretty girl" have to say to poor, dear Claude? Let's find out.

This was because for some strange reason, girls say that they want the nice guy who is understanding, sensitive and all all those other traits, but then they pick the guy who doesn't treat them nearly as well because they reason that if this guy can afford to treat you bad, then he must be special. [Edgar agrees with this, so he says] Unfortunately for me, I decided long ago that I couldn't and wouldn't be any way other than nice to girls. They go through enough, and I am not going to do anything to hurt them no matter what it does to me. This has obviously ruined my chances with you and probably every other girl at MPH [my high school], since it appears that you all prefer guys who don't care that much and hang on every girl they know, guys like Walt, Howard and CJ. [and the green eyed monster rears its ugly head] I will take this in stride and live on of course, but you must know how much I like you. [cue Titanic music]
I will try to not show how much I do like you anymore since I heard from someone close to you that you were in fact disgusted with me. [some friend] Someone told me that you were very upset to even hear that I liked you, and I am truly sorry I have offended you at all. In my mind, you'll always be perfect, even though I've heard that you only act nice to me because you pity me. I apologize now for any time in the past or future that you look around the room and find me looking at you, [seriously, it was creepy] because I don't think I'll be able to always avoid getting spellbound by your radiance when I happen to catch a glimpse of your beauty. I would do absolutely anything that you ever asked of me, and since I've gotten the message that what you want is for me to leave you alone, I am going to do so. I'm very sorry. If you think anything in this letter is innacurate, even though I doubt that it is, please do not hesitate to tell me.

Yours truly and always,

P.S. I hurt my thumb on my right hand in LaCrosse, so my hand-writing's pretty sloppy, sorry.

So there it is, the letter in its entirety. So what do you think? I agree with Erika that it is very passive aggressive in parts. It's pushy and actually kind of mean, even though he does try to say how much I mean to him. And seriously, the way he used to stare at me in class was borderline sexual harassment. My adult self feels a little guilty for putting this out there for all to see. I wonder if I ever wrote him something in return. I'm sure if I did it was kind, but straight-forward. I hope I would have done that anyway. I think Claude is genuinely a good person and has a big heart. I never really befriended him, but we were polite. I even went to his graduation party when not a lot of people did. I didn't go out of pity. I went because part of me actually cared about him and I knew that it would mean something to him. A few weeks ago I was thinking about him and wondering what he was up to and two days later he found me on We've written short messages back and forth, but that's about it. My teenage self and my adult self would never want to hurt someone, but they are finding themselves very conflicted on how they feel about Claude. Whether you were a Claude or had a Claude, this is what being a teenager was all about. Sadly, some of us never grow out of this kind of behavior, but luckily most of us do. One thing is certain though, and that is that people like Claude are the ones you think about 5, 10, 20 years later. People like Claude are the ones you will never forget.

Monday, January 01, 2007

Happy New Year and Letter from Claude Part Deux

Happy New Year! Happy New You! I didn't used to be a big fan of New Year's resolutions. I either didn't keep them or forgot what they were. Last year I decided to write down some resolutions for 2006. Yesterday I was looking back at them again and I was happy that I actually accomplished most of them. I read a book or two, took pilates classes, wrote some poetry, loved more and tried to let go of things, i.e. not be anal about everything. I'm anal retentive by nature and always will be, but I tried to put certain situations into perspective. The only thing I didn't do was knit. But that's okay. I blogged as a hobby instead. I like making New Year's resolutions as long as I promise not to use them as something to feel guilty about if I don't end up accomplishing the goals. I use the list as a way to have goals and work toward them to better myself. This year my resolutions are as follows:

1. Lift weights and not just do cardio
2. Learn to cook more things than I currently know how to cook
3. Go to church more than once or twice/work on my relationship with God (in progress)
4. Continue to focus on my career

Sure, there are others, but I am going to keep my resolutions in this neat little compact list. What are your resolutions?

Before I get to Part 2 of Letter from Claude, I want to thank all of you, my "blog friends." I never knew I could care about so many lovely people who I have never even met. Thank you guys for stopping by, hanging out and especially, for your friendship. You mean a lot to me. I look forward to the adventures we will share in 2007.

Ok, here it is. Part 2

...I really did mean everything I wrote in those Secret Santa letters, but you obviously weren't happy that I thought that way. I wasn't trying to flirt with you; I wanted to let you know that I really did like you a lot. You are the most beautiful, kindest, friendliest, best listening, funniest girl I know, and you are as perfect as possible. [Oh, go on...] Even though this probably doesn't mean much coming from me, I hope you believe it because it's all true.
I admit that I was of course somewhat jealous when you were going out with Gael [French kid, my first kiss], but of course I didn't say anything about it because he's my friend, so I respected that. Then after the incident at Chewonki, (which I still don't know if you know about, but I still don't understand what happened there), [Chewonki was where we went on our class trip, but I have no idea what he is talking about] I didn't want to upset you again, so I still didn't mention anything about liking you. (about Chewonki: I wasn't even trying to flirt with Megan, and she is still freaked out when I was just trying to be friendly to her.) My whole freshman year, I just couldn't reason in my head why you would possibly want to go out with me (I should have stuck with that idea). [yeah, probably]
This year, especially after being accepted to go to Brazil for my junior year, I've realized how I'm running out of time to ask you out. I was going to ask you to go to the holiday dance with me, and then that was cancelled. I found out from another girl before Christmas that you "just wanted to be friends," which was like a shot in the heart, but I foolishly thought that you might change your mind if I showed you how much I liked you. [oh silly boy] When I got you as the person for Secret Santa, I thought it was a sign and the perfect opportunity to let you know for sure how I felt, but after your response to, "Did you like your gifts?" after the Secret Santa, I knew that I could never have the privilege of ever meaning any more to you than a fellow student, if that. I just hope CJ and Howard appreciate their friendship with you. [I am still close with Howard, so there] For whatever reason that I still don't know, you seem to not like me, but I will always care for you. I'm sorry if you don't like that, or are at all upset by that, but that is the way I feel.
All my life I've tried to do and be exactly the way everyone said I should be, not because I wanted to be a brown-noser, but because I thought that if everyone said that's how people should be, then it must be right. I've always tried to be generous, kind, understanding, strong, athletic, smart, friendly, open-minded, helpful and humble, and it's gotten me basically no where. I've just been an easy target for girls who couldn't act maturely. One of my friends, a pretty girl who's been one of my good friends for years, recently talked it over with me, and we came up with one reason why this happens.

Are you still here? You really read this far? That is true friendship! Find out "why this happens" in the grand finale, Part 3 of Letter from Claude.

Happy New Year! I'm going grocery shopping now. Exciting.