They say the grass is always greener on the other side. If you have curly hair, you want straight hair, if you order something in a restaurant what your dining partner orders inevitably looks nicer and if you are single there are times when you just don't want to be.
What people fail to focus more on however, is how those people in a relationship have fleeting moments of fancy when they don't want to living in domestic bliss, choosing china patterns and having dinner parties oh no, they want to be living up the single life.
Enter Fen.
I'm not quite sure what is going on but suddenly I have become the singleton that smug marrieds want to live vicariously through. Case in point: my friend who has recently got engaged and my housemate who is all coupled up with one of my other housemates (I have a lot of housemates). The two of them love hearing about my adventures in the dating world (online dating) and how I try to make my working life that little bit more interesting (PWG). Why? I do not know. My dating life is really not that exciting. And, although I'm flattered by their interest I am starting to feel the pressure.
I am not a performing monkey OK? As much as I wish I could snap my fingers and a Mr Darcy or even a Daniel Cleaver type would appear, I cannot. The PWG thing is still keeping them amused but I don't know where that's heading and what if they get bored and want to hear about someone new?
So, Vi, as much as I am delighted that you now have an ACTUAL boyfriend (I still take a lot of credit for this) I'm begging you, please don't now live vicariously through my single life. A dry spell can happen at any time.
And I just can't take the pressure.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
An ACTUAL Boyfriend?
Something huge has happened. Something that has never happened before. History has been made. It's a very important day indeed. Someone on this blog has an ACTUAL BOYFRIEND. And that someone is ME.
Yes, that's right. I, Violet J. Bickerstaff, have an actual boyfriend. Not imaginary, not fake, not pseoudo, not potential, but an ACTUAL BOYFRIEND. Like the Curse of the Bambino or the goat, I was beginning to think there was a WWBD? curse. But fear not, ladies, there is hope!
I knew I had to have the conversation last night. The biggest reason being that Fenella threatened not to speak to me until I did. And I'm going out of town this weekend (family bonding at DisneyWorld. w00t.) so it would be nice to have that settled before I take off.
Since I hate to ask important questions and have important conversations, I like to sit back and wait for The Conversation to come up naturally. And naturally, it never does. Except this time. I was given an absolute gift by a friend of the cute neighbor's whom I've never met before. While we were on my porch waiting for our burgers to grill, he received a text from this friend he hasn't heard from in awhile. It went something like this: "I hear you have a gf? Violet?"
Interesting. Word has clearly spread. Someone has been saying he has a girlfriend, and they know my name. And still, I couldn't come right out and ask if that was true immediately. In my defense, I hesitated to take a deep breath, and he launched into a story about the text messaging friend, and then it was time to get our burgers off the grill. You know how it goes.
Eventually though, I decided to rip off the band-aid. I took another deep breath, and asked him if he did in fact, have a gf. He thought about it for about two seconds and said, "yes, I would consider that to be the case." So I have a boyfriend. End of story.
I texted Grayer later and said, "have an actual boyfriend. You know what to do." The response: "Ok you got it." G and I have a long standing agreement that whenever one of us has an actual boyfriend, the other one will tell our parents. (Seriously, no idea how we got this screwed up.) Of course, we made this agreement a long time ago, and this is the first time we've ever had to use it. It took her all of three minutes before she sent another text back (since she's already in FL with the parentals) which said, "They said good for her." Which is exactly the reaction I was expecting. Ok, that or "Well that's nice" which is my mom's response to almost everything of this nature.
Now the cute neighbor needs a new name. I suggest Lloyd. Thoughts?
Yes, that's right. I, Violet J. Bickerstaff, have an actual boyfriend. Not imaginary, not fake, not pseoudo, not potential, but an ACTUAL BOYFRIEND. Like the Curse of the Bambino or the goat, I was beginning to think there was a WWBD? curse. But fear not, ladies, there is hope!
I knew I had to have the conversation last night. The biggest reason being that Fenella threatened not to speak to me until I did. And I'm going out of town this weekend (family bonding at DisneyWorld. w00t.) so it would be nice to have that settled before I take off.
Since I hate to ask important questions and have important conversations, I like to sit back and wait for The Conversation to come up naturally. And naturally, it never does. Except this time. I was given an absolute gift by a friend of the cute neighbor's whom I've never met before. While we were on my porch waiting for our burgers to grill, he received a text from this friend he hasn't heard from in awhile. It went something like this: "I hear you have a gf? Violet?"
Interesting. Word has clearly spread. Someone has been saying he has a girlfriend, and they know my name. And still, I couldn't come right out and ask if that was true immediately. In my defense, I hesitated to take a deep breath, and he launched into a story about the text messaging friend, and then it was time to get our burgers off the grill. You know how it goes.
Eventually though, I decided to rip off the band-aid. I took another deep breath, and asked him if he did in fact, have a gf. He thought about it for about two seconds and said, "yes, I would consider that to be the case." So I have a boyfriend. End of story.
I texted Grayer later and said, "have an actual boyfriend. You know what to do." The response: "Ok you got it." G and I have a long standing agreement that whenever one of us has an actual boyfriend, the other one will tell our parents. (Seriously, no idea how we got this screwed up.) Of course, we made this agreement a long time ago, and this is the first time we've ever had to use it. It took her all of three minutes before she sent another text back (since she's already in FL with the parentals) which said, "They said good for her." Which is exactly the reaction I was expecting. Ok, that or "Well that's nice" which is my mom's response to almost everything of this nature.
Now the cute neighbor needs a new name. I suggest Lloyd. Thoughts?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
The Conversation
It's been very nearly two months since The Cute Neighbor and I became More Than Just Friends. Very nearly two months since he told me he was interested in being more than a fake boyfriend, and very nearly two months since I shoved Fenella back into the bathroom she had just come out of in order to tell her news of this conversation while I relieved myself. (Which was, by the way, a Top 10 Moment in the History of Friendship. Not just the History of Vi and Fen's Friendship, but the History of Friendship. Ever.)
Things have been moving along swimmingly since then. There is only one thing I know I need to do, but really, really don't want to do: Have The Conversation.
The Cute Neighbor and I function like a couple. I spend the night every night. We eat dinner together every day. He even invited me out of town next month, where he will be hanging out with friends for a weekend post-conference, which means he not only invited me out of town, but he also wants me to meet all his friends. I'm excited about this, but also incredibly intimidated given that they're all PhDs, and I work as a professional baby-sitter, but more about that later.
I never even really think about this sort of thing until it's been at least three months, but I think the fact that The Cute Neighbor and I were such good friends first, and the fact that it takes 97 seconds to get from his front door to mine make for a relationship that moves a bit faster than I'm used to.
Things are going so well that I'm almost hesitant to bring up The Conversation. But other people have taken to calling him my boyfriend, and I don't know if I should correct them or not. And quite frankly, I don't WANT to, which is an improvement over anyone else I've dated recently. (Yes, I was super in to The Dark Horse, but that was an awful lot of baggage he was carrying around.)
Take this for example: Saturday morning, I was getting dressed when The Cute Neighbor looked at me in my underwear and said accusingly, "Are you losing weight?" And yes, he made it sound like an accusation. I laughed and said, "No, if anything, I'm going the other way." To which he said, "Awesome."
Awesome! He said Awesome! I told him that I might be gaining weight and he said AWESOME! How many men do that? Seriously, I can. Not. Fuck. This. Up.
So how do I do it? How do I bring up The Conversation? I want it to just come up naturally, but that's the funny thing about The Conversation. It never cooperates like that. And I know he won't bring it up, not because he's a guy, but because he's just sitting back and waiting for me to do it, just to watch me squirm. He's difficult like that. (Fen can attest to that.) So how do I do it? Help. Help. Help!
Things have been moving along swimmingly since then. There is only one thing I know I need to do, but really, really don't want to do: Have The Conversation.
The Cute Neighbor and I function like a couple. I spend the night every night. We eat dinner together every day. He even invited me out of town next month, where he will be hanging out with friends for a weekend post-conference, which means he not only invited me out of town, but he also wants me to meet all his friends. I'm excited about this, but also incredibly intimidated given that they're all PhDs, and I work as a professional baby-sitter, but more about that later.
I never even really think about this sort of thing until it's been at least three months, but I think the fact that The Cute Neighbor and I were such good friends first, and the fact that it takes 97 seconds to get from his front door to mine make for a relationship that moves a bit faster than I'm used to.
Things are going so well that I'm almost hesitant to bring up The Conversation. But other people have taken to calling him my boyfriend, and I don't know if I should correct them or not. And quite frankly, I don't WANT to, which is an improvement over anyone else I've dated recently. (Yes, I was super in to The Dark Horse, but that was an awful lot of baggage he was carrying around.)
Take this for example: Saturday morning, I was getting dressed when The Cute Neighbor looked at me in my underwear and said accusingly, "Are you losing weight?" And yes, he made it sound like an accusation. I laughed and said, "No, if anything, I'm going the other way." To which he said, "Awesome."
Awesome! He said Awesome! I told him that I might be gaining weight and he said AWESOME! How many men do that? Seriously, I can. Not. Fuck. This. Up.
So how do I do it? How do I bring up The Conversation? I want it to just come up naturally, but that's the funny thing about The Conversation. It never cooperates like that. And I know he won't bring it up, not because he's a guy, but because he's just sitting back and waiting for me to do it, just to watch me squirm. He's difficult like that. (Fen can attest to that.) So how do I do it? Help. Help. Help!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Happy 300th Post!!
Wow, 300 posts! I can't take much credit for this as I only started blogging last year, but congratulations to all!
So, let's talk smug marrieds.
I don't really know of any people my age who are married. The majority of people I know who are married are friends of my parents. Even at work there are very few people in the 'married' category. But this is soon(ish) to change. One of my closest friends is engaged and the wedding is being planned for a year in September. Excellent news. And I get to be bridesmaid. Even more excellent news. (I've been to 7 funerals in my life and 0 weddings. It's time for things to change.)
Here's the problem. I'm hearing an awful lot about weddings. Dresses, flowers, venues, guest lists, you name it. I've now started getting emails asking my opinion about venues- 'late bar' is my dealbreaker. I mean, I'm glad my opinion in being asked for but is this really going to go on for over a year? Because I may go crazy.
I am excited about it, really I am. It's just rubbing my face in my singletoness, which I am normally ok with, but sometimes I'm not and hearing about place settings doesn't help in these situations.
So I would like to say, in this 300th post that I am glad that while friends are getting engaged and debating between roses and lilies and chicken or salmon we here at WWBD? only need to debate between the karaoke kid and his roommate (for example)and vodka and wine.
Cheers! And here's to our 500th post!
So, let's talk smug marrieds.
I don't really know of any people my age who are married. The majority of people I know who are married are friends of my parents. Even at work there are very few people in the 'married' category. But this is soon(ish) to change. One of my closest friends is engaged and the wedding is being planned for a year in September. Excellent news. And I get to be bridesmaid. Even more excellent news. (I've been to 7 funerals in my life and 0 weddings. It's time for things to change.)
Here's the problem. I'm hearing an awful lot about weddings. Dresses, flowers, venues, guest lists, you name it. I've now started getting emails asking my opinion about venues- 'late bar' is my dealbreaker. I mean, I'm glad my opinion in being asked for but is this really going to go on for over a year? Because I may go crazy.
I am excited about it, really I am. It's just rubbing my face in my singletoness, which I am normally ok with, but sometimes I'm not and hearing about place settings doesn't help in these situations.
So I would like to say, in this 300th post that I am glad that while friends are getting engaged and debating between roses and lilies and chicken or salmon we here at WWBD? only need to debate between the karaoke kid and his roommate (for example)and vodka and wine.
Cheers! And here's to our 500th post!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
All in the Family
Grayer's last post reminded me of a conversation I had with Fenella last weekend. Fen and I had discussed before our desire to be sluttier than we actually are, and months later, she had come up with a way that she is, indeed, a slut. Turns out, when it comes to Fen's immediate family, she is quite slutty. Everyone else in her family took to the first boyfriend/girlfriend they ever had. But Fen? She's playing the field. Total slut.
To which I said, "Well, you've got one on me. I can't even be the Slut of my family because of my sister [Grayer]."
And what did Grayer do? She went out on Friday night and proved me right.
So Congratulations Fen and Grayer for being the sluts of your respective families, and you Grayer, for being the biggest slut of this blog.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
WTF? Seriously, WTF?
The MTV Movie Awards have a "Best WTF Moment" category. Well MTV, I will see your nominations like the naked trunk surprise in The Hangover and raise you with this: My Friday Night.
Last Tuesday I got horrifically drunk at a work thing. (Don't drink on a school night ladies). Posh Work Guy and I had a discussion that night. A discussion that concluded with us agreeing that on Friday night we'd both be getting some action. With each other. But you all got that.
Thursday night I did a bit of sexfoliation- made even more difficult knowing that I had to go to work beforehand. Showed up at work on Friday and guess who wasn't in the office? He sometimes shows up later in the day because he has meetings so I wasn't too concerned but by one 1pm there was no still no sign. Knowing that I wasn't going to get much done unless I found out where he was and if I was going to get some, I text him. Turns out he was working from home. However, although I thought this meant my sexfoliation was a waste of time, the conversation turned to our 'arrangement'. We ended up having the same conversation we had on Tuesday. Just sober and via text message. It lasted a good 3 hours. Finally I said could we not just meet and discuss this because my head was hurting and I needed to do some work.
We agreed to meet at a pub near his. We met, we drank a bit, we chatted. A guy from work came into the pub and we made a hasty getaway. We went back to his where we cuddled on the couch watching TV. The conversation turned to our flurry of text messages that afternoon. Conclusion? We're friends now and we'll be friends afterwards. Fine. After that, things finally got moving.
And then, well, I'm confused. Things happened, my dry spell came to an end, but it wasn't well, good. Afterwards, he got up to go to the bathroom. When he came back, he was dressed. He asked if I wanted my clothes. Um, what? Well not really, but I figured I should probably get them. We went back in the living room and watched the news (yes, that's right, the news). I was thinking things were awkward. They were about to get a lot worse...
PWG: Sorry but I can't drive you home tomorrow.
(That was fine, having someone drive you around in London is a luxury and I knew he had to do some mechanical thingy to his car.)
Me: No problem. I'll get the tube.
PWG: And you won't be able to sleep in because I have to get up really early to get things done.
Me (half-jokingly): I can just leave now if you want.
Pause.
PWG: If you do then you can wake up tomorrow and know you don't have to go anywhere, won't that be nice?
Pause.
Me: Um, ok, I'll just finish my drink.
WTF?
By this point I didn't want to be there anymore and I didn't get what was going on. At all. I finished my drink and got my stuff together. When he opened the door to his apartment I suddenly clicked that he wasn't going to walk me to the tube station. I had only been to his twice before and had never gotten the tube. I only vaguely knew where the station was. I had to ask him for directions. And he still didn't walk me. He did ask me to text him when I got home. How chivalrous.
So there I am, walking in an area of London I don't know at all, in the cold, at 10.30 on a Friday night. I felt like a cheap call girl. I got home and emailed Vi and cursed the fact that we live in different continents, on different time zones and neither of us is rich enough to be able to afford transatlantic phone bills. Oh and I did text him simply saying: "I'm home." He replied saying have a nice weekend.
Have a nice weekend? If having a nice weekend involves being extremely upset and angry and convinced that I'm bad in bed well then I'm having a marvelous time.
Please, someone, tell me what the hell happened. It was all agreed, all cards on the table. This was going to be a bit of fun. Nothing was going to change. It's possible, look at Vi and the Dark Horse. Now I have to see him at work tomorrow. I want to yell at him, for not walking me to the station if nothing else, but I can't because I have to act like nothing has changed between us, all is fine, as we agreed.
Well all is not fine. And I did not agree to him treating me like this. And I'm really angry.
Fenella's Friday Night = Winner. Best WTF moment.
Grayer's night with KK's roomie = A very, very close second.
Vi getting dumped by the Dark Horse while she was in her underwear. Twice = Joint very close second.
We need to stop having these moments.
Last Tuesday I got horrifically drunk at a work thing. (Don't drink on a school night ladies). Posh Work Guy and I had a discussion that night. A discussion that concluded with us agreeing that on Friday night we'd both be getting some action. With each other. But you all got that.
Thursday night I did a bit of sexfoliation- made even more difficult knowing that I had to go to work beforehand. Showed up at work on Friday and guess who wasn't in the office? He sometimes shows up later in the day because he has meetings so I wasn't too concerned but by one 1pm there was no still no sign. Knowing that I wasn't going to get much done unless I found out where he was and if I was going to get some, I text him. Turns out he was working from home. However, although I thought this meant my sexfoliation was a waste of time, the conversation turned to our 'arrangement'. We ended up having the same conversation we had on Tuesday. Just sober and via text message. It lasted a good 3 hours. Finally I said could we not just meet and discuss this because my head was hurting and I needed to do some work.
We agreed to meet at a pub near his. We met, we drank a bit, we chatted. A guy from work came into the pub and we made a hasty getaway. We went back to his where we cuddled on the couch watching TV. The conversation turned to our flurry of text messages that afternoon. Conclusion? We're friends now and we'll be friends afterwards. Fine. After that, things finally got moving.
And then, well, I'm confused. Things happened, my dry spell came to an end, but it wasn't well, good. Afterwards, he got up to go to the bathroom. When he came back, he was dressed. He asked if I wanted my clothes. Um, what? Well not really, but I figured I should probably get them. We went back in the living room and watched the news (yes, that's right, the news). I was thinking things were awkward. They were about to get a lot worse...
PWG: Sorry but I can't drive you home tomorrow.
(That was fine, having someone drive you around in London is a luxury and I knew he had to do some mechanical thingy to his car.)
Me: No problem. I'll get the tube.
PWG: And you won't be able to sleep in because I have to get up really early to get things done.
Me (half-jokingly): I can just leave now if you want.
Pause.
PWG: If you do then you can wake up tomorrow and know you don't have to go anywhere, won't that be nice?
Pause.
Me: Um, ok, I'll just finish my drink.
WTF?
By this point I didn't want to be there anymore and I didn't get what was going on. At all. I finished my drink and got my stuff together. When he opened the door to his apartment I suddenly clicked that he wasn't going to walk me to the tube station. I had only been to his twice before and had never gotten the tube. I only vaguely knew where the station was. I had to ask him for directions. And he still didn't walk me. He did ask me to text him when I got home. How chivalrous.
So there I am, walking in an area of London I don't know at all, in the cold, at 10.30 on a Friday night. I felt like a cheap call girl. I got home and emailed Vi and cursed the fact that we live in different continents, on different time zones and neither of us is rich enough to be able to afford transatlantic phone bills. Oh and I did text him simply saying: "I'm home." He replied saying have a nice weekend.
Have a nice weekend? If having a nice weekend involves being extremely upset and angry and convinced that I'm bad in bed well then I'm having a marvelous time.
Please, someone, tell me what the hell happened. It was all agreed, all cards on the table. This was going to be a bit of fun. Nothing was going to change. It's possible, look at Vi and the Dark Horse. Now I have to see him at work tomorrow. I want to yell at him, for not walking me to the station if nothing else, but I can't because I have to act like nothing has changed between us, all is fine, as we agreed.
Well all is not fine. And I did not agree to him treating me like this. And I'm really angry.
Fenella's Friday Night = Winner. Best WTF moment.
Grayer's night with KK's roomie = A very, very close second.
Vi getting dumped by the Dark Horse while she was in her underwear. Twice = Joint very close second.
We need to stop having these moments.
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