Saturday, February 27, 2010

Taking the online plunge

It is a woman's prerogative to change her mind. Which I've done. I was very wary of internet dating. I didn't want to try it and didn't like the idea of filling in little boxes about myself. Then one day I was off sick and bored and I decided to see what dating sites were out there. Just out of curiosity you understand.

While researching I came across a site which instantly appealed to me. It's called My Single Friend and I have linked the site in case you're curious. The difference with this site is that rather than you writing about yourself and making yourself sound fantastic, a friend does it for you. You fill out all the basic information- height, city, employed status, etc. you get a friend to write a description and then you write a response. My type of site.

I mentioned it to Vi who agreed this had potential. And because Vi knows me really well and has a way with words I enlisted her help. She wrote a lovely and witty description and now ladies I am on a dating site.

And it's fun.

There are different things that can be done:

1. I can add guys to my favourites and they can add me to theirs
2. There are 'mutual favourites'
3. I can email guys and they can email me
4. And finally, Vi's favourite- she can recommend guys to me. She is loving the meddling opportunities!

So far I've had about 16 guys add me as their favourites, some have looked promising. Others I've deleted pretty much straight away. It's bringing out my ruthless side. I have 3 mutual favourites and 6 emails. One email consisted of: 'Hey, you've got an interesting profile? where do you work?' Um...no. However, one particular email was really, really good and made me laugh. A lot. I'm trying to formulate a response.

I'm not yet thinking about actually meeting up with someone. I'm taking it in baby steps. But my conclusion so far? Loving it.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Chivalry is not (quite) dead

My car will be the death of me. Financially, anyway.

I was on my way to pick up Eloise yesterday when, once again, my car started making ominous noises, which were a little too similar to last month. This time, I pulled into a gas station as soon as possible. Luckily, my spindle hadn't snapped again. No, my rear tire was merely ripped to shreds. On one hand, I was happy that's all it was, but on the other, it was blatantly obvious that I was going to need a new tire. This was no patch job, that was for sure. At this rate, I will need a third job just to pay for my car (which is paid off).

I've changed a tire all by myself before, so that's what I set up to do, thinking all the while about what Grayer said about the man of my dreams coming to my assistance. I jacked the car, and got out my wrench, and took off the first two lugnuts. But I was still sore from my kickboxing experiment on Monday, and was really struggling with the last two lugnuts. Throughout this process, two men were standing at a pump, waiting for their tank to fill up and watching. And watching me struggle. I am an independent woman, capable of changing my own tire, but I just kept thinking, really guys? Can't you help a girl out? Finally, when I straightened up from another failed attempt to loosen the stubborn lugnut, one of the guys was standing right next to me. It was kind of creepy. He didn't say anything, just took my wrench and started unscrewing. "Thanks," I said. He didn't say anything. His friend finished pumping his gas, helped the first guy take off my shredded tire, and put on the spare, not saying a word. As the first guy was tightening up the lugnuts, I once again said, "Thanks so much!" Finally, he spoke: "Make sure you don't drive over 45, 50 mph on these donuts." Right. And that was all.

For all the "luck" I am supposedly having, it's not translating into any other aspect of my life. I've sunk $1,000 into my car in the last month. I have not met a Harvard Hottie in Eloise's building, and I certainly can't meet men outside of her building, since everyone assumes the mini-me holding my hand is my daughter. Dogs are man-magnets. Children are not. Now I can't even find a man while being a damsel in distress on the side of the road. What is this world coming to?

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Mama said knock you out

The other day, I had a rare late morning/early afternoon off, so I checked the gym schedule for a class, saw kickboxing at the right time, and went.

Two days later, I'm still struggling to lift my arms and put a bra on.

What I expected was a toned, 40ish woman standing in front of the class, instructing us to punch and kick the air in reps of 8, all to the tune of dance hits of the '90s. Instead, I found an Ultimate Fighting Champion/Brad Pitt in Fight Club, complete with the tattoos and mohawk, wrapping my hands and handing me boxing gloves, and blaring Eminem-type rap music with lyrics like, "take that, mother fuckaaaaa." And yet somehow, while he was screaming "Push-ups! Go!" and "Mountain climbers! Go!" over said rap music during our "warm-up" (which had me sweating profusely in mere seconds) I found something about it oddly sexy. Hmmm...

Since I was new to the class, I had the dubious honor of being paired with the instructor so he could show me the proper fighting technique. It was brilliant, actually. For 40 minutes, I did my best to beat the snot out of a man. It was incredibly therapeutic.

Emotionally unavailable?

THWAK!

$800 to fix my car? Do you know how many pairs of shoes I could get with that?

POW!

Not to mention the self-defense skills I picked up as Brad Pitt taught me how to use knees and elbows, as well as a jab and right hook.

So yes, every inch of me hurts, from my abs to the palms of my hands. (Seriously, the palms of my hands!) But I'm itching to do it again, and I would recommend you do the same.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Rejection Adjectives

I am no longer a cool aloof ice queen. You may remember my discovery that WW is just not that into me. However, was I smart enough to leave it at that? That would be a no.

I blame wine and technology.

I was out with friends on Friday night. After a bottle (or two) of wine we got discussing WW and the men in our lives. My friend decided that I needed closure. I have no idea why I agreed with her. I guess I just had that scene from Friends stuck in my mind where Rachel leaves Ross a voicemail: "and that my friend is what they call closure." I've always kinda wanted to do that.

Now my drunken self should have been prevented from making a fool out of myself because I had smartly deleted his number from my phone. But my drunken self can be quite canny. I remembered that his number was saved in a Facebook email. And this is where technology is evil. Thanks to the progression of cell phones that were once the size of bricks to fancy new cell phones that can access the world wide web with a touch of a few buttons, well, you can figure out the rest.

His phone number once again installed in my phone I proceeded to text him. Even at this stage it could have ended relatively painless as the first couple of texts were innocent and friendly enough. Then I ruined it.

I said something along the lines of: "Just so you know I don't make a habit of kissing my guys friends...I kind of like you...thoughts?" I have deleted the messages so I'm relying on memory here. I'm sure that you've guessed by now that my drunken text didn't work out like Violet's.

Picture the scene. It's 11.30 on a Friday night. I'm in McDonalds because I decided that I really needed a burger. Burger in one hand, phone in the other I read a text message that went something along the lines of:

"Wow, big question! I know we kissed both times we met up...you're nice but...sorry that's just how I feel."

I'm nice?! This is one of the worst rejection adjectives. Ever. If you're going to hear: "You're _____________ (insert adjective) but..." you don't want nice.

Maybe it's just me. After all why should the choice of rejection adjective matter? But I think it does. If I'm going to get rejected at least let me maintain a little bit of my dignity with a decent adjective.

So what do we think are 'good' rejection adjectives?

And once again ladies I urge you to not drink and text or dial. One of these days I will practice what I preach.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Hot for Teacher

I teach. I teach adults. Some of my students are older than I am. Some of them are younger. Some of them are the same age. While I've been known to socialize with students, (as neither of the schools I've worked for have had policies against it, it's not that serious) I don't date them. That's just weird.

Earlier this week, I was checking my email before class, when a student who is not in any of my classes asked me if I had a good weekend. Since my weekend involved dressing up like a figure skater and telling strangers I was a gold medalist, I replied that it was. Then he asked if I went away with my boyfriend. "Nooo," I said slowly, thinking that was a strange question to ask. Then I remembered that it had been Valentine's Day. Just goes to show how easy that non-holiday is to ignore. "Why not?" he asked. Without thinking, I said, "Because I don't have a boyfriend."

As soon as I said it, I knew why he asked it. Especially since I kept catching him watching me for the past week. Sure enough, not two minutes later, he asked if he could see me outside of class. This is not the first time a student has asked me out, and I am a master of avoiding and wriggling out of awkward situations. I told him sure, sometime, but not this week, as I'm very busy and important, but, you know, sometime. Of course, this took longer than normal because he has only been in the country for a few weeks and speaks little to no English. My strategy (as it has always been) is that by continuing to say "sometime" they will either give up or forget about it. In the past, it has been very effective.

I immediately went to Fenella, since she has also been in this same situation before. While all of our colleagues were dating (or just sleeping with) students, she and I stayed out of that. I gave her the need-to-knows:

1. He's not my student, and never will be.
2. He speaks almost no English. And while I'm used to speaking to people who don't speak much English, conversation would be extremely difficult. (Although as Grayer pointed out, we both know the language of love.) Dinner conversation would consist of a lot of pointing and "Fork!" "Waiter!" Although, come to think of it, that may be better than some of the conversations I've had on dates...
3. He's an Italian Dreamboat.
4. He's a smoker.

Sadly, Number 4 cancels out everything else, as we would just have a repeat of Popcorn Man.

I managed to avoid the Italian Dreamboat all week, until Friday. After he had won a school-wide musical chairs competition, I gave him a high-five (which I had to do, as I had done the same for the runners-up). He kept a grip on my hand, and (I'm not kidding here) nuzzled it to his cheek. Only an Italian Dreamboat can pull this one off.

A bit later, I was gathering my stuff up in my classroom, when he walked in and handed me a piece of paper. For a brief, horrifying moment, I was afraid I would open it to find "Do you like me? Check yes or no." Fortunately/Unfortunately, it was his number. "For Saturday," he said. "uhhhhh, I have plans, I can't." Then, so he could understand more easily, "I'M. BUSY." This did not phase him. "Sunday then." "O-ok," I said, surprised at how sure he was of this. Oh, to be Italian. And a dreamboat. He laughed. "You don't like me," he shrugged. "I didn't say that. It's just... I'm busy." I have no idea why I felt the need to explain. I could have just told him I didn't want to go out with him, but his English is so bad that all he would hear is the word "No" and then it would just be mean. Now I've missed out on the opportunity to explain that I don't date students. Or smokers.

Is it some sort of Murphy's Law that you will only be pursued by people you don't want to be pursued by? Murphy's Dating Law?

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Wanted: Person

I need a new person.

This morning I received news from Conrad that he had been in the hospital last night. Apparently after hours of pain and limited vision, he got a friend to drive him to the emergency room. Apparently he had a chemical burn to the cornea from working in the lab. Scary! After making sure he was ok, which he is, I realized something. He didn't even tell me about it. I don't blame him for not asking me to take him to the hospital (I live 15 minutes away) but he didn't even mention it. Yes (Violet) I know he's not my boyfriend and he doesn't have to tell me anything, but come on.

If I was at home alone freaking about my burning eyes and loss of vision, I would be freaking out to him about my burning eyes and loss of vision. He's my person!

"You can't be sleeping with your person."

Ok (Violet) so Conrad and I may not be the Meredith and Christina of persons, but we have each other. Sometimes. When we feel like it. For right now anyways.

"Yeah you're not his person."

Yes (Violet) I'm not his person! No amount of pain, burning, or possibility of irreversible damage could get him to even send a complaining text message. I am not his person. So why did I think I was? Maybe because I talk to him everyday? Maybe because he's my closest/most geographically desirable friend right now? Maybe because things between him and I are the best they've ever been? (and by best I mean worst).

"You need a new person."

I know (Violet), I totally need a new person. One who will call me to take them to the hospital. One who I will freak out about things to. One who I'm not sleeping with. Now accepting applications.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Guys from work = NO!

A couple weeks ago I was out with work people. I went up to the bar and got talking to a guy who works for the same organisation as I do but in our other office. Half an hour later two of my friends come up to me, all drunkenly dramatic demanding where I had been, they had been looking everywhere for me. I asked them where they had looked. Answer? The toilets. Oh what I reputation I must have.

We returned to our group of people and continued chatting and exchanged numbers. I didn't think much of it because although he's tall, funny and Australian (check, check and check) physically I'm not really attracted to him and as shallow as it may be you need to be physically attracted to a person, at least a little bit. But the next day, to my surprise, my phone bleeped with a text message that wasn't from my mother. It was from Max From The Media Team (MFTMT). After text chatting for a bit he asked if I wanted to meet up at some point. Hmmmm...

I thought about it. Now normally I wouldn't get involved with a guy from work because it could get messy but I reasoned that 1.) he's leaving the organisation in a few weeks 2.) he works in the other office and 3.) he has seen the movie Sixteen Candles. And although I'm not physically attracted to him I had fun chatting with him and I haven't been on many dates so it could be good practice. So I said yes, we decided on a day and he said he would contact me closer to the time to finalise details.

However, we're supposed to be meeting tomorrow and I've heard nothing. I checked the text he sent me, he said he would contact me. Humph. I spoke to him on the phone last week at work so I would've thought that would have reminded him. Then today I answered someone else's phone and it was him. So the day before we're supposed to meet he spoke to me. Therefore, I would say there is really no excuse for not remembering about pre-arranged plans.

How humiliating. A guy that I'm not really interested in isn't contacting me. Oh dear. Get the violins out ladies.

NB: I am fully aware there is still time for him to contact me. But he's cutting it a bit fine. We'll see.

Where is the excitement?

This weekend I had two dates with two different guys. With all the online dating that I've done, you would think that this would have happened before now, but actually this was a first. (I live in a small town so, the geographically desirable online dating pool is more of a puddle.)

The first date of the weekend was with Teddy. Teddy and I had been out two other times. Honestly, I don't have anything bad to say about him. He is outdoorsy, educated, well mannered, and sweet. Teddy seems to be an all around nice guy and we have a lot in common. I could go on about his positive qualities, but if I was completely honest with myself then I'd admit that I was just trying to reassure myself that he is a great catch. The thing is that I don't get excited when he calls. When he tries to make plans with me, I sometimes find myself making excuses like I have to study or go to the gym. Even when I'm making the excuses I know that I shouldn't, but I can't seem to stop myself. It shouldn't be this easy to be a cool aloof ice queen, right? On the other hand, I feel like I should give Teddy a chance, because I do have fun with him and it is easy to talk to him. He is the type of guy I would be friends with. How long can I date him before I make a decision?

My second date of the weekend was with Mascot Guy. Mascot Guy had several photos of himself with mascots up on his profile. I had asked him about this, so the first thing that he did on our date was pull out his camera and show me at least 20 other pictures with mascots. And this was only from this past year, he told me he has more! I guess this is kind of a cool hobby, but I have to say, it was a little weird on a first date. I asked him how often he goes to games and I got the impression this isn't just a hobby, it is an obsession. This might not have been as disappointing if I was at all athletic or went to sporting events for the games rather than the experience, friends, and the people watching. Also, I found myself wondering if the mascot thing is the most interesting thing about him. Still the conversation wasn't bad.

After Mascot Guy inhaled his food, he started to get antsy. He went and paid before I was even halfway done. He wanted to know if I wanted to go somewhere else, but he couldn't come up with anything to do. I told him I wouldn't mind staying there a little longer longer. Mascot Guy told me he thought sticking around at the restaurant longer would be weird. This was after maybe 45 minutes. He asked me if I was ready to go before I'd even finished my drink. Seriously, what was the rush? Mascot guy was out the door of the restaurant, while I was still standing at the table zipping up my coat! He waited outside and gave me a hug in the middle of the road telling me that we should do it again. I couldn't help but think this was kind of rude. Within 15 minutes of the date, he had texted me to say he had a great time and can't wait to do it again. How can he be so over eager but in such a rush to end a date at the same time? I'm wondering if maybe Mascot Guy was just really nervous and it would be worth giving him a second chance. What do you think?

I find online dating to be kind of unnatural. You meet a guy and feel like you have to instantly decide if there is chemistry. I had amazing chemistry with MM and even with him there wasn't instant chemistry. We were friends for a while first. Still, I think that I deserve to find someone that I'm excited about. Don't we all deserve to find someone who gives us butterflies in our stomachs? I haven't completely written these guys off yet, but I'm going to continue looking.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Don't drink and text!...or should you?

Here's an equation sure to get you a lot of regret:

Alcohol+boredom+a cell phone

Last night, I was out with the cute neighbor on a S.A.D. bar crawl. We were supposed to be meeting up with other single friends, but that didn't end up working out. (Although I realized that I really need to make some local female friends. I was planning on spending the evening with the cute neighbor, McNerdy, and the umpire. Those are the three friends I hang out with most frequently. Kind of hard to meet other men when with men.) The cute neighbor and I were having a good time, however, drinking too much and telling people that we were indeed Olympic ice dancers. We won gold in Torino, you see, but failed to qualify for Vancouver, apparently because I showed up to the qualifier hungover. Drunk people will believe anything. ANYTHING.

Later on in the evening, I wrapped up a conversation with an accountant who lives on my street and apparently goes to my gym. He left, and we ordered another round, and the cute neighbor started chatting up a girl. I looked around for someone to talk to, but by that time of night, everyone was either too far gone, or had already found their evening hook-up. I was full of vodka, I was bored, I whipped out my phone. I texted the Dark Horse. Something along the lines of my being an undisputed twister champion, and being extremely bendy, and shouldn't we take advantage of that?

It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, but when I woke up this morning, I thought: Undo! Undo! Undo! That sounds that I heard was my status at having achieved ice queen nirvana flying- no, whooshing- out the window. I know that on the drunk-text scale (which we should really establish) of 1-10, 1 being "Haha, that was funny" and 10 being "I want to die, I want to die, I want to DIE," this one would probably fall on the lower end of the scale. But still. After consulting with both Grayer and Fenella, I sent my retraction: "Apologies. Must learn to never drink and text." Within a few minutes, a response: "No, it was funny!"

Whew.

Hours later, while I was watching actual figure skating on tv, a text dings: It was the Dark Horse, apologizing for not sending much of a response earlier, followed by "sooo... you're bendy, eh??? ;)"

Huh.

I responded that I am in fact bendy, and that I won 5 straight games of Twister while wearing a figure skating costume. Impressive?

Indeed. Then he asked if I still had the costume.

It was most unexpected. And very interesting. Apparently when there is no pressure of an actual relationship, you have nothing to lose and throw all the rules out, "going rogue" can work out well.

But just to be on the safe side, I think I'll hand my phone over to a responsible adult next time.

Playlist: Singles' Awareness Day, Volume II

Happy S.A.D.! I just didn't have the inspiration for this year's S.A.D. playlist, which simply cannot compete with last year's playlist, which I thought was excellent. Refer back to that one, as this year's edition was hastily thrown together. My apologies.

Haven't Met You Yet- Michael Buble
Never Recover- The Cardigans
Love is Dead- The Lovemakers
Friday I'm in Love- The Cure
Single Ladies- Beyonce
Two Atoms in a Molecule (If Love is Just a Game, How Come I've Never Won?)- Noah and the Whale
Maneater- Hall & Oates
Love Song for No One- John Mayer
Bad Romance- Lady Gaga
Hologram- Katie Herzig

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Twister Champion

Last night, a friend of mine had a birthday party. And since her birthday fell on the same day as the Opening Ceremonies, she had an Olympic-themed party, and requested that she see a lot of spandex and sequins. As soon as I got the invite, I texted the cute neighbor, and told him we should go as ice dancers. He not only responded with a yes, but suggested that we go tanning and choreograph a routine. And that is why we are friends.

We went all out. I managed to find a sparkly leotard (with snaps in the crotch!) and a ruffly black skirt to go over it. I bought shiny pantyhose, French braided my hair, wore waaaay too much make-up: rouge, lipstick, eyeshadow, the works. Cute neighbor wore my black pants, so they were a bit shiny and super-snug (didn't leave much to the imagination), and a billowy-white shirt, ala Brian Boitano. I put some blush on him too, and then the kicker: We wore matching sparkly headbands. He looked like something straight out of Riverdance, but our costumes were excellent. We even practiced our bows.

The party was in jeopardy, as it was snowing an actual, legitimate snowfall, and it never does that here. They don't even have snowplows, so it's best to stay inside when that happens, but I had purchased a sparkly leotard, dammit! I was going even if I had to cross-country ski there!

We made it safely, but when we walked in the door, I noticed an extreme lack of spandex and sequins. Everyone was wearing jeans and sweaters. Not a single speed-skater or hockey player in sight. I mean, shouldn't there at least be a couple of snowboarders? That's simple enough. Had it not been for the cute neighbor, it would have been exactly like Bridget Jones when she walked into the tarts and vicars party dressed as a playboy bunny only to find out they had canceled the theme and everyone is wearing country casuals.

But the cute neighbor and I were not about to sulk in the corner in a borrowed floral print dress. We embraced it. We posed for goofy pictures. We owned it. I even played Twister in my skating costume, and was the undisputed gold-medalist, as I won all 5 games we played. (I'm incredibly bendy. How is it that I'm so single?) The cute neighbor and I made an excellent team off the ice as well, and dominated Cranium. It was a good time.

However, the party was not all gold medals and congratulatory bouquets. There was a couple there who were way too affectionate with each other. Like nuzzling her neck kind of affectionate. The kind that make you feel incredibly awkward to be in the same room. But the most jaw-dropping moment came when they left the party. He got her coat. Fine. He helped her put it on. Old-school, but fine. Then he ZIPPED IT UP FOR HER. WTF? Is this woman incapable of zipping up her own coat? I zipped up Eloise's coat before we went outside to play in the snow, but she's 5! I made eyes at the cute neighbor and jerked my head in their direction so he could witness it too. He burst out laughing. Then he said something to me in a far-too-loud whisper, asking me if I needed him to help me button up my coat when it was time to leave. I mean, seriously. Seriously?

And now I'm the owner of a sparkly leotard. Perhaps the cute neighbor and I will be Torvill and Dean for Halloween?

Happy Anna Shaw Howard Day

Even if you don't watch 30 Rock, you'll be sure to appreciate the greatest Valentine's day themed show of all time. Liz Lemon also refuses to celebrate a "a sham created by greeting card companies to reinforce gender stereotypes" and instead calls it Anna Shaw Howard Day ("the February 14th birthday of the famed American suffragette"). Somebody needs to teach this lady about Singles Awareness Day!

Thursday, February 11, 2010

S.A.D. Poetry

In honor of the pink and red "holiday" upon us, I decided to do a poetry lesson with one of my classes today. (Also because I was too lazy to do anything else, and this is a standard lesson I've done several times. I used the "holiday" as an excuse.) While my students were plugging away, I penned a few of my own, in honor of us, and the men that have come in and out of our lives over the last year.

To not settling:

Roses are Red,
Grass is green,
Don't I deserve
To be treated like a Queen?

The Highlander:

Roses are Red,
Violets are blue,
You're so stupid,
You haven't got a clue.

The Dark Horse:

Violets are blue,
Roses are Red,
We would be better
If we just stayed in bed.

For Grayer and Conrad:

Roses are Red,
Funerals are black,
What you two have
Is really whack.

For Welsh Willy:

Roses are Red,
But some are pink,
For not calling Fen,
You really stink!

For Scarlet:

Roses are Red,
Lillies are white,
I'm only looking for
My very own knight.

I could go on and on and on...

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Hell yes February!

Oh crap it's February? I think not, ladies. Nevermind that January is finally over and that spring is just around the corner. February is the month of groundhogs, the month of superbowls, the month of hot Olympic athletes, and the month of Singletons. That's right, Single's Awareness Day (if you didn't know you're single, you do now). If you're new with us at WWBD? you should know one thing. We do not celebrate Valentine's day, because we do not believe in Valentine's day. We do not need dinner plans. We do not need red fuzzy teddy bears that will gather dust. We do not need overpriced red roses that will die. We do not need candy that will go straight to our hips. We don't need anything because Valentine's day is not a holiday. (Please refer to previous arguments supporting this simple fact).

Please understand that we are not bitter Singletons. We have simply joined/started the revolution that is SAD and this belief has spanned many a men and many relationships. It's liberating to be a nonbeliever! It's not that we don't believe in love, we just don't believe you need a declared "holiday" to show love. It's not that we don't believe in romance, we just don't believe romance is defined by tacky gifts of the pink and red assortment. It's not that we don't believe in celebrations, hell yes we believe in celebration. Lucky for us, SAD falls on a Sunday of a 3-day weekend. While all those smug marrieds are out with the usual holiday rituals (What is so "romantic" about going out to dinner?) we will be out at the bar. Seriously, put on your dancing shoes because the clubs should be crawling with singles ready to mingle! Can you say snogfest?! It's a great time to be a Singleton!

So jam out with that playlist, join the cause and celebrate Single's Awareness Day (only let's learn from my mistakes last year).

Saturday, February 6, 2010

I shaved my legs for THIS

Oh, action. Why did you ever leave me?

Last night, the Dark Horse said he would stop by to drop off a book that he had borrowed from me. Now, this was the first time I had heard from him since the "I shaved my legs for this" incident, which it will heretofore be known, and I had absolutely. no. idea. what to expect from this encounter. My expectations seriously ran the gamut from "Here's your book, thanks for letting me borrow it" to waking up next to each other sans clothing. I figured it would be somewhere in the middle. Instead, I got an extreme.

When he arrived, I honestly didn't think we would be waking up next to each other. Things weren't awkward, because I can't imagine them ever being awkward between us, but they were... polite? We set off to grab a slice of pizza around the corner. I should probably explain that I live right off a rather, shall we say, colorful? street. There are all sorts of interesting characters and plenty of homeless people always looking for money "for gas." I generally ignore them, but the Dark Horse is nothing if not friendly, and he likes to listen to their stories and engage in conversation. Which is exactly what he did with a flamingly gay man who approached us to ask for money, swearing that he wasn't a bum, and believing the Dark Horse when DH told him he was a doctor. The non-bum hadn't really noticed me, but when he did, he asked "is this your wife?" Then he looked me up and down, and even peered around me to check out my ass, and said in a way that only the truly flaming can pull off, "Girl, you have got it going ON! You are bootylicious!" Then somehow the conversation went from his living with AIDS for 15 years to my bootyliciousness.

Eventually, we shook the guy, but on our way from the pizza place to the bar, passed him again, where he yelled "BOOTYLICIOUS!" after me. Oh, city life. I wouldn't trade you for anything.

When we got to the bar, we ran into my (more than a little drunk) roommate and BFF and joined them. It was after they left that I knew I wouldn't be sleeping alone. I think it was when DH told me that I was indeed bootylicious and asked if I had shaved my legs that I knew. (I told him that I was going to keep that information to myself this time.) We went back to my place. He had said he was crashing on my couch (he was in no state to be driving), but who was he kidding? Technically, he made the first move, but I guess you could argue that I made the first move several weeks ago with my drunken speech, which he obviously took to heart and remembered, because he definitely came prepared, and several helpings of pistachio ice cream with cherries on top later, we were two happy campers.

But it was afterward that I impressed myself with my ice queeniness. First of all, I did not initiate any cuddling. Second, in the morning, when he asked what that was (seriously, does he need a definition?) my official stance on the situation was "It happens." I told him if it happens again, great, if not, ok. And that's how I actually feel about it, too. I mean, obviously I want it to happen again, and I definitely think it will, but there are other fish in the sea. Third, he sent the obligatory "I had fun last night" text message. And I haven't even responded yet. Fenella says this is ice queen nirvana. Now what do I strive for?

Friday, February 5, 2010

Why hello anger, I've been expecting you...

I had the disappointed stage.

I had the hurt stage.

Now I've hit anger.

We've all been there. We get interested in a guy, non-platonic things happen, we think this might lead somewhere and then...nothing.

I've never understood how people can do this to another person. If you're not interested in someone then please don't give them any non platonic indications that you are! It's really not difficult to understand.

What's so frustrating is that this has turned WW into the nicest guy I've met for a long time to a fuckwit. And that is disappointing. Now I feel that we can't even be friends, which I wanted. I said to Vi after the first time I met up with him that even if nothing more happened I would be happy just being friends. Now, if we were to meet up 'as friends' I'd just be looking at him the whole time thinking "you fuckwit, you."

Whew, that's the anger stage over and done with! The benefit of going through these stages when you haven't been in a relationship with the guy is that the stages occur so much quicker.

Looking at the positives: lots of compliments today on my outfit and hair. Retail therapy rocks!

Thursday, February 4, 2010

He's Just Not That Into Me

I'm not stupid. I know how to read between the lines of text messages, or read between the lack of lines in the lack of a text message reply. Welsh Willy is just not that into me.

Am I disappointed? Yes.

Did I send Vi a depressing email? Yes.

Did I eat chocolate? Yes.

Did I turn to retail therapy? Yes.

Have I been over analysing the whole situation and wondering why he's just not that into me? But of course.

It's been awhile since I've found myself in the rejected corner. Not because I'm so great but because I've had a bit of a dry spell and I was the one who ended it with Fergus. It's been so long that I've forgotten just how much it sucks.

However, as disappointed as I am I'm also quite proud of myself. I've learned from past mistakes and experiences; most of which involved alcohol and technology. This time round I won't be going down that path:

I deleted all text messages from him.

I deleted his number.

I got Vi to change the password to my Facebook profile. Extreme? Perhaps. But I was spending way too much time on it anyways. I just hope she doesn't let all the power go to her head...

So I'm making progress.

Do I still feel lousy? Yes.

Do I still feel a teensy bit hopeful when my phone beeps with a text message? Unfortunately yes.

Am I going to go out for drinks tomorrow night with a positive outlook and show off the result of my retail therapy? Hell yes.

Afterall, as Vi said, if he's just not into me then he's just not right for me. and why would I want to be with someone who isn't right for me?

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Slut Boot Camp

Over the weekend, Fenella and I were discussing one thing we would both like to change about ourselves: We wish we could be sluttier.

I won't speak entirely for Fen, but my frustration is not in my singleton status, so much as knowing that had I been willing, I could have had quite a bit of sex last year. But no, I have standards. Damn you, mom and dad and my moral upbringing!

These standards came back to bite me in the ass during my "I shaved my legs for this" declaration to the Dark Horse, (who by the way I have clearly scared off, as I haven't heard from him in a few weeks) insisting I was down for a hook-up even though we weren't together, and he responded with a confused look and a "but that's not who you are." Ok, so maybe that's not who I am, but it is certainly who I want to be. Help me out here. Throw me a bone.

You're probably wondering why on earth anyone would want to be sluttier when there are some people out there who turn to self-sabotage (not shaving their legs, for example) to stop from sleeping with random people. It's really quite simple. Being a prude will not get you laid. And sometimes, that is all you need.

Unfortunately, when the Dark Horse had asked me about sex, I told him I preferred to wait until an actual commitment. That's because I was actually interested in being in an actual commitment with him, and any dating expert (including the Millionaire Matchmaker) will tell you to wait for that. But now? I'm only human, for crying out loud!

So the question is, how do I channel my inner slut? I was fortunate enough to meet an incredibly hot Spanish doctor last weekend. Yes, that's right. Incredibly hot. Spanish. Doctor. It sounds like one of the romance novels I used to shelve at the library. He's only in town for two months. This is the perfect opportunity to work on my sluttiness! I have absolutely nothing to lose! "The Rules" don't apply as he is a. European and b. temporary. So please send me your sluttish vibes so that I may get the action I deserve.