Raise your glass

I am still alive. Honest. I realise that it has been some time since I've blogged, I really don't know what happened. Of course, there was the Best. Surprise. EVER. It really was. Then there was the Worst. Week. Back. At. Work. EVER. That was pretty fun too.

But to be honest, there's not many exciting things happening in my life right now. My life has become somewhat non-blogable. (It's a word).

However, lest we forget, THE WEDDING is fast approaching. In fact, it will take place in one week and two days. I really don't know how it came about so quickly. I am mostly prepared - thanks to the internet and online shopping. But there is one thing I am struggling with a little bit.

My Maid of Honour speech.

When Elsa first suggested it I did think it was going to be a piece of cake. I'm not saying I'm the world's greatest public speaker or anything but public speaking and thinking of things to say in (the few) speeches I've given has never really bothered me. I wrote my manager's leaving speech in about 10 minutes and people complemented me on it. This may make me sound conceited but I am well aware of the things in life I'm not good at. And there's quite a few. So I think it's nice to sometimes acknowledge the things I'm half decent at.

Except I'm suffering from writer's block. And I've never been a Maid of Honour before. And I don't know anyone who has does a Maid of Honour speech before. I turned to google but quickly turned off when I found one website on 'how to write the perfect Maid of Honour speech' which was peppered with exclamation marks and chirply informed me to adapt the 3P's strategy:

1. Plan
2. Personalise
3. Practice

I was also told that I want to ensure that my speech is one of the memorable Maid of Honour speeches. No pressure then.

I think I've decided to go down the 'awwwww' route rather than the funny route. That's the job of the Best Man. But I am struggling so any suggestions, jokes or sure fire 'awwwwww' crowd pleasers - answers on a postcard please.

Happy Birthday Fenella!

It's your birthday Fen! We are very, very excited that you were born, so let's all eat cake!

This isn't just any birthday though. Today, you're a quarter of a century old! Today, you could call your insurance agent to get a lower rate on your car insurance if you owned a vehicle and lived in the U.S. Today you officially embark upon the 2nd half of your twenties! And everyone knows that the second half is the best half! In honor of the occasion, I've written you a poem (actually, I should use the progressive tense and say that I'm writing you a poem, as I'm making it up as I go along).

Today is the 26th of July

You should be on a sugar high

Even though you can't bake

Eat lots of cake

On your birthday it won't go to your thigh(s)!

See? Pure, spontaneous genius. I bet you no one else will write you a limerick for your birthday! Have an absolutely wonderful, fabulous, happy, happy day!

Raging Bull

Last week, I tried to be angry, only I wasn't truly angry. But now I am!

It started on Wednesday. The cute neighbor had told me he would leave it up to me if I wanted to contact him again, and we had left our last conversation a little upset and frustrated. I called him on Wednesday to tell him that yes, I knew it probably wouldn't work past his leaving date, but that I was hopeful. And also, that I wish that had been reiterated before he left, because I feel like I've now been put through this twice. He apologized and took full responsibility for how he handled it. Then we chatted casually and he ended the conversation by saying, "Ok, I'll talk to you later." An hour later, he texted me to give me an update on where he was watching the baseball game.

Really? How am I supposed to get closure with "talk to you later" and conversational texts? I was very proud of the fact that I didn't respond.

Then I made the mistake of watching The Proposal on tv. By the end of it, I was getting a little weepy. When Ryan Reynolds chased Sandra Bullock back to New York from Alaska, I practically threw the box of wheat thins I was eating (for dinner) at the tv and screamed, "THAT'S NOT THE WAY IT WORKS!" Then the weepy turned into whole body sobs with ugly tears. For about a half an hour.

On Thursday I swore off watching all romantic comedies for awhile and called McNerdy to come hang out with me in order not to have a repeat of the previous night. It worked.

Then on Friday, The Rage really kicked in. I have the cute neighbor to thank for kick-starting it too. On Friday afternoon, while at work with a 5 and 10-year-old, I got a text from him. Another random, conversational text. It threw me for a loop. I felt sick and distracted. I stopped paying attention to the kids, and had to shake myself out of my stupor when I realized that one of the kids was trying to beat up the other with the step stool. That's when I got angry. I couldn't get home fast enough to call him and tell him to leave me the fuck alone. Of course he didn't answer his phone, as it was in the middle of his workday (but he interrupted mine, so I figured it was worth a try), which only made me angrier. How dare he?! How dare he act as if nothing had changed? It would be so easy to fall into that trap with him, but I'm going to be very mature and grown-up here, and tell him that we can be friends someday, but we can't be friends now. And now by not answering his phone, he was depriving me of this conversation, which in some way I think would have really helped me on the whole closure process.

I got angrier and angrier. He knew exactly how he felt, and he knew how I felt, and yet he strung me along all summer, and I was left feeling like I had gone through two big break-ups in two months. Nobody deserves that! Nobody can take two break-ups in two months! Why would he do that to me? The bastard! The douche bag! He was not honest with me. I expected so much better of him.

Eventually he sent me a message telling me he had a phone meeting and couldn't call me back but that he was sorry he texted me and he shouldn't have. I got angrier. I wanted to be able to tell him that myself. He still hasn't called me back, which I guess is what I want, but I also want the pleasure of telling him these things myself. Finally yesterday I emailed him and told him no, you shouldn't have texted me. Yes, we can be friends someday but no, we can't be friends right now because 1. I need time and space, and 2. I'm very angry about the way you handled this and put me through this not once but twice, and I expected better from you.

And now I need a rebound. Badly. Unfortunately, Baby-child left town on Monday, and that was way too soon. I was hoping The Dark Horse would come through for me, but he's out of town. I feel like I'm on the clock too, since I'm going back to Pennsylvania next weekend, and heaven knows there are absolutely no chances for a rebound there. Another reason to be angry. His handling of the situation could prevent me from properly rebounding. FUCKWIT!

10 Things I Hate About You

I keep going back and forth between feeling miserable and sorry for myself to angry. It's better to be angry than sad, right?

Dear cute neighbor,

I hate the way you think you're always right. You may be smart, and have the letters after your name to prove it, but sometimes you. are. wrong. Pennsylvania is a landlocked state. Just because its eastern border is a river that eventually leads to the Bay and the ocean, does not mean it has a coastline. No matter how hard you drunkenly argue that this is the case, you are wrong, you fucking moron.

I hate the way you think not owning a television makes you somehow intellectually superior to others. It doesn't. Especially when you just come over to my house, turn on the tv immediately, and are so completely entranced by it that I cannot get your attention, no matter how many articles of clothing I remove. You're just like every other man on the planet.

I hate the way you can't use a fucking coaster. They're right there, next to the glass you just put down on the coffee table.

I hate the way you reacted when someone didn't know something you felt they should have. Not everyone listens to NPR 24 hours a day. Besides, you're the one who didn't know Punxatawney Phil lives in Pennsylvania.

I hate the way you grabbed my hand when we were about to cross the street and there was a car coming, as if that would somehow save me from a speeding SUV. Actually, I didn't hate that at all, but now I hate that it apparently meant nothing.

I hate the fact that I can't go to our favorite dive bar for a $4 pitcher of beer or watch Swamp People because both things are synonymous with "us."

I hate the way I feel like this is somehow my fault, a deficiency of mine that caused this not to work. I am not the problem here, you are. You are 35 years old, and this relationship officially became your longest ever months ago. So no, it's not me, it's you.

I hate the fact that you have the ability to make me so happy and so, so miserable.

But mostly I hate the way I'm completely torn up about this and you probably haven't given it a second thought.

May you be cursed with impotency and perpetual diarrhea.

Hey, it's ok: Break up edition

Breaking up is hard, no doubt about that.  Sometimes you just need to do things to make yourself feel better.  Violet, I know you've got your shit together, but just in case you have a weak moment, I just want to tell you that, Hey, it's ok.

• Hey, it's ok to cry.  Let it out, sistah.  I don't mean like a couple of tears and you're through,  I’m talkin’ about collapsing and screaming at the moon.  It's ok to have snotty whole body sobs with the ugliest tears you can imagine.  It doesn't make you a blubbery girl, it makes you human.  And it's far better to let it out now then to let it sneak up on you when you're in the bacon section of the grocery store (Note: wasn't the cute neighbor's love of bacon kind of gross? Swine-nazi!).
• Hey, it's ok to rebound.  Even if that rebound is a baby-child that you will most likely never see again.  The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.  Preferably someone that is nothing like the man you're trying to get over.  A young blonde vegetarian Englishman, perhaps?
• Hey, it's ok to get drunk.  Real drunk.  Krunked, if you will.  No one ever said multiple bottles of wine is not an acceptable dinner (except for children of course, they need vegetables).   And no one ever said you can't use the "I just got dumped" sob story to get strangers to buy you drinks.  Shots! Shots! Shots! (Note: Please be responsible, no drunk dialing).
• Hey, it's ok to be one sad singleton.  We talk about taking advantage of being single and how we're ready to mingle.  But it's ok to be sad.  It's ok to admit what every singleton really wants, and that's to not be alone.  It's ok to know that you won't always be alone.  You'll meet him.  But it's ok to have a helluva good time before you do.  
• Hey, it's ok to live in sweatpants.  Or in your case (July in Atlanta), your underwear.   Presentable clothing is just another way men force us to conform into what they want us to be.  Those khaki loving bastards!  Live in your undies!  Wear leggings without an appropriately lengthed shirt! Wear that one thing he hated and love every minute of it.  
• Hey, it's ok to eat your feelings.  Women are emotional eaters.  You're emotional.  Eat Nutella with a spoon for pete's sake.  It's ok.  Eat all the chunks out of the ice cream and leave the vanilla/saliva ice cream for your roommate.  It's ok. (Note: It's particularly ok since I do these things no matter what emotions I have).  
• Hey, it's ok to be angry.  Nay, it's ok to be fucking pissed.  It's better to be mad than sad.  Be mad.  Call him names.  Curse him with perpetual diarrhea.  Gather all his pictures and fucking burn them.  Blame him for everything you were to reasonable to blame on him before. It's ok.  And on a personal sidenote, may the fleas of 1000 camels infest his armpits.  
  

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

I'm going to use this blog for therapeutic purposes this week in order to get over my break-up with the cute neighbor, so please bear with me.

In case you're wondering, I'm doing much better today, thanks for asking. I've broken it down into these categories, focusing more on The Good, than The Bad or The Ugly. Here's what I've come up with.

The Good:

• All the fun I can now have when I move to London in the fall. No, seriously. Now I can enjoy London to the fullest. It's going to be EPIC. As Grayer just pointed out to me over the phone, this could be the best thing to happen right now. I'll have way more fun now that I'm free and single. And ready to mingle. It's why I've made this song my official breakup song. (Don't worry, I'll also be listening to a lot of Alanis, Fiona, Lily Allen, Adele, etc. I'm not that cool about it.)
• My friends/sister are being pretty awesome. Grayer has listened to me sob into the phone twice in one weekend, then immediately started researching flights so we can take a post-break-up cleansing trip. Fenella did some top-notch research for me when I asked her if British men are into dark, curvy women (since she and I are complete and total opposites on that aspect. We'll never be mistaken for sisters) and made me laugh via email:

Me:(Fen) Do English men like dark curvy women?

Carson (TWH's housemate): Depends where the curves are.

Me: In all the right places?

Carson: Then yes.

See! You may need to give English guys a bit of a prod (figuratively speaking). This won't be because they don't like you. This is because they are a bit rubbish at making the first move. Some not so much, just don't think they don't like you because they will. But don't worry, you'll get prodded back (literally speaking). See what I did there? :)

It was funny, and I appreciated it. Another friend called today to see if I needed to talk and offered to take the day off work to come visit me at my parents' house in a few weeks (because when I'm there, there will be absolutely nothing else to do but think about it). One of my co-workers called him a turkey and offered to have his inbox spammed. I will obviously take the high road and not take her up on this offer, but I really appreciate it.

The Bad:

• The bad part comes when I don't think about the near future and all the fun I'll be having and instead think about what won't be happening down the road. There won't be anymore Vi and the cute neighbor, we won't end up together. I mean, my last name is Bickerstaff, and his is DiBickers, and together, our children would have been DiBickerstaff, how perfect is that? Apparently it's not perfect at all, which is why I'm focusing on the good.

The Ugly:

• I feel like I should send out an announcement to people so that they won't ask how things are going. If we were celebrities, we would issue a joint statement through our publicists that says something along the lines of "While we still care deeply for each other, we have reached the tough and painful decision to end our relationship. We remain the best of friends and wish that everyone will respect our privacy at this difficult time." Sadly, we're not that important. I've been telling people on a very need-to-know basis, (like everyone who reads this blog) mostly because I don't want to have to answer the question when they ask how things are going. It's easier just to cut them off at the pass, but it would be nice if I could just send out a mass text or something. Of course our favorite e-card site has plenty of cards for just that occasion, I just can't bring myself to actually send one.

It's also 10pm, and I haven't cried yet today. I think that's excellent progress.

The End.

Hey, do you remember when the cute neighbor became the first actual boyfriend any of us had while writing WWBD? Well now he has the honor of becoming the first actual ex-boyfriend we've acquired while writing WWBD? He must feel so honored!

Yes, it's over. Finished. Finito. The End.

It started on Friday. I was getting increasingly frustrated with the cute neighbor over the fact that he was dragging his feet on making plans to see each other in August. Up to that point, I had done everything, but he still couldn't come up with dates for our little rendezvous. If he wants to see me, he best be putting some effort into it too. I called him to tell him just this. I told him it made me feel like he didn't want to see me, and that I felt like I was inconveniencing him when I brought it up. He apologized. Then I don't really remember what was said, but in the midst of me looking up plane tickets to visit him, we somehow got into another argument and he asked me what I was hoping to accomplish with this visit. I told him I just wanted to see him, to which he responded that it seemed that I was trying to make a long-distance relationship work and that's not what he wanted. Huh. That horrible feeling in my stomach? That was the suckerpunch.

I tried to process this information. I know we had always said that we would just see what happened until he left Atlanta, but I definitely missed the part where we broke up. Because in my eyes, I thought things were going quite well when he left, and that little part where he told me he would do the best he could to arrange his summer travel plans to come visit me? Very silly of me to think that meant anything. If he was so dead set against it, why didn't he just say "It's been fun!" and leave me alone? He dropped this on me while he was in a noisy pub waiting for a ride to go away for the weekend. I was about to meet some friends to go to a baseball game. Supremely bad timing. (But I sadly can't blame him for that, since I'm the one that called him to tell him I was pissed off at him.) He told me he'd call on Sunday and we hung up. I stared at the phone. What the fuck just happened? Then the tears started. No, not tears. SOBS. Hugs, from-the-gut sobs that made it difficult to breathe. Just moments ago I thought I would be purchasing a plane ticket to actually see him soon, and now I've just been dumped?

I called Grayer and sobbed the story to her. She encouraged me to go to the baseball game, because if I didn't, I would just sit at home and cry, and at least this way I could have some fun. She was right of course, and I did enjoy myself, but the minute I got back in my car after leaving my friends, the sobs started again. I had to sit there for several minutes to compose myself. I was not successful, and probably should have waited longer, as I was still in no shape to drive. I even got honked at.

In the morning, I got up early and went for a run, which always works. Not this time. I barely managed to stay composed during my run, and the minute I got to the safety of my porch, the sobs came again. The rest of the morning went like that. I kind of wanted my mom.

My roommate texted me from work to tell me we were going to go out that night for dinner and drinks, no excuses. I decided that gave me plenty of time to pull myself together. In the early afternoon, the 23-year-old baby-child subletting the apartment downstairs asked if I wanted to come down for a beer. I did. It was a good distraction, and then we watched the first part of the 7th Harry Potter so he could go with me to see it Sunday. I was feeling better already.

Baby-child joined us for dinner, where after a few margaritas we decided to head to the most notorious strip-club in town, famous for employing strippers who qualify for social security. It will actually make you feel pretty good about your own naked body. It also doubles as a dance club on Saturday nights, and that's what we were looking for. With all the drinks and the dancing, baby-child was getting a little handsy and flirty, and I thought, "I can totally do this. I've still got it."

Sunday we went to see Harry Potter. It was good to cry over something that had nothing to do with the cute neighbor. At one point, I noticed baby-child's arm was draped across the back of my seat. He also paid for my ticket. I felt a little like I was 16 again. Then we went home to watch the Women's World Cup final. Major disappointment. Then baby-child left and I was just left waiting for the cute neighbor to call and make things official.

We delayed the inevitable by talking about our weekends. After stalling as long as we could, we got down to business. I'm not going to recount the conversation, but here are the heart-breaking highlights:

1. I clearly misunderstood that "wait to see what happens when I leave Atlanta" actually means "we'll date until I leave Atlanta, but we're not going any further than that." Obviously, I knew that was a possibility, but I guess I also thought there was a possibility that we would continue. Silly me.

2. I was always more into this relationship than he was. This came up when I asked him why he bothered to talk to me after he moved. He told me that I was doing all the calling. I can safely say that he definitely called me as well.

3. Even if we weren't moving to opposite continents, we would have the same outcome. It just wasn't going to work.

This time the sobbing started the moment I hung up the phone. (And it was an accomplishment to hold off that long.) I feel stupid. Seriously stupid. Did I really know this all along and just wanted it to work so badly that I ignored it? I knew that it was a longshot in the long-term, but I also figured I had nothing to lose. I wasn't going to want to start dating someone new before I left, so why not enjoy spending time with someone I could learn from and have fun with? Apparently there was more at stake than I knew.

It hurts. I feel like I've been tried on, found lacking, and thrown back into the pile. Despite bracing myself for it, now it's official. I feel officially unwanted. I know it sounds dramatic, but there's no question that I've spilled more tears for him than any other man in my life. In fact, I don't think I've spilled this many tears over all the others combined. And it's just the beginning.

Best. Surprise. EVER.

You're probably wondering why Fenella and I have been so quiet this past week. We've actually been on vacation together. Now you're probably wondering why we didn't mention the vacation beforehand. (Unless you didn't miss us at all, in which case... I'm sad.) The reason we didn't mention it is because Fen didn't know I was going on vacation with her until I showed up at her gate. Yeah, it was pretty bad-ass. I'll tell my half of the story, and then Fen (hopefully) will tell hers.

Several months ago, Fen arranged to visit our third leg, Clem on the West Coast. They both wanted me to join in, and I definitely wanted to join in. The problem: money. As usual. I just didn't know how I could afford it. Fen sent me her itinerary so I could look into her flight and try to get on it, since she was flying through Atlanta. It was way out of my budget. In fact, it cost more than Fen's entire flight from London, which is why I will never understand the airline industry. Why does it cost me so much more to fly within my own country than to fly overseas? I told Fen unless the prices went down, I wouldn't be able to go.

After some thinking, though, I decided that I was really, really going to need a week with two of my favorite people on the planet the first week of July. I knew June would be a bit rough without the cute neighbor, and what better remedy than spending some quality time with Fen and Clem? There is no way I would have survived my time working in South America without them. Even the cute neighbor agreed that the money would be worth it and that I should really spend some time with my friends.

I did some more research and found some slightly cheaper flights, while calculating the frequent flier miles benefits would be worth it. (Free trip to London. Buy one, get one free. I can do that.) I called Clem. We got really excited. Really, really excited. Even more so when I told her I hadn't mentioned it to Fen yet. "Oh my God, we should totally surprise her!" was her reaction. So we did.

For two months, I never mentioned it to Fen, even though I really wanted to. It's hard when you're so excited about something. There were times when I nearly slipped, but I held it together and did a pretty good job of throwing her off completely, like making her promise they would call me at some point, and even sending her a "happy vacation" e-card.

The week of the trip came. Fen emailed me for my phone number in case she had an emergency in Atlanta. By this point, I knew that she and I would be at the airport at the same time, but by the time her flight was supposed to leave, I would already be on my way. (I would not be arriving until after her though, as I had to make a connecting flight. Clem solved this by telling Fen she had to pick up a "friend of a friend" as well, explaining the need to hang out after arrival. Very sneaky.) I sent her my number, but I sent her my roommate's and McNerdy's as well, without explanation. (The key to a good lie is not to explain yourself before asked. Dead giveaway.)

On Friday, I got to the airport in plenty of time and went through security. Then I looked up at the screens to see which gate I needed. And found out my flight was CANCELED. Canceled? How can that be? I assumed that since there was another flight at the same time to the same place they were able to fit everyone on one plane. That was not the case. I frantically searched for someone at the airline counter to help me. Naturally, there was no one in sight. Absolutely no one. Just a lot of angry, frustrated holiday weekend travelers. I picked up my cell phone to call the airline. I won't give away the name of the airline, but I can tell you it starts with a U and ends with a D and has a "nite" in between. I explained the situation with the accented man (probably in India) on the other end. He told me he couldn't get me to where I needed to be that night, but he could get me there tomorrow morning. I told him that wasn't good enough and he needed to keep looking. He put me on hold. He came back 10 minutes later to tell me that there was definitely nothing that night, not even stand-by or on other airlines, but he would be happy to get me there tomorrow at 12:30. Was that ok? I calmly told him that no, that was not ok. If I had wanted to get there Saturday at 12:30 I would have purchased my ticket for Saturday at 12:30 and that he was to keep looking. This went on for another 30 very stressful minutes where I somehow managed not to cry and was preparing myself to go home and be sad on the couch all night, but not before whipping out a sob story about a dying relative.

Then he came back on the line and told me he could get me on another airline that night, arriving an hour and a half before I was originally scheduled to! I almost jumped in the air as I shouted at him: Yes! I want that! DO THAT NOW! As he gave me the flight information I slowly realized... this was Fen's flight. He was putting me on Fen's flight! I thanked him profusely and RAN to the other airline counter to get my boarding pass, which I clutched in my sweaty palms like the winning lottery ticket. By that point, I couldn't contain my excitement. So much so that a pilot asked me on the escalator where I was headed. I was so excited, I blurted out the whole story, about how I was surprising my friend, and my flight was canceled, but now I was on her flight and about to see her, and isn't it SO EXCITING! I pretty much ran the rest of the way to the gate, and there was Fen, sitting next to the desk, reading her magazine.

I ran up to her, waving wildly, and she tried her best to ignore the crazy lady approaching her, until she realized it was me. At which point, she jumped up, both of us squealing and hugging each other.

"What are you doing here?! I'm going to see Clem!"

"I know! I'm going with you!"

"Oh my God! Does Clem know?"

"Of course! We've had this planned for months!"

"Oh my God!"

Or something like that. Then we continued squealing and hugging and laughing for the next several minutes while the people around us pretended not to notice. It got even better: Not only did they put me on Fen's flight, they put me in the seat behind her! All we had to do was ask one guy to switch seats, and we were sitting next to each other on the flight! We made such an impression on everyone with our happiness, that the woman at the gate who took our boarding passes asked if we were done "being bubbly" yet. Nope, this is going to be The Best Week EVER!

And it was. There will be more stories from this trip yet to come, but for now, that was the greatest airport surprise of all time.

The cat's meow

Wanna hear about some dates?  Of course you do!

Last week I went on four dates.  chyeah, that only happens in the online world.

First there was a coffee date with a 24 year old who seems to be straight out of college.  Firstly, why do I go on coffee dates when I don't like coffee?  Secondly, I'm glad he's finally living on his own from his adoptive parents and dog.  He asked me if I wanted to help him shop for baby presents sometime.  Ummm...maybe?

Next was drinks with a nervous architect dude.  I don't remember what we talked about other than that he kept saying "Well this has been fun".  That's something you say at the end when you're saying goodbyes.  Not several times in the middle.  Awkward.  Also, I outdrank him.  I downed my beer while he milked his and then didn't even finish it.  A guy who can't finish a beer?!  Next!  He invited me on a date to the Art Museum, which I'd be down for if it wasn't so gorgeous out.  And also, he's not terribly interesting and obviously hasn't dated much.  Oh yeah, and he can't finish a beer! (And yes, I do judge him for it).

I had a dinner date with a dorky financial guy who lives in New Hampshire.  We met in the middle and he paid.  He's definitely been the easiest to make conversation with by far and I did have a good time.  Things went south when we drove to a miniature golf course (by far one of the nicest courses I've ever seen, and I don't mean to brag, but I've seen a lot of mini golf courses) only to find it closed for the night.  We drive to a bar he knows of, only to find it closed for renovations.  Apparently it wasn't meant to be.  I'd definitely hang out with him again, but I have no interest in dating him.

The last date was over the weekend.  My holiday weekend kind of sucked due to all of my friends being out of town. That, and me being ridiculously allergic to something in my friends house when I stopped by to feed her cat.  I'm talking serious allergies, with itchy eyes so bad that my right eye swelled up so that I could only half open it.  It was an attractive look, might I say.  I actually would have been freaking out about my blood-shot ballooning eye (think Splinter Induced Delirium, but on my face!) had it not been for the allergy medication subduing me.  I spent most of the weekend in a Benadryl-induced coma, which I came out of just long enough to go on a date.  I told this guy about it (my eye was still a bit puffy) which got us on the subject of cats.  He seemed concerned that I was allergic to my friends cat.  Doubtful, I have a cat of my own.  He used to have a cat, until he died this past winter. I'm not even joking when I say, I thought this guy was going to cry.  Seriously, his eyes were welling up as he told me the sob story.  Don't get me wrong, it was a sad story (his cat died in his arms on their way to the vet's office, and surprisingly, he was only 7) and I can literally start crying at the very thought of losing my beloved Mr. Kitty Meowington.  But dude, please don't cry on our first date about your cat.  I am not a big enough person to handle that gracefully.   I will inevitably make a joke about wanting to be with cats on rainbows (if you haven't seen this video, watch it.  You'll never call me a crazy cat lady ever again) and having a house full of them so we can just roll around together.  That's what I do when I feel awkward, I make ill-timed jokes.  I don't really remember anything else we talked about during the one beer we drank.  It was a short date, ending with a "I'll drop you a line sometime".   We both know that I'll never be hearing from the Cat Cryer ever again.