Feeling: unusual
Listening to: Fiona Apple - Please Please Please
Reading/Watching: The Road to Death, Matt Forbeck

Seriously, though. Having a healthy, lasting relationship is totally ruining my street cred.

How am I supposed to be Katie, the Undateable Teen Nun if there's some boy crazy enough to want to marry me? All my years of reputation, so carefully built, gone forever. I mourn for it.

The worst part is, I used to be on even footing with everyone I knew. As a matter of fact, I used to be the great single friend who would be a buffer-person when my friends wanted to flirt with some random guy. I would stand by, be quiet and unattractive and set her up to look fabulous by telling funny stories about her, and she would be witty and charming and he would fall every time.

I loved the beginning stages, when we would have starry-eyed crushes and analyze that one time at Denny's that he reached for the sugar packets and almost touched my pinkie finger, and ohmyGod, do you think he maybe subconsciously did it on purpose? Because he loves me and just can't hold it in any longer, because I am so wonderful and irresistible. Or could it be that the coffee at Denny's just needs a lot of sugar?

They would tell me theirs, about how he kissed their hand, their cheek, how he was so close to breaking up with his girlfriend, how exciting it was, how this could be it. And I would grin and squeal and we would hug (and sometimes bounce), and share stories of that wonderful beginning-feeling, and how badly we both wanted to have it.

I was so much easier to talk to, when I was insecure and miserable, because we could ache together, we could be lonely and assure each other of how wonderful we both were, but men just sucked and only wanted girls in string bikinis and ohmyGod, did I mention the time he almost touched my pinkie while reaching for the sugar packets?

And now, I still try to do that. I try to listen, and giggle, and squeal, and that part is fine, but the first moment I throw in my story of "I know exactly what you mean," the mood has ended. Suddenly they're saying, "well, you know, it's not quite to the level that you guys are, so I must sound so ridiculous making such a big deal over this," and I want to shake them and yelp, "Stop doing that! I'm the Undateable Teen Nun!"

Seriously, people. Sean Connery made a million movies, but he's still James Bond. How did the world forget my long, successful run in my original role? I do remember it, you know. I still have all the lines memorized. I even have the outfits, and the withdrawn stance intact. I know how to be a miserable single girl. This is why having mon coeur still feels like a hallucination, sometimes: like I can't possibly have arrived at love, because I never unpacked my suitcase.

The only thing that makes me different is that I can't condone letting my friends do crazy things for stupid boys who aren't showing any signs of romantic interest, or a soul, or any of the other things that make a guy worth keeping. He may have been trying to touch your pinkie near the sugar packets, but what did he say when you started hinting at a date? Oh, that's right, he awkwardly changed the subject and left you with the tab. Not such a good sign.

At one point, I was very stupid, and believed that just about anything could be a sign of a boy's interest. Now, I know that when a boy wants to show interest, he actually shows interest. He will call. He will invent reasons to touch you (actually touch, not just come close). He will want to do things together. He will not make out with you for twenty minutes, and then invent a lame reason why he has to go home. He will not flirt wildly with your best friend, insult you, talk about the hot chick over there, or give you the awkward one-armed hug and call you a "cute kid."

And for this, I think I'm out of the club. I used to be the first girl they ran to, to comb over every detail, and now, they feel stupid for doing it. Or maybe I make them feel stupid.

So I've decided that from now on, when mon coeur is not around, I am back to being the Undateable Nun. Hell, I still have the same lack of flirting skills, so I should slip into the role quite nicely. I will still commiserate, and hug, and giggle, and be the buffer friend, and offer to go out dancing on Ladies' Night (the only difference is, when Random Sweaty Guy humps up my leg, I will move away with a little more alacrity. Even Undateable Nuns don't stand for that crap).

Time to practice my Undateable Nun awkward babble, withdrawn stance, and maudlin Friday-night-loneliness. I've got the carry-on baggage right here.

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