Vi once blogged about how she and I wish that we could be sluttier. Well, I can't speak for Vi (and she does now have an Actual Boyfriend) but I have just had a very slutty weekend.
Saturday night I went to a Spanish themed fancy dress party (little tip: stick a flower in your hair and you're Spanish). I got talking to a guy who seemed relatively nice and mature. Then the lethal punch I was drinking kicked in (red wine, white wine, gin, paint thinner, arsenic and some fruit juice) and I may have indulged in a little bit of PDA. My friend was driving me home and this guy somehow convinced me that it would be a really good idea if he came with me. I blame the punch. Thankfully, although I brought him home with me, a few of my morals kicked in so it wasn't a complete, total mistake. The next morning he left, without asking for my number. Which wasn't really a bad thing as his maturity level dropped quite considerably once we were back at mine. After he left, those darn morals kicked in again and I didn't feel great about myself. Still, it's nothing that an 8 mile run, shower and the thought that he had a heck of a journey home because the underground line closest to me wasn't working couldn't fix.
Then, Sunday evening I had plans to meet up with a guy from work who had recently moved to my area of London. We know each other more through the work softball team then actually working together - just to clarify. I had said a few weeks earlier when he mentioned that he was moving near me that I would take him for a few drinks in the non-dodgy pubs I frequent(I live in kind of a dodgy area). I didn't actually think that he would take me up on it, I was just really offering to be nice. However, lo and behold he emailed me and asked when we were having our non-dodgy pub tour. Fast forward to last night and me and the White Horse* met up and only made it to one pub...for 5 hours. I have never talked to a guy for that amount of time before, and I really like talking.
I had wondered if anything was going to happen between us, because when you first get to know a guy there's always seems to be the thought that something might happen until there is clarification either way. Towards the end of the evening I got the distinct impression that something was going to happen. To summarise: I left his at 2 this afternoon, my morals went out the window and I was reminded about how good pistachio ice cream can be. Oh, and I got to do the walk of shame. Good times.
Now, if you are all keeping up with my love life - and if you're not, why not? You are probably coming to the realisation that this is the second guy from work I have got involved with. Probably not the wisest decision I've ever made. I am totally going to behave myself from now on. Seriously.
And that was my slutty weekend.
So Grayer, look out. You may have competition for being the biggest slut of the blog. And if I don't manage to take that award, I am definitely the biggest slut of my office. We all have to be something in life.
* I need to clarify that he doesn't have the name the White Horse because he is my knight in shining armour but because we went to a pub called the White Horse, and he just so happens to have the same name as Vi's Dark Horse. Vi and I really are that in sync.
Showing posts with label PDA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PDA. Show all posts
Monday, August 30, 2010
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?
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?
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Case of the Third Wheel
First of you should know that I do not mind hanging out with couples. I actually quite enjoy them, especially the missionary couple, my all time favorite couple! I am a secure singleton, and there is nothing wrong with tagging along. Until this past weekend.
My best friend and her new man were visiting for the weekend. I've known Greenley for a long time, and she's just finally figured out that my approval of a guy she's seeing might actually mean something (She learned this from her douchebag of an ex, who broke her heart and whom I never liked, go figure!). Because of this, she really wanted my opinion on the new guy, with whom she's quite smitten to say the least. I hung out with the two of them most of the weekend, and I have to say, I like him a lot. He's cool, he's fun, he brews is own beer, and most importantly he obviously adores her. We went to the beach, we played softball, we went out, and I quite enjoyed being in their company. Even if they were making out on the pitchers mound while I searched the woods for foul balls.
That came to a screeching halt when on the last day of their visit, we road tripped to a nearby city. Now I'm all for walking leisurely around town holding hands. There's some sort of casual intimacy about hand holding that I love and yearn for, however that is where my PDA usually stops. Not so much for Greenley and friend. She wasn't just holding hands, she was hanging on him. All day. I'm talking prepubescent-I-can't-support-my-own-self-arm-in-arm-attachment-of-the-hip hanging. Which led me to walk with my eyes straight ahead wondering to myself, WTF? If I and a guy are with a friend I tune it down, not turn it up! The sudden PDA made me feel like quite the third wheel, something I usually have no problem with. Luckily I'm secure in my singletonhood that I did not freak out and search that hippie town for a new man. I did however, want to get the hell away from them. Let's leave ridiculous levels of PDA to teenagers, shall we?
My best friend and her new man were visiting for the weekend. I've known Greenley for a long time, and she's just finally figured out that my approval of a guy she's seeing might actually mean something (She learned this from her douchebag of an ex, who broke her heart and whom I never liked, go figure!). Because of this, she really wanted my opinion on the new guy, with whom she's quite smitten to say the least. I hung out with the two of them most of the weekend, and I have to say, I like him a lot. He's cool, he's fun, he brews is own beer, and most importantly he obviously adores her. We went to the beach, we played softball, we went out, and I quite enjoyed being in their company. Even if they were making out on the pitchers mound while I searched the woods for foul balls.
That came to a screeching halt when on the last day of their visit, we road tripped to a nearby city. Now I'm all for walking leisurely around town holding hands. There's some sort of casual intimacy about hand holding that I love and yearn for, however that is where my PDA usually stops. Not so much for Greenley and friend. She wasn't just holding hands, she was hanging on him. All day. I'm talking prepubescent-I-can't-support-my-own-self-arm-in-arm-attachment-of-the-hip hanging. Which led me to walk with my eyes straight ahead wondering to myself, WTF? If I and a guy are with a friend I tune it down, not turn it up! The sudden PDA made me feel like quite the third wheel, something I usually have no problem with. Luckily I'm secure in my singletonhood that I did not freak out and search that hippie town for a new man. I did however, want to get the hell away from them. Let's leave ridiculous levels of PDA to teenagers, shall we?
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