It was a text message from a number I don’t ever remember seeing in my phone book.
The area code, after totally Googling it, was from California. And for, like, the majority of my day I kept going through the alphabet of my head. You know, the game you play when you try to remember someone’s name? “A”, no name doesn’t start with that, “B” nope. “C”… until you hope you randomly just remember the name.
But that didn’t happen.
I kept trying to think. California? Who’s in California that would have my number. But they miss me. Why do they miss me? If they missed me, wouldn’t the call? I always save numbers in my phone. Why didn’t I save this one?
Within in a few hours, I got another text message that read: “Do you miss me?”
I couldn’t figure out who it was, now, I had to figure out who it was and admit whether I missed them or not?
I went back and forth: How do I do this? Do I say I miss them? Do I ask who it is? Do I just ignore it? I started playing the alphabet game again. Then I tried to see if any of my friends had recently moved to California and sent one of those mass texts/emails that announces their new number that I never got a chance to saving in my phone. It’s so rude to so many people to not have their number saved in the phone. Trust me. I’ve made this boo boo. I literally, kinda sorta, lost a friend because of it. OK. It was a boyfriend of a friend who was offended that I didn’t save his number… but I didn’t the relationship was going to last…and he didn’t know how to spell when he texted and it just bugs me when people don’t how to spell when they text and it bugs me when people text big questions when I don’t know where the big questions are coming from!
“I miss you too, I think?”
I knew it wasn’t the most, well, endearing answer… but I figured it would get a response and I’d gather more clues about who it was. I mean, I wasn’t going to call and ask. That would be weird. Playing “passive aggressive phone number deciphering” is much more mature.
“You guess? Wow. Thanks.”
Nothing! No clues. Just offense. I tried to think of something else I could ask in response. I got so close to just doing it. Just asking it. “Who are you!” I mean, maybe this could be some sort of perfect soul mate! Maybe my future soul mate was trying to get in touch with me! Maybe my soul mate was a text away! Maybe I was so close. Maybe this was the moment. That one moment that I would look back and tell all my friends and family: Yup, it all started with a text when he remembered me. I could be totally passing up the love of my life because I’m too scared to admit I didn’t save the number. And just, just in that moment, I was going to do it. When…
“God, Ben, glad you feel the same…ouch.”
It was a wrong number.
Definitely, a miss. Just a different kind.

Once upon a time a boy got a job to write a column for a Chicago magazine. The boy writes about relationships. The boy tries to avoid any Carrie Bradshaw references because people are over his Carrie Bradshaw references. He know this now. That boy is me.
An URban Legend : The Cynic and the Touchstone
As I got the call to meet Jeff and his girlfriend at a corner bar one night I knew it was coming. Jeff, my best friend of years, the guy that I had dubbed my “Straight Wing Man” was going to tell me the unthinkable. The guy that I could depend on for blunt relationship advice (“Hey, they suck. You don’t.”) was going to blow my mind. When Jeff walked up to me on that cold wet rainy night, hugged me with a smile and told me he proposed to his girlfriend, I was already drunk and needed to get drunker…

FINISH THE REST HERE!

It all began with a flash of my underwear.
It was a few nights ago, in the laundry room, when I met Emily. She was all hipster style with bright red hair and boots that are on page twelve of Vogue and tall and really really really really pretty.
“Hey!” I say spinning the dryer dial.
“HI!” She excitedly returns.
Then there was silence and an awkward pause and then, quite literally, we both screamed: “It’s good to finally meet someone nice in this building!” OK, so it wasn’t all Parent Trap with unison sentencing, but we were both pretty dang excited about the fact that we had gotten to meet.
It’s totally true, too. I’ve lived in this apartment for almost a year and a half and have only met two other people.
#1 Peacoat guy:
I met this guy a year ago. He lives one floor up and we leave pretty much the same time every morning. He, obviously while wearing a pea coat, always has his ipod blaring in his ears. We just nod. I’ve caught him in the lobby a few times too.
“You live above me I think.” I say causally while grabbing my GQ out of my mailbox and while fingers through his envelopes.
“Yup.” He says with much less excitement than me.
“I’m Byron.” I say pulling out my gloved hand to shake.
“Tim.” He says not looking up.
“Well. Have a good one.” I say discouraged.
“Yup.”
#2 I’m going to die in a tornado girl.
So then there was this cute mid twenties brunette girl that lives right next door to me, right? Cute girl. Punky Brewster, the adult version, sans the whole mis-matching outfit and the avid “Punky Power” slogan. Anyway, it was this last summer on a day where(the first I had ever heard a tornado siren in Chicago) a tornado was promising to whip through the city. Trees were bent in half. Windows were shaking. Lights were flickering. People were going in to the basement in the next door building and I thought it was a good idea… except my backdoor was jammed and I couldn’t get to the basement and would have to go outside and around my building to the alley in 70 mile hour winds.
Instead I went to the lobby to at least get closer to the ground. Tornado girl was there.
“Hey… so… this is really scary.”
“Yup.” The girl turns and looks at me. She reads my face like a scanner. She shows, like, no emotion. No smile. No Hi. Nothing.
“So, I know this is weird… but are you going to the basement?”
“Maybe.” She says like a cheerleader scoffing at the nerd.
“Well… my back door is jammed and I can’t go in that to get to the basement. Do you think I could go with you out your door… I promise I’m really nice!” I say this just to, well, show her I’m really gay… and not pretending to be in hopes of using this whole “save my life” thing as a booty ploy.
Tornado looks at me then shakes her head and walks away.
So as you can see, I haven’t been impressed with meeting the neighbors.
“GOD! No one is friendly here!” Emily says to me pulling her unmentionables in to a small pile. ” I mean, I try to be nice. I try to be polite. I even knocked on my neighbors door just to say: Hey! I live next door and if you need anything just let me know. The chick just nodded and slammed the door! I mean! What do you have to do to get a neighbor friend around here? She shakes her head while she is trying to untangle her underwear. She’s struggling. Her panties and bras are all over the place.
“Well, seeing you play with your underwear might be a start.”
“I’m sorry… this is weird… right?” She says covering her underwear.
“No! No… I’m gay. I could care less.”
“Now I feel like that crazy neighbor you’re going to tell all your friends about who was ‘flaunting her panties like she was flirting’.”
I pull a pair of my underwear out of the dryer and flash them at her.
“There. Now I’m that guy, too.” I say laughing.
“Holy shit.” Emily screams. “You’re my new best friend.”

Yup.

The other morning I asked Josh a punctuation question.
Josh: No. You do use a comma instead of a semicolon there.
Me: I figured. I was going to Google it, but you’re so much faster than Google.
Josh: (Shrugs his shoulders)
Me: You’re my JEWgle!
Josh: (Shakes his head in discontent)

When I call home my parents put me on speaker phone. In theory, this is a brilliant idea. It’s all conference- call-eqsue. High productivity-ness. Multi-tasking-ish. But, in reality, it’s, well… it just never works. Never. Ever.
Me: Hey, mom!
Both Mom and Dad: Hi B!
Me: Ohhhh, great, you’re both there… this is always fun when we do this…
Mom: Well, do you want to have to tell the same stories twice?
Me: Can’t you tell one and other the same stories?
Dad: No… she never tells me anything. Only the bad stuff. Like your toilet.Did you ever fix your toilet?
Me: Yeah… I…
Mom: B, I tell him the good stuff too! Come on, Dennis! You know I tell you the good stuff!
Me: I…
Dad: Well, you only tell me the good stuff if I ask him the good stuff and then you fill in with the good stuff that you know about his good stuff and I look like a doofus.
Me: I…
Mom: B, I tell him the good stuff…I really do!
Dad: Yeah, like your broken toilet. That’s the good stuff I get to hear…
Me: Well… my toilet…
(In the background two large dogs are barking insanely at the doorbell.)
Me: I can’t hear you guys anymore!
(Barking.)
(Barking.)
(Barking.)
Me: Hello? Hellllloooooo?
(Random chattering and struggling and sounds like elephants pushing walls down.)
Dad: Sorry, B. The neighbors from next door are here… good talking to you! Love you!
Mom: Love y…!
Me:Hello…hello?
CLICK.

There comes a point in every guy’s life where he starts to define what he truly believes in.

It starts young when he stops believing in everything he’s been told: Santa exists, the Tooth Fairy is real, boys can’t play with dolls.

He realizes that people are going to tell him differently. Some people are going to disagree with what he agrees with. This means he will have to stand up for himself.

And sometimes he will stand up for himself with thousands of other people who believe in the same belief, but he doesn’t even know them. But they all do know each other because they all are the same in some way.

And it will be a long, tough fight.

There comes a point in every guy’s life where he starts to define his beliefs. It can be scary. It can be frustrating. It can feel like there’s really no hope no matter how hard you fight.

But when you have people who believe in you as much as you believe in your passions and in your fights and in your struggles, the defining isn’t as scary as you think. Having friends here for you in the dead of cold on a Saturday morning to pat you on the back when you’re trying so hard to not grit your teeth in frustration that you even have to be at a protest will mean the world. Having friends who will shiver right next to you when, really, the protest has nothing to do exactly with them will mean the world. Having a friend who is straight with a hot straight girlfriend hold a giant rainbow flag in the middle of a bunch of gay guys… that will mean the world. That will force you to keep defining in what it truly is you believe in.
Love.

I’ve watched this, like, eight times already. So dang funny.

But I just can’t help oozing all over the severe ga ga-ness of this movie. Plus, who knew Captain Kirk and a Vulcan could be so doable?

They say everything has its place. That when something or someone figures out its place, everything else just begins to come together. For instance, placing furniture and accessories in a certain order in a room could change the entire energy flow of your world. Or like how when you’re placed at a tiny table having lunch with good company can change your entire perspective.
This past week my aunt made a visit from Wisconsin. It was one of those perfectly planned days where everything just happened on its own with uninterrupted conversation, shopping, topped off with a late lunch a favorite restaurant of mine tucked on a quieter street downtown.
My aunt is someone I admire. She knows what she wants and she’s worked hard to get it. She also isn’t afraid to ask… anything.
“So, are you seeing anyone new?” She asks while sipping her water glass and smiling from a across the table. The restaurant is dim and a light ambient music is playing through the high-ceiling room.
“Nope! No one. I’ve been too busy with, you know, other stuff…” I say closing my menu and folding my cloth napkin across my lap. Our table was tucked in a quiet corner. It felt like we had the whole restaurant to ourselves. It felt like we were put there just to have this conversation.
“No? Well… are you busy because you are trying to distract yourself… or…?” She says crossing her arms in front of her and giving that look she is so good at giving someone when she’s trying to get the real answer.
“No… I’m just not there yet. I finally get it. I’m not ready yet. So many people jump into being with other people before they are really there… you know, in that “place”.
“Place?”
“Yeah. You know, no one is ever perfect when they get in to a relationship, but there are things we have to organize in ourselves before we place someone else in that space. Things need to be in the right place so everything can just flow better. You know? Like Feng Shui. ”
My aunt smiles, nods and says: “That might be one of the most maturest things I’ve ever heard a twenty-six year old say. How did you figure that out?”
As our crab cakes arrive to our small table, the waiter removes things we don’t need at that moment to make room for the hot plate. He takes the menus that we don’t need anymore because we were done with them. He then takes the extra flatware that was unnecessary for just the two of us. Then he removes the wine list that wasn’t any use to us leaving our table airy, organized, and… comfortable.
That’s the funny thing about life. Sometimes answers about your place are right in front of your face.