Last weekend I had Meetup Matt (MM) over for dinner. I cooked dinner, he brought wine, we cuddled on the couch and held hands…there was only one thing missing…makeout action. I thought it was kind of cute that we hung out all night and he didn’t make a move (even though it clearly would have been welcome). However, over the following week I found myself more and more anxious about the impending first kiss. What if it was bad? What if there was no chemistry? How long was it going to take for him to gather the courage to kiss me?
After several days of turmoil, I hung out with MM again. Once again it was the perfect atmosphere for him to make a move. We watched some TV, cuddled on the couch, and he finally made his move. Hoorah! The make out session was excellent until…
His mom walked in the house. MM’s mom was in town and said that she would call before she stopped by the house. Unfortunately for us she did not follow through on this. We quickly separated and moved to opposite ends of the couch like guilty teenagers. Knowing that I probably looked disheveled, I frantically tried to fix my hair…I’m not sure how successful I was in this desperate attempt to tidy myself up. Luckily we were fully clothed. I’m still not sure how much MM’s mom suspected as she didn’t comment on the situation. While the situation definitely could have been worse, I would have preferred to have been, umm, more prepared to meet his mother.
Anyway, MM did walk me to my car and kissed me goodbye. Next weekend MM invited me to a party with some of his non-meetup friends. v. good progress!
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
The Fuckwit Hall of Shame
Oh, The Disappearance. The torture tool of choice by fuckwits everywhere. By now the entire world knows that John Boy pulled one on me. And yet, he did actually call me last week to let me know that he was still alive. He acted as if everything was fine, but I know he was hiding something. I'm going to assume it's herpes.
Of course, he assured me when I talked to him that he would call me again soon, because he really did want to see me before he left. With him scheduled to move on Wednesday, I still hadn't heard from him by Sunday night. Obviously, by this time I was seeing red and didn't want to be chummy with him, but I still had unfinished business: I wanted my books back.
So I called him and left a message that I would swing by his place on Tuesday afternoon to collect my books. He didn't respond. (Was I surprised? Of course not.) On Tuesday morning I sent a text. No response. When I finished at work, I called again. He didn't answer. I got in my car and drove to his place. With him leaving on Wednesday, he should be home, packing up all his stuff.
I told Grayer that I was planning on going over there to get my books back, and she told me, "that better be all you do." Unless, of course, I poked around his medicine cabinet to find out which STD he was hiding. I assured her I would pick up my books and leave, but I did wear a super cute dress just to remind him what he had missed out on.
As I got closer, I started to feel really silly. Was I really going over to his house? On the off-chance that he would be there? But yes, I was. I really wanted to re-read Ordinary People, dammit! As I pulled on to his street, No Doubt's "Don't Speak" came on the radio. I laughed at the appropriateness of it, and wondered if it was a sign. For what, I don't know. Although I still got out and knocked on the door, it didn't take long for me to realize no one was home. His truck wasn't there. It was official. I was never going to see John Boy again.
He's Just Not That Into You says (repeatedly) "don't waste the pretty." I had no intention of wasting the pretty, so after work that night, I drove to The Highlander's so he could pay up on a bet that he lost. My cuteness was definitely not wasted on him. I believe the word "amazing" was thrown around. And he's cooking dinner for me tomorrow night. Who needs John Boy?
Besides, he is a distinguished member of the Fuckwit Hall of Fame. And he has herpes.
Of course, he assured me when I talked to him that he would call me again soon, because he really did want to see me before he left. With him scheduled to move on Wednesday, I still hadn't heard from him by Sunday night. Obviously, by this time I was seeing red and didn't want to be chummy with him, but I still had unfinished business: I wanted my books back.
So I called him and left a message that I would swing by his place on Tuesday afternoon to collect my books. He didn't respond. (Was I surprised? Of course not.) On Tuesday morning I sent a text. No response. When I finished at work, I called again. He didn't answer. I got in my car and drove to his place. With him leaving on Wednesday, he should be home, packing up all his stuff.
I told Grayer that I was planning on going over there to get my books back, and she told me, "that better be all you do." Unless, of course, I poked around his medicine cabinet to find out which STD he was hiding. I assured her I would pick up my books and leave, but I did wear a super cute dress just to remind him what he had missed out on.
As I got closer, I started to feel really silly. Was I really going over to his house? On the off-chance that he would be there? But yes, I was. I really wanted to re-read Ordinary People, dammit! As I pulled on to his street, No Doubt's "Don't Speak" came on the radio. I laughed at the appropriateness of it, and wondered if it was a sign. For what, I don't know. Although I still got out and knocked on the door, it didn't take long for me to realize no one was home. His truck wasn't there. It was official. I was never going to see John Boy again.
He's Just Not That Into You says (repeatedly) "don't waste the pretty." I had no intention of wasting the pretty, so after work that night, I drove to The Highlander's so he could pay up on a bet that he lost. My cuteness was definitely not wasted on him. I believe the word "amazing" was thrown around. And he's cooking dinner for me tomorrow night. Who needs John Boy?
Besides, he is a distinguished member of the Fuckwit Hall of Fame. And he has herpes.
Monday, June 29, 2009
A victim of the three wolves
Hey ladies, men have a new secret weapon: a t-shirt. Not just any t-shirt, but a three wolves t-shirt. Please take a moment to check out this bitchin' shirt of wolves howling at the moon, but most importantly take time to read a couple of the 1,100 reviews. (Most importantly the first five star review "Dual Function Design").
After my friend (HOG's friend who I happen to really really like, but not be attracted to, more on that later) flashed me his undershirt (it looked even better tucked in) of the three wolves I laughed. After he showed me the reviews online, I laughed so hard I cried. This isn't quite the effect this shirt is claimed to have on women, but I certainly did enjoy it. Check it out for a good laugh!
After my friend (HOG's friend who I happen to really really like, but not be attracted to, more on that later) flashed me his undershirt (it looked even better tucked in) of the three wolves I laughed. After he showed me the reviews online, I laughed so hard I cried. This isn't quite the effect this shirt is claimed to have on women, but I certainly did enjoy it. Check it out for a good laugh!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Kiss of the Highlander
To: Scarlet
From: Violet
He just compared me to his grandpa. Is that bad?
That was the text I sent to Scarlet during a date with The Highlander Friday night. It was a bit tricky getting the text out with him sitting right next to me, but I managed. On other occasions, I've even called Scarlet from a public restroom during a date to give her an update. She is having MM over for dinner tonight, and I requested that she keep her phone in the bathroom so she can send me update texts throughout. (Since it's not in a public place, he would obviously be able to hear her talking in the bathroom, and that might be a bit strange.) Just examples of how we have become entirely too reliant on one another.
In preparation for dinner with MM, I have given Scarlet my never-fail "I want to make-out with you advice": Talk about your underwear. Just a mention here or there at some point in the evening about your unmentionables works like a charm, I swear. Case in point:
Friday evening, The Highlander took me to a baseball game. He isn't much of a fan himself, and these were not easy (or cheap) tickets to come by, so I was pretty impressed. During the game, he asked me a few questions, since he hasn't followed baseball too closely since he was younger (a victim of the player's strike of '94), and at one point told me that this reminded him of going to games with his grandpa when he was a kid. "Did you just compare me to your grandpa?" I asked. He explained that when he was younger, he would ask his grandpa a million questions during the game and his grandpa always had the answers. As do I. Awesome. First John Boy (who I'm convinced has herpes) told me I was like a dude with long hair, and now The Highlander compared me to his grandpa.
But he made it perfectly clear later that the comparison was strictly baseball encyclopedic knowledge related when my underwear mentionitis worked perfectly, and no one would do that to their grandpa. Hoorah!
From: Violet
He just compared me to his grandpa. Is that bad?
That was the text I sent to Scarlet during a date with The Highlander Friday night. It was a bit tricky getting the text out with him sitting right next to me, but I managed. On other occasions, I've even called Scarlet from a public restroom during a date to give her an update. She is having MM over for dinner tonight, and I requested that she keep her phone in the bathroom so she can send me update texts throughout. (Since it's not in a public place, he would obviously be able to hear her talking in the bathroom, and that might be a bit strange.) Just examples of how we have become entirely too reliant on one another.
In preparation for dinner with MM, I have given Scarlet my never-fail "I want to make-out with you advice": Talk about your underwear. Just a mention here or there at some point in the evening about your unmentionables works like a charm, I swear. Case in point:
Friday evening, The Highlander took me to a baseball game. He isn't much of a fan himself, and these were not easy (or cheap) tickets to come by, so I was pretty impressed. During the game, he asked me a few questions, since he hasn't followed baseball too closely since he was younger (a victim of the player's strike of '94), and at one point told me that this reminded him of going to games with his grandpa when he was a kid. "Did you just compare me to your grandpa?" I asked. He explained that when he was younger, he would ask his grandpa a million questions during the game and his grandpa always had the answers. As do I. Awesome. First John Boy (who I'm convinced has herpes) told me I was like a dude with long hair, and now The Highlander compared me to his grandpa.
But he made it perfectly clear later that the comparison was strictly baseball encyclopedic knowledge related when my underwear mentionitis worked perfectly, and no one would do that to their grandpa. Hoorah!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Becoming Bridget
Percentage of incoming callers creating angry resentment for not being Mark Darcy-unless ringing to talk about Mark Darcy-and urged to get off the phone as quickly as possible in case blocking call from Mark Darcy- 100.
-Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason
I've been listening to The Edge of Reason the last few days, and when I heard the above lines, I laughed out loud (at the gym; I'm sure everyone thought I was crazy), because that was me last week, waiting in anticipation for John Boy's phone call. Feeling resentment at anyone who wasn't him. (And that includes both Scarlet and Grayer, and I apologize for that. I appreciate all calls.)
The older I get and the longer I remain a singleton, the funnier the escapades of Bridget are. Mostly because the older I get the more my life resembles hers, and that is a scary thought indeed.
**In case you're wondering, he still hasn't rung, and it's been ten days. Either something tragic has happened, or he is indeed an emotional fuckwitt, so unless I hear something from him, this is the last time you will hear him mentioned. I'm tired of talking about him.
Over the last week, my life seems to have taken on the form of some romantic comedy caper. Wednesday was the high (er, low?) point, when I had an earth shattering epiphany as I was getting out of the shower. I eluded to this in my recount of my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week post, but as I was getting out of the shower I realized that this is not the first time a man that I was snogging went away and came back to ignore me. Two years ago things seemed to actually be going well with McNerdy (or at least as well as they ever went with him), when he took off for two months. I heard from him pretty regularly for about the first month. Then as the second month set in, I just had this feeling something had changed. Sure enough, when he got back to town earlier than expected, I didn't find out because he called me. No, I found out with everyone else in the mass email he sent to friends and family. Then John Boy went away for two weeks, and even though I haven't heard from him in ten days, he had continued to email me right up until the day before his return, making his disappearance all the more baffling. Although, as Scarlet pointed out, every time someone pulls The Disappearance on us, we say the same thing. But apparently, while they are around, I can get my claws in them, but as soon as they leave and the claws are retracted, they seem to realize life without me isn't all bad, and therefore what's the point of an actual relationship?
As was documented in my previous post, I ate a lot of ice cream and drank wine while sitting on my couch in my underwear (hot apartment situation out of control over last week's extreme heat wave) after this realization. If I were a smoker, I'm sure I would have smoked an awful lot too (although surely too hot?). Needed calming phone call from Scarlet to assure me am not forgettable and to remind me that I am a woman of substance complete without man.
Thursday wasn't any better, as it found Scarlet perusing horoscopes until she found one that told her what she wanted (mine told me that I was making mountains out of molehills, scarily fitting), that her single days may soon be over, and I found myself googling John Boy to see if his name had popped up in any police reports/obituaries. Today my roommate offered to help me conduct a drive-by of his house, since we certainly can't be discreet in my car, which is the complete opposite of discreet. (But he lives in a cul de sac, so we can't be discreet no matter what kind of camouflage car we're driving.)
Sometimes I can't quite believe this is my life. Googling and facebook stalking a man I knew was just temporary? Considering driving by his house to see if he's there? Reading three horoscopes a day to find one that will tell me I'll meet Mr. Right? (Actually what I need now is one that will give me the winning lottery numbers...) That kind of pisses me off. Not only am I a woman of substance, but I have a lot of substance. I am intelligent and funny, and highly amusing. (I think The Highlander is v. amused by me.) And to top it all off, I have the whole "I can explain the infield fly rule" thing going on for me. I'm practically a walking wet dream. (yes, that's right, I said it.) I know I'm a proud singleton and woman of substance, but is it so wrong to want someone with which to share the substance? And what the hell is wrong with these men for not realizing that?
-Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason
I've been listening to The Edge of Reason the last few days, and when I heard the above lines, I laughed out loud (at the gym; I'm sure everyone thought I was crazy), because that was me last week, waiting in anticipation for John Boy's phone call. Feeling resentment at anyone who wasn't him. (And that includes both Scarlet and Grayer, and I apologize for that. I appreciate all calls.)
The older I get and the longer I remain a singleton, the funnier the escapades of Bridget are. Mostly because the older I get the more my life resembles hers, and that is a scary thought indeed.
**In case you're wondering, he still hasn't rung, and it's been ten days. Either something tragic has happened, or he is indeed an emotional fuckwitt, so unless I hear something from him, this is the last time you will hear him mentioned. I'm tired of talking about him.
Over the last week, my life seems to have taken on the form of some romantic comedy caper. Wednesday was the high (er, low?) point, when I had an earth shattering epiphany as I was getting out of the shower. I eluded to this in my recount of my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week post, but as I was getting out of the shower I realized that this is not the first time a man that I was snogging went away and came back to ignore me. Two years ago things seemed to actually be going well with McNerdy (or at least as well as they ever went with him), when he took off for two months. I heard from him pretty regularly for about the first month. Then as the second month set in, I just had this feeling something had changed. Sure enough, when he got back to town earlier than expected, I didn't find out because he called me. No, I found out with everyone else in the mass email he sent to friends and family. Then John Boy went away for two weeks, and even though I haven't heard from him in ten days, he had continued to email me right up until the day before his return, making his disappearance all the more baffling. Although, as Scarlet pointed out, every time someone pulls The Disappearance on us, we say the same thing. But apparently, while they are around, I can get my claws in them, but as soon as they leave and the claws are retracted, they seem to realize life without me isn't all bad, and therefore what's the point of an actual relationship?
As was documented in my previous post, I ate a lot of ice cream and drank wine while sitting on my couch in my underwear (hot apartment situation out of control over last week's extreme heat wave) after this realization. If I were a smoker, I'm sure I would have smoked an awful lot too (although surely too hot?). Needed calming phone call from Scarlet to assure me am not forgettable and to remind me that I am a woman of substance complete without man.
Thursday wasn't any better, as it found Scarlet perusing horoscopes until she found one that told her what she wanted (mine told me that I was making mountains out of molehills, scarily fitting), that her single days may soon be over, and I found myself googling John Boy to see if his name had popped up in any police reports/obituaries. Today my roommate offered to help me conduct a drive-by of his house, since we certainly can't be discreet in my car, which is the complete opposite of discreet. (But he lives in a cul de sac, so we can't be discreet no matter what kind of camouflage car we're driving.)
Sometimes I can't quite believe this is my life. Googling and facebook stalking a man I knew was just temporary? Considering driving by his house to see if he's there? Reading three horoscopes a day to find one that will tell me I'll meet Mr. Right? (Actually what I need now is one that will give me the winning lottery numbers...) That kind of pisses me off. Not only am I a woman of substance, but I have a lot of substance. I am intelligent and funny, and highly amusing. (I think The Highlander is v. amused by me.) And to top it all off, I have the whole "I can explain the infield fly rule" thing going on for me. I'm practically a walking wet dream. (yes, that's right, I said it.) I know I'm a proud singleton and woman of substance, but is it so wrong to want someone with which to share the substance? And what the hell is wrong with these men for not realizing that?
Friday, June 19, 2009
Violet and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week
I expected to spend the week snogging John Boy, but by Monday afternoon he still hadn't called, so I went out for margaritas with McNerdy, but when that was over and I had sobered up enough to realize that he STILL hadn't called, it made me sad again. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week.
On Wednesday, my alarm didn't go off, so I was rushing around in the morning, and when I went to the gym after work, I realized that I brought two shirts and no shorts, so I just went home.
It was so hot in my apartment I couldn't even put pants on, and then I remembered John Boy promised to look at my A/C when he got back, but he STILL hadn't called, even after I sent him an email giving him my theories as to his whereabouts. Then after I got out of the shower, I realized that this is the second time a boy has chucked me after he went away for a little while, since things had been going well with McNerdy until he went off into the wilderness for two months and wasn't much interested in me when he came back. It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week.
So then I called Scarlet, because I knew she would assure me that boys didn't forget about me the moment they went on holiday, but she didn't answer, so I had to leave her a voicemail message asking her to call me back and offer moral support before I ate a pint of extreme moosetracks and finished a bottle of wine. She called me back, but not before I ate all the moosetracks and drank all the wine.
"I'm having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week!" I cried, but nobody answered, mostly because my roommate is out of town and the cat doesn't care.
I think I'll move to Australia.
I was really excited to see one of my favorite bands in concert on Friday night, but on Thursday I found out the concert was canceled. I bet they're playing in Australia.
And the worst of it came today when my boss announced everyone was going to have to take a pay cut, so I guess I really should focus more on The Highlander, since he can afford to spend more money on one dinner than I can spend in two weeks on groceries.
I bet the economy isn't this bad in Australia.
I haven't kissed anyone this week, and I love kissing.
I really need to clean, but I hate cleaning.
My apartment is still too hot to wear pants.
It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week.
But tonight I'm going to go see a movie starring Jim Halpert himself with a beard and glasses, so it will be like heaven, and tomorrow I'm going out on a THIRD DATE with The Highlander, so it's not all bad.
Besides, everyone has bad weeks.
Even in Australia.
On Wednesday, my alarm didn't go off, so I was rushing around in the morning, and when I went to the gym after work, I realized that I brought two shirts and no shorts, so I just went home.
It was so hot in my apartment I couldn't even put pants on, and then I remembered John Boy promised to look at my A/C when he got back, but he STILL hadn't called, even after I sent him an email giving him my theories as to his whereabouts. Then after I got out of the shower, I realized that this is the second time a boy has chucked me after he went away for a little while, since things had been going well with McNerdy until he went off into the wilderness for two months and wasn't much interested in me when he came back. It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week.
So then I called Scarlet, because I knew she would assure me that boys didn't forget about me the moment they went on holiday, but she didn't answer, so I had to leave her a voicemail message asking her to call me back and offer moral support before I ate a pint of extreme moosetracks and finished a bottle of wine. She called me back, but not before I ate all the moosetracks and drank all the wine.
"I'm having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week!" I cried, but nobody answered, mostly because my roommate is out of town and the cat doesn't care.
I think I'll move to Australia.
I was really excited to see one of my favorite bands in concert on Friday night, but on Thursday I found out the concert was canceled. I bet they're playing in Australia.
And the worst of it came today when my boss announced everyone was going to have to take a pay cut, so I guess I really should focus more on The Highlander, since he can afford to spend more money on one dinner than I can spend in two weeks on groceries.
I bet the economy isn't this bad in Australia.
I haven't kissed anyone this week, and I love kissing.
I really need to clean, but I hate cleaning.
My apartment is still too hot to wear pants.
It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week.
But tonight I'm going to go see a movie starring Jim Halpert himself with a beard and glasses, so it will be like heaven, and tomorrow I'm going out on a THIRD DATE with The Highlander, so it's not all bad.
Besides, everyone has bad weeks.
Even in Australia.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Transition
I’ve been hanging out with Meetup Matt (MM) with increased frequency over the past few weeks. In the past week I saw him 4 out of 7 days. We have started to make the transition from spending time with mutual friends to hanging out alone last week. I find this transition somewhat frustrating. I’m a little concerned that MM may become a hang out guy. There are definitely signs that he is interested. For example he went to see a movie that he had already seen with me simply because I said I wanted to see it. He suggested that we go out to lunch sometime and actually followed through. MM even went as far as to call it a “lunch date” but then didn’t pay for my lunch. (I know I am a mature woman perfectly capable of paying for my own lunch but I typically use this as an indicator that a guy is interested.) However, there have been several times where he has paid for me. Also on several occasions I have noticed that he was more touchy than what is typical for a friend. (More often in situations that involve a little bit of alcohol.) MM even asked me to go to a concert with him which is over a month away. If those things aren't enough to convince you he maybe interested...in addition to hanging out with me he also talks to me daily outside of seeing me simply to see how my day is and share random antidotes of our days.
The only thing is…he hasn’t made a move. I know it hasn’t been that long but I want to know if I’m misreading the situation. Is he into me or does he just think I’m cool and fun to hang out with? Would a guy really devote all this time and effort to a girl they aren't interested in?
I kind of think both of us are afraid to officially make the transition from friends to something more. Rejection is so much harder when it is someone you actually know! So I’m trying to be patience and I’m waiting it out to see where this goes. MM better get a move on it though because my horoscope promised some excellent make out action at the end of the month!!
The only thing is…he hasn’t made a move. I know it hasn’t been that long but I want to know if I’m misreading the situation. Is he into me or does he just think I’m cool and fun to hang out with? Would a guy really devote all this time and effort to a girl they aren't interested in?
I kind of think both of us are afraid to officially make the transition from friends to something more. Rejection is so much harder when it is someone you actually know! So I’m trying to be patience and I’m waiting it out to see where this goes. MM better get a move on it though because my horoscope promised some excellent make out action at the end of the month!!
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