I know I swore I would never mention him again, but I'm going to have to break that promise. That's right, I'm talking about our inaugural member into the Fuckwit Hall of Shame: John Boy. You might remember John Boy. He's the one who decided to pull off a stealthy disappearance even though we were just friends. And stole two of my books in the process.
I have never heard from John Boy in any way, shape, or form since the lone phone call he gave me between his vacation and departure date, assuring me he would call soon and wanted to see me again. In fact, I've pretty much forgotten about his existence. Until last week, when his name popped up somewhere on my facebook page. I decided to give him a click and see what he's been up to. (It's not facebook stalking if you don't actively seek them out. Really.)
Imagine my surprise when I saw that he was now "In a Relationship." Not only that, but I immediately recognized the name as one of his friends he was on vacation with. If you recall, John Boy emailed me nearly everyday from his tropical location to give me updates, and on the last day sent me a final email telling me he was really looking forward to seeing me when he got home, but I was never to see him again. Now I know something happened on that last night to change that.
The good news is, when I saw this, I immediately laughed out loud. Clearly, I've moved on. Then I started to get a bit pissed. John Boy had become a very good friend to me. I always had fun with him, and liked talking to him. No, I don't do long distance relationships, but I have plenty of long distance friends. Hell, Fenella and I don't even live on the same continent, but we talk regularly. So why did he think he needed to pull a disappearance? Did he think I cared that much? Or maybe it was just that he cared that much?
While I was staring at his facebook page and laughing, I was tempted to write on his wall, "I want my books back, dammit!" but I refrained. Now I promise I will never mention him on this blog again. Really.
Showing posts with label John Boy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Boy. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 3, 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 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.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
May you be cursed with perpetual diarrhea
I know, I know. John Boy is NOT my boyfriend. But it is now Wednesday, he returned to the country on Saturday, and I have heard nary a peep from him since Saturday night. I know that we have all been victim of The Disappearance, but this is truly baffling. The last email I received from him said "look forward to seeing you when I get back" and he did text me upon landing, and then did (eventually) call on Saturday night. So when I got no response to the voicemail I left Monday, I sent him an email listing all the possible things I think have happened to him since Saturday night that have prevented him from picking up the phone. (And before you judge my list, I just want to point out that we have a very loose, casual relationship that doesn't know serious, so I never really worried about the appropriateness of it.)
1. He acquired a parasite before leaving Costa Rica, and hasn't been able to leave the toilet since returning home.
2. He came home with a souvenir of a different variety, i.e. syphilis, gonorrhea, the clap, herpes or the like and is a bit embarrassed to tell me as much, seeing as I expressly warned him to stay away from Costa Rican hookers.
3. He is Married/Engaged to said Costa Rican hooker.
4. He has always been Married/Engaged to someone else the entire time I've known him and has just done a really good job of covering it up.
5. He missed me so much while away for only two weeks that he decided to cut off ties immediately.
6. He's just not that into me. (Which kind of goes against everything he's have ever said or done, but seeing as the status of our relationship is that of friends, I'm not sure why this requires pulling off a Disappearance.)
7. He liked those books I lent him so much that he doesn't want to return them. (And I REALLY WANT THOSE BACK.)
8. It was actually he who told me The Disappearance is usually resorted to after finding out something you just can't live with about the other party. Not sure what sort of savory tidbit he could have unearthed on me while in the jungle, so I think I may have to cross this one off the list.
9. He had a major life epiphany: decided he was gay, that his best friend was the true love of his life, and ran off to Iowa or Maine to be married immediately.
I even pointed out to him that I really have no right to be angry at him for not calling (hoping that he won't avoid calling due to fear of the repercussions), and that I really just want to make sure he's still alive. And that I want my books back.
When The Heavy Breather pulled off The Disappearance, I was simply pissed. I had been wanting to break things off with him, and he disappeared before I could. And while I am pissed off now (rage is apparently good for my softball game), I'm more hurt than anything else. I'm getting the heavy pit in my stomach when I realize I haven't heard from him. Which only makes me more aware of the fact that if I had truly accepted him as only temporary, I wouldn't be this upset over it. I mean, he's already guilty of so many of my other dealbreakers, why not add one more?
1. He acquired a parasite before leaving Costa Rica, and hasn't been able to leave the toilet since returning home.
2. He came home with a souvenir of a different variety, i.e. syphilis, gonorrhea, the clap, herpes or the like and is a bit embarrassed to tell me as much, seeing as I expressly warned him to stay away from Costa Rican hookers.
3. He is Married/Engaged to said Costa Rican hooker.
4. He has always been Married/Engaged to someone else the entire time I've known him and has just done a really good job of covering it up.
5. He missed me so much while away for only two weeks that he decided to cut off ties immediately.
6. He's just not that into me. (Which kind of goes against everything he's have ever said or done, but seeing as the status of our relationship is that of friends, I'm not sure why this requires pulling off a Disappearance.)
7. He liked those books I lent him so much that he doesn't want to return them. (And I REALLY WANT THOSE BACK.)
8. It was actually he who told me The Disappearance is usually resorted to after finding out something you just can't live with about the other party. Not sure what sort of savory tidbit he could have unearthed on me while in the jungle, so I think I may have to cross this one off the list.
9. He had a major life epiphany: decided he was gay, that his best friend was the true love of his life, and ran off to Iowa or Maine to be married immediately.
I even pointed out to him that I really have no right to be angry at him for not calling (hoping that he won't avoid calling due to fear of the repercussions), and that I really just want to make sure he's still alive. And that I want my books back.
When The Heavy Breather pulled off The Disappearance, I was simply pissed. I had been wanting to break things off with him, and he disappeared before I could. And while I am pissed off now (rage is apparently good for my softball game), I'm more hurt than anything else. I'm getting the heavy pit in my stomach when I realize I haven't heard from him. Which only makes me more aware of the fact that if I had truly accepted him as only temporary, I wouldn't be this upset over it. I mean, he's already guilty of so many of my other dealbreakers, why not add one more?
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Weekend Update
I was really looking forward to this weekend. Really, really. Mostly (okay, pretty much entirely) because John Boy was scheduled to return yesterday afternoon. But first, I had a date with The Highlander on Friday night.
The Highlander suggested we go to a place I had never heard of in a swanky uptown neighborhood. Hence the reason I had never heard of it. I'm more of a burgers and pizza kind of girl myself, but I assure you neither burgers nor pizza were on this menu. In fact, it was so nice, I'm not even sure what half the things on the menu were. (And there were live musicians! And cloth napkins on the table folded all fancy-like!) I ended up ordering the steak (which was, by the way, the most expensive thing on the menu, but the rest was seafood-not an option- and he actually recommended the steak to me), and it was that amazing steak that kind of just melts in your mouth it's so tender. Mmmmm...
But anyway, on to the actual date. It went pretty well, especially since I got The Highlander to do a bit more of the talking. I think he finds me and my antics highly amusing, which bodes well for me. After we had finished dessert (a chocolate flourless torte), he asked if I would be interested in going to see a movie. At the time, the weather was in the middle of an absolute downpour, so we decided just to wait out the rain, and make a decision then. But then we got to talking, and by the time we finished, it was 11:30, which is far too late for a movie. He never let me see the bill, but despite my deficiencies in the field of math, I know that with tax and tip, it easily came out to at least $100, which is more than anyone has ever spent on a date with me.
On Saturday, I was having a few people over for an afternoon cook-out, and had told John Boy he should come if possible. He said he would do his best to be there, but that he would have a friend with him, which was fine by me. Four hours after his flight was supposed to land, I got a text message from him saying that they had just landed, but that he would call me shortly. One hour went by, then two. I texted him back to ask (jokingly) if they weren't being allowed back in the country. Another hour went by, then another. Then I began to think, what if my joke wasn't so funny? What if he had a Bridget moment and someone had stuffed illegal substances into his bag and he was being detained at the airport? He finally called just after 11pm- 5 hours after he said he would call "shortly." He had not been detained at the airport after all. I knew he obviously couldn't come to my cook-out, and that's fine, but I was a bit peeved, and I'll tell you why.
John Boy is super-protective. If we've just done something together, but have taken separate cars (or after I drove back from his place), he requires me to call him once I am safely home, so that he knows I got home safely. Even when we're on the train, he insists on me sitting on the inside, and he takes the outside. (What, asks Grayer, does he think someone is going to carry you away?) I'm not really sure what he thinks will happen to me in an aisle seat on the subway, but it's kind of cute. What pisses me off is the double standard. Why wouldn't I be worried after he doesn't call hours after saying he will call shortly when he has always called when he says he will and he makes sure I call even when there's no reason to believe I've been kidnapped/carjacked/raped/murdered?
We only talked briefly last night, and he said he would call me tomorrow, but I have yet to hear from him. I know he still has his friend staying with him, but that friend just spent the last two weeks on vacation with him. He needs to go home so JB can over and play with me. And I know he's not my boyfriend, as Grayer reminded me, (which I had just told myself right before speaking with her) but that's hard to remember sometimes as he has let me know in several ways that he would really like to be my boyfriend. That's the problem with boys who are always so reliable. When they do disappoint, it's a double shot of it.
The Highlander suggested we go to a place I had never heard of in a swanky uptown neighborhood. Hence the reason I had never heard of it. I'm more of a burgers and pizza kind of girl myself, but I assure you neither burgers nor pizza were on this menu. In fact, it was so nice, I'm not even sure what half the things on the menu were. (And there were live musicians! And cloth napkins on the table folded all fancy-like!) I ended up ordering the steak (which was, by the way, the most expensive thing on the menu, but the rest was seafood-not an option- and he actually recommended the steak to me), and it was that amazing steak that kind of just melts in your mouth it's so tender. Mmmmm...
But anyway, on to the actual date. It went pretty well, especially since I got The Highlander to do a bit more of the talking. I think he finds me and my antics highly amusing, which bodes well for me. After we had finished dessert (a chocolate flourless torte), he asked if I would be interested in going to see a movie. At the time, the weather was in the middle of an absolute downpour, so we decided just to wait out the rain, and make a decision then. But then we got to talking, and by the time we finished, it was 11:30, which is far too late for a movie. He never let me see the bill, but despite my deficiencies in the field of math, I know that with tax and tip, it easily came out to at least $100, which is more than anyone has ever spent on a date with me.
On Saturday, I was having a few people over for an afternoon cook-out, and had told John Boy he should come if possible. He said he would do his best to be there, but that he would have a friend with him, which was fine by me. Four hours after his flight was supposed to land, I got a text message from him saying that they had just landed, but that he would call me shortly. One hour went by, then two. I texted him back to ask (jokingly) if they weren't being allowed back in the country. Another hour went by, then another. Then I began to think, what if my joke wasn't so funny? What if he had a Bridget moment and someone had stuffed illegal substances into his bag and he was being detained at the airport? He finally called just after 11pm- 5 hours after he said he would call "shortly." He had not been detained at the airport after all. I knew he obviously couldn't come to my cook-out, and that's fine, but I was a bit peeved, and I'll tell you why.
John Boy is super-protective. If we've just done something together, but have taken separate cars (or after I drove back from his place), he requires me to call him once I am safely home, so that he knows I got home safely. Even when we're on the train, he insists on me sitting on the inside, and he takes the outside. (What, asks Grayer, does he think someone is going to carry you away?) I'm not really sure what he thinks will happen to me in an aisle seat on the subway, but it's kind of cute. What pisses me off is the double standard. Why wouldn't I be worried after he doesn't call hours after saying he will call shortly when he has always called when he says he will and he makes sure I call even when there's no reason to believe I've been kidnapped/carjacked/raped/murdered?
We only talked briefly last night, and he said he would call me tomorrow, but I have yet to hear from him. I know he still has his friend staying with him, but that friend just spent the last two weeks on vacation with him. He needs to go home so JB can over and play with me. And I know he's not my boyfriend, as Grayer reminded me, (which I had just told myself right before speaking with her) but that's hard to remember sometimes as he has let me know in several ways that he would really like to be my boyfriend. That's the problem with boys who are always so reliable. When they do disappoint, it's a double shot of it.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Charming the Highlander
Saturday, I went out with The Highlander. He seemed excellent on paper, and I know I will need a distraction when John Boy is gone for good, so why not? We met up for ice cream, and in just a few minutes time I thought for sure I was going to need to send Grayer and Scarlet the SOS text. You know, the one where I text them the Danger Word (Bert!) and hopefully at least one of them receives it immediately, waits five minutes, calls me, then sings to me while I shout "Are you ok? Where are you? Of course, I'll be right there!" Then I can be put out of my misery, apologizing profusely, and hope he never calls again.
The Highlander, quite attractive and very nice, was just so awkward. Maybe it's just that (sadly) I've been doing this long enough, but I know that there are always going to be awkward pauses in conversation. Heck, there are pauses in conversations long into relationships, both romantic as well as platonic, they just become comfortable. Therefore, I know well enough not to panic, but The Highlander obviously doesn't know this. He was trying so hard, it was a bit endearing, but still terribly uncomfortable. We got our ice cream, and took off for a walk around the neighborhood (a neighborhood that we share, making him extremely geographically desirable) and the awkwardness eased up a bit. Eventually, we got back to where we started, and he suggested we get some dinner. I agreed, since at this point I'm pretty confident in my abilities to keep the conversation going. Dinner went pretty well, and clocked in at two hours (pretty solid, by date clock standards). I know I did more than my share of the talking, since all the "experts" say to let the man do 2/3 of the talking, but sometimes, you just have to step up to the plate. (And in case you're wondering, no, I'm not starting on a path to cougardom, he's nearly 6 years my senior.) I knew it had gone well, though, when the check came and he immediately grabbed it. Always a good sign.
Apparently dinner went so well, he even offered to do something else afterward, but I know enough to leave 'em wanting more, so I thanked him for the ice cream and dinner. He called me by 12:30pm the next day, and we are apparently going out again on Friday. (Of course, I've heard that one before, so I don't want to get too psyched up for it.) And the sad part? I keep forgetting about Friday and looking forward to Saturday. What's Saturday, you ask? The day John Boy returns. Oh, crap.
The Highlander, quite attractive and very nice, was just so awkward. Maybe it's just that (sadly) I've been doing this long enough, but I know that there are always going to be awkward pauses in conversation. Heck, there are pauses in conversations long into relationships, both romantic as well as platonic, they just become comfortable. Therefore, I know well enough not to panic, but The Highlander obviously doesn't know this. He was trying so hard, it was a bit endearing, but still terribly uncomfortable. We got our ice cream, and took off for a walk around the neighborhood (a neighborhood that we share, making him extremely geographically desirable) and the awkwardness eased up a bit. Eventually, we got back to where we started, and he suggested we get some dinner. I agreed, since at this point I'm pretty confident in my abilities to keep the conversation going. Dinner went pretty well, and clocked in at two hours (pretty solid, by date clock standards). I know I did more than my share of the talking, since all the "experts" say to let the man do 2/3 of the talking, but sometimes, you just have to step up to the plate. (And in case you're wondering, no, I'm not starting on a path to cougardom, he's nearly 6 years my senior.) I knew it had gone well, though, when the check came and he immediately grabbed it. Always a good sign.
Apparently dinner went so well, he even offered to do something else afterward, but I know enough to leave 'em wanting more, so I thanked him for the ice cream and dinner. He called me by 12:30pm the next day, and we are apparently going out again on Friday. (Of course, I've heard that one before, so I don't want to get too psyched up for it.) And the sad part? I keep forgetting about Friday and looking forward to Saturday. What's Saturday, you ask? The day John Boy returns. Oh, crap.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Yes Virginia, Love really IS a battlefield
Pat Benatar was a genius. Love really is a battlefield. It's chaotic. It's full of rash decisions that you're positive are right a the time, but you can never really assess the damage until all the dust has settled. And it can surprise you, just like an ambush.
We are young, heartache to heartache we stand
No promises, no demands
Love is a battlefield
We are strong, no one can tell us were wrong
Searchin our hearts for so long,
both of us knowing...Love is a battlefield
The other night I went to a baseball game with McNerdy. I hadn't seen him in ages, and John Boy is out of the country. When I got back, Scarlet asked me how the game, and McNerdy, was. I responded with, "I realized that McNerdy is not nearly as much fun as John Boy." Scarlet laughed and told me there was a time she never would have guessed she would hear something like that from me.
I agree. There was a time when I thought McNerdy was the cat's pajamas. He and I were as close as you could get to a guarantee. It was really only a matter of time. He didn't seem all that comfortable with an actual relationship, but I was convinced I was the one who would change all that. But he kept stringing me along until I couldn't figure out if we were in fact just friends. People asked what was going on with us, and I would answer that I had no idea.
You're beggin me to go, you're makin me stay
Why do you hurt me so bad?
It would help me to know
Do I stand in your way, or am I the best thing you've had?
Not really a good sign when you're one of the people involved. Eventually, he realized he better make a move or lose my devotion, so he did, then continue to string me along without telling me what was going on, until he finally socked me in the gut with a big fat dose of reality. Even after he ripped my heart out and stomped on it a few times, I still couldn't figure out what went wrong with such a seemingly sure thing.
Of course hindsight is 20/20, and now I realize that McNerdy had a big fat stick up his ass (and while it's loosened up a bit, it's still up there). And while he is still a good friend (I am apparently a more forgiving person than I thought I could be), I realized the other night that I would much rather be hanging out with John Boy- and not just because of the benefits that come later. McNerdy wouldn't hold my stack of All-Star ballots, lining them up for me so I could punch out five at a time, and John Boy wouldn't roll his eyes at me for doing so. Last week John Boy really, really wanted me to come out to his place to hang out and grill with some of his friends. And while I initially scoffed at driving an entire hour out of the city (how quickly I've become a city snob), I was happy to go, and had an excellent time. Then I realized that in the year that was McNerdy's and my imaginary relationship, he never once invited me onto his turf. Of course, I noticed this at the time, but I brushed it off. We were a sure thing, you know.
Once of the things that convinced me that McNerdy was so perfect, was that he was exactly my type. As the name would imply, he was the perfect dose of nerd. On the skinny side, glasses, well-read, prefers staying in with a friend over going out. As much as McNerdy is my type, John Boy is not. He's big and burly, and likes his beer. I can barely tell you what color his hair is, because I've seen him without a baseball cap once, (and that was in my room; it was dark...) and he has tattoos! Three of them! Which I refuse to let him show me. He voted for George W. Bush (gah!), but then rectified that by voting for Obama last year. And as I discovered last week when I couldn't breathe, he easily outweighs every guy I've ever been, er, horizontal with by at least 50 pounds. But when I say jump, he asks "how far?" and has emailed me pretty much every day from the tropical beach he's been hanging out on (and did I mention that he told me I should accompany him and his friends multiple times? My bank account didn't really allow for it.) And not only is he not intimidated by my sporty prowess, he took me to the driving range and I believe was a bit turned on by my natural affinity for a 9-iron. (Had our dad been a pushy sports parent, Grayer and I would be the Williams sisters of golf, I swear.)
But all of this really doesn't matter, since he will be making himself geographically unavailable in just a few weeks. I remember when I was a bit relieved when he told me this; I needed an easy out. "Be careful what you wish for" is a cliche' for a reason. As Scarlet pointed out, I'm going to need a distraction when he's gone, so I'm dragging myself out to meet The Highlander tomorrow for ice cream.
No promises, no demands...Love is a battlefield.
We are young, heartache to heartache we stand
No promises, no demands
Love is a battlefield
We are strong, no one can tell us were wrong
Searchin our hearts for so long,
both of us knowing...Love is a battlefield
The other night I went to a baseball game with McNerdy. I hadn't seen him in ages, and John Boy is out of the country. When I got back, Scarlet asked me how the game, and McNerdy, was. I responded with, "I realized that McNerdy is not nearly as much fun as John Boy." Scarlet laughed and told me there was a time she never would have guessed she would hear something like that from me.
I agree. There was a time when I thought McNerdy was the cat's pajamas. He and I were as close as you could get to a guarantee. It was really only a matter of time. He didn't seem all that comfortable with an actual relationship, but I was convinced I was the one who would change all that. But he kept stringing me along until I couldn't figure out if we were in fact just friends. People asked what was going on with us, and I would answer that I had no idea.
You're beggin me to go, you're makin me stay
Why do you hurt me so bad?
It would help me to know
Do I stand in your way, or am I the best thing you've had?
Not really a good sign when you're one of the people involved. Eventually, he realized he better make a move or lose my devotion, so he did, then continue to string me along without telling me what was going on, until he finally socked me in the gut with a big fat dose of reality. Even after he ripped my heart out and stomped on it a few times, I still couldn't figure out what went wrong with such a seemingly sure thing.
Of course hindsight is 20/20, and now I realize that McNerdy had a big fat stick up his ass (and while it's loosened up a bit, it's still up there). And while he is still a good friend (I am apparently a more forgiving person than I thought I could be), I realized the other night that I would much rather be hanging out with John Boy- and not just because of the benefits that come later. McNerdy wouldn't hold my stack of All-Star ballots, lining them up for me so I could punch out five at a time, and John Boy wouldn't roll his eyes at me for doing so. Last week John Boy really, really wanted me to come out to his place to hang out and grill with some of his friends. And while I initially scoffed at driving an entire hour out of the city (how quickly I've become a city snob), I was happy to go, and had an excellent time. Then I realized that in the year that was McNerdy's and my imaginary relationship, he never once invited me onto his turf. Of course, I noticed this at the time, but I brushed it off. We were a sure thing, you know.
Once of the things that convinced me that McNerdy was so perfect, was that he was exactly my type. As the name would imply, he was the perfect dose of nerd. On the skinny side, glasses, well-read, prefers staying in with a friend over going out. As much as McNerdy is my type, John Boy is not. He's big and burly, and likes his beer. I can barely tell you what color his hair is, because I've seen him without a baseball cap once, (and that was in my room; it was dark...) and he has tattoos! Three of them! Which I refuse to let him show me. He voted for George W. Bush (gah!), but then rectified that by voting for Obama last year. And as I discovered last week when I couldn't breathe, he easily outweighs every guy I've ever been, er, horizontal with by at least 50 pounds. But when I say jump, he asks "how far?" and has emailed me pretty much every day from the tropical beach he's been hanging out on (and did I mention that he told me I should accompany him and his friends multiple times? My bank account didn't really allow for it.) And not only is he not intimidated by my sporty prowess, he took me to the driving range and I believe was a bit turned on by my natural affinity for a 9-iron. (Had our dad been a pushy sports parent, Grayer and I would be the Williams sisters of golf, I swear.)
But all of this really doesn't matter, since he will be making himself geographically unavailable in just a few weeks. I remember when I was a bit relieved when he told me this; I needed an easy out. "Be careful what you wish for" is a cliche' for a reason. As Scarlet pointed out, I'm going to need a distraction when he's gone, so I'm dragging myself out to meet The Highlander tomorrow for ice cream.
No promises, no demands...Love is a battlefield.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Rejext
As you know, I met The Neuroscientist on Monday, who, on paper, should have been the man of my dreams. Unfortunately, in person, he turned out to be a slight man, and in all honesty his sense of humor (while he did have one) was a bit lame. And with John Boy occupying my time (until he left the country yesterday for two weeks) I just didn't know what to do about The Neuroscientist when he requested the pleasure of my company for a second time. Luckily, he asked via email, so I was able to stall until I figured out what to do. During which time I had my first (and certainly not last) make out session with John Boy. Eventually, he shot me a text message asking if I wanted to go hiking the next day, and I couldn't stall anymore. I consulted Scarlet and Grayer, and Scarlet told me I just needed to give him the rejection. (Grayer was too busy with HOG to answer her phone. Hmph.) We also decided that you can reject via the same form of communication as the offer came. But how to word the rejext? (Rejection + text = rejext)
We (Scarlet and I) decided to go the same route as Halpert, when he rejexted me. We told him that I had just started seeing someone (which is essentially true, albeit temporary). The Neuroscientist responded in a few minutes by saying "No worries :) I had fun hanging out with you the other day." That kind of made me feel bad, but not bad enough to change my mind. So does this mean I'm in for some bad dating karma? Because I don't think mine could really get any worse.
We (Scarlet and I) decided to go the same route as Halpert, when he rejexted me. We told him that I had just started seeing someone (which is essentially true, albeit temporary). The Neuroscientist responded in a few minutes by saying "No worries :) I had fun hanging out with you the other day." That kind of made me feel bad, but not bad enough to change my mind. So does this mean I'm in for some bad dating karma? Because I don't think mine could really get any worse.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
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 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.
Monday, May 25, 2009
The Vertical Challenge
I like nerds. I like sports. I make no secret of either of those facts. And tonight I had a date with a neuroscientist, and he suggested we go to the park to play catch. This should be a dream come true, but for some reason, I needed both Scarlet and Grayer to tell me how excited I should be about it. They were right, I should have been very excited about it, but for some reason, I couldn't really get pumped up. Have my expectations just been lowered by all the other disappointments? Or, (a very likely explanation) am I just looking forward more to John Boy being back in town?
While I was waiting for him at our designated location, a man about 60 with white hair parked in front of the bench I was sitting on, got out of the car, and said, "Are you waiting for me?"
"No," I answered. Because if this was somehow the Neuroscientist, I didn't want to admit who I was anyway.
"Oh, darn!" said the white haired man. It was then that the Neuroscientist walked up. I stood up, and immediately regretted it. The Neuroscientist is vertically challenged. I was definitely taller.
This is a phenomenon I've noticed about online dating. Men exaggerate their height. Unless they are over six feet tall, they add a few inches to their height on their profiles. I'm not an abnormally tall woman, but I have a few inches on both Scarlet and Grayer, and when I'm wearing heels, I appear to be a tall woman. I'm just not attracted to men who are shorter than me. It's awkward.
Not only am I taller than him, but I also have a better arm than than he does. That's nothing new, but when I asked John Boy why I'm still single, he answered that men could possibly be intimidated by me. I don't think I'm an intimidating person, but as he also pointed out, I go after nerds and the like, who are more likely to be intimidated by someone by me. So I wouldn't be surprised if I didn't get a call for a second date from the Neuroscientist, even if it did go well otherwise.
And by the way, on the way back by our meeting point, the white haired man was sitting there with a more age appropriate woman, chatting and drinking coffee. Clearly they were doing the same thing. It was really very sweet.
While I was waiting for him at our designated location, a man about 60 with white hair parked in front of the bench I was sitting on, got out of the car, and said, "Are you waiting for me?"
"No," I answered. Because if this was somehow the Neuroscientist, I didn't want to admit who I was anyway.
"Oh, darn!" said the white haired man. It was then that the Neuroscientist walked up. I stood up, and immediately regretted it. The Neuroscientist is vertically challenged. I was definitely taller.
This is a phenomenon I've noticed about online dating. Men exaggerate their height. Unless they are over six feet tall, they add a few inches to their height on their profiles. I'm not an abnormally tall woman, but I have a few inches on both Scarlet and Grayer, and when I'm wearing heels, I appear to be a tall woman. I'm just not attracted to men who are shorter than me. It's awkward.
Not only am I taller than him, but I also have a better arm than than he does. That's nothing new, but when I asked John Boy why I'm still single, he answered that men could possibly be intimidated by me. I don't think I'm an intimidating person, but as he also pointed out, I go after nerds and the like, who are more likely to be intimidated by someone by me. So I wouldn't be surprised if I didn't get a call for a second date from the Neuroscientist, even if it did go well otherwise.
And by the way, on the way back by our meeting point, the white haired man was sitting there with a more age appropriate woman, chatting and drinking coffee. Clearly they were doing the same thing. It was really very sweet.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Flirting with Disaster?
Grayer is right. Things have been pretty slow here in WWBD? land. Although I do have an inbox full of worthy candidates into the online dating Hall of Shame, and several contacts that went straight down the Road to Nowhere, there has really been nothing to report.
Except for my mounting sexual frustration, made only worse by my increasingly flirtatious encounters with John Boy.
Yes, I know I told him we should just be friends. Yes, I know he's moving in a mere 40 days. And yes, I know that he really, really likes me, and I should therefore cease and desist with the flirting immediately. But not only can I not do that, I don't want to do that. The more we hang out, the more fun I have, and the more I like him. Last night, the flirtations and the sexual tension went up quite a few notches, and yet, nothing happened. Why? Because I told him I wanted to be "just friends" and he is a true southerner, and a good enough guy to respect that, no matter how much he's dying to put the moves on me (and he is). If anything is going to happen, it's going to be up to me to initiate it, and that is not an area in which I excel.
Which means I have no choice but to consume mass quantities of wine the next time I see him. Channeling my inner Bridget...
Except for my mounting sexual frustration, made only worse by my increasingly flirtatious encounters with John Boy.
Yes, I know I told him we should just be friends. Yes, I know he's moving in a mere 40 days. And yes, I know that he really, really likes me, and I should therefore cease and desist with the flirting immediately. But not only can I not do that, I don't want to do that. The more we hang out, the more fun I have, and the more I like him. Last night, the flirtations and the sexual tension went up quite a few notches, and yet, nothing happened. Why? Because I told him I wanted to be "just friends" and he is a true southerner, and a good enough guy to respect that, no matter how much he's dying to put the moves on me (and he is). If anything is going to happen, it's going to be up to me to initiate it, and that is not an area in which I excel.
Which means I have no choice but to consume mass quantities of wine the next time I see him. Channeling my inner Bridget...
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Refusing to be a Fuckwit
After I inadvertantly (and enthusiastically!) agreed that The Dropout should call me some time at the end of our date, I knew I couldn't keep stringing him along. Luckily, I was hitting the road for the weekend, and he knew I would be out of town. However, on Friday, he sent me a Happy Friday, have a great weekend! text. I figured I should ignore it, but as Scarlet pointed out, ignoring texts can also be construed as fuckwittage, and I want to stear cleer of that. So I called up John Boy to get a guy's opinion. I asked him if he would prefer to be rejected by a girl before the weekend or after. He gave me the answer I wanted to here: after the weekend will work just fine.
But of course The Dropout didn't wait for me to return. He left me a message before I got back into town, asking me out this week. I took a deep breath and called him back (no wonder guys avoid this part, it kinda sucks), but got his voicemail. Then it occured to me: should I just break the news on his voicemail? Would leaving him a message be sending him false hope? I ended up leaving him a (rather distressed sounding?) voicemail, telling him to call me back. He did. I told him I didn't think it was going to work out. He told me he appreciated his honesty, and did he freak me out with the whole recovery thing? I told him that wasn't it (because it was really only part of it), and wished him luck.
When I was retelling this story to John Boy (who I've become very flirtatious friends with), he was surprised I called him back. Apparently, John Boy would only call a girl back if he still wanted to be friends, but if he didn't, he wouldn't call. I called him a fuckwit. In a completely unrelated note, he later told me I "was like a dude with long hair," then before hanging up (an hour later) asked me in an intentionally creepy voice what I was wearing. I know it's wrong to flirt with a man I rejected, but why does it feel so right?
But of course The Dropout didn't wait for me to return. He left me a message before I got back into town, asking me out this week. I took a deep breath and called him back (no wonder guys avoid this part, it kinda sucks), but got his voicemail. Then it occured to me: should I just break the news on his voicemail? Would leaving him a message be sending him false hope? I ended up leaving him a (rather distressed sounding?) voicemail, telling him to call me back. He did. I told him I didn't think it was going to work out. He told me he appreciated his honesty, and did he freak me out with the whole recovery thing? I told him that wasn't it (because it was really only part of it), and wished him luck.
When I was retelling this story to John Boy (who I've become very flirtatious friends with), he was surprised I called him back. Apparently, John Boy would only call a girl back if he still wanted to be friends, but if he didn't, he wouldn't call. I called him a fuckwit. In a completely unrelated note, he later told me I "was like a dude with long hair," then before hanging up (an hour later) asked me in an intentionally creepy voice what I was wearing. I know it's wrong to flirt with a man I rejected, but why does it feel so right?
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Why is this so f@*#ing hard?
The Dating Game. (And it is a game.) I don't get it. Why is it so difficult? Grayer doesn't know what's up with Hanging Out Guy, The Engineer pulled a disappearance on Scarlet, and the only guys I can get to call me back are the ones I'm not interested in. Seriously. We are attractive, intelligent women. This should be easy. Would it be easier if we were ugly and stupid? (Actually, it might be easier if we were MORE attractive and stupid.)
My 4-date week has yielded nothing. I thought things were looking up with The Cable Guy, and last Sunday night, I called him to see if he wanted to grab lunch that week, which I didn't think was too awkward considering we work so close to each other and we both eat. He was busy at the moment but he still 1.) answered the phone and 2.) said he would give me a call back later when he was free. That was a week ago. Still no call. Conclusion: Fuckwit.
John Boy is the total opposite. After our burger date, he said he would call tomorrow. Not only did he call tomorrow, but he called me at exactly 5:03pm, as soon as he got off work. He suggested lunch the next day, and I agreed. Yes, I had a fun time. Yes, I want to hang out with him again. However, the attraction still wasn't there just yet. And yes, he said he would call the next day, and he did. Over our lunch, though, he did let me know that he would be moving in July. So when he did call me back the next day, I let him know that while I really do enjoy hanging out with him, I couldn't start something that would be temporary at best. (I don't do long-distance. It's a rule I have.) He wasn't offended and did say that he still hopes to hang out with me, though he probably wouldn't pay for me anymore. I think I've got a new friend, which is never a bad thing.
As I told you on Friday, Halpert has some promise. He said he would call me "tomorrow." Tomorrow came and went and no phone call. I was about to put him in The Cable Guy's category when he called on Sunday. I know this could be a sign of things to come, but I'll take it with a grain of salt. While he didn't call on Saturday, he did call before the weekend was out. Plus, the guy hasn't met me yet, so I don't think I can really expect him to put me at the top of his priority list, can I? If he's as good as his word, we should be getting together for dinner next weekend. (Our schedules don't really mesh during the week.)
In the meantime, I have yet another coffee date tomorrow with another guy. I should really be keeping a tally sheet.
*************************** UPDATE ******************************************
Not long after he first called me, Halpert called again. His plans with friends fell through, and did I want to get a drink? I got ready in record time, as he was already in my neighborhood, and off we went. He dropped me off over three hours later. I'd say it went pretty well. He opened the car door for me and walked me to my front door when we got home. (Funny story: The first boy who opened a car door for me was The Heavy Breather, and I was so unaccustomed to it, I didn't know what he was doing and assumed he needed to get something out of the passenger seat. That kind of killed it.) Ah, southern boys.
My 4-date week has yielded nothing. I thought things were looking up with The Cable Guy, and last Sunday night, I called him to see if he wanted to grab lunch that week, which I didn't think was too awkward considering we work so close to each other and we both eat. He was busy at the moment but he still 1.) answered the phone and 2.) said he would give me a call back later when he was free. That was a week ago. Still no call. Conclusion: Fuckwit.
John Boy is the total opposite. After our burger date, he said he would call tomorrow. Not only did he call tomorrow, but he called me at exactly 5:03pm, as soon as he got off work. He suggested lunch the next day, and I agreed. Yes, I had a fun time. Yes, I want to hang out with him again. However, the attraction still wasn't there just yet. And yes, he said he would call the next day, and he did. Over our lunch, though, he did let me know that he would be moving in July. So when he did call me back the next day, I let him know that while I really do enjoy hanging out with him, I couldn't start something that would be temporary at best. (I don't do long-distance. It's a rule I have.) He wasn't offended and did say that he still hopes to hang out with me, though he probably wouldn't pay for me anymore. I think I've got a new friend, which is never a bad thing.
As I told you on Friday, Halpert has some promise. He said he would call me "tomorrow." Tomorrow came and went and no phone call. I was about to put him in The Cable Guy's category when he called on Sunday. I know this could be a sign of things to come, but I'll take it with a grain of salt. While he didn't call on Saturday, he did call before the weekend was out. Plus, the guy hasn't met me yet, so I don't think I can really expect him to put me at the top of his priority list, can I? If he's as good as his word, we should be getting together for dinner next weekend. (Our schedules don't really mesh during the week.)
In the meantime, I have yet another coffee date tomorrow with another guy. I should really be keeping a tally sheet.
*************************** UPDATE ******************************************
Not long after he first called me, Halpert called again. His plans with friends fell through, and did I want to get a drink? I got ready in record time, as he was already in my neighborhood, and off we went. He dropped me off over three hours later. I'd say it went pretty well. He opened the car door for me and walked me to my front door when we got home. (Funny story: The first boy who opened a car door for me was The Heavy Breather, and I was so unaccustomed to it, I didn't know what he was doing and assumed he needed to get something out of the passenger seat. That kind of killed it.) Ah, southern boys.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
3 Guys, 24 Hours
I just finished up with my 3 dates in two days. Or more appropriately, my 3 "manditions." (Are we all in agreement on adding that word to our vernacular?) There were no total disasters, but I did make one hell of a shocking discovery by the end of it. Here's a rundown of all 3:
Date #1
The Man: The Cable Guy
The Date: Dessert and wine at a (candlelit) cafe
The Cable Guy was lucky enough to make it to round 2, and after our lunch manterview, I felt pretty confident that this mandition would go pretty smoothly. It did. We ordered wine. (I would have gone with the cheap house wine, but he ordered something nicer, while I thought in my head "I really hope you're planning on picking up the tab..." He did.) We were sure to order different desserts so we could try two different things. Conversation was good. He is still super cute. (Seriously.) Eventually, I couldn't wait any longer and had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom, only to find out the ladies' room was out of order. He paid the check, then walked me over to the Wendy's next door, and waited for me while I peed. (Awwww!) Unfortunately, my under-sized bladder signaled an earlier end to the date. It was unseasonably cold, so a walk downtown wouldn't have been much fun (not to mention my way-awesome but completely unwalkable spiked heels). We parted ways with him assuring me he would call. If this were a horse race, he'd have a clear lead.
Date #2
The Man: The Texter
The Date: Afternoon coffee
I can't say that I was too entirely keyed up over my date with The Texter. He seemed a bit on the dull side when I spoke to him on the phone, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. (Plus, I've known plenty of people who are complete shite on the phone, but great in real life.) Unfortunately, The Texter is not among them. He's perfectly nice and at times we had a pleasant enough conversation, but there were a few times I had to squirm. First of all, he kept asking me what I thought of the online dating experience and why I was there and what I was looking for. Do we really need to discuss it? You're there, I'm there, I think it's kind of obvious as to why. There were also times when I felt like I was sitting in on a marketing lecture, as he went on and on about ways he markets his business (which he had already told me over the phone.) *Yawn* By the end of the date, he put me on the spot and asked if he could take me out on an actual date, or if he just wasn't my type. I responded with a "we'll see" because I didn't know what else to say. If I have other options, I'm thinking I should probably get out of the second date (don't want to lead him on).
Date #3
The Man: John Boy
The Date: Burgers at dinner
From the outside looking in, this date went splendidly. We talked, we laughed, we had an overall good time. Only problem was, I wasn't the least bit attracted to him. Over burgers, we discussed many things, but we spent nearly half of the time talking baseball. We broke down the NL East, we went over all the reasons there are to hate the Yankees, we talked about how difficult it can be to have a good bullpen. It wasn't until I was on my way home when it hit me: I punish men for doing exactly what I fear they punish me for- talking sports. I have a lot of guy friends, and that's what we do, we talk sports. I have never, ever dated a guy who cared more about ESPN than I do or had a better arm than me. I've always known I had a thing for nerds, but I always thought it would be nice to have a man to discuss these things with. Only problem is, I don't want to debate the designated hitter with a boyfriend. I'd rather talk about other things that matter. I like someone on the in-between. Unfortunately, I think John Boy was really liking me. I think we could be really good friends. I'd like to hang out with him more often. But I don't really see it going any further than that.
Cable Guy? You're up...
Date #1
The Man: The Cable Guy
The Date: Dessert and wine at a (candlelit) cafe
The Cable Guy was lucky enough to make it to round 2, and after our lunch manterview, I felt pretty confident that this mandition would go pretty smoothly. It did. We ordered wine. (I would have gone with the cheap house wine, but he ordered something nicer, while I thought in my head "I really hope you're planning on picking up the tab..." He did.) We were sure to order different desserts so we could try two different things. Conversation was good. He is still super cute. (Seriously.) Eventually, I couldn't wait any longer and had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom, only to find out the ladies' room was out of order. He paid the check, then walked me over to the Wendy's next door, and waited for me while I peed. (Awwww!) Unfortunately, my under-sized bladder signaled an earlier end to the date. It was unseasonably cold, so a walk downtown wouldn't have been much fun (not to mention my way-awesome but completely unwalkable spiked heels). We parted ways with him assuring me he would call. If this were a horse race, he'd have a clear lead.
Date #2
The Man: The Texter
The Date: Afternoon coffee
I can't say that I was too entirely keyed up over my date with The Texter. He seemed a bit on the dull side when I spoke to him on the phone, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. (Plus, I've known plenty of people who are complete shite on the phone, but great in real life.) Unfortunately, The Texter is not among them. He's perfectly nice and at times we had a pleasant enough conversation, but there were a few times I had to squirm. First of all, he kept asking me what I thought of the online dating experience and why I was there and what I was looking for. Do we really need to discuss it? You're there, I'm there, I think it's kind of obvious as to why. There were also times when I felt like I was sitting in on a marketing lecture, as he went on and on about ways he markets his business (which he had already told me over the phone.) *Yawn* By the end of the date, he put me on the spot and asked if he could take me out on an actual date, or if he just wasn't my type. I responded with a "we'll see" because I didn't know what else to say. If I have other options, I'm thinking I should probably get out of the second date (don't want to lead him on).
Date #3
The Man: John Boy
The Date: Burgers at dinner
From the outside looking in, this date went splendidly. We talked, we laughed, we had an overall good time. Only problem was, I wasn't the least bit attracted to him. Over burgers, we discussed many things, but we spent nearly half of the time talking baseball. We broke down the NL East, we went over all the reasons there are to hate the Yankees, we talked about how difficult it can be to have a good bullpen. It wasn't until I was on my way home when it hit me: I punish men for doing exactly what I fear they punish me for- talking sports. I have a lot of guy friends, and that's what we do, we talk sports. I have never, ever dated a guy who cared more about ESPN than I do or had a better arm than me. I've always known I had a thing for nerds, but I always thought it would be nice to have a man to discuss these things with. Only problem is, I don't want to debate the designated hitter with a boyfriend. I'd rather talk about other things that matter. I like someone on the in-between. Unfortunately, I think John Boy was really liking me. I think we could be really good friends. I'd like to hang out with him more often. But I don't really see it going any further than that.
Cable Guy? You're up...
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Dating Blitzkrieg
At this rate, I may very well end up going on dates with 100 men in 6 months. I have three this week. That's right, three. And for someone who has been in a man slump like I have, this is a very odd feeling.
First up, The Cable Guy has advanced to round two, and we are going out for dessert at an awesome cafe tonight.
Tomorrow, I have an afternoon coffee date with The Texter (renamed after he texted me again on Saturday), then dinner with John Boy, a highly entertaining (at least over the phone) guy with a good ol' southern boy accent. Yup, two in one day. Does this mean my mojo is back?
I would like to propose, however, that we rename an initial meeting with an online suitor to "audition," because really, that's what it is. Or maybe manditions? Manterviews?
First up, The Cable Guy has advanced to round two, and we are going out for dessert at an awesome cafe tonight.
Tomorrow, I have an afternoon coffee date with The Texter (renamed after he texted me again on Saturday), then dinner with John Boy, a highly entertaining (at least over the phone) guy with a good ol' southern boy accent. Yup, two in one day. Does this mean my mojo is back?
I would like to propose, however, that we rename an initial meeting with an online suitor to "audition," because really, that's what it is. Or maybe manditions? Manterviews?
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