The Ex Factor

A few weeks ago, I got a totally random, out-of-the-blue email from The Dark Horse. Surprising, yes. Unwelcome, not really. He had recently read a book he thought I might like and wanted to pass it along. I won't turn down a good book recommendation. We passed a couple emails back and forth, just doing a bit of catch-up. I was sure to mention the cute neighbor, just in case he thought I might be down for a hook up. Besides, I had introduced the two of them thinking they could be great friends. I just couldn't understand why the cute neighbor just didn't like him.

That email did not prepare me for the even randomer email I got today. From...

THE HIGHLANDER.

Yeah. When I told Grayer, her response was, The Walkie-Talkie guy? Yes, the Walkie-Talkie guy randomly sent me an email today. Here is what it said,

Violet, let's meet up for a burger again. I'm moving to NY in a few weeks and it would be nice to see you again before I go.

Best, Highlander

Ok, let's break this down. First of all, notice how he said, "let's meet up for a burger again." Not, "hey, I know we haven't spoken in almost 2 years, but would you like to meet up for a drink or something to catch up?" I mean, seriously, we haven't spoken in over a year and a half. First I dumped him while we were at the beach together because I realized I couldn't stand him anymore, and then I told him I didn't want to be friends either, because I realized just how dull and boring he was. (I didn't mention the dull and boring part, of course.) And then he just randomly drops me an email telling me we need to meet up for a burger again.

When I told my roommate about this she said, "I would tell you just to do it, but he's so dull and boring you wouldn't even have fun." Exactly. He's mind-numbingly dull and boring. And there is always the possibility he would make us sit at opposite ends of the restaurant and communicate via walkie-talkie.

Yet, I am considering meeting up with him. Not for a burger. Or dinner. Maybe a drink. Just one. And not because I think he's suddenly come up with something interesting to say. But I really want to know how his cat is doing. Seriously, that was one really, really cute cat.

Seriously, two exes contacting me this close together is a bit strange. Who's next? My college ex whom I haven't spoken to almost 4 years? Because if he emails me out of the blue, I might just shit a brick.

Wedding Blues

Unless you've been living in a cave, you'll be aware that this Friday there is a rather large, rather famous, rather 'I'll be able to tell my grandkids I watched it' wedding occurring. I'm over it.

Actually, I'm so over it I was never really under it. Living in London means ever since the wedding was announced it's all around me. I only cared about it while it was being decided if we get a day off. We do. I no longer care.

It is everywhere. Every single shop, television channel, magazine, restaurant and tacky souvenir stand features the wedding in someway. You can buy tea towels, mugs, even shopping bags. Why would anyone want a shopping bag exactly?

I'm not jealous. I'm not upset that the prince didn't pick me (although, Princess Fen has an excellent ring to it). I'm just done with the fuss, I'm done with every time I turn on the tv seeing something about it and I'm done with the shopping bags. I've seen people with them, using them. Honest.

I hear it's big news in the US and I honestly hope you all enjoy it and they keep the palace lit up past midnight or whatever the discussion / argument is going on at the moment. Just because I'm a Grinch about it doesn't mean I need to spoil others enjoyment over it.

But I refuse to buy any of you shopping bags and send them over. And I'm sorry Vi, I'm not camping out to hold up a sign that says 'Hi Vi!' next to Good Morning America's spot. It ain't gonna happen.

Let us rejoice

The day has come.  Praise the Lord, Charles Darwin, the Great Bambino and all things almighty!   The bitch is moving out.  Yeah that bitch, my nightmare, giant slutbag of a roommate, who I've been living with for the past year.  SHE'S FINALLY MOVING OUT.  Dreams really do come true.  Let's all jump around in celebratory concentric circles while eating oreos.

What will I miss most? It's hard to say.  Maybe all the weird crap that's slowly migrated into the living room as she takes over shelf space with her plastic sword and wig collection.  That's right, wig collection.  Maybe her bringing people back from the bars at night, with one who walks into my room when I'm bed, while the other vomits all over my freshly cleaned toilet.  I'll definitely miss her string of gentlemen friends, who she is always so polite as to go out of her way and introduce me to.  I'll particularly miss the almost-boyfriend who strongly smells of cologne, mixed with ball sweat.  I'll miss smelling him when I come in the door at night, and definitely miss smelling him on Mr. Meowington (Hey Mr. Sweatyballs, what the hell were you doing with my cat?!).

A couple of weeks ago I overheard her phone conversation.  The only way I really know anything about her anymore is through overheard conversations and Facebook.  I feel ok about that.  I heard her say she was fired from her waitressing job.  She also said "I need to return to my previous profession, I'm tried of being poor."  This of course led me to believe her past profession was prostitution (because as Bernard later pointed out, she doesn't have the body to be a stripper).  She then went into a very graphic story of how she met a guy from okCupid on Thursday for lunch, and then proceeded to spend the rest of the weekend having unprotected sex with him until Sunday evening.  She also talked about how she's going on a cross-country trip with a guy she met while on a recent trip to Argentina (Because there's nothing like a crosscountry trip with some foreign creeper you met in a bar and knew for a couple days). Since I'm sharing quarters with an ex-prostitute/giant slutbag, I'm now blaming my own HPV on the toilet seat.  It's the only explanation, really.

It is true, she hasn't been all that bad the past few months.  Aside from being unemployed and therefore home all the time.  Her number of gentlemen callers has also been low, relatively speaking.  Bernard moving in, seems to have a subduing effect on her, causing her to keep to herself.  Maybe this is because Bernard likes to make her feel stupid (not because he's an asshole, but because she tries really, really hard to sound smart and that annoys him).  Bernard and I are hoping to throw a party for her departure.  It will be like a farewell party, except the person leaving won't actually be invited.  We've been planning this since the first week Bernard moved in, theme and all.   Yep, dreams really do come true.

It's in the cards

I got a psychic reading last weekend.  Don't judge.  When you see a Groupon for a psychic reading, you should probably buy it.  Obviously.  That's what my friend and I did.  I was oddly nervous as we walked into what could be described as the sketchiest building in downtown Boston.  What if she sees the Grim in my tea leaves and predicts me to be in grave danger?  What if a palm reading confirms my fear that my self inflicted stab wound (four stitches) was in fact, on my marriage line? (whatever that might mean, it can't be good). What if she doesn't see a man in my future, just cats?

It was a Tarot card reading. We first discussed my current job search (yes, I'm looking for a new job for the fall).  According to my psychic, I'm definitely moving west.  Boston is not for me. Nor is California for sure.  She sees me in Colorado (I did actually apply to a place there). If not this fall, next fall.  Good to hear, but enough of that, let's move on to the good stuff.  Love life.

After I pulled three cards on the subject, she looks at me.  "Are you dating someone now?" Far from it.  "Does someone you know want to be dating you?"  Like a secret admirer? I don't think so. Apparently, I will eventually have a relationship with someone I already know.  She could see us together at some sort of gathering surrounding a fire.  She can not see his face but she can feel his presence next to her, and when she tilted her head she could feel her head on his developed shoulder.  Sweet, he'll be taller then me and won't have bony shoulders!  She doesn't know when this will happen, possibly not until next fall, but it will happen just in time for me to move away from him.  She didn't know the extent of our relationship but she did know that I would be sad to leave him.  Great.

 I can't say I'm surprised.  Dating someone and then one of us moving away is a recurrent theme in my life.  She apologized for not giving me better news, but I figure a man is better then no man at all.  But who is this mystery man whom I am already acquainted?  Not going to lie, my first thought was my roommate Bernard.  I just blame this on the fact that he is my live-in-replacement-boyfriend, not because in some weird alternate universe we actually like each other.  I swear.

My psychic did assure me this didn't mean I wouldn't date anyone before this mystery man and I started seeing each other in a different way.  She can only see relationships that will actually "resonate with the soul" meaning this guy will actually mean something to me, and then I'll have to leave him.  Fantastic.

Overall, it was a fun experience.  I'm not sure I buy into the whole thing but it was interesting.  Anything she told me didn't terribly surprise me so I guess that made it more believable.  The best part about this all, is that I can now start sentences with "My psychic told me..." How rad is that?

Dreams DO come true!

Oh my God, y'all! I'm a total celebrity! No, seriously. At least 20,000 people saw my screaming face on a screen 6 stories tall! I'm here to tell you: Dreams can come true. Because I, Violet J. Bickerstaff, am an accomplished, tailgating champion! Can you believe it? I'm still pinching myself!

Recently, the cute neighbor and I decided to introduce our foreign friends to the institution of tailgating and baseball. You really can't get more American than that. We told everyone to bring beer and brats and chips and guacamole and more beer. We loaded up not one, but two cars full of grills, tables, chairs, and coolers. We got there early enough to set up in prime tailgating real estate. I knew it was going to be a good day. And it was.

About two thirds of the way into our tailgate, a team representative came over to tell us that we had bested our fellow tailgaters and were now the official winners of the Tailgaters of the Game. I was stunned. I was shocked. I had been working toward this goal since late 2010, ever since I first learned that this achievement existed. I felt my eyes well up with tears.

"Wow. Thank you! I... I hardly know what to say! First, I would like to thank Major League Baseball for honoring me in this way. I also need to thank my parents, for teaching me the rules of baseball, and the cute neighbor for showing me how to wrap a pork tenderloin in bacon and throw it on the grill..."

In case you haven't figured it out by now, winning Tailgater of the Game is a big fucking deal. First, they give you money. $250. That is no small chunk of change. Then, they put you on the jumbotron. Not only do they put us on the jumbotron, but they record us saying "PLAAAAAY BALL!" right before the first pitch. The game wouldn't even start without us! You can't start the game without a bunch of drunk baseball fans screaming PLAAAAAY BALL! on the jumbotron! You just can't!

So, how was it that our tailgating team (The Meatsweats) was able to pull off such an upset? Let's break down Keys to Victory:

1. The Crowd: The Meatsweats are a larger team than most. 12 boisterous members to be exact. The combination of diversity (more than half were foreigners) and enthusiasm (partly contributed to the beer) made the boring, half-hearted teams around us (quietly munching on chips) really pale in comparison.

2. The Food: Our table was absolutely jam-packed with food: chips, guac, hummus, fruit, bread, meat, and on and on. Then there was the grill. Were we cooking frozen burgers and hot dogs? Hell no! Only bacon-wrapped pork tenderloin and tri-tip steak for The Meatsweats.

3. The Apron: The cute neighbor was rocking an apron while working the grill. It really sealed the deal.

4. The Excitement over free peanuts: At one point, a team representative came by with free peanuts. "Hey everyone!" I yelled, "We got FREE PEANUTS! WOOOOOOO" Yup, that was the kicker right there.

Really, it was a true group effort. Everyone played an integral role in our ass-kicking tailgate. And this weekend will be the blowout party, funded by our prize money. I for one can't wait to get the cake that says, "Congratulations, Meatsweats!" It's going to be EPIC.

Screw The Code

My somewhat eventful evening with PWG and my now departed manager Kate has had a few repercussions.

Last week, PWG left the organisation I work for. I was quite pleased about this. With him gone, the chances of people finding out about us lessens considerably and the chances of me being known as the office slut lessens as well. Bonus.

As tradition dictates, someone leaving work means work leaving drinks. At his, me being the nosey person I am, I asked what happened between him and Kate - in a joking way, more to tease than actually get information. He declined to comment which was fair enough. At around 7.30 drinks came to a close. I thought this was a little odd, I had banked on a longer evening than that. (Although it was probably for the best as I'd had four drinks on an empty stomach and when I got home I sang at my roommate, talked to him for about 2 hours straight and then suddenly fell asleep on the sofa.) He said that he wasn't feeling well so that was that.

Fast forward to me at home (singing to my roommate). I text PWG to say I was disappointed by the drinks. He replied saying that he was too, but he really wasn't feeling well - and he went into quite a bit of detail. At that exact second I get a text from Kate:

"I hear you've been digging around for details."

Huh. They'd been talking (or texting). In my reply to PWG's text I said that Kate had just text me, thanks for telling her I'd been asking for details. Then I text Kate saying:

"Oops - sorry! Was just being silly."

Her response?

"Well I'm sitting right across from him so I'll know if you ask him anything else."

Double huh. My response?

"Sounds too messy for me. Enjoy dinner. :)"

My next (somewhat drunken) text to PWG included various rants and I left it at that. But here's the thing, what I text to him, she then replied to. They were definitely talking about me. WTF?

Here were/are my issues with this:

1. He outright lied to me. I even specifically asked him if he was meeting a friend for dinner. He said no. I didn't need to know what friend. Not only did he lie to me, he invented a long explanatory lie. Yes, friends do occasionally lie to each other. I can get over this. I just don't understand why he lied.

2. She (as far as I'm aware) doesn't know about the two of us so why was she making a big deal about the two of them being out together? I don't care that they're seeing each other - in whatever capacity that may be.

3. The two of them were talking about me and texting me...while they were together. Firstly, how childish can you get? Secondly, don't they have anything better to be talking about?

After expressing a few of these above views to PWG, Kate text me, mentioning what I said in my text to PWG. Again reinforcing the fact that the two of them were discussing me. She sent me a long text, basically saying 'it wasn't what I thought.' What I thought was that they were both being ridiculous, she was making a really big deal about being with him, and I didn't understand why. I didn't reply.

PWG text me saying that he didn't understand why she said anything, he was mad at her and he'd text me the next day. He did. We're still friends. I know him and I know that most of this was her. I explained to him that if he felt awkward about telling me he was meeting her there was no need. I'm with TWH and neither of them work with me anymore so it doesn't bother me in the slightest.

Admittedly, a lot of this was caused by drunken texts. However, what bothers me is how I thought this girl was normal and now it appears she's a little strange, childish and a bit of a show-off. She also caused me and PWG to fall out because of her need to tell me the two of them were together. I can't believe I agonised over The Code. Screw The Code.

In love with a stripper

I had a crazy eventful day yesterday.  It started with a wholesome Boston bucket list of famous landmarks, contained a whole lot of naked ladies, and ended in bed with a blast from the past.  WTF? is right.

My good coworker friend, K$ (that's K-money, not K-dollar, fools) is moving in May.  In preparation for that, she's come up with things to do in Boston before she leaves.  Me being awesome, I'm totally down with accompanying her on this list.  First stop, Boston Public Library, a beautiful building built on what was essentially a landfill of Back Bay, makes one think: they just don't make them like they used to.  Right outside we take pictures of ourselves crossing the finish line of tomorrow's Boston Marathon.  I promise this will be as close to finishing a marathon as I'll ever get.  Next, a psychic reading on Tremont Street (more on that later) followed by a canolli at Mike's Pastry in the North End (it's heaven in a shell).  A tour of the USS Constitution 'Old Ironsides', where I see the sign "Please do not handle the canon balls" a little too late.  We walk up the hill to the Bunker Hill Monument and climb all 294 spiraling steps to the top in order to fight people off and be able to see the whole city from a tiny little window.  The flight down is dizzying on shaky legs but damn are we proud of ourselves.  At this point I leave K$ and our day of wholesome Boston fun, and then I went to a stip club.

I met up with Hanging Out Guy (a former, um, flame, I guess you could say, that I met in a bar  a couple years back, better off as friends), who was in town with a ton of his high school friends for a ball game (which they actually won!).   I met them while they were finishing dinner and talking of going to a prominent strip club in the city, Centerfolds.  Now, don't ask me how, but I knew where Centerfolds was, and I knew how to get there (they were going to take a cab, psshht).  I was really just planning on escorting them there and leaving them to it, but they paid my cover, so um, yeah I was going to go in.  When else would I be able to cross Centerfolds off my Boston bucket list?  Inside there was a small stage with a pole, a balcony, and a semi-private room where the dancers led men by the hand for a lap dance.  Of course we couldn't sit at one of the tables, we had to sit up and center where I could literally place my dollar bills on the stage.  I could also literally see vaginas, this place was full on nudity.  For three songs per stripper, we saw several girls.  Destiny, Dynasty and Lola to name a few. Once I got over the whole, there's-a-naked-woman-dancing-in-front-of-me-and-wow-that-piercing-must-have-hurt feeling and the what-kind-of-father-figure-must-you-have? question, I honestly had a good time.  Not going to lie, I threw a couple dollars, when they deserved it.  The athleticism of some of these girls is impressive!  I even cheered for one girl in particular.  If you can climb a two story pole using only your arms and then drop down it into a split, then yes, you do deserve a dollar.

Most interesting to watch was the clientele.  I know, men don't go there to be watched but holy crap was that interesting.  From the glazed over/Utopia look the guys across from us had, to the downright giddy look of one of the girlfriends that was with us.  Some men were in groups wearing business suits, others sat alone, and others had reserved tables. Wedding rings were everywhere. The old guy next to me (not HOG) was by far the creepiest man alive.   He wasn't all interested until the thong came off, at which point he would lean and tilt to better see the business.  Then throw that dollar bill with purpose. So gross.

The guys with me were funny and encouraging to the dancers, and several of them noted how awesome I was.  (One of them gave a stripper a high five when she finished, I asked him how it felt, he made a face and wiped his hand on my sleeve). Hanging Out Guy in particular kept speaking of my awesomeness as he threw an arm over my shoulder and gave me slobbery drunken kisses on the cheek.  After we left the club (we had gotten there before 8 after all) he followed me to meet some of my other friends and came back to my house.  The problem with coming home with a drunk guy from a strip club, is that well, they're really horny.  That was quite apparent as a guy who usually takes no initiative, was on top of me as soon as I slid into bed.  Now I haven't fooled around with Hanging Out Guy for well over a year but one thing hasn't changed: he still doesn't know what the hell he is doing.  For realz.  This guy is basically only good for making out and cuddling with.  Not to say he doesn't try, but holy crap is he awful.  So awful in fact, that I drunkenly chose not to take things any further.  Yes, me.  A drunk girl who hasn't gotten laid in 2 months said "No" to sex.  He's that bad.  I feel awful saying it because he's a really sweet guy but I vow to never sleep with that kid again.  Oh well, at least his friends will think he got some.

The Code

It's been awhile, thankfully a very long while. However, it's time to discuss Posh Work Guy again. Sorry.

The two of us have remained friends since our WTF? night many months ago. He was off work sick for a few months, I think that helped. Since he's been back I noticed that he stopped talking to me for a bit. Then he appeared to be flirting with me so I told him about me and The White Horse so then we went back to not talking. This suited me fine as I live in fear of the day when someone finds out about us, I get crowned the Office Slut and TWH severely questions my sanity. I took it upon myself to quash the latter point by telling TWH and me and PWG. I explained that this doesn't mean that we have to disclose all our past relationships / hook ups / serious mistakes, but, as he knows PWG and works for the same organisation as me I would rather him hear it from me then hear it from someone else. He took it well so I felt better.

Fast forward to last Friday night and PWG and I were at some one's leaving drinks - my manager's to be precise. I'd recently discovered that he is also leaving in a couple weeks and silently rejoiced about this. The two of us used this opportunity to clear the air as to why he hasn't really been speaking to me. (Someone asked him about us. He thought I had told. Which of course I had, I can't help it, I'm a talker. As soon as he said who had asked him about us I knew who had blabbed. I feel I gave a Golden Globe winning performance covering up the fact that I had told and convinced him that someone had seen us flirting at drinks many moons ago. Meryl Streep eat your heart out). Anyway, the night was going well.

Then, my recently departed (drunken) manager announced that we should go to a bar near Notting Hill. I drunkenly agreed, so me, my manager (Kate), her friend and PWG got in a cab and away we went. I thought it was weird that PWG was being so sociable until I thought back to earlier that afternoon when he was flirting so much with Kate that you could practically see the drool coming out his mouth. Once we arrived at our destination I quickly sobered up and realised that a.) I don't live anywhere near Notting Hill and b.) the tubes were probably just about to stop running.

I need to interject here and explain a little bit about London transport. It's expensive. If you want a night out in London you need to either:
a.) go out close enough to home that you won't have to shell out a fortune for a taxi
b.) go out and not get that drunk so that you can remember what time the tubes stop running (about 20 minutes after midnight) and leave on time
c.) have a friend's couch to crash on
d.) be rich enough to afford a taxi
e.) brave the night bus (a dreaded invention which runs all night but takes absolutely forever and is scary and full of drunk people. I know someone who was on a night bus and saw someone get stabbed).

The options that were open to me at this point were C and E. E wasn't going to happen. And C involved crashing on PWG's couch. Dilemma. I text TWH and explained my situation. I said that I would understand if he didn't want me staying there but I wanted to let him know. He replied that he wanted me to be safe but that ideally he didn't want me to stay there. Fair enough. If you're wondering why I asked TWH, I talk. He'd find out, he may not be happy.

Anyway...to cut a long story short Kate and I ended up back at PWG so he could call us a cab as we live in similar areas of London. This was at about 3am. I wanted to go home, she didn't. She kept saying that we would call a cab but that never happened. They started drinking again and I dozed on the couch. Then the flirting began. Can anyone say awkward? She told ridiculous stories to try and impress him, I inwardly cringed. I contemplated getting a taxi except my phone battery was very close to dying (it was at that taunting stage where it was still working but if I sent one text message it would die) and I was nervous about getting a cab home alone.

She was getting more and more flirty, I was getting more and more uncomfortable. It got to 5.20am and I ordered a cab. She walked me downstairs where I was in a serious dilemma. Isn't there a code? A code that says that girls should tell their friends that they have slept with a guy their friend is contemplating sleeping with? And most importantly, that the sex will be crap? Surely that's a friend's duty? I decided against it as PWG would've killed me, and I've told enough people as it is. I survived my solo cab ride home, slept for 2 hours and then caught a train to my parents'. I made it just in time for my eye appointment where I discovered that having your eyes poked and prodded after 2 hours sleep is not an enjoyable experience.

As for what did happen between Kate and PWG, I'm in the dark on that one. Thankfully.

Forever...

It's April. Summer is almost here. This means the cute neighbor and I are down to less than 2 months of being neighbors. We're not moving in together. In fact, quite the opposite. At the end of May, he's moving. Leaving town. Forever. At the end of the summer, I am too. Only I'm not following him, I'm headed in the opposite direction.

Right now, I feel like this is the end of Senior Year. The cute neighbor and I still have the prom to go to and all, but at the end of the summer, we're headed to different schools. But we don't even have until the end of the summer for some Summer Lovin', because he's going off to work as a camp counselor and I'm staying home for the summer baby-sitting. (I just want to note that the cute neighbor is not going to be a camp counselor. But sadly, I will indeed be baby-sitting.)

Let me tell you right now: I have no idea what's going to happen between us. I've always known he would be moving right about now, but that seemed sooooo far into the future last year after I shoved Fenella into the bathroom to excitedly tell her that my totally cute neighbor had just confessed he had the hots for me and I dramatically ran across the street to knock on his door at one o'clock in the morning and we had our passionate end-of-the-Sandra Bullock/Hugh Grant movie kiss. I just told myself we would cross that bridge when we came to it. Well you know what? That bridge is here. In the immediate future.

I've done long-distance before and promptly swore it off as a can't-win situation. This situation, I told myself, would be different! We'll only be apart a year! (plus a few months) Then we can be together again! Now, however, reality is settling in. He's moving to the west coast. Of the United States. I'm moving to Europe. That's an 8 hour time difference. A ten hour flight. And a very expensive one at that. A flight that this grad student will not have the money to be taking.

I hate to say it, but I'm bracing for the worst. I figure the more I prepare myself now, the less it will hurt later. I know that makes it sound like losing someone to a long, drawn-out illness or in a sudden, tragic accident, but if it has to end, I would rather it end like that as opposed to walking into his house thinking I was in for a romantic evening and finding him in bed with another woman.

No matter what happens, June and July are going to be rough. I'm going to need many, many distractions. Getting ready to move to another country is indeed a distraction, but it won't be enough. I will begin taking suggestions now. I'm going to have a lot of weekends/nights to fill up.

Oh, Canada

Last week I told you about my new man, Manitoba Manny, and even I'll admit, this whole thing doesn't really sound like me.  I know what you were thinking: "Wow, Grayer's getting a bit desperate" and/or "Surely, this must be an April fools joke".  Rest assured my friend, this is a true story.  It's just not my true story.

This is the story of Conrad's roommate, Randall, a good looking guy in his early twenties, a social butterfly that's currently getting his masters.  There is no plausible explanation as to why he met a Canadian girl while playing online Scrabble and decided to date her.  He has not met her.  He hasn't even video chatted with her.  They've been dating for over a year.

It's a guarantee that if Randall is not otherwise detained by school responsibilities he will be talking on the phone to this girl.   They watch TV shows "together" while talking on the phone.  He uses the restroom while talking on the phone.  They fight over they phone (she gets jealous easily). I'm pretty sure they masturbate while talking on the phone. It's quite an intimate relationship.  Except for the fact that they've never set eyes on each other.

They've tried to meet.  He can't go there because she's living at home.  She has made plans to visit him multiple times.  Once, she even bought her plane tickets, then cancelled last minute for some reason.  I'd like to think this is because she isn't who she says she is.  Perhaps she's old enough to be his mother.  Perhaps she's married.  Perhaps she's not a woman, or at least not yet.  She has to be refusing to buy a web cam for a reason.

Last time I saw him, we all just about threw money on the table to help him buy a plane ticket and a hotel room.  He also kept coming on to me so strongly that I was getting freaked out (Hey, Conrad, please stand in between us).  He could blame it on the alcohol, but really he needs to blame it on the sexual frustration.  Talk about a girlfriend that won't put out, that kid can't even get a hand job.

It's kind of funny, it's also sad, but really it's just down right baffling. Why does a guy date a girl he's never met when he could just as easily date a real-life girl? One he actually knows.  I'm all for meeting people anyway you can (online Scrabble included), but I'm really for actually meeting people.  Aren't you glad this wasn't my true story?

Triple word score

I've become a bit anti-social lately. I blame it on the weather (it is, in fact, currently snowing in Boston). I don't want to do anything on weekends anymore, I mostly want to catch up on my sleep, my crafts, my newest book, my job applications (I need to get the hell away from Boston winters) and ok, my online Scrabble. It's an addiction, online Scrabble that is. Like a game version of Nutella, or... crack (fyi, Nutella is the reason spoons were invented). Seriously, can't stop playing it, partly because I'm so damn competitive, but mostly because of my favorite online opponent.

We started playing back in January. He impressed me with his words, what else? I also particularly liked that we were a good match for each other. Challenging but not unbeatable. I started looking for him every time I got online. Eventually, we started chatting during our games. Turns out, Manitoba Manny, is pretty hilarious (for a Canadian that is) and I had a lot of fun talking to him. He LOLs at my jokes, he totally gets my sarcasm. Pretty soon, we were actually scheduling these cyber-dates, going from Scrabble to Skype. He's a really sweet guy, does some sort of IT work, and according to his pictures, he's really cute. Bearded (obviously). I honestly feel like I talk to him more than anyone else. I feel like I can tell him anything. We've sort of gotten into a routine now, chatting while at work, talking via Skype at home while we eat dinner, we've even watched movies together (and by together, I mean at the same time). It's almost as if we've been dating. Apparently, he's been feeling the same because last night, we had The Conversation. We talked about where things are going between us, particularly when we're going to meet, and by the end of it, it was official! I have an ACTUAL BOYFRIEND!!

I know, I know, it sounds a little...crazy (which is why I haven't mentioned him before now, but now it's official!). But if you knew him, you would totally understand. Manitoba Manny is freaking awesome. I know I'm not physically with him, but I don't want to be with anyone else because of him. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like we'll be meeting anytime to soon (He has lack of funds to come here, I can't go there because he's living with his parents' for the time being, awkward!). But hopefully this summer we can work something out. Hopefully, before that, he'll get a webcam so we can finally talk face to face (kind of). It's funny, I've been looking all over the US for a new job, but suddenly Canada's not looking so bad, eh?