10 days: 19 hours, 2 minutes, and 35 seconds

I remember lots of things.

Nate and I started dating officially, the second time around, June 10, 2002.

His favorite color, at least in ninth grade, was blue. But not just any blue. Ford New Holland Blue.

Ryan’s license plate number was BNA 669.

The first time I rode in said vehicle-- October 13, 1998.

Matt ate chocolate malt o’meal for breakfast. And things he created in his easy bake oven.

Drew was obsessed with the song “Hotel California.”

And Phil wants nine kids.

Figures he would have to outdo the Von Trapp Family Singers.

I could go on with my useless male trivia. But they probably wouldn’t like that very much.

Things I don’t file in the random guys brain compartment? Phone conversations.

Largely because the guys I’ve met don’t talk on the phone.

Except for the one time the MU Lit Choir president and vice-president called me for who knows why and proceeded to serenade me with random songs from their iTunes collection. For way past my bedtime.

But really, who hangs up when you’ve got two of the best voices in Milwaukee singing you to sleep?

For the most part though, it’s like men I know have a deadly allergy to anything even remotely close to speaking to a girl on the phone. Voice to voice contact clearly equals death.

Day 10. 10 straight days of phone conversations with Seth the Southern Charmer. The shortest being 37 minutes.

The longest… five hours. Only ended due to dying phone batteries and a little thing called not really wanting to watch the sun come up.

We were in different time zones. It's logistically impossible to watch the sun come up together when the sun is coming up at different times.

I know, I know. I can practically hear the exasperated sighs and long list of questions.

What on earth were you talking about for five hours?

To which I say none of your beeswax, but it included the average getting to know each other topics—family, work, friends, etc.

Aren’t you worried about your phone bill?

Free weekend and nighttime minutes thank you very much. It’s ok dad. You can stop composing the email about how expensive it gets when I go over on my minutes. I learned my lesson freshman year.

And of course the big question.

How do you keep him on the phone for so long?

To which I say...

I have no idea.