The Prosthetist

I hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season and thinking about your new year's resolutions! Violet and I have been spending some serious family bonding time this week at our parents. This bonding time includes a Next Top Model marathon (Girl, that was fierce!), playing cards, watching movies, readings of Nightlight (a Twilight parody) and an intense game of family ping-pong, which lasted 5 sets and me almost cracking my head off the table (Damn you, new slipper socks on tile flooring!). Oh, and Vi, if you don't work on your forehand for next year, I will be asking for a trade.

I take a pause in this blog writing session as my mother leans over my chair wanting to see what I'm up to. Quickly switching to my other tab, as I have come to expect this, she makes me scroll slowly through my FB Home wanting to see "what's new on Facebook" before requesting to see my page. Again.

Anyways, Violet and I went out last night. Yes, Violet actually went out in our hometown! Not sure if she actually enjoyed herself, but, she did meet the subject of this post, The Prosthetist. The Prosthetist is a guy I know through my friend Greenley (He's actually been in love with her for I don't know? 5 years?). He lives 2 and 1/2 hours from me, which is conveniently located directly on my way back to our hometown. In August, I actually tagged along with him on a trip home. After driving 10 hours alone together in a pick up truck with no A/C, we got to know each other better. And of course, we talked of Greenley. He's a super nice guy, cute, has a beard, comes from a good family and will make very good money in the near future (As a prosthetist, obviously). Last night, he came out to meet Greenley and I. We exchanged pleasantries and updates, and talked about me visiting him during my upcoming vacation time (i.e. unemployment). He agreed to give me snowboarding lessons and visit me if I moved to the city. Violet and The Prosthetist chatted frequently as neither of them knew many of the people we were with. Shortly after Vi took off, he did too, telling him to call me if I needed a ride home. He's a nice guy like that.

Then he ruined it. About 20 minutes after leaving he started texting me. And through that conversation he started coming on to me. Coming on strong. It wasn't subtle, he is obviously not a student of the art of flirtexting. Thinking that maybe this was a result of the few beers he had been drinking, I kind of went along with it, as I had been drinking beers too. It wasn't until this morning when I looked back at what he sent me and realized how forward and awkward it was. And then he texted me today. Apologizing for what he said last night, but that he still meant the context of it. And that when I stop by and see him on my way back up North, maybe I can stay and hang out a while? Oh goodness.

This is just another example of how boys ruin everything. What am I supposed to do now? I can't visit him/get snowboarding lessons without it being awkward. As now he is clearly into me. Has he realized that if he can't have Greenley, he could just go for her best friend, the next best thing? Ugh. Boys ruin everything.

The newest revelation

My new coworker has been driving me crazy. He's immature. He's cocky. He's constantly giving me a bad time. And I totally have a crush on him. Don't ask me why. If I have a type, he's definitely not it. He's skinny and has multiple large tattoos. He drives a little sports car. He's not a mans man, he's a computer/science geek. Oh, and his name is Conrad.

I don't know what is up with this. I do love a crush but this is just ridiculous, he's 3 years younger than me (yes, he can drink but barely). I'm attributing this recent development as an excitement to have a new person, a new boy (and I do love boys). On the other hand, he's smart, reasonably attractive, and funny in a dorky way (like me!). Oh, and he has a beard.

I'm currently away for the weekend but after an afternoon/evening of flirtexting yesterday, I now keep checking my phone for that next text. That is not healthy! I'm really hoping this will just go away, but until then I'm just going to enjoy this crush. Flirtations, sexual tension--it's bloody fantastic! Oh, and I'm pretty sure this is mutual.

Sexy Bruises

On Saturday, I managed to get absolutely nailed with a softball, producing (very quickly, I might add) a lovely purple bruise surrounding the imprint of the softball stitches on my leg. Duke Logan insisted on examining it up close. He called it sexy. I called him weird.

On Monday, I slid on a very hard surface into second base, scraping up my knee. Oh, war wounds, how I've missed you. My legs looked like I was 15 again. Duke Logan wasn't at the field, which is very odd, as he is a softball whore. (I am merely a slut, mind you.) I texted him to point out how shocking this was. He said he knew I would miss him. I told him he missed my slide. He asked if I was going for matching leg wounds. I told him that since he said it was sexy, that maybe this was the secret to meeting the man of my dreams, and maybe I would go to a bar that night? (I didn't, The Highlander came over. We had fun.) He said that was "totally hot."

On Thursday, he asked me if I was busy Sunday. I told him I was. He wanted to know if I was interested in going to the baseball game, which is funny, because I was thinking of asking him if he wanted to go, but The Highlander is taking me to a game on Saturday, and I don't have time to go to both.

Duke Logan is too old for me. He is most likely not interested in being my friend. I am most definitely "seeing" The Highlander. Had I not been busy this weekend, I would definitely have taken him up on his offer to go to the game. My question is: Would that be wrong?

Just a friendly make out session

As has been well-documented, I've engaged in flirtations of all kinds with John Boy over the last month or so. The sexual tension seemed to reach a breaking point over the weekend during a round of flirtexting, and I decided I was going to have to take control of the situation. I am a feminist, and if a woman wants to kiss a man why shouldn't she make the first move? This of course sounds great in theory, but execution is another matter. So before I saw John Boy last night, I called Scarlet for a bit of a pep talk. I still had some wine leftover from Scarlet's and my weekend wine binge, and I figured I would need to dip pretty heavily into that in order to muster up the courage to make the first move.

The evening got off to a pretty normal start. We ate dinner. We talked. We watched a movie. Although at some point during the movie I realized we were cuddling, and I thought to myself, 'Maybe I'm better at this seduction thing than I thought...' which is apparently true, because in the end, I didn't have to make the move. He went in 90%, I finished the 10. Yes!!!! And there was no creepy heavy breathing! And he didn't even try to chew my lips off with his teeth! Jackpot! (oh, dear, my standards have become very low, haven't they?)

So don't worry, Grayer, you don't have to stage an intervention of any kind. While nothing has changed in that he's still moving in about a month and one of my iron-clad dealbreakers is distance, that doesn't mean fun can't be had. I know I said I would just say no to imaginary boyfriends this year, but this is a Friends with Benefits situation, which is entirely different. An imaginary boyfriend is a boy you keep waiting to declare himself your boyfriend, whereas a friend with benefits understands the non-relationship aspect of the relationship. It's quite simple, really.

The Art of Flirtexting

A wise woman once said, "We date, therefore we text." And I, a longtime opponent of texting, have come to realize just how true that is, and if I want children, I'm going to have to let go of my old-fashioned ways and accept texting as a means of communication. And while I'm still not completely entrenched in the texting society, I engaged in quite a bit of flirtexting last night, with big assists from Scarlet and a bottle of wine.

Yes, that's right. Scarlet is visiting this weekend, and we were doing it up Bridget-style; polishing off a bottle of wine on my porch while bashing fuckwits. After the wine took effect, I whipped out my phone and texted John Boy, who is out of town for the weekend. I told him about the giant bugs invading our porch, like something out of a horror movie. He offered to come over (next week) and kill the bugs. I told him I might have to make out with him if he did. He said to consider them killed. Then he asked if Scarlet and I were having a good time, and I told him we were discussing the merits of men with beards and the hazards of men with stubble, which is what we were, in fact, discussing. It will be interesting to see what kind of facial hair he has the next time I see him.

And as I am in some desperate need of some quality lip action, I am fervantly hoping that it is NOT stubble.