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Content with “Stay Tuned…”


Since the birth of Quiet Like Horses, I have wanted for two things. Quiet and I have spent many long days and nights together, thinking about these two things. The first thing we discuss, or rather, review, is that we shall never write “I am bored today. There’s nothing to really write about.” (That is, unless, directly beneath it I’ve included a video of me riding a wolf or petting a unicorn. I suppose that would make it okay.)

The second thing I have wanted for, the thing I have spent many quiet moments dreaming about, is to become a Blog of Note, “interesting and noteworthy Blogger-powered blogs, compiled by the Blogger Team.” I’ve been waiting for the right moment when I could share my blog with Blogger. I wasn’t sure when it would be, but I knew it needed to be a good moment; I couldn’t send them just any post where I talk about underwear or flatulence in yoga class. It was sort of like finding that perfect opportunity to tell your high school chem partner that the boy you had asked him for advice about the entire year was actually him. (Turned out he knew the entire time which was more humiliating than liberating as I had imagined it to be, but that is a story for another day.)

So after blogging about making one of my favorite drinks, pearl tea, I decided to tweet the Blogger team to check out my blog. I don’t know why I chose that particular post, maybe because I like seeing step by step directions in picture form and figured they would too. Well, I wasn’t chosen as the Blog of Note that day, but later that night, as I was checking random things on my phone, I saw this message from someone at Blogger:”@sobrina I like tea and I like your blog; thanks for sharing. Stay tuned…” That little stay tuned and accompanying ellipsis sent me right to a blogging heaven, one where everything smelled nice and that I imagined I would never be allowed into.

But as soon as I made it through those gates of happiness, I took a few steps back. What does “Stay tuned…” mean exactly. Is “Stay tuned” with an “…” intrinsically different than a “Stay tuned.” without the “…”? Is this like the “Stay tuned…” at the end of cliff hangers in television shows? Or was it more like the “Stay tuned…” that boys sometimes do to girls? The one that implies “We are right behind you” but really aren’t?

I’m not sure if I need an answer right away. It was nice enough completely exhilarating to even be recognized by a Blogger team member. But I sure hope that I make the list someday. And that it’s not like that time when Irene and I were both single and living in L.A. That one time when we convinced each other to go out and not spend the night at home, in our comfy pants, passing a gallon of ice cream between us. (Because that is what friends are for and sometimes it’s sad to realize that you are turning into the old lady who lived in the shoe.)

That night, by way of her illuminescent smile or by the forgiving darkness of the bar, a group of guys stood next to us and began making conversation with us. All was going well, and I was giving Irene silent hi-5s in my head, but not sure exactly what we would do next and definitely not sure if we should even ask them to get a slice of pizza with us later (because there is only so fast strangers who just met should go). Irene and I exchanged looks and in the look I could read her mind: Let’s go to another bar, she was thinking, and I agreed.

At a new bar, there would be different music playing, different people to watch. We would surely have lots of fodder for discussion with our new friends. After letting them in on our plan, they all smiled and happily agreed. For a moment, I thought perhaps we might grab a casual bite to eat with them after all.

“You guys ready?” She said with her big smile.
“Yeah! You guys lead the way!” the boys replied. (We’re right behind you! You just stay tuned for all the fun we’re going to have! their faces seemed to say.)
“Ok!” we said and clasped each other’s hands, making the way through the dense crowd for the door. Excited, we began fiercely whispering about where we might go next. Maybe we could go to that cool bar around the corner or that funky one a few blocks down… my brain was churning with the possibilities.

However once outside, we turned, beaming, to discuss where we’d go next only to find that the only person behind Irene, holding her hand, was me. And behind me was a loud, packed, dark, faceless sea of people drinking beer and making plans to ditch the girls that wouldn’t stop talking to them.

Last modified: January 10, 2019