The Loch Ness Baby

Last week, I had dreams about babies. Talking babies. In fact, I dreamt of talking babies three times in one week.

The first dream involved Eloise, the girl I used to nanny. She's 7 now, and she was in my dream, but she was a 7-year-old baby who could talk. The second dream was even more bizarre. I had a baby of my own (also a girl), but she was covered in scales, and I had scales too, under my arms. I decided we would both go to the doctor so he could treat our "psoriasis." The third dream, I don't actually remember much about the talking babies, but I know they were there somewhere. What I do remember is that I got a giant bouquet of red roses from none other than Tom Brady, only Tom is apparently short for his real name, which is "Colonel." I know because that's what was written on the invoice for the roses. 

I was freaked out by these dreams, so I turned to the expert in dreams: Grayer. You may not know this, but in addition to being a professional DNA machine builder, Grayer is also an expert in dream analysis. And this time, I think she hit the nail on the head. 

According to Grayer, the talking babies are my rationalization of wanting to actually have one. The baby with scales represents the fact that I think there's something wrong with me, either for wanting to have a baby, or for not having had one by now. And as for Colonel Tom Brady? That's easy. I want a man to come in and take control, just like a quarterback, or a colonel. 

Huh. This all makes perfect sense. One half of me feels like there IS something wrong with me. Not necessarily that I don't have a baby by now, but that I'm not at all in a position to have one. The other half of me feels like I shouldn't feel this way. I'm a modern, independent woman, and I should be completely fine with that. I don't need anything to hold me down. So yes, I'm a bit conflicted. 

And yes, I DO want a man to come in and take control and be there and not play games and not disappear. Is that so wrong? 

I'm sure this was brought on by Luigi's flakiness, and my disappointment that he couldn't step up to the plate.   Batting next? We'll see.

No one wants VD: Happy SAD!

Happy Single's Awareness Day, friends!  February 14th can be hard on singletons like us, but that's only because we let it be hard on us.  You're not alone. We're here for you, just as we always have been.  

Several years ago now, we simply decided that Valentine's Day wasn't a thing.  If anything, it only reminded you that you were single. If you've spent anytime single, like we have, you realize that you really don't need reminding of that.  Hence, Single's Awareness Day was born and the revolution has really took on.  It seems like every year, people care less and less about an overhyped commercialized day in the dead of winter.  Well, at least on the sane singleton front (Smug Marrieds are a different story).

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.  Don't call us skeptical, pessimistic or bitter.  Love is what you make it, when you make it.  Not when the greeting cards tell you so.  Please feel free to use that explanation on that Smug Married coworker who feels the need to specifically ask you what your Valentine's Day plans are.  Then just smile, and wish her a good night on her rip-off of a prix-fixe menu dinner, her overpriced roses that will smell like cat feces in 72 hours, and that box of chocolates that will taste like shit, but she'll eat anyways after being disappointed by yet another Valentine's Day.  Who's smug now?

Pool Shark

Like I said, I decided to pull the plug on Luigi. It's funny how once you decide to give up on one thing, something new always seems to pop up. It makes you realize just how much you don't need the fuckwit disappearing act.

I was at one of my three jobs yesterday when the Pool Boy walked into the shop. I had run into him the afternoon before, on my way home. He asked if I was working the next day. I said I was, and he said he'd stop by to say hello. And here he was, 10 minutes into my shift. Stopping in to say hi. He asked if I'd be in the student union that evening. I told him I would, because I needed to learn how to play pool. He said he could help out with that. Then I told him about my secret ambition to be a pool hustler. I don't know why I've always wanted to do this, but I have always wanted to pretend like I'm terrible at it, then play people for money and kick their ass. His response to this was, "Yeah, with that smile you could probably pull that off."

Oh, ok, I thought. This guy is flirting with me. I can do that! No, I NEED to do that. I need to let this cute man teach me how to play pool. My brain needs to know that Luigi is not the only single man in London. This is the perfect way to figure that out.

I have never learned how to play pool. My grandma had a bumper pool table in her basement, but mostly Grayer and I would just try to get the balls in the pocket by rolling them with our hands and playing with the cue chalk, but never really playing properly. Instead, we played Cinderella, the world's least imaginative board game (pick up the evil stepmother card? Move back 3 spaces. The Fairy Godmother card? Forward 2 spaces, and so on), and the original Game of Life (Wow! You can make up to $15,000 a year!- IF you're a doctor). And since I hate to be bad at things that are ever shown on ESPN, I stayed away from pool. But now I headed to the student union, prepared to be schooled in the game of billiards.

We played about 8 games of pool. It turns out I'm not that terrible, but I'm not that great either. I made some nearly impossible shots, but I also missed some really, really easy shots, and I definitely experienced the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat simultaneously when I sunk the 8-ball but the white ball followed it into the pocket to lose the game. The Pool Boy, my teammate for that round, didn't seem to mind too much.

There was flirting and unnecessary touching. He practiced his American accent (not bad, but definitely sounds like an Englishman trying to sound American) and I practiced my English one (not bad, but definitely sounds like an American, trying to be English). At the end of the evening, he walked me to the tube station after giving me a free mug from his office. He kissed me on both cheeks (as you do in Europe) and said, "So, I'm going to be in Stockholm for the next week (which I knew about thanks to the evening's conversation), but maybe when I get back we can go grab a bagel or something?"

A bagel?! Really, a bagel? A drink, maybe, or even dessert or a coffee, but a bagel?! Also, where the hell in London can you get a good bagel? Because honestly, I would really like to know the answer to that question.

So I, Queen of Tact, said, "A bagel?! Really? What happened to sticky toffee pudding?" (I should explain here that earlier in the evening, he told me he would take me out for sticky toffee pudding, since I've never had it.)  "Or we could do that," he said, "or a drink or whatever..." So of course I said we could do that, and he asked if he could get my number and I gave it to him.

I still can't figure out the bagel thing. Has anyone ever been asked out on a bagel date? The only explanation I can come up with is that bagels are an American thing, and maybe he thought "She's American, she must love bagels!" And I do, I really do love bagels, and the bagels at the grocery store are a bit shit, but I can't help but think that this might be the first time that someone has said to a member of the opposite sex, "Hey, let's go grab a bagel together sometime."

And you know what? Maybe we never will grab a bagel sometime. The point is that this is a single, attractive man who's not Italian and not named Luigi, and at least last night seemed to like me. That is what is important here.

....Aaaaaand We're Back!

Hey! Remember us? Been awhile, eh? We're back now, though, and just in time for S.A.D. Don't worry, we're here for you.

And I, for one, am particularly angry this S.A.D. Remember Luigi? That impossibly adorable Italian? Yeah, him.

Things were going really great right up until Christmas. The week before Christmas, I left to meet Grayer and my parents on The Continent. We got back to London the day he left to go home to Italy for Christmas, but he called and left a message for me on his way to the airport. Then he texted me on Christmas day. No problem.

He was due back in London a few days after the New Year. I left him a message to see if he could help me with something. No response. Another day went by. Then another. Still no response. Oh, for crying out loud. Not another disappearance. A few more days went by. The problem was, I didn't really know if it was a disappearance or not. I know what you're thinking. Of course it was a disappearance. But the thing is, his mother is really sick, so he was going home quite often to see her, so there was the possibility that something terrible had happened, so not only was I going crazy without hearing anything, but I didn't even know how I could feel about it. I couldn't very well get angry and call him a fuckwit on his voicemail only to find out something terrible had happened to his mother. So I just waited and did the mountain of schoolwork that was due. I had sent him a message on facebook to see if everything was ok, but he's one of those people who has facebook, but doesn't really use it. *sigh*

Finally, a week after he was supposed to be back, I got a message: He was indeed still in Italy, and had been since before Christmas, but he would call when he got back. Whew! Not disappeared on! Everything was going to be ok!

He got back a few days later, then had to go out of town immediately again for work. He called from the road, and we agreed to have lunch the next day, before he had to go back to Italy again. So, the next day I went to his house for lunch, which he cooked. He seemed really happy to see me, and we picked up right where we had left off, even though we hadn't seen each other for a month. I had intended to ask him what exactly he wanted out of this, but when I was actually with him, I didn't feel the need to. Plus, I got distracted by the Afternoon Delight that followed lunch. He promised we'd do something the next week, but then he was out of town again and he was too busy, so I called him and left him a voicemail: I told him that I was confused as to what was going on, and that if he was interested in only getting together once in awhile to hook up, that I wasn't interested, and if he was interested in more than that, than he needed to do a better job of communicating with me. I thought it was a pretty good message, as far as voicemail messages go. (Have you ever been really pumped about a voicemail message you left?)

The next day, I got a message back: He really loved my message (?) and it made total sense, but that it deserved more than phone/text conversation, and to let him get through his rough weekend, then we'd go out to dinner and talk about it.

I took this as two good signs: He loved my message, and if he were only interested in fucking around, he would not want that message at all. Second, what kind of fuckwit would make a girl wait for days to take her out for dinner and dump her?

The weekend came and went. Then Monday. Then Tuesday. Then Wednesday.... Then Thursday morning, I was doing my morning facebook check, when I saw his status: (he NEVER has a status) He had lost his phone several days ago, and thus all his numbers. Seriously?! So that explains why he never called, but in this day and age, there are 8,000 ways of contacting a person, and a phone isn't necessary.

So I sent him a slightly angry facebook message. I told him I didn't know if he was a fuckwit, or just an idiot, and that if he had lost his phone, there were other ways of contacting me without using his phone, kind of like how I was contacting him right now without my phone, and that if he wasn't interested he could have just told me that last week when I gave him a golden opportunity to do so. Then I felt bad about being mean.

Surprisingly, he responded to this. He said while I was a bit harsh, he knew that "from the outside" his behavior would be taken as inconsiderate, and that he really wanted to speak face to face, so I should send him my number so he could call to arrange that.

From the outside? Ok, so like an idiot, I sent him my number. He still didn't call. But he has sent several facebook messages apologizing for his absence and explaining how he is in and out of town, but really mostly out of town. It doesn't make any sense that he can't just call and explain things to me on the "outside." I can't really believe I've let him string me along this long. And why can't he at least give some indication about what it is he wants to talk about face to face? I don't need this. If I were interested in someone so good at disappearing acts, I'd date a magician. And I don't want to date a magician. I don't even really like magic shows that much. I think they're kind of weird and I hate the lovely assistant. It's sexist.

No. I'm not responding to Luigi's latest facebook message, telling me that he appreciates me in someway bearing with him. I'm not bearing with him. Instead, I'm going to let the cute boy teach me how to play pool. He's been offering....