It was a small group of us, five of us to be exact. The streets more barren as Chrismas came closer, the air finally resembling something near frigid, we shared in pizza and calzones, jokes and memories. Three of us were long ready to call it a semester, for two others a college career. We essentially held sole control of our corner of Leonardo's. For a moment I felt the urge to hop atop the table and reenact the diner scene in Swingers, but we were having an evening of contentment, and the subdued jubilation more appropriately displayed the relief and satisfaction of going home for the holidays.

My dad and I were standing in the mall when I sighed, "Ah, it's good to be home." This time he smiled and gave me some forced laughter. I had already uttered that statement a few times in the two days since I left Gainesville.

Review of my Hypotheses for this Semester

The fall will be much easier than last spring. Wow, we're not starting so hot here. I severely underestimated how much effort and dedication went into all the preparations for grad school. Applied Behavior Analysis required attention everyday, and the exams in other classes were surprisingly complex. Nearly surpassed last semester as the toughest of my studies, though the forty-page paper last spring puts any other work I've done to shame.

My legs will be stronger than ever. Ok, so now we're 0-2, and I realize that we're talking in the seldom-used fourth person. I found combo bus routes to take me 1.5 miles to my class. I have the same sexy, well-toned legs I always had.

It is mathematically impossible to not sit by an attractive girl in my Behavior Analysis class. Everytime I went to class, I had an incredible view. There are only three acceptable reasons for getting up before 7:00 am: watch the sunrise, Saved by the Bell reruns, and to see pretty girls in psychology class.

I will spend a personal record on coffee. Let's just say my barista offered to give me personal space behind the counter for my own mug.

Behavior Analysis will be my favorite class. Yep.

"I mean, I'm proud of my monkey heritage."
-- My roommate, accepting evolutionary theory

Wine
Cheese
Spanish music
Fireplace
Dresses
Suits
Dates
Friends

What a scene, what a time.

I lost all my comments.

A few thoughts that ran through my head as I was half asleep and turned on the news at 9:00 am:
I want to hear Bush's real reaction (Probably more like, "Whew! Hell yeah!")
His breath must be hella nasty.
What's it like to live in a hole?
If this is Ashton Kutcher's doing, he's gone too far.

A dangerous desire. My struggles with letting go of a waning romance come from this dangerous desire to experience the pain and heartache of dying love rather than be without feeling. I fear that resolution will bring an end to emotion. And though blissful emotion would be ideal, subconsciously I must prefer intense feelings--- whether magic or tragic--- over dullness.

My heart has benefited from living a year without intimacy and romantic feelings. I survived the deprivation of romance without wilting into depressive abandon. If anything, I found more joy and solidity within myself. To think that just a few years ago, I used to pray to God to send me a girlfriend. Not a girl in particular, just someone who would call me her boyfriend. It took me 21 years to be content with the love from my friends, family, and self, but I got there.

I pictured myself as the first of my friends to get married. That opportunity has come and gone, and by this time next year I may have attended my fair share of weddings, couples I've seen form before my eyes, girls with whom I've lost my shot, buddies for whom I've acted as wingman. The past week has been a relationship rollercoaster for my friends. I've accepted calls about getting engaged, pondering marriage, dissolving relationships. I have friends who've lived only a few years of independence but have found something special enough to dedicate the remainder of their lives to interdependence.

With a major move only 8 months away and a job with salary even further in the distance, I will not be joining my friends at the altar in the immediate future. But I'm ready to feel something again. Not desperate, but ready, prepared, and anticipatory. There's this sense that someone will come soon. Maybe someone that I've already met. Maybe someone in particular that I've already met. She'll give me joy if she comes around. And if she doesn't, I have enough to keep going happily along the way.

For Christmas vacation, I have my mind set on finishing one of those big jigsaw puzzles. The question is, what kind should I get? I was thinking holding 1,000 pieces of Cameron Diaz in my hands and putting her together would be way cool, but I'll probably just get some stupid airplane picture or whatever they sell at Wal-Mart.

I've decided to use my Christmas present (which I knew about a month ago) for a project next semester. I came up with the idea five minutes ago after wanting to just vent aloud some things that either a)would be too complicated to effectively simplify into printable word, or b)were told to me in confidence and cannot be publically detailed. Let's just say that Italarican dot Blogspot dot Com will be equipped with a few video clips in 2004.

I can't remember it being so easy to talk to someone so quickly. I sat next to my friends at a dinner banquet, and a few minutes later she came in. Luck would have it that the chair next to me was empty. She sat beside me, brushed aside the hair that draped across her shoulder, and said hello. We had met once before, briefly, and it was good. I turned toward her to greet her, to return the hello.

I never turned back toward my friends.

Two straight hours, two straight hours at an end-of-the-year banquet, a social, a large gathering where everyone drinks, laughs, and shares war stories. Yet we spent the night Dinner for Two. Just talking, laughing, connecting, bonding. Two hours together, but she had to leave. She told me how she looked forward to the next time we'd get to see each other, get to talk. I felt the same, but I had no idea when I would see her again. I didn't get her number, and we won't have the chance to cross paths at these mutual gatherings for the next month. But it will happen. I will see this girl again. And when I do, I know we'll continue as though we never missed a moment, and I'll know this girl, and she'll know me.

And hopefully by that time, the invisible boyfriend will be a deceased character in her story.

Top 5 Things I've Found Out, 2 days Post-Thanksgiving Break '03
1) My dad's examinations for possible cancers all came back negative.
2) My GRE scores put me one step closer to getting into the grad school of my choice (as long as the GRE-Psychology test doesn't run me up the ass).
3) After saying I'd love to go out with a girl about 24-26, it turns out a girl I went out with a few months ago whom I assumed was 21 is actually... 26.
4) I'm not gonna get the flu (though this has to due with my 10 days of coughing finally metamorphisizing into a cold).
5) This picture of Dick Gephardt.

Top 5 Moments, Thanksgiving Break '03
1) Having a pleasant conversation with hometown friends on Thanksgiving night concluded with, "So, who's up for finding an open strip club?"
2) The phone ringing approximately 3 seconds after the Florida-Florida State game, and my sister answering, "It was rigged!"
3) Talking one-on-one with the excitable, quirky, incredibly voiced Rosie Thomas (Concert pics here)
4) My buddy coming to me, and then my mom, for a pep talk before having sex with his girlfriend for the first time (and then coming over the next day, asking me and my dad whether he had successfully finished the deed!)
5) Turkey, rib roast, manicotti, corn bisque, mashed potatoes, scallops, pumpkin pie, chocolate trifle, pumpkin roll, flan, and Italian love cake... four meals in a row.

Incidentally, I'm wondering if I should leave the paper I memo'd these moments on for some stranger to find, because I'd sure be bewildered if I found a note that read, "Strip club, food, virginity, Rosie, rigged game."