I’ve hit a low point.

For reals, things have to somehow go uphill from here, otherwise I think I really am destined to be single forever and date restaurants… and stores and inanimate objects and food and my puppy.

So yesterday, I go to call Kimmie (but I promise, I do have friends other than my mom) and my recent call log flashes, and all of the sudden my heart skipped a beat.

Wait, what?  A boy?  What boy called me?  Who is that boy?  I don’t remember meeting a Tim Warner and getting his number.

Time Warner, Lara.  That would be Time Warner.

I was really embarrassed for myself, except for I don’t actually get embarrassed, because if I were really that embarrassed I wouldn’t have told the Katie W’s (<– two friends named Katie W. who were both in my sorority and also had the same major and minor and are both blonde… weird, I know) and wouldn’t be writing about it now.

But seriously, I’m super lame.  You can all judge me now.

I’m also having a difficult time deciding which is worse: the fact that I was the one who called Tim Warner in the first place, or the fact that my mistaking of “Time Warner” for the elusive and mysterious “Tim Warner” happened twice.  Yes, twice I got tummerflies (<– I just made that up) at the sight of that call log entry.

I mean, another serious problem is the fact that Time Warner gargles so many balls (10, to be exact… or maybe 11) that I have to have them in my contact list so I can yell at them on a semi-regular basis.  But whatever.

Sigh.  I am forlorn.  Hopefully the real Tim (wherever he is…) will come find me soon.

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