A Vons club card and a can of beans

I can love. I swear I can love.

I know because I’ve loved you in reverse. Loving you wasn’t in the blinding, hypnotizing initial attraction where we swapped puns and book titles and spit. It wasn’t in the fairytale you wrote me or between our laced fingers. It wasn’t in my churning stomach at the sight of you, and it certainly wasn’t in the pieces of my heart I salvaged from under your foot. But you’re the only one I’ve ever loved and it took moving to Paris to realize it. It took moving to New York. It took being without you for a year and a half. It took trying on other men like hats. It took distractions and new obsessions and telling you every detail of my life mundane or extraordinary - your reaction be damned.

It took a trip to the grocery store together.

I thought love was all or nothing. You’re with me or you’re not. But in the middle of the produce section, there you were. You were with me. You knew every detail of my life; mundane and extraordinary. And still- there you were. And as you absentmindedly picked up a can of beans you knew were on my list, I knew. Love doesn’t attempt to blind or hypnotize. It’s knowing someone like the back of your hand and respecting them enough to pick up their beans. It’s being unapologetically yourself and being accepted for it. As I rummage through piles of men on my quest for happiness, in the corner of my heart I know I’m happiest with you.

in-face-ivebook

I was just minding my own business, sitting here at work, when I got a Facebook notification sent to my phone that sent chills down my spine. You know how Facebook these days sends you little alerts if any of your 843 closest friends on the Book is within a 3,000 mile radius of where you’re sitting? Apparently someone I was once very close to (geographically and otherwise), but am now estranged from (geographically and otherwise), is down the street from my office getting their free pancake day on at iHop. I get that Zuckerberg is just living out his weird obsession to transform the populous into stage 5 creepers like himself, but I’m not too thrilled about these alerts. Don’t get me wrong, when I’m sitting on my couch in Los Angeles, I’m so happy that Stephen from 8th grade English is "buyin grapefruits at the Giant in Shrewsbury, PA – with his mom", but I don’t necessarily need a text about it sent to my phone. Besides, if you ARE around me, do I really want to know you went to the Chili's by my house and didn't invite me?? I like a bloomin onion as much as the next girl, and after a few of those Cadillac margs I happen to sing a tribute to Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” that will take your breath away.

On this particular occasion, the notification made my hands clammy, my heart start beating in my fingertips, and I was suddenly faced with that gut wrenching decision whether or not to text the person asking why they’re practically on top of me. But what the heck would I say?? “Oh hey, haven’t seen you in 7 months, but I just got a text from the good people at Facebook indicating that you’re 480 yards away from me on Olive Ave., can you verify that?” No. In times like these I’m a firm believer in the old “what you don’t know can’t hurt you” adage. Facebook, why you gotta ruin that for me??

I’m convinced this whole social media bullshit is created for the sole purpose to make you feel like crap about yourself. We're constantly connected to everyone we've ever come in contact with and forced to look at how amazing their lives are. Whether they're posting photos from their Carribbean getaway, updating their status about their boyfriends' homemade baked ziti and its uncanny resemblance to Giada's...or nonchalantly eating pancakes 2 blocks away - I just don't want to know those things when I'm staring at a computer screen in a barren office, eating Ramen alone for the 5th night in a row, and haven't heard from your east coast ass in over half a year.

Since I'm obviously so upset I guess the thing to do would be to delete my account...but then how would I check in at my dentist appointment tomorrow? That would just be silly.

Tony Bundy

I adore Craigslist missed connections. For those of you who are unfamiliar, I highly suggest taking a break from searching for sperm infested couches and check out this feature of the site. This is where men and women in your area can create a post about someone they saw in passing, but never got a chance to talk to in hopes said someone will see it and respond. I don’t know if my obsession stems from my innate creepiness (for those who know me well…well, you know), or if it’s the romantic inside me trying to come out. I wouldn’t describe myself as a hopeless romantic, and most would probably use the word “jaded” over “dreamy” in reference to me any day. BUT! Whatever city I’m in, I religiously check the missed connections page. It’s not so much that I’m hoping I’ll see my fleece jacket and yoga pants described in detail from my trip to Walmart two days ago…”your skin glowed under the fluorescent lights in the pest control aisle.” No, I really believe it’s more that I, Caitlin Skelly, have an unfailing faith in the power of love at first sight. Today I read how some guy was absolutely taken with a woman’s smile in her Nissan outside of Dunkin Donuts and it lead him to take this small shot in the dark to get in touch with her. I don’t see missed connections as creepy…even though the dude who decided to go with “we been checking each other out...you are HOTT..get at me if you think its you " doesn’t really help my case. I see it as a little land of believers like me. People who realized that just because they lost their courage in a moment that passes in a blink of an eye doesn’t mean that it’s over. People who will do anything, no matter how small, that might help make their gut feeling a reality. People who want to believe in love. They’re not creepy or crazy or desperate…they’re just a man who can’t stop thinking about her smile.

most interesting.

Do you remember when the world had that SARs scare? Avian flu? Anthrax? The fear manifested itself into pure mayhem; a sea of surgical masks and unopened manila envelopes. We were scared! We watched the news, we educated ourselves, we went into protective mode to save mankind. What most Americans don't know is that today in late 2011 we've been aiding the spread of one of the most frightening plagues out there: stupidity. We in America don't just condone stupidity... oh no... we celebrate it. Yesterday I caught a commercial for Barbara Walters' special on the 11 most interesting people of 2011, and almost choked on my Lean Pocket when the Kardashian's made the list. Excuse me? Yea, maybe the Kardashians are interesting the way a car accident is interesting. Maybe they're interesting in the way an oozing boil can be interesting. They're interesting like your friend's response when asked their opinion on your new muumuu. But if Barbara Walters, one of the most respected journalists of her time, can pick out this dim witted family who are an embarrassment to strong, independent women everywhere and glorify them with "Most Interesting of 2011"...then I'm afraid we're lost, folks. What about all the women who overcame hardships this year, who worked toward a cause, who made a difference? Kim, honey, I'm not talking about the hardship over which $20,000 cake to have at your Titanic of a wedding. I wish I could think of more examples, but I keep forgetting what she does. But hey, Kim's on the cover of Glamour this month and we must see if it's true that her ex-hubbie is gay. When does this madness stop? If it takes a village, then pretty soon our village will be extinct if we don't make a point to question the examples we're deeming acceptable in society for upcoming generations. Hell, the examples we choose to award with fancy superlative titles like MOST interesting.

I don't want to catch the stupid, and I think it's time we grabbed our proverbial surgical masks and put an end to this pandemic.

homo erectus

Maybe it was because I had a brownie for dinner, or because I chose "Random Hill" on level 2,000 and was sweating so profusely that my clothes were a good three shades darker than when I arrived; but as I was on the elliptical tonight I couldn't help but think about what a strange concept this whole gym idea is. It is absolutely without a doubt the most unnatural invention of our time. Jello looks like an indigenous crop compared to a gym. Back in the day people got exercise because it was key to survival. The caveman ran after rabbits, ran away from mountain lions, squatted to pick berries and pushed heavy things out of his way... I don't know much about my caveman heritage, actually but I know for damn certain my great great great great great [. . .] great great great [ . . . ] great great grandfather did not mount a metal contraption with blinking lights to get his quads in shape. It goes against our very human nature to go to a big INDOOR room to pick up and put down man made materials specifically suited to aggrandize our muscles. With this being said, I began my usual cardio people watching session and realized that as far away from our grunting forefathers we seem to have gotten, are we really that different? The gym might actually take us all back to our primal instincts.

At the gym you will see women gym-goers in full make-up, painted on yoga pants, a skin tight tank top, and neon, clean, hardly-worn running shoes. I like to call them peacocks. Today I watched a girl with fake eyelashes parade in front of a captive audience of guys, bend at the waist for a 3 pound weight, stand up and walk off to a group of identically dressed girls who were casually drinking water and using the ab machine as their own personal scratching post. I briefly wondered if they knew it had an actual use, but scolded myself as pointing this out would disrupt the flow of this ecosystem. The Peacock is constantly looking for the right moment to sashay by a beefy man with convincing, albeit fraudulent need for a certain machine; or to bump into him oh so casually on the way to the water fountain. You'll see said beefy men grunting and throwing weights and yelling things like "ONE MORE" at each other; their anger always such a mystery to me until today. It's not anger...it's innate man. You'll see him venerating himself in the mirror with that 10th bicep curl, or wiping sweat from his brow as he grabs a drink from the water fountain and tries to play it cool when what’s her face with the lipstick approaches.

Lust, unintelligible yelling, raw emotion, ego, sweat. What’s more primal than that? Maybe I had it wrong all along. This IS natural. It’s new, yes; but nothing can ever really separate us from the cave man and woman inside us all.

I'm bringing sexy back.

When does life stop being a runway? When can I breathe in my jeans again? Can I please just eat a pint of Cherry Garcia and enjoy the sugar buzz regret-free? Having the right labels doesn’t label me as right, and the number sewn into my pants has as much to do with me as Kim Kardashian has to do with rocket science (or winning "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader" for that matter). So instead of running on this figurative ..and often literal…treadmill in the unwin-able race for hotness, I’ve dismounted to focus on my sexiest body part. My brain.

lone grazer

Of late, I have mastered the art of eating alone in public. Allow me to offer fair warning, this sport is not for the faint of heart and I advise you to read further only if you crave a challenge. Let's take today's experience for further anecdotal examination.

I arrived at the Centrum at 10:58 AM with the full intention of eating an early lunch as my first class for the day was cancelled. There are a few stragglers eating breakfast, and the sign indicates that lunch won't be offered until 11 AM. I decide to wait out the two minutes. The cashier patiently waits for me to approach, but instead we have a staring match from an awkward distance where I try to explain my situation through facial expression. I don't recommend this technique. Just because you're a loner doesn't mean you should go around accidentally eye fucking innocent employees. They don't get paid enough for that. After a minute of this awkward silent exchange I decide that these two minutes are personally out to torture me, and to take my own revenge, I cut one short and just order a bagel. It later turned out that the joke was actually on me as I left hungry and lunchless.

Next, the lone eater must choose seating wisely. If possible, don't be a jerk, save the 4-chair tables for 4 people. If you're eating alone it probably already means you don't have many friends. Don't perpetuate this by pissing off large parties of people. While choosing, I avoid a table that faced another lone eater. There's nothing worse than having someone in your line of "staring off into space vision" when you're trying to gnaw on a wrap. Although these people are alone as well, again you do not want an accidental eye fuck. It's impossible to gauge the state of desperation of another loner, and this could result in unwanted confrontations on your way to the bathroom.

Now that you've chosen your seat, it's time to eat. I recommend bringing something with you that makes you look smart. This does not include playing Words with Friends on your iPhone. It's wonderful that you just scored 70 points from a word you didn't know existed in the English language until Words with Friends accepted it, but everyone else is going to assume you're just pretending to text the friends you don't have. Instead, bring mystery to your lonely eating with a book- preferably in a foreign language. Today I read my French literature book even though I had no homework. This way, you'll most likely have a perplexed look on your face the entire time while trying to decipher the meaning. This says: I am choosing to eat alone because I'm worldly and quite frankly better than you.

My lunch turned breakfast was cut short today by a mosquito circling me. My frantic waving hands broke the last rule. Be invisible. Don't draw attention to yourself if you can help it. After several attempts to rid myself of the pest (including squatting down under the table where I knew it was hiding and plotting its next move in order to verbally threaten it), I decided enough was enough and it was time to go be alone somewhere more acceptable. Like here in the library. Like I said, kids this is no joke, but by feigning nonchalance and following these guidelines, you too can dine tout seul.