Sschluuuuurp!
Listen, it's the sounds of your ovaries drying up! It's the tick tock of your biological clock!
All joking aside, Vi, I hope you have a fantastic day. You may be regretting that you decided to end perfectly convenient relationship right before your special day. Stop it. Think not of how you don't have a man to spend this day with, but of how you don't have to fake a pleasant surprise when you open that awful gift. Think not of how you won't go on a romantic dinner date to celebrate your birth, but instead think of how unromantic/fun tailgating with a bunch of friends will be tonight. (Romance, blah!). Think not of how he won't sing to you during a bubble bath, but think of how the parents will sing "Happy Birthday" to you via skype (Bubblebath optional).
You maybe be older, but your wiser, more experienced (*wink) and still hot! Go have fun tonight! (Action, action, we love action!)
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The Platonic Booty Call
Yes, that may sound like an oxymoron, but it's a life-saver, I've discovered. The Highlander and I dated for three months. Eventually, we were seeing each other 3-4 evenings a week. On top of that, I was working two nights a week, plus my weekly softball games. That didn't leave too many evenings of leisure time on my own. Cut to September. I'm no longer working two nights a week. Then I break up with the Highlander. Suddenly, I have an awful lot of evenings free.
Last night, I texted Scarlet and asked her to remind me of the perils of making a booty call. It wasn't necessarily that I needed the booty portion of the call, it was just the third straight night that I was home. I was really looking forward to playing softball tonight, and socializing with teammates (that includes Duke Logan, mind you), but the game was canceled due to torrential downpours. The moment I got word that there would be no softball, I immediately (and I do mean immediately) turned to McNerdy.
Over dinner, I was giving him the rundown on how I went from being only 10-20% to 100% single since the last time I saw him (which led to a conversation on "singleton statistics," more on that later), I mentioned the booty call. He asked if my calling him was a booty call, or more appropriately, a "company call." We decided that "company call" is more than a bit lame, and opted for "platonic booty call." Any platonic booty calls that cross the platonic line, are hereby known as "blown saves" on the stat sheet. Yes, we crack ourselves up. (And decided we needed to introduce this term to the rest of the world immediatly.) And no, this was not a blown save. When it comes to saves, McNerdy is 2008 Brad Lidge. He just doesn't blow them.
Last night, I texted Scarlet and asked her to remind me of the perils of making a booty call. It wasn't necessarily that I needed the booty portion of the call, it was just the third straight night that I was home. I was really looking forward to playing softball tonight, and socializing with teammates (that includes Duke Logan, mind you), but the game was canceled due to torrential downpours. The moment I got word that there would be no softball, I immediately (and I do mean immediately) turned to McNerdy.
Over dinner, I was giving him the rundown on how I went from being only 10-20% to 100% single since the last time I saw him (which led to a conversation on "singleton statistics," more on that later), I mentioned the booty call. He asked if my calling him was a booty call, or more appropriately, a "company call." We decided that "company call" is more than a bit lame, and opted for "platonic booty call." Any platonic booty calls that cross the platonic line, are hereby known as "blown saves" on the stat sheet. Yes, we crack ourselves up. (And decided we needed to introduce this term to the rest of the world immediatly.) And no, this was not a blown save. When it comes to saves, McNerdy is 2008 Brad Lidge. He just doesn't blow them.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Case of the Third Wheel
First of you should know that I do not mind hanging out with couples. I actually quite enjoy them, especially the missionary couple, my all time favorite couple! I am a secure singleton, and there is nothing wrong with tagging along. Until this past weekend.
My best friend and her new man were visiting for the weekend. I've known Greenley for a long time, and she's just finally figured out that my approval of a guy she's seeing might actually mean something (She learned this from her douchebag of an ex, who broke her heart and whom I never liked, go figure!). Because of this, she really wanted my opinion on the new guy, with whom she's quite smitten to say the least. I hung out with the two of them most of the weekend, and I have to say, I like him a lot. He's cool, he's fun, he brews is own beer, and most importantly he obviously adores her. We went to the beach, we played softball, we went out, and I quite enjoyed being in their company. Even if they were making out on the pitchers mound while I searched the woods for foul balls.
That came to a screeching halt when on the last day of their visit, we road tripped to a nearby city. Now I'm all for walking leisurely around town holding hands. There's some sort of casual intimacy about hand holding that I love and yearn for, however that is where my PDA usually stops. Not so much for Greenley and friend. She wasn't just holding hands, she was hanging on him. All day. I'm talking prepubescent-I-can't-support-my-own-self-arm-in-arm-attachment-of-the-hip hanging. Which led me to walk with my eyes straight ahead wondering to myself, WTF? If I and a guy are with a friend I tune it down, not turn it up! The sudden PDA made me feel like quite the third wheel, something I usually have no problem with. Luckily I'm secure in my singletonhood that I did not freak out and search that hippie town for a new man. I did however, want to get the hell away from them. Let's leave ridiculous levels of PDA to teenagers, shall we?
My best friend and her new man were visiting for the weekend. I've known Greenley for a long time, and she's just finally figured out that my approval of a guy she's seeing might actually mean something (She learned this from her douchebag of an ex, who broke her heart and whom I never liked, go figure!). Because of this, she really wanted my opinion on the new guy, with whom she's quite smitten to say the least. I hung out with the two of them most of the weekend, and I have to say, I like him a lot. He's cool, he's fun, he brews is own beer, and most importantly he obviously adores her. We went to the beach, we played softball, we went out, and I quite enjoyed being in their company. Even if they were making out on the pitchers mound while I searched the woods for foul balls.
That came to a screeching halt when on the last day of their visit, we road tripped to a nearby city. Now I'm all for walking leisurely around town holding hands. There's some sort of casual intimacy about hand holding that I love and yearn for, however that is where my PDA usually stops. Not so much for Greenley and friend. She wasn't just holding hands, she was hanging on him. All day. I'm talking prepubescent-I-can't-support-my-own-self-arm-in-arm-attachment-of-the-hip hanging. Which led me to walk with my eyes straight ahead wondering to myself, WTF? If I and a guy are with a friend I tune it down, not turn it up! The sudden PDA made me feel like quite the third wheel, something I usually have no problem with. Luckily I'm secure in my singletonhood that I did not freak out and search that hippie town for a new man. I did however, want to get the hell away from them. Let's leave ridiculous levels of PDA to teenagers, shall we?
Monday, September 14, 2009
Underage Hotties
I have always been a proud member of Team Edward. But my, oh my, a live-action Jacob is doing a mighty fine job of trying to convince me to switch camps. Reminding myself he's barely legal...
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Post-Breakup syndrome
Upon returning to reality yesterday after my weekend away with the Highlander, I knew we had come to the end of our road. The cons were just adding up far too quickly. I thought things were settled on Sunday when I said "Maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore," but apparently he thought I was saying that out of anger, because when he came over on Tuesday to pick up his cat (who I was very sorry to see go), he told me he was "confused" about us. "What do you think?," he asked. "I don't think we should see each other anymore." That ended his confusion.
And after he left, I was rather quite jolly. Here I had managed to end a relationship that in all aspects was extremely convenient, and would have been easy to stay in, but for all the wrong reasons. We both managed to act like mature adults, going out with a hug and a goodbye kiss (0r two), and the promise that we would hang out again, and wouldn't let our differences stand in the way of the budding friendship between our cats.
But it wasn't long before the post-breakup syndrome set in. You know, that sudden realization that you have no idea where your next kiss or cuddle is coming from. Or realizing that you are a mere 10 days away from your next birthday and are once again 100% single. (Why, oh why couldn't I have held out for the birthday?! No. That would have been immoral and wrong.) And finally, that sinking feeling that you really and truly haven't made any plans for the weekend yet. Because let's face it: when you're single, you have to work to fill up your evenings. If you don't put forth some serious effort, you will end up spending night after night watching Grey's Anatomy with your cat. (And that's only acceptable on Thursdays.)
My PBS was not helped by the fact that High sent me a sappy text or two about how sad he was. Call me crazy, but I see a break-up hookup in our future. But for now, I shook off the sappy texts and emailed my girls that I was now 100% single and needed some help in filling up my calendar. (This is why it helps not to ignore those girls while The Boy is still around. I pride myself in NEVER doing that.) They'll come through for me. They always do.
And after he left, I was rather quite jolly. Here I had managed to end a relationship that in all aspects was extremely convenient, and would have been easy to stay in, but for all the wrong reasons. We both managed to act like mature adults, going out with a hug and a goodbye kiss (0r two), and the promise that we would hang out again, and wouldn't let our differences stand in the way of the budding friendship between our cats.
But it wasn't long before the post-breakup syndrome set in. You know, that sudden realization that you have no idea where your next kiss or cuddle is coming from. Or realizing that you are a mere 10 days away from your next birthday and are once again 100% single. (Why, oh why couldn't I have held out for the birthday?! No. That would have been immoral and wrong.) And finally, that sinking feeling that you really and truly haven't made any plans for the weekend yet. Because let's face it: when you're single, you have to work to fill up your evenings. If you don't put forth some serious effort, you will end up spending night after night watching Grey's Anatomy with your cat. (And that's only acceptable on Thursdays.)
My PBS was not helped by the fact that High sent me a sappy text or two about how sad he was. Call me crazy, but I see a break-up hookup in our future. But for now, I shook off the sappy texts and emailed my girls that I was now 100% single and needed some help in filling up my calendar. (This is why it helps not to ignore those girls while The Boy is still around. I pride myself in NEVER doing that.) They'll come through for me. They always do.
Monday, September 7, 2009
It's so over
The question: Were the Highlander and I ready to go away for a weekend together? The answer: No. At least, there won't be any weekends away in our future, nor will there be any "us" in the future.
Things got off to a pretty good start. We got to the beach in the evening, went for a little stroll, plopped ourselves down on a beach blanket, and sat there until it got dark. When I woke up the next morning, I was wearing little more than beard burn over most of my body.
Sunday was back and forth. For a guy from Southern California, who just the previous night had told me seeing the beach felt like home, he had zero interest in the beach. First of all, he forgot his swim trunks. (And I suspect he didn't so much as forget them as intentionally not pack them.) He thought it was too hot (which is kind of the point of going to the beach) and too sunny. Forgive me for being confused, but isn't hot and sunny the goal? Sunday had its good points, but by the end of the day, I was v. frustrated and confused, and felt a bit like I had dragged him on a weekend trip he didn't want to take.
Everything came to a head that evening, as I was trying to teach him a card game. (Grayer, you know the one.) He wasn't really listening to my directions, but then he laid his cards down, announcing he had three of a kind. In his hand, were a king, a five, and joker. (Joker's wild.) He thought that equaled three of a kind because they were all diamonds. Now, I'm not much of a card player (this particular game is really the only one I know), but even I know what a three of a kind is. That started one argument, which led to another, which led to me saying, "well, maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore."
In all honesty, I've known he wasn't The One for me for awhile. Maybe it was when he told me Dumb and Dumber was his all-time favorite movie. Maybe it was when I went over to his house late one night to find him wearing pajama pants and slippers. In the summer. Maybe it was when he told me he had just driven across the street to pick up his Chinese food because it was raining. (That's when I told him about this wonderful invention called the umbrella that protects you from the rain.) I'm not exactly sure which of these incidents popped my bubble, but it had to have been one of them.
And to continue my streak of honesty, if he hadn't stepped up to the plate during my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week, we probably wouldn't have gotten to this point. Let's face it, had I not needed a distraction from my John Boy snub, he probably wouldn't have gotten past the third date. He works with computers, which is boring. He's not incredibly funny. And as we know from the three of a kind incident (and many others) he's not all that intelligent. In fact, I worried that I may have been too smart for him, but kept telling myself that I was being an intellectual snob when I had no right to be one, as I'm not an Ivy League graduate, nor a card carrying member of Mensa.
Sunday night could not have been more different than Saturday night, as we slept on opposite sides of the king-sized bed, although he did reach over to give me a hug in the middle of the night, apparently in reaction to a dream he was having. I expected Monday to be awkward and horrible, but it wasn't. It was actually very relaxed and pleasant. Maybe because we were both relieved? Maybe we knew we couldn't get annoyed with each other since we were no longer auditioning each other as significant others? Either way, it was far from horrible, and he even asked me if I wanted to talk about anything when we got home. I told him we would talk tomorrow, when he comes to pick up his cat.
But I know that we're just too different to work out in the long run, which is a shame, especially as this break-up occurs on the doorstep of another birthday. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go call a certain someone whose name rhymes with Luke Mogan...
Things got off to a pretty good start. We got to the beach in the evening, went for a little stroll, plopped ourselves down on a beach blanket, and sat there until it got dark. When I woke up the next morning, I was wearing little more than beard burn over most of my body.
Sunday was back and forth. For a guy from Southern California, who just the previous night had told me seeing the beach felt like home, he had zero interest in the beach. First of all, he forgot his swim trunks. (And I suspect he didn't so much as forget them as intentionally not pack them.) He thought it was too hot (which is kind of the point of going to the beach) and too sunny. Forgive me for being confused, but isn't hot and sunny the goal? Sunday had its good points, but by the end of the day, I was v. frustrated and confused, and felt a bit like I had dragged him on a weekend trip he didn't want to take.
Everything came to a head that evening, as I was trying to teach him a card game. (Grayer, you know the one.) He wasn't really listening to my directions, but then he laid his cards down, announcing he had three of a kind. In his hand, were a king, a five, and joker. (Joker's wild.) He thought that equaled three of a kind because they were all diamonds. Now, I'm not much of a card player (this particular game is really the only one I know), but even I know what a three of a kind is. That started one argument, which led to another, which led to me saying, "well, maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore."
In all honesty, I've known he wasn't The One for me for awhile. Maybe it was when he told me Dumb and Dumber was his all-time favorite movie. Maybe it was when I went over to his house late one night to find him wearing pajama pants and slippers. In the summer. Maybe it was when he told me he had just driven across the street to pick up his Chinese food because it was raining. (That's when I told him about this wonderful invention called the umbrella that protects you from the rain.) I'm not exactly sure which of these incidents popped my bubble, but it had to have been one of them.
And to continue my streak of honesty, if he hadn't stepped up to the plate during my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week, we probably wouldn't have gotten to this point. Let's face it, had I not needed a distraction from my John Boy snub, he probably wouldn't have gotten past the third date. He works with computers, which is boring. He's not incredibly funny. And as we know from the three of a kind incident (and many others) he's not all that intelligent. In fact, I worried that I may have been too smart for him, but kept telling myself that I was being an intellectual snob when I had no right to be one, as I'm not an Ivy League graduate, nor a card carrying member of Mensa.
Sunday night could not have been more different than Saturday night, as we slept on opposite sides of the king-sized bed, although he did reach over to give me a hug in the middle of the night, apparently in reaction to a dream he was having. I expected Monday to be awkward and horrible, but it wasn't. It was actually very relaxed and pleasant. Maybe because we were both relieved? Maybe we knew we couldn't get annoyed with each other since we were no longer auditioning each other as significant others? Either way, it was far from horrible, and he even asked me if I wanted to talk about anything when we got home. I told him we would talk tomorrow, when he comes to pick up his cat.
But I know that we're just too different to work out in the long run, which is a shame, especially as this break-up occurs on the doorstep of another birthday. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go call a certain someone whose name rhymes with Luke Mogan...
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Are we ready for this?
The Highlander and I are taking a big step this weekend. We're going away together. Little holiday weekend mini-break to the beach. It all started when I said I really, really wanted to go to the beach since it's been so long since I've been, and wondered out loud if I would be able to convince a friend to come along and sleep on the beach or in my car since I don't actually have money to go to the beach. That's when the Highlander stepped in and now I don't have to sleep in my car.
This will be good. Because even if it's a disaster, then it's better to know now. And I still got an all-expense paid trip to the beach. And if it's good, then I got a trip to the beach and possibly more. See? It's a win-win.
This will be good. Because even if it's a disaster, then it's better to know now. And I still got an all-expense paid trip to the beach. And if it's good, then I got a trip to the beach and possibly more. See? It's a win-win.
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