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.

100th Post!

My math may be shoddy (I was an English major, you know), but that last post was #99, making this #100. Thanks to our two readers, who really make this possible. Here's to another 100 posts of fuckwittage, bad dates, good dates, smug married complaints, singletonness, compilation mood playlists, and adventures in searching for a real life Jim Halpert. Mazel tov, ladies.

Mr. Almost Perfect

I admit, I have very high standards. My list of dealbreakers is very, very long. Too long. I'm working on being a bit more open-minded, which will have to wait until I move, because I never EVER date boys who are from my current location. Is my pickiness the reason I'm still single? I don't know, but it may be the reason why I haven't had a real, honest-to-goodness boyfriend in far too long. (Imaginary boyfriends don't count.)

A few months ago, I met Mr. Almost Perfect. He was cute. He was funny. No, HILARIOUS. He was sweet. He was a European Jim Halpert. And we were sitting on the world's most isolated inhabited island together. It seemed too good to be true, which, of course, it was. Mr. Almost Perfect was a smoker.

Now, I really don't think Mr. Almost Perfect and I ever could have lived happily ever after. First of all, we carry different passports, making it geographically impossible. But it had been awhile, so I thought maybe the Rapa Nui gods had reached down and given me a sack full of fresh guapo points and a weekend fling on the remotest of remote islands was exactly what I needed. Sadly, it was not to be.

I tried to tell myself that smoking is a silly dealbreaker when simply looking for a little weekend fun, but I wasn't very convincing. I mean, who wants to kiss an ashtray? Granted, he didn't exactly make the moves on me, but I also nagged him every time he lit up, so I can't imagine that was a very attractive quality. When he told me that he had only recently started the habit up again, I was tempted to reply, "Well then, why don't you go home, quit, then CALL ME."

When it was time to part ways, I wasn't all that upset about it. At least I know that the good guys are out there, somewhere. Jim Halpert does exist. You just may have to go to the ends of the earth to find him.

Question of the Week

A new Monday tradition?

Here's a tough one. Who would you choose? And you can only choose ONE.


Edward Cullen from Twilight

OR

Jim Halpert from The Office


Wow, that's a tough one.

Thanks, but no

Most of the time, I'm perfectly fine being single. No one to answer to, free to come and go as I please, yada yada yada.

Unfortunately, this week has not been one of those days.

Maybe it was passing on relationship advice to McNerdy. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm unknowingly attracting men, it's just that they are all so very wrong.

Way back in college, I had a brief stint at the radio station, calling baseball games (and a few ill-advised soccer games, a sport about which I know next to nothing). The head of the sports department was a serious sports radio guy. He knew his sports and he knew his radio. I barely knew him, and for a short time, but I thought he was a little weird. First of all, he was already going bald in college, and second, he talked in a radio announcer voice, even if he wasn't on the radio. It's as if he never signed off.

Last year, through that great social networking site facebook, he found me. He quickly became a devoted writer on my wall, loyal follower of my travel blog and travel photos, and made it entirely necessary for me to permanently disable facebook chat.

Last night, I mentioned via the facebook that I needed help sorting through over 2,000 photos to find the 100 best. He commented on my status 3 times within 15 minutes, and then- to my horror- sent me a list of 60- count 'em, 60- photos from my picture website that he liked the best. Within an hour. By name. The sad part is, I'm not even entirely sure which photos he's talking about and I'm the one that took them.

Question: Is it necessary to unfriend him, or should I just ignore?

The second one isn't creepy so much as cute. He's chubby, red-headed, and freckle-faced. His arm is in a neon green cast. He's also 11-years old, with a sixth-grade crush on his teacher, and I happen to be that teacher. Actually, I'm his tutor. I'm also the tutor to other students, but he's done as much as he can to claim me as his own personal tutor. He follows me everywhere. I mean, literally, if I take a step backward, I will step on him. I'm doing my best to be sure I give my attention to other students. Don't want to lead the little guy on.

Where, oh where is my Jim Halpert? My own personal McDreamy? Or even just a Mr. Right Now until one of them comes along?

"Lo siento Señorita, no amor para ti"

A couple weeks ago, I tested out a love spell to see if anything would happen. It's been almost two weeks, and I can confidently report that this particular love spell is a bust. Nothing, nada, zilch.

But is it the love spells failure, or my lack of guapo points?

My guapo points theory is my explanation for my recent dry spell in the romance department. Earlier this year, while traveling, I had a bit of a fling with a chico muy guapo in South America. He was everything I never go for, the complete opposite of my type. (Guapo is Spanish for hottie.) The ladies even gave him the nickname "Guapo." He taught me how to dance the salsa (earning him the nickname "McSalsa") and even made it necessary to coin the phrase "lip molestation." Obviously, it was short-lived, but we had a week, which is more than some people get in a lifetime. (Dramatic/Sarcastic sigh)

The year got off to a red-hot start, but ever since? Zero, nada, zilch. Which made me start to wonder. Normally, I go for cute, nerdy guys. Not dungeons and dragons nerds, Weezer nerds. Last year, I exclusively dated guybrarians (and not on purpose). I've sworn them off for the time being. But like dating the captain of the football team, what if Guapo/McSalsa was a bit out of my league and I used up all my hypothetical guapo points?

Let's say I get 25 guapo points in a year. Men are assigned a point value, based not on their character, but on their WOW factor: Half a point being Dungeons and Dragons types who still live in their mom's basement, and 25 being the guy that give women whiplash when they walk by. Therefore, Jim Halpert is probably "only" a 10, because, while he is obviously painfully adorable, most of his perfection lies in his sweetness and sense of humor. Brad Pitt, meanwhile, is a 25 due to his outright hotness.

Guapo was around a 23. Seriously. Therefore, I only have two guapo points left in the year, and do I really want to stoop so low? Am I really that desperate? Ask again in a month, but I surely hope not.

"But what about those girls that seem to go from one guapo to another?" I'm glad you asked. Those girls, through a deal with The Devil, have been awarded hundreds of guapo points. As a result, they don't have many girlfriends, and therefore do not participate on this blog.

The Guapo Points Theory (GPT) may have been invented as a way to make me feel better about my lack of excitement, but I think it makes perfect sense.

It's raining men

Mmmm..Boys

We here at WWBD? may bash them for extreme examples of fuckwittage, describing them as egotistical commitment phobes who break our hearts without even realizing they hold them in their hands. But do not let us fool you, for we absolutely love them (or do we love to hate them?). I admit I am the worst offender of this child's play, but as a group I just cannot get enough. I'm talking Love them, Love them. All of them. I'm as boy crazy as a prepubescent girl just noticing that minus the acne and braces, boys are pretty much amazing. And oddly enough, I just keep getting worse.

Perhaps this is due to the discoveries I make as I get older. With my gained knowledge and wisdom, their previously assumed prevertedness and immaturity can now be appreciated as witty innuendos and fun-loving antics. This, however, is not because they have gotten older or more mature, as one might assume. Just look at my recent infatuation with an 18 year old summer intern (a crush I did not act upon might I add).

For me, sense of humor is a huge turn on, and boys are downright hilarious. They will do anything for a good laugh and I absolutely love it. This includes getting 14 of their friends to dress in identical penguin costumes and barhop on Halloween, just because it's funny (Insert: mental image of 15 penguins waddling around a downtown area before hitting the dance floor). Or putting office supplies in a Jell-O mold (a la my one true love, Jim Halpert).

I am not a shallow person, but let's be honest, looks are a huge factor of my boy-craze. As I am still around a college campus, a haven for cute, albeit young boys, I am constantly surrounded by a surplus of hotness. This is where I decide if I like teaching a class or not by the number of cute students. Where being caught up in the men's summer cross country practice can be seen as nothing less than a gift from God. Nowhere else can attractive young men be found in such quantity and naiveness. Crushes on said students and athletes are frequent and always fun, giving me a reason to try to look nice on an early Monday morning.

Aside from the fuckwits, guys really are just good people. They have this innate protective quality, stemming either from birth or their mother's nagging, that leads them to be almost chivalrous. Even just male friends have a somewhat gallant attitude that I love. For clarification, I in no way am dependent on boys or in need of a protector. But having a boy around to walk with you in a dark alley, or help you up when you trip and fall, is not being dependent, it's just utterly convenient and smart. Without all the drama and bitchiness of a female friend, and the occasional snoggability, guys are my preferred sex for friendship (aside from my girl besties).

I may be completely boy-crazed, loving to look, talk, flirt and makeout with them, but in no way do I feel I need to date them. We may complain of being seemingly serious singletons, but don't forget, single stands for free to mingle. So while our friends get married, let's make the most of it, and go home with one of the groomsmen. While they start having babies, let's be thankful we still have the money/time/body to meet sex gods at the bar. Hopefully it won't last forever, but let's enjoy the flirtations before the inevitable jealous boyfriend is around stop it.