So, I resigned myself to gently let this guy down. I walked into the crowded bar alone, something I had done many times before, but this time I felt incredibly awkward. I had decided that I would let him come to me. I mean, what if I came in here to actively turn him down and he had just asked me out in drunkenness. How horrifying would it be for me to turn down an non-invite. Ok, my internal monologue was going faster than my racing heart.
I spotted him across the bar. He was deep in conversation with a table full of people. I ordered a beer and sat waiting. What was my plan? What if he never saw me? Just as that thought ran through my head I made eye contact with him. Oh thank goodness... thank goodness, now I had to talk to him. Shoot, I hadn't thought of this part yet. I had been so focused on getting his attention. He saddled up in the stool next to me, and the conversation was flirty. I was terrbily uncomfortable. If he asked me out, I would have to turn him down. Wouldn't I? As I was ruminating over this, he mentioned the afore agreed upon dinner.
I began to stutter. I came up with some of the silliest reasons as to why I couldn't go out with him. Mind you, as I was turning this poor man down, in his own bar, his employees were frequently interrupting, making this whole thing more awkward. He finally looked at me, and said, I am asking you to share a meal with me, not get married. He accused me of being ridiculous. To be fair, I was. He was a nice guy, who wanted to take me out for a meal... what's so wrong with that? So, instead of answering, I played the fool and gave the guy a trial date.
I spent that evening evaluating how this so called date could be. Is this guy funny? Can we share a conversation? Could I be attracted to him? After several hours of flirting and laughing and drinking the answer to all of those questions was coming up yes. This was so opposite of how I was feeling just hours prior. What the hell was going on?
We went to an after hours bar and the fun continued, so did the drinking. Some people call them beer goggles, but I think that mine were more like beer "glasses." Things actually seemed more clear, all of my silly preconcieved notions seemed to fall to the wayside. Suddenly, I was kinda into this guy. We walked home from the bar and had the hottest makeout on the front porch. This was a very different kiss from the one that we had shared just the night before. It was a GREAT kiss. This guy could really kiss. Oh my goodness. Good night sir.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Sticky Wicket
So, I started a kickball team this past fall. My team was made up of mostly my gal friends and a couple of people who could play when they had the time. To be perfectly honest, my kickball team was just a reason to get my friends to come out and drink with me. Every week, I would scramble to get a small and pathetic team together to hit the kickball field. This kickball league wasn’t exactly a serious league, it was sponsored by my local bar, so I didn’t really take it too seriously.
Our season was over as quickly as it started and we were successfully the loosingest team in the league. I had never been more proud of my team. The end of the year party was to be the pinnacle of the season, we were being given the toilet seat trophy. I was so excited. I just wanted to have some fun.
My pathetic posse of losers and I sat at a table hanging out. I began to get attention from the owner of the bar. I ignored it as just him being drunk. As the night went on though, he began to get more touchy and more flirty. As I drank more, the less I minded. He wasn’t exactly my type, but as long as the attention was harmless, I didn’t mind.
I did mind when my roommate after many many drinks decided that she needed to be protective of me. She cornered my poor flirty bar owner. She basically asked him his intentions. With every word that she drunkenly slurred, I cringed inside. The more attention that she brought to this matter, ie his flirting, the more real it made it. I was hoping that I could ignore, that we could just play flirty face all night, and let it go. I’m sticking to the fact that the moment that my roommate brought attention to his flirting, he saw a checkered flag and the finish line toward a date.
Ten minutes later we found ourselves alone in the middle of a crowded room. He looked at me, and casually, but seriously, asked me out for dinner. He was so cute about it, I didn’t have any idea what to say. I had been avoiding this moment all night. Every fiber in my body wanted to say NO… but out of my mouth came a hesitant and unsure…. “Sure?”
It was like I wasn’t I wasn’t in my body for that brief moment because I was looking down at myself yelling… screaming NOOOO!! What the hell had I just agreed to. This was the bar owner of the bar that I frequent more often than I would like to admit. If I screwed this up, I would be out of a bar. If I went out with him, I would not be attracted to him.
Oh crap.
I decided perhaps I should sneak out when he wasn’t looking and chalk up this entire evening to being “drunk.” I looked around the bar, I didn’t see him, good sign, I walked out. I almost walked right into him. He was standing outside having a smoke. Oh crap. There was no getting out of this now. I waved good bye and tried to slide on bye. No such luck.
He insisted upon walking me home. Now this guy is a nice guy. He is tall a bit awkward and out of my age bracket. At my front steps I said thanks and good bye. He leaned in for the kiss, oh crap, I couldn’t turn away, that constitutes major rejection, I couldn’t make out with him, so I closed lip kissed him. It was like ABC family television show. There was no tongue, just awkwardness on my part. I don’t think he realized it, because when he turned he told me that he would call me tomorrow.
What a sticky wicket I had just gotten myself into.
Our season was over as quickly as it started and we were successfully the loosingest team in the league. I had never been more proud of my team. The end of the year party was to be the pinnacle of the season, we were being given the toilet seat trophy. I was so excited. I just wanted to have some fun.
My pathetic posse of losers and I sat at a table hanging out. I began to get attention from the owner of the bar. I ignored it as just him being drunk. As the night went on though, he began to get more touchy and more flirty. As I drank more, the less I minded. He wasn’t exactly my type, but as long as the attention was harmless, I didn’t mind.
I did mind when my roommate after many many drinks decided that she needed to be protective of me. She cornered my poor flirty bar owner. She basically asked him his intentions. With every word that she drunkenly slurred, I cringed inside. The more attention that she brought to this matter, ie his flirting, the more real it made it. I was hoping that I could ignore, that we could just play flirty face all night, and let it go. I’m sticking to the fact that the moment that my roommate brought attention to his flirting, he saw a checkered flag and the finish line toward a date.
Ten minutes later we found ourselves alone in the middle of a crowded room. He looked at me, and casually, but seriously, asked me out for dinner. He was so cute about it, I didn’t have any idea what to say. I had been avoiding this moment all night. Every fiber in my body wanted to say NO… but out of my mouth came a hesitant and unsure…. “Sure?”
It was like I wasn’t I wasn’t in my body for that brief moment because I was looking down at myself yelling… screaming NOOOO!! What the hell had I just agreed to. This was the bar owner of the bar that I frequent more often than I would like to admit. If I screwed this up, I would be out of a bar. If I went out with him, I would not be attracted to him.
Oh crap.
I decided perhaps I should sneak out when he wasn’t looking and chalk up this entire evening to being “drunk.” I looked around the bar, I didn’t see him, good sign, I walked out. I almost walked right into him. He was standing outside having a smoke. Oh crap. There was no getting out of this now. I waved good bye and tried to slide on bye. No such luck.
He insisted upon walking me home. Now this guy is a nice guy. He is tall a bit awkward and out of my age bracket. At my front steps I said thanks and good bye. He leaned in for the kiss, oh crap, I couldn’t turn away, that constitutes major rejection, I couldn’t make out with him, so I closed lip kissed him. It was like ABC family television show. There was no tongue, just awkwardness on my part. I don’t think he realized it, because when he turned he told me that he would call me tomorrow.
What a sticky wicket I had just gotten myself into.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Condo in the Wild
Being the youngest of three and the only girls in my family, I have never been a girly girl. We used to be outdoors all the time, nature to my father was rejuvenating. For years we used to go camping every weekend. Now, mind you, we had a pop-up camper, and that was many years ago, but when my friend asked me if I wanted to go camping, I was excited. I was given the task of finding a tent for a couple of my friends and I, so I borrowed one.
My friend who owned the tent is someone that I actually consider a “camper.” He not only lent me the tent, but his camping “ditty” bag. This bag was full of his most treasured camping equipment, tent, wool blanket, hatchet, Frisbee and softball. The minute that he started telling me about his equipment a lump of hesitation started forming in my throat. When I was a kid, I slept in an enclosed camper. This was going to be very different, how could I forget that!
He agreed to drop the tent off with me, and give me a brief lesson in a park nearby. Unfortunately it was raining, so we made do with my living room, my warm dry living room. Now when I tell you that this tent was a four person tent it does not convey the enormity of it. My friend is six foot two and his head did not touch the top, this thing was big. As we started to assemble the tent, I made notes on a post it with my pink pen and realized the irony of it. I was a city girl headed to the dark wilderness of Wisconsin, with a giant tent and instructions written in a pink pen.
The week of our trip the weather was forecasting an unseasonably cold weekend. The temperature of 40 degrees was mentioned. WHAT? This was supposed to be August, 40 degrees? I was supposed to sleep on the ground in a tent in that weather? Oh gosh. This was not going to be the camping trip of my childhood.
When my group piled into my car on the day we were supposed to leave we tried to pretend that the weather was not going to be as cold as forecasted. As the sun set during our drive I thought about the impending adventure of assembling the condo that was the borrowed tent. This thing was huge and every minute that passed it was getting dark, really dark!
The earlier car already had their small tent up and built a lovely fire. We were jazzed to start getting our stuff together. I put on a face of confidence. I couldn’t let on that I was terrified that we would be sleeping in my car that night. I delegated the necessary jobs, such as ensuring that my headlights did not go out, silly automated headlights and saving my batter, and started unrolling the monstrosity. The minute that we had the tent unrolled, the skies opened and big fat rain drops fell at a fast pace. I mentally calculated the time that it would take to get this up vs. the percentage of wet that I was willing to get. Staying relatively dry won. I ran to go get the “tarp” to cover the tent so the inside wouldn’t be drenched. Running in flip flops in the rain and mud is not easy.
Two of the wet group jumped in my car. I silently cried about my newly detailed car, not wanting to know just how much mud had just made its way onto the mats. I ditched my muddy flip flops and jumped into the assembled tent. I was soaked. Tonight was going to be a cold one. The muddy car was looking like a better option by the second.
Twenty cold wet minutes later the big fat rain drops subsided to a light mist. I decided that we needed to get that tent up quickly if we were going to sleep in it. For all of the precautions that we took, the tent was drenched. The tarp had about three inches of rain on it that we had to dump off. We worked quickly putting the poles through and clipping and anchoring. The process was smooth once we got the rhythm, and practicing in my living room really did pay off. I felt very outdoorsy.
After another twenty cold, wet, and muddy minutes, our tent was up, but we had about two inches of water in one of the corners of the tent. I went to my newly muddy car and grabbed the leftover tacobell cup and started bailing. Picture this, a GIANT tent, fully assembled, with giant cups of water being thrown out of the front of it. I finally got it to the point where I could use a towel and grabbed the nearest one, making note that I would have to buy a new one for the owner of it… my sleeping space needed to be dry! Then the towel became too saturated, my friend realizing the dire situation and not wanting to sleep in water herself, offer her cardigan for wiping. I was so proud of her for offering and thankful, and thrilled to have a dry piece of fabric to try and soak up any left over moisture.
The tent was up. Our beautiful, dry condo in nature was finally erect. I could not have been more thrilled with my self, the city girl who once used to “camp” getting a fully functioning tent up in the rain. I also had to give props to my friend for sacrificing her lovely cardigan for the cause of a warm condo. Let me tell you, that night, we had the warmest tent in all of the tent city that was our campgrounds.
My friend who owned the tent is someone that I actually consider a “camper.” He not only lent me the tent, but his camping “ditty” bag. This bag was full of his most treasured camping equipment, tent, wool blanket, hatchet, Frisbee and softball. The minute that he started telling me about his equipment a lump of hesitation started forming in my throat. When I was a kid, I slept in an enclosed camper. This was going to be very different, how could I forget that!
He agreed to drop the tent off with me, and give me a brief lesson in a park nearby. Unfortunately it was raining, so we made do with my living room, my warm dry living room. Now when I tell you that this tent was a four person tent it does not convey the enormity of it. My friend is six foot two and his head did not touch the top, this thing was big. As we started to assemble the tent, I made notes on a post it with my pink pen and realized the irony of it. I was a city girl headed to the dark wilderness of Wisconsin, with a giant tent and instructions written in a pink pen.
The week of our trip the weather was forecasting an unseasonably cold weekend. The temperature of 40 degrees was mentioned. WHAT? This was supposed to be August, 40 degrees? I was supposed to sleep on the ground in a tent in that weather? Oh gosh. This was not going to be the camping trip of my childhood.
When my group piled into my car on the day we were supposed to leave we tried to pretend that the weather was not going to be as cold as forecasted. As the sun set during our drive I thought about the impending adventure of assembling the condo that was the borrowed tent. This thing was huge and every minute that passed it was getting dark, really dark!
The earlier car already had their small tent up and built a lovely fire. We were jazzed to start getting our stuff together. I put on a face of confidence. I couldn’t let on that I was terrified that we would be sleeping in my car that night. I delegated the necessary jobs, such as ensuring that my headlights did not go out, silly automated headlights and saving my batter, and started unrolling the monstrosity. The minute that we had the tent unrolled, the skies opened and big fat rain drops fell at a fast pace. I mentally calculated the time that it would take to get this up vs. the percentage of wet that I was willing to get. Staying relatively dry won. I ran to go get the “tarp” to cover the tent so the inside wouldn’t be drenched. Running in flip flops in the rain and mud is not easy.
Two of the wet group jumped in my car. I silently cried about my newly detailed car, not wanting to know just how much mud had just made its way onto the mats. I ditched my muddy flip flops and jumped into the assembled tent. I was soaked. Tonight was going to be a cold one. The muddy car was looking like a better option by the second.
Twenty cold wet minutes later the big fat rain drops subsided to a light mist. I decided that we needed to get that tent up quickly if we were going to sleep in it. For all of the precautions that we took, the tent was drenched. The tarp had about three inches of rain on it that we had to dump off. We worked quickly putting the poles through and clipping and anchoring. The process was smooth once we got the rhythm, and practicing in my living room really did pay off. I felt very outdoorsy.
After another twenty cold, wet, and muddy minutes, our tent was up, but we had about two inches of water in one of the corners of the tent. I went to my newly muddy car and grabbed the leftover tacobell cup and started bailing. Picture this, a GIANT tent, fully assembled, with giant cups of water being thrown out of the front of it. I finally got it to the point where I could use a towel and grabbed the nearest one, making note that I would have to buy a new one for the owner of it… my sleeping space needed to be dry! Then the towel became too saturated, my friend realizing the dire situation and not wanting to sleep in water herself, offer her cardigan for wiping. I was so proud of her for offering and thankful, and thrilled to have a dry piece of fabric to try and soak up any left over moisture.
The tent was up. Our beautiful, dry condo in nature was finally erect. I could not have been more thrilled with my self, the city girl who once used to “camp” getting a fully functioning tent up in the rain. I also had to give props to my friend for sacrificing her lovely cardigan for the cause of a warm condo. Let me tell you, that night, we had the warmest tent in all of the tent city that was our campgrounds.
Monday, August 24, 2009
It's Complicated
So, I survived being the 7th wheel. It could have been worse. I only lost my cool once when my friend and her boyfriend were making googly eyes at each other across the table. Gross! Beer came and went and the evening ended with me tucked away in my bed happy to have such wonderful friends.
The end of the weekend was supposed to end calmly with dinner and catching a play. Let me start with a little background first as to why we were going to said play. My friends and I spend a lot of time at the local bar where we hang out with the bar tender who happens to be an actor. I often spend most of my nights flirting with him, making aforementioned googly eyes, and whispering sweet nothings drunkenly over my beer. So, when he invited us to his play we felt a bit obliged to attend, or maybe just wanted to see where I could get with him.
I put on my Sunday best, strappy summer heels, jeans, and an adorably form flattering top. I felt like a million bucks. We ate dinner at this lovely organic pizzeria, yes I ate onions, but I had some gum in my purse. We girl chatted, we talked about all the inappropriate things that we girls talk about when no one else is around, boys, makeup, clothes and sex, of course. None of us were really looking forward to this play. We realized that this play could potentially the worst two hours of our (I won’t be so dramatic to say life) weekend.
We walked into the theatre simultaneously cringed. The theatre was quite small. I was feeling like an idiot. We were just the bar flies that see him once a week, now we were in a small theatre crowded with people that actually knew the cast. What was this guy going to think of me? As the lights went down in the small intimate theatre my worries did not subside. My worries then combined with boredom because this play was awful. In addition to an awful play our friend the bartender didn’t show up until the second act. We sat through the whole first act painfully trying to laugh at the appropriate times, gasp at the surprises and clap at intermission.
The second act did not improve. The bartender did show up for several scenes but certainly not worth a $20 ticket. When the painful play finally ended my one friend wanted to wait for our bartender, I wanted to get the hell outta there. So, we waited for him. I plastered a smile on my face and as he walked over I knew the lie I would have to tell. The lie was easy followed by an invite to join he and other for drinks at a bar half a block away. My gals and I rarely turn down a drink, so off to the bar we went. We bought him a beverage not really expecting him to stick around but there he sat. I turned on my charm, ehh what the hell, it was a bad show, but why not make the night a little more interesting!
After several drinks, he was still sitting and still flirting. Things were getting more interesting. He then invited me and my other gal to another bar. We were definitely on board. At the next bar the flirting continued. The music was loud, so he would lean in ever so closely just to talk. Our arms brushed, and all the signals were a go!! Things for me were getting more interesting.
At three am we headed back to our place. This had to be a sure thing. Without invitation he parked the car and walked up with us to my place. We cracked open a couple of beers and sat on the balcony. We continued to flirt. I put my legs on his lap, he rubbed my feet, green light. I stepped inside for a minute and when I came back they were packing up their things to come inside. My gal immediately fell onto the couch and passed out. My bartender was in the kitchen cleaning up. What an amazing guy! I walked right up to him, rubbed his back, made all of my right moves and I felt like I was suddenly getting stone walled. We were coming to the point of decision here, it was either a go or a no go here. In the living room I offered him the chaise to sleep on or “another option”… As I let my voice trail off, I heard him say, “here was fine,” indicating the chaise.
WHAT? Wait, what the hell just happened. This was very confusing. I had given every indication that all signals were go. I had practically given a liftoff count down. So, in a way that only I could, I looked at him and asked “are you even interested in me?” To which he responded, “Yea… but… it’s complicated.” He continued, "It's just bad timing." Wait, so he was or wasn’t interested in me. Did he just deliver me a line? This was very confusing to a girl talk about a total mind screw. (and of all things that I thought were going to get screwed that night, my mind wasn't one of them.) So I figure, give it one last go, I leaned in for a good night kiss and was greeted by the pursed lips of someone very different than the one flirting with me all night. Good Lord, was I delusional, did I imagine all of this flirting? I suppose that kind of analyzing would have to wait for another day, at another time.
The end of the weekend was supposed to end calmly with dinner and catching a play. Let me start with a little background first as to why we were going to said play. My friends and I spend a lot of time at the local bar where we hang out with the bar tender who happens to be an actor. I often spend most of my nights flirting with him, making aforementioned googly eyes, and whispering sweet nothings drunkenly over my beer. So, when he invited us to his play we felt a bit obliged to attend, or maybe just wanted to see where I could get with him.
I put on my Sunday best, strappy summer heels, jeans, and an adorably form flattering top. I felt like a million bucks. We ate dinner at this lovely organic pizzeria, yes I ate onions, but I had some gum in my purse. We girl chatted, we talked about all the inappropriate things that we girls talk about when no one else is around, boys, makeup, clothes and sex, of course. None of us were really looking forward to this play. We realized that this play could potentially the worst two hours of our (I won’t be so dramatic to say life) weekend.
We walked into the theatre simultaneously cringed. The theatre was quite small. I was feeling like an idiot. We were just the bar flies that see him once a week, now we were in a small theatre crowded with people that actually knew the cast. What was this guy going to think of me? As the lights went down in the small intimate theatre my worries did not subside. My worries then combined with boredom because this play was awful. In addition to an awful play our friend the bartender didn’t show up until the second act. We sat through the whole first act painfully trying to laugh at the appropriate times, gasp at the surprises and clap at intermission.
The second act did not improve. The bartender did show up for several scenes but certainly not worth a $20 ticket. When the painful play finally ended my one friend wanted to wait for our bartender, I wanted to get the hell outta there. So, we waited for him. I plastered a smile on my face and as he walked over I knew the lie I would have to tell. The lie was easy followed by an invite to join he and other for drinks at a bar half a block away. My gals and I rarely turn down a drink, so off to the bar we went. We bought him a beverage not really expecting him to stick around but there he sat. I turned on my charm, ehh what the hell, it was a bad show, but why not make the night a little more interesting!
After several drinks, he was still sitting and still flirting. Things were getting more interesting. He then invited me and my other gal to another bar. We were definitely on board. At the next bar the flirting continued. The music was loud, so he would lean in ever so closely just to talk. Our arms brushed, and all the signals were a go!! Things for me were getting more interesting.
At three am we headed back to our place. This had to be a sure thing. Without invitation he parked the car and walked up with us to my place. We cracked open a couple of beers and sat on the balcony. We continued to flirt. I put my legs on his lap, he rubbed my feet, green light. I stepped inside for a minute and when I came back they were packing up their things to come inside. My gal immediately fell onto the couch and passed out. My bartender was in the kitchen cleaning up. What an amazing guy! I walked right up to him, rubbed his back, made all of my right moves and I felt like I was suddenly getting stone walled. We were coming to the point of decision here, it was either a go or a no go here. In the living room I offered him the chaise to sleep on or “another option”… As I let my voice trail off, I heard him say, “here was fine,” indicating the chaise.
WHAT? Wait, what the hell just happened. This was very confusing. I had given every indication that all signals were go. I had practically given a liftoff count down. So, in a way that only I could, I looked at him and asked “are you even interested in me?” To which he responded, “Yea… but… it’s complicated.” He continued, "It's just bad timing." Wait, so he was or wasn’t interested in me. Did he just deliver me a line? This was very confusing to a girl talk about a total mind screw. (and of all things that I thought were going to get screwed that night, my mind wasn't one of them.) So I figure, give it one last go, I leaned in for a good night kiss and was greeted by the pursed lips of someone very different than the one flirting with me all night. Good Lord, was I delusional, did I imagine all of this flirting? I suppose that kind of analyzing would have to wait for another day, at another time.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Ode to the 7th Wheel
So tonight I am going out with my girl friends and their significant others. I made the joke “are we bringing our men,?” Typically, this question is not interpreted as a joke, but because I am single, it is. Tonight I am going to be the 7th wheel.
My three friends have chosen their men well. I like each of them, perhaps not collectively and in couples, and certainly not today, but most of the time I like them. I am also a strong woman, who very much enjoys the life of a single woman. I like having my own schedule, and not answering to anyone. Occasionally, I even partake in a casual fling. I am not so cynical that I cannot admit that there are definitely times in which I had someone.
Begin the Pity Party
Tonight when I sit at the table, not made for six or eight but for seven, I will cringe a little bit on the inside. I am not looking for pity, but tonight when the husbands order another drink for their wives when they are running low, or make sure that they get the last piece of pizza I will have a small pang of jealousy run through my veins. The worst will be when the couple thinks no one is looking and the brush their hands against each other or one lays their hand on the other’s thigh, I will let out a small cry to myself.
Sitting with three other couples when you are single is like getting hit in the head by a ton of bricks, each one a HARD sometimes painful reminder that I am single.
My three friends have chosen their men well. I like each of them, perhaps not collectively and in couples, and certainly not today, but most of the time I like them. I am also a strong woman, who very much enjoys the life of a single woman. I like having my own schedule, and not answering to anyone. Occasionally, I even partake in a casual fling. I am not so cynical that I cannot admit that there are definitely times in which I had someone.
Begin the Pity Party
Tonight when I sit at the table, not made for six or eight but for seven, I will cringe a little bit on the inside. I am not looking for pity, but tonight when the husbands order another drink for their wives when they are running low, or make sure that they get the last piece of pizza I will have a small pang of jealousy run through my veins. The worst will be when the couple thinks no one is looking and the brush their hands against each other or one lays their hand on the other’s thigh, I will let out a small cry to myself.
Sitting with three other couples when you are single is like getting hit in the head by a ton of bricks, each one a HARD sometimes painful reminder that I am single.
Friday, July 3, 2009
What a Morning...
I’ll fully admit that I am not a morning person. If there is a need for me to bright and shiny in the a.m., I can certainly rise to the occasion, but typically, I am not with it. This morning in particular, I was a special case of space cadet. I woke up thinking that it was Saturday. It was wonderful, I rolled over, and started dreaming again. Twenty minutes later, reality some how crept into my dream and I woke with a start. It definitely was not Saturday, I had to jump out of bed and into the shower. Unfortunately, the night before the toilet had decided to continuously run, so periodically during my shower SCALDING hot water came shooting out.
After receiving some third degree burns during my shower, I struggled with every morning chore that I had to do, getting dressed, brushing my teeth, packing a lunch, etc. A hangover would have adequately explained my behavior, but I did not have one drink the night before. Finally, I got in my car and I was on my way, only to notice that my gas light was on. Really, gas, well at least I could stop and get a crappy cup of coffee in the seven eleven while I was filling up.
So, that’s what I did. I started pumping gas and headed in for a cup of joe. Ahh there’s no better smell on a rough morning than French Vanilla coffee, even from a gas station. For a moment, when the smell hits you, it’s as if you are transplanted into a real coffee shop and not a badly lit 7-11 where they are selling hot dogs right next to the counter. I decided to treat myself to a half coffee half cappuccino combo. I filled up my cup with the delightful coffee and started the cappuccino, which decided it didn’t want to work and was spraying hot water every where. Scalding shower number two.
I just wanted a cup of coffee. Take two was more successful that my first try, I didn’t burn any appendages on the second attempt. The bored man behind the counter had rang up my coffee before I had even gotten there. As I paid him, I was distracted by the shiny scratch off lotto tickets behind the glass… ooohhh pretty. I rationalized the purchase of lotto tickets with the knowledge that some of that money goes towards Illinois education… right?? The pretty shiny pink ticket looked too good to pass up. There’s just something about scratching off the possibility to win big.
With my lotto ticket in one hand and coffee in another, I hit the road. Traffic wasn’t so bad for a while. Expectedly, it came to a halt. Ahhh a perfect time to scratch and win! I pulled out my ticket. The bad thing about these tickets is that often there are fairly specific directions. Don’t they realize that people just want to scratch the shiny silver stuff off the whole ticket and see the words WIN with the amount of money? I don’t want to have think when I am doing a scratch off lotto ticket. The pink lotto ticket was one of the difficult ones, it had stars and number matching and some sort of code. It was made even more difficult by the periodic glace up at traffic to move and brake when needed. I finally understood it, star = good, matching numbers = good. So I started to scratch. Of course, when I did so, traffic also started to move.
After scratching all the numbers I realized I was about 10 cars length away from the car in front of me. I hit the gas and started brushing off the silver scratch off dust…. and SLAMMED into the car in front of me. CRAP!!
I was probably going no more than five miles per hour, but enough to probably do some sort of damage. We made eye contact in our rear view mirrors. I was really hoping he wasn’t going to call the police. Mentally, I was running through all the things that my dad taught me, never apologize, give insurance info, give registrations… oh man, this sucked.
The man got out of his black Acura and looked like a regular guy. He looked at his car, and said that there didn’t look like there was a whole lot of damage. I of course, didn’t say much, because my instinct was to say, “I’m sorry,” so every mental ability went to not blurting that out. So, I stood there with basically nothing to say, no makeup on, my hair undid, thank goodness I dressed well that morning. After just standing there and looking at him I decided he was a very handsome middle aged man. He reminded me of the dad in a great American commercial for something like a Weber grill.
I wrote down my information and gave it to him. It pained me to try and even crunch the numbers of what the damage may end up costing, so I tried just as hard not to think about that as I did not to think about apologizing. After uttering no more than 20 words to the poor man, we exchanged good byes. His final message to me was “things happen, have a good morning!” I thought to myself, now had I won the lotto, that would have been good morning!
After receiving some third degree burns during my shower, I struggled with every morning chore that I had to do, getting dressed, brushing my teeth, packing a lunch, etc. A hangover would have adequately explained my behavior, but I did not have one drink the night before. Finally, I got in my car and I was on my way, only to notice that my gas light was on. Really, gas, well at least I could stop and get a crappy cup of coffee in the seven eleven while I was filling up.
So, that’s what I did. I started pumping gas and headed in for a cup of joe. Ahh there’s no better smell on a rough morning than French Vanilla coffee, even from a gas station. For a moment, when the smell hits you, it’s as if you are transplanted into a real coffee shop and not a badly lit 7-11 where they are selling hot dogs right next to the counter. I decided to treat myself to a half coffee half cappuccino combo. I filled up my cup with the delightful coffee and started the cappuccino, which decided it didn’t want to work and was spraying hot water every where. Scalding shower number two.
I just wanted a cup of coffee. Take two was more successful that my first try, I didn’t burn any appendages on the second attempt. The bored man behind the counter had rang up my coffee before I had even gotten there. As I paid him, I was distracted by the shiny scratch off lotto tickets behind the glass… ooohhh pretty. I rationalized the purchase of lotto tickets with the knowledge that some of that money goes towards Illinois education… right?? The pretty shiny pink ticket looked too good to pass up. There’s just something about scratching off the possibility to win big.
With my lotto ticket in one hand and coffee in another, I hit the road. Traffic wasn’t so bad for a while. Expectedly, it came to a halt. Ahhh a perfect time to scratch and win! I pulled out my ticket. The bad thing about these tickets is that often there are fairly specific directions. Don’t they realize that people just want to scratch the shiny silver stuff off the whole ticket and see the words WIN with the amount of money? I don’t want to have think when I am doing a scratch off lotto ticket. The pink lotto ticket was one of the difficult ones, it had stars and number matching and some sort of code. It was made even more difficult by the periodic glace up at traffic to move and brake when needed. I finally understood it, star = good, matching numbers = good. So I started to scratch. Of course, when I did so, traffic also started to move.
After scratching all the numbers I realized I was about 10 cars length away from the car in front of me. I hit the gas and started brushing off the silver scratch off dust…. and SLAMMED into the car in front of me. CRAP!!
I was probably going no more than five miles per hour, but enough to probably do some sort of damage. We made eye contact in our rear view mirrors. I was really hoping he wasn’t going to call the police. Mentally, I was running through all the things that my dad taught me, never apologize, give insurance info, give registrations… oh man, this sucked.
The man got out of his black Acura and looked like a regular guy. He looked at his car, and said that there didn’t look like there was a whole lot of damage. I of course, didn’t say much, because my instinct was to say, “I’m sorry,” so every mental ability went to not blurting that out. So, I stood there with basically nothing to say, no makeup on, my hair undid, thank goodness I dressed well that morning. After just standing there and looking at him I decided he was a very handsome middle aged man. He reminded me of the dad in a great American commercial for something like a Weber grill.
I wrote down my information and gave it to him. It pained me to try and even crunch the numbers of what the damage may end up costing, so I tried just as hard not to think about that as I did not to think about apologizing. After uttering no more than 20 words to the poor man, we exchanged good byes. His final message to me was “things happen, have a good morning!” I thought to myself, now had I won the lotto, that would have been good morning!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Nebraska Bobby
Written in December 2008
I met Nebraska Bobby on the internet on a dating website that I hadn’t had much luck with. Most of the guys that I met through this particular website were particularly sketchy, but I was online giving it another chance and ran across Nebraska Bobby’s profile. He fit my height requirement, my desired education level and had a full time job, so at least worth an email.
After I pressed the send button a message popped up that I had a message. How wonderful! To my surprise it was from Nebraska Bobby. We started email back and forth a couple of times and it was normal and fun. We talked about traveling, he liked road trips and seeing new places. I liked those kinds of things. Definitely a good sign. Bobby had listed his yahoo messenger in his profile, so I just thought I would add it to mine. Unbeknownst to me, when I added him to my profile yahoo sent him a message to confirm. I was horrified. I signed off yahoo immediately, he was going to think I was some sort of stalker. I would fall into the category of crazy online loony girl. This was the first regular that I had come across in a while, and yahoo had blown it… stupid yahoo messenger.
I knew I had to own it. There was no way that I could avoid this one. I signed back onto to yahoo. There was an IM waiting for me asking, who I was. I admitted my nuttiness and an acceptable im chat ensued. He told me about his stable job, and his annoyance with the suburbs, both things that I could relate to, both things screamed regular guy. Woo Hoo a regular guy, let the online dating games begin!
Online email dating games I have played, but instant message games were totally new. Every time I signed on to my yahoo email I would see if Nebraska Bobby was signed on or if he was busy or if he was available. Then if he was available, should I start the instant message conversation, should I wait for him to message me? How does it work ? A couple of weeks ago I went and saw the movie He’s Just Not that into you, it gave me some perspective that I have kept with me. If he was interested he would start a convo, here I add my own rule, unless I have something exceptionally intriguing to say.
Well we had a couple of conversations, most he started, and most were pretty good conversations. I typically ended them because I was getting tired, or at least that was the excuse I was telling myself. Honestly the conversations were lagging, and I was getting tired of carrying them, I could only be so witty so late into the night.
Anyway, I was signed on to yahoo one morning at work and Nebraska Bobby was online. I took the stance that I would basically ignore him, I was at work. About five minutes later, to my delight, he imed me!! We began chatting back and forth for a couple of minutes when he asked me if I had heard of a band called the Shiny Toy Guns. I had not, but I did google them. Bobby told me about how he had won tickets to their concert for that night, but didn’t have anyone to go with him. Was he asking me out? I wasn’t letting him off easily, he would have to ask out rightly. Finally, after skirting around the issue for a couple of messages he asked me if I wanted to with him. We settled on the plans for the night which included dinner before the late night concert. I had just agreed to go on a date that night!
Oh Crap… I was going to have to bust my ass home to get ready just to head back into the city. Nothing was going to ruin my high though. I suppose that my favorite thing about dating is the excitement. The thrill. I love the anticipation. I love the high of dating. I look forward to meeting someone new, the possibilities that carries with it. That day was not different. I busted my ass home to change into something appropriate for a concert and dinner at a bar. I felt I chose just the perfect outfit and into traffic I went.
I got to the bar absurdly early. I had to account for traffic and rain right, well I accounted too much for both and was there a half hour early. I knew I wasn’t going in that early. No way, I decided to way in my car. I checked my makeup, reapplied deodorant, (nervous sweat never good), checked my jewelry, and finally checked my breath.
Mother nature wanted to balance out my excitement for the evening, so she gave me a pouring rain showers. Rain plus a straightened hair equals disaster, but thankfully, in my mess of a car I had an umbrella buried deep under some random CRAP. I found it and felt like a super hero already. In my head I was hoping that that would not have been the climax of my evening, sadly it may have been.
While I was checking my bodily scents, Nebraska Bobby had texted me that he was sitting in the bar. I walked into the restaurant, did a turn around the bar looking for Bobby, and I couldn’t find anyone that looked like him. This was not a good sign. I decided to call him and watch for people picking up their cell phone. The first guy that I had seen in the bar picked up his cell and I walked over. I considered hugging, but instead we awkwardly shook hands. Thank goodness I had taken the time to wipe the hand sweat off!
Let the games begin. I wish I could say that conversation flowed, it didn’t. He had no problem talking about himself, but the really neat thing about conversation, is it takes two people’s involvement and only one person was talking. I kept trying to interject with stories of my own, but I had nothing to relate. He was asking very little about me, I think he was just shy. I couldn’t handle shy, it was so much work!
The second part of the date, yes there were two parts already planned, was a concert. I had never heard of the band, but I was always up for a good time. The concert was in a secret location, put on by a local indie radio station. I was actually pretty excited about it. At least at the concert we didn’t have to talk. Unfortunately, Nebraska Bobby could also be known as get there awkwardly early Bobby. We got to the concert two hours early. I was already struggling for conversation and the thought of two hours was unbearable. The icing on the cake was that the event was being hosted by my favorite vodka company and I had driven, no drinks for me.
The two hours dragged, it was painful. We were horribly awkward, I wanted to leave, get out, jump ship, but I had made a commitment. Happy people were running around with their delicious beverages and engaging conversation and I was stuck with Nebraska Bobby.
FINALLY the concert started and it was not my taste. It was a weird mix between hard rock and angry music. What do you do at a concert like this? You can’t dance, I had never heard them, so I couldn’t even fake that I knew the words, I was outta my element. I took a step back though, and realized that I could just enjoy the moment, I wasn’t expected to talk!!
The minute the concert ended I bolted for the door. I dropped Bobby at his car and was very careful not to say that I would talk again, I had no intention of carrying his conversation baggage again.
I met Nebraska Bobby on the internet on a dating website that I hadn’t had much luck with. Most of the guys that I met through this particular website were particularly sketchy, but I was online giving it another chance and ran across Nebraska Bobby’s profile. He fit my height requirement, my desired education level and had a full time job, so at least worth an email.
After I pressed the send button a message popped up that I had a message. How wonderful! To my surprise it was from Nebraska Bobby. We started email back and forth a couple of times and it was normal and fun. We talked about traveling, he liked road trips and seeing new places. I liked those kinds of things. Definitely a good sign. Bobby had listed his yahoo messenger in his profile, so I just thought I would add it to mine. Unbeknownst to me, when I added him to my profile yahoo sent him a message to confirm. I was horrified. I signed off yahoo immediately, he was going to think I was some sort of stalker. I would fall into the category of crazy online loony girl. This was the first regular that I had come across in a while, and yahoo had blown it… stupid yahoo messenger.
I knew I had to own it. There was no way that I could avoid this one. I signed back onto to yahoo. There was an IM waiting for me asking, who I was. I admitted my nuttiness and an acceptable im chat ensued. He told me about his stable job, and his annoyance with the suburbs, both things that I could relate to, both things screamed regular guy. Woo Hoo a regular guy, let the online dating games begin!
Online email dating games I have played, but instant message games were totally new. Every time I signed on to my yahoo email I would see if Nebraska Bobby was signed on or if he was busy or if he was available. Then if he was available, should I start the instant message conversation, should I wait for him to message me? How does it work ? A couple of weeks ago I went and saw the movie He’s Just Not that into you, it gave me some perspective that I have kept with me. If he was interested he would start a convo, here I add my own rule, unless I have something exceptionally intriguing to say.
Well we had a couple of conversations, most he started, and most were pretty good conversations. I typically ended them because I was getting tired, or at least that was the excuse I was telling myself. Honestly the conversations were lagging, and I was getting tired of carrying them, I could only be so witty so late into the night.
Anyway, I was signed on to yahoo one morning at work and Nebraska Bobby was online. I took the stance that I would basically ignore him, I was at work. About five minutes later, to my delight, he imed me!! We began chatting back and forth for a couple of minutes when he asked me if I had heard of a band called the Shiny Toy Guns. I had not, but I did google them. Bobby told me about how he had won tickets to their concert for that night, but didn’t have anyone to go with him. Was he asking me out? I wasn’t letting him off easily, he would have to ask out rightly. Finally, after skirting around the issue for a couple of messages he asked me if I wanted to with him. We settled on the plans for the night which included dinner before the late night concert. I had just agreed to go on a date that night!
Oh Crap… I was going to have to bust my ass home to get ready just to head back into the city. Nothing was going to ruin my high though. I suppose that my favorite thing about dating is the excitement. The thrill. I love the anticipation. I love the high of dating. I look forward to meeting someone new, the possibilities that carries with it. That day was not different. I busted my ass home to change into something appropriate for a concert and dinner at a bar. I felt I chose just the perfect outfit and into traffic I went.
I got to the bar absurdly early. I had to account for traffic and rain right, well I accounted too much for both and was there a half hour early. I knew I wasn’t going in that early. No way, I decided to way in my car. I checked my makeup, reapplied deodorant, (nervous sweat never good), checked my jewelry, and finally checked my breath.
Mother nature wanted to balance out my excitement for the evening, so she gave me a pouring rain showers. Rain plus a straightened hair equals disaster, but thankfully, in my mess of a car I had an umbrella buried deep under some random CRAP. I found it and felt like a super hero already. In my head I was hoping that that would not have been the climax of my evening, sadly it may have been.
While I was checking my bodily scents, Nebraska Bobby had texted me that he was sitting in the bar. I walked into the restaurant, did a turn around the bar looking for Bobby, and I couldn’t find anyone that looked like him. This was not a good sign. I decided to call him and watch for people picking up their cell phone. The first guy that I had seen in the bar picked up his cell and I walked over. I considered hugging, but instead we awkwardly shook hands. Thank goodness I had taken the time to wipe the hand sweat off!
Let the games begin. I wish I could say that conversation flowed, it didn’t. He had no problem talking about himself, but the really neat thing about conversation, is it takes two people’s involvement and only one person was talking. I kept trying to interject with stories of my own, but I had nothing to relate. He was asking very little about me, I think he was just shy. I couldn’t handle shy, it was so much work!
The second part of the date, yes there were two parts already planned, was a concert. I had never heard of the band, but I was always up for a good time. The concert was in a secret location, put on by a local indie radio station. I was actually pretty excited about it. At least at the concert we didn’t have to talk. Unfortunately, Nebraska Bobby could also be known as get there awkwardly early Bobby. We got to the concert two hours early. I was already struggling for conversation and the thought of two hours was unbearable. The icing on the cake was that the event was being hosted by my favorite vodka company and I had driven, no drinks for me.
The two hours dragged, it was painful. We were horribly awkward, I wanted to leave, get out, jump ship, but I had made a commitment. Happy people were running around with their delicious beverages and engaging conversation and I was stuck with Nebraska Bobby.
FINALLY the concert started and it was not my taste. It was a weird mix between hard rock and angry music. What do you do at a concert like this? You can’t dance, I had never heard them, so I couldn’t even fake that I knew the words, I was outta my element. I took a step back though, and realized that I could just enjoy the moment, I wasn’t expected to talk!!
The minute the concert ended I bolted for the door. I dropped Bobby at his car and was very careful not to say that I would talk again, I had no intention of carrying his conversation baggage again.
Cold Fusion
Written in November 2008
Heart break is painful. People have been going through heart break since the beginning of time, sure I have no proof of it, but as I know women, and I think I do, we have either been suffering from heart break or making others suffer from the beginning of time. This time though, I was the one suffering.
I had strange ways of dealing with my suffering. Instead of sitting around wallowing in my pain, and eating my depression, I decided to join an online dating web site. The first site that I joined was free. It had a totally cheesy name, and didn’t ask too many personality questions, but pictures were imperative. Now, I realize that I am more Drew Barrymore, than Heidi Klume, but Drew isn’t horrible looking, right? Luckily, I practically had a glamour shot from yearbook picture from my previous job that I had at the high school.
I got some hits, but most of the chat requests were from skeevy men who were far from gentlemanly! This method was certainly not easing heartbreak, in fact, it was making me wish for the ‘dude’ back that broke my heart. I needed a to try something else. While browsing the web one morning, I literally stumbled upon a website that looked hip, cool and it seemed to have credibility, so I jumped right in. It asked way more personality questions than the other website, already I felt better about this one. I took a great deal of time and care on my profile.
My use of sporting analogies would have impressed John Madden. (Look another one!) Again, I used my glamour shot yearbook pic and off I was, another online dating adventure.
This website was different though, it did not let you browse through the gentlemen, it matched you. Sounds cool right, NOT, it stunk, it only gave you ten men to look at per day. For a girl getting over a break up, those were not good numbers, I wanted men by the hundreds to assure me that there still were actually men out there. To be honest, more than half of the heart ache was caused by the debilitating fear of growing old alone.
Anyway, back to online dating, (something much more uplifting that growing old alone!). When presented with the ten men that this website provides, essentially, I was able to give each a thumbs up or a thumbs down. Once this was done, they would have to do the same for me. After that stage, meaningless priority scales are exchanged. An example of this priority scale was that I had to rate on a scale of one to ten how important humor, money, and religion were to me. Typically, when at this stage with a guy, I ignored all of that crap, just so that I could get to the email stage of the process. Communication either live or via email is what gets you to know people right?
So, I finally got to the email stage with one of my guys. I was so excited, I would be able to finally find out about this guy… heartbreak what? His name was Shawn, he was tall and slender in his pictures, so cute. One of his pictures was taken in Ireland, already I was impressed. Unfortunately, Shawn was not much of an emailer. He had a tendency to shoot rapid fire questions rather than exchanging a friendly email dialogue, I felt like I was on CNN Cross Fire. Ever the optimist, I kept the faith that perhaps he just wasn’t much of a typist. Over one of our emails Shawn asked if we could talk on the phone, I was estactic. I was desired, I was wanted, and now with phone time, I would be able to shine! He called me one night, I screened the call of course, then called him back. I was terrified. I hadn’t flirted with a guy in quite some time. What if I had forgotten, is it really like riding a bike? What does that even mean, I can only imagine what getting on a bike must feel like after not having done it in forever… TERRIFYING!
Surprisingly, I had something to say. We exchanged pleasantries about our work life, his being an electrician, mine in business. We talked about all the stupid stuff that you cover on a first conversation. At one point I started to notice myself getting a bit out of breathe, huh, that was weird, I mean, I do exercise. Had I really been talking so much that I couldn’t catch my breathe… the answer to that was yes. I had a major case of oral diarrhea. I paused for a minute to catch my breath and all that I heard was my breath. My oral sickness was due to the fact that Shawn wasn’t just afraid of the keyboard, but apparently his voice too!
Again, ignoring reason, I gave Shawn the benefit of the doubt. He was shy, he was nervous. Perhaps he would relax after a couple of conversations. Well a couple of conversations we had, he did warm up, a bit. He finally asked me out, after several conversations. Now, I was even more nervous, I hadn’t lost that relationship weight yet. I was going to meet up with a tall, slender, shy gentlemen at a tavern with no time to drop twenty pounds. Oh well, it was time for me to realize that I was the one dating, now, not twenty pounds from now.
Upon arrival at the tavern I found myself face to face with Shawn, four years older than his picture and forty pounds heavier. I no longer worried about my twenty pounds. So, I sat down, feeling somewhat betrayed, but figured a girl’s gotta eat right? Our conversation was slow, topics such as work and family were vaguely touched upon. I felt myself leading the conversation again, but not because I wanted to, but because without doing so, there would have been no conversation.
After ordering dinner, something that I did not want to, I prefer the first date drink only option, Shawn seemed to warm up and began talking. It was when dinner was served that he really began talking. Somewhere along the conversation journey the topic of alternative energy sources was brought up, not by me. I thought that I could keep up, I mentioned wind energy, and e-85, I thought that I was good.
Suddenly Shawn brought up cold fusion. What… cold fusion? The only thing that I could think of to add to the cold fusion conversation was about the movie The Saint. So, I basically, shouted, oh yea, they talk about that in the movie the Saint with Val Kilmer and Elizabeth Shue right? He looked as lost as I was. So, I tried to explain the plot, I even included character names, (shocking that I knew them yes, I went through a Val Kilmer stage). Shawn looked at me as though I had three heads, it was with that look that I recognized on my face when he was seriously talking about alternative energy sources. It was basically at that moment that I knew, there would be no date two.
Heart break is painful. People have been going through heart break since the beginning of time, sure I have no proof of it, but as I know women, and I think I do, we have either been suffering from heart break or making others suffer from the beginning of time. This time though, I was the one suffering.
I had strange ways of dealing with my suffering. Instead of sitting around wallowing in my pain, and eating my depression, I decided to join an online dating web site. The first site that I joined was free. It had a totally cheesy name, and didn’t ask too many personality questions, but pictures were imperative. Now, I realize that I am more Drew Barrymore, than Heidi Klume, but Drew isn’t horrible looking, right? Luckily, I practically had a glamour shot from yearbook picture from my previous job that I had at the high school.
I got some hits, but most of the chat requests were from skeevy men who were far from gentlemanly! This method was certainly not easing heartbreak, in fact, it was making me wish for the ‘dude’ back that broke my heart. I needed a to try something else. While browsing the web one morning, I literally stumbled upon a website that looked hip, cool and it seemed to have credibility, so I jumped right in. It asked way more personality questions than the other website, already I felt better about this one. I took a great deal of time and care on my profile.
My use of sporting analogies would have impressed John Madden. (Look another one!) Again, I used my glamour shot yearbook pic and off I was, another online dating adventure.
This website was different though, it did not let you browse through the gentlemen, it matched you. Sounds cool right, NOT, it stunk, it only gave you ten men to look at per day. For a girl getting over a break up, those were not good numbers, I wanted men by the hundreds to assure me that there still were actually men out there. To be honest, more than half of the heart ache was caused by the debilitating fear of growing old alone.
Anyway, back to online dating, (something much more uplifting that growing old alone!). When presented with the ten men that this website provides, essentially, I was able to give each a thumbs up or a thumbs down. Once this was done, they would have to do the same for me. After that stage, meaningless priority scales are exchanged. An example of this priority scale was that I had to rate on a scale of one to ten how important humor, money, and religion were to me. Typically, when at this stage with a guy, I ignored all of that crap, just so that I could get to the email stage of the process. Communication either live or via email is what gets you to know people right?
So, I finally got to the email stage with one of my guys. I was so excited, I would be able to finally find out about this guy… heartbreak what? His name was Shawn, he was tall and slender in his pictures, so cute. One of his pictures was taken in Ireland, already I was impressed. Unfortunately, Shawn was not much of an emailer. He had a tendency to shoot rapid fire questions rather than exchanging a friendly email dialogue, I felt like I was on CNN Cross Fire. Ever the optimist, I kept the faith that perhaps he just wasn’t much of a typist. Over one of our emails Shawn asked if we could talk on the phone, I was estactic. I was desired, I was wanted, and now with phone time, I would be able to shine! He called me one night, I screened the call of course, then called him back. I was terrified. I hadn’t flirted with a guy in quite some time. What if I had forgotten, is it really like riding a bike? What does that even mean, I can only imagine what getting on a bike must feel like after not having done it in forever… TERRIFYING!
Surprisingly, I had something to say. We exchanged pleasantries about our work life, his being an electrician, mine in business. We talked about all the stupid stuff that you cover on a first conversation. At one point I started to notice myself getting a bit out of breathe, huh, that was weird, I mean, I do exercise. Had I really been talking so much that I couldn’t catch my breathe… the answer to that was yes. I had a major case of oral diarrhea. I paused for a minute to catch my breath and all that I heard was my breath. My oral sickness was due to the fact that Shawn wasn’t just afraid of the keyboard, but apparently his voice too!
Again, ignoring reason, I gave Shawn the benefit of the doubt. He was shy, he was nervous. Perhaps he would relax after a couple of conversations. Well a couple of conversations we had, he did warm up, a bit. He finally asked me out, after several conversations. Now, I was even more nervous, I hadn’t lost that relationship weight yet. I was going to meet up with a tall, slender, shy gentlemen at a tavern with no time to drop twenty pounds. Oh well, it was time for me to realize that I was the one dating, now, not twenty pounds from now.
Upon arrival at the tavern I found myself face to face with Shawn, four years older than his picture and forty pounds heavier. I no longer worried about my twenty pounds. So, I sat down, feeling somewhat betrayed, but figured a girl’s gotta eat right? Our conversation was slow, topics such as work and family were vaguely touched upon. I felt myself leading the conversation again, but not because I wanted to, but because without doing so, there would have been no conversation.
After ordering dinner, something that I did not want to, I prefer the first date drink only option, Shawn seemed to warm up and began talking. It was when dinner was served that he really began talking. Somewhere along the conversation journey the topic of alternative energy sources was brought up, not by me. I thought that I could keep up, I mentioned wind energy, and e-85, I thought that I was good.
Suddenly Shawn brought up cold fusion. What… cold fusion? The only thing that I could think of to add to the cold fusion conversation was about the movie The Saint. So, I basically, shouted, oh yea, they talk about that in the movie the Saint with Val Kilmer and Elizabeth Shue right? He looked as lost as I was. So, I tried to explain the plot, I even included character names, (shocking that I knew them yes, I went through a Val Kilmer stage). Shawn looked at me as though I had three heads, it was with that look that I recognized on my face when he was seriously talking about alternative energy sources. It was basically at that moment that I knew, there would be no date two.
Fido the Fink
Written in April 2005
After months of dating with my boyfriend and I, both of us still living at home we thought we had the art of avoiding the parents perfected. But, the minute we started to get comfortable, we got careless.
When it came to making out we had learned that if we left the television on, we could make out safely on the couch with no worries about noise. As thing started to get more intense as we dated longer, I could not get the image of his mother or father walking down the stairs catching us mid-grope. I started to get wierded out by the knowledge that the parents were just a flight of stairs away.
We began to argue about it, he called me a dead fish one night. Because instead of being in the heat of passion, like he was, I was dead still thinking that every noise I heard was the garage door opening with his younger brother walking in.
Finally, we were smart enough to make our way to the basement. Two flights of stairs separating us from the parents. (Thinking back, I actually cannot believe that it took us that long to think of it?)
One night he and I got into a fight. Typical affair for a young fiesty couple. Well, it was late into the night before the whole affair was finally settled, and I was exhausted. He offered to let me sleep over with the similar clause on the offer as always, I had to sleep in a separate bed from himself, (parents rules). Those crazy catholic parents, they think that sleeping together means sex. Well, in our case it did, so I guess that they were not wrong to put that stipulation on it.
Anyway, after making up, (best part of fighting), we laid on the couch even more exausted than before the fight, both of us were falling asleep. I nudged him to wake up, I was totally paranoid about those crazy catholic parents finding us sleeping together in the morning. He woke up and grunted that we were both fully clothed again and that there was nothing to worry about, just two innocent adults sleeping on a couch together snuggling. So, I fell asleep.
Early the next morning I heard his dog come down the stairs. I petted him and when he started to lick my face I shooed him away, I needed more sleep. Finally, he left, I was wide awake. I decided to get dressed and sneak home before anyone knew that we were even sleeping on the couch in the basement. I sucessfully made it out, no one knew any better, or so I thought!
Later that afternoon, I received a call from him. He and his mother had been talking, she had let the dog out earlier that morning. She continued to tell him that while she was making coffee the dog had found its way to the basement. She hurried down to make sure that he did not wake either of us, surprised as she was to see us both on the couch. Anyway, she managed to get the dog back up stairs but, as she began to finish making the coffee, the dog kept nudging her leg for her to play with him. She looked down and realized that the dog had something in his mouth, figuring it was a toy she started to tug at it. Finally, she got the "toy" out of his mouth and was about to toss it back for the dog to fetch and realized what it was... a condom.
Hearing this story on the phone was probably no less horrifying than hearing it come from your own mother. I do not think that I spoke for about two minutes and when I finally did open my mouth the words that managed to make their way out was "Oh my God." (Great time to invite God into this… right!)
He said that his mom was ok was being cool about it, but I could not help but think that the next time I went over to his house I would have a big A pinned on my shirt.
After months of dating with my boyfriend and I, both of us still living at home we thought we had the art of avoiding the parents perfected. But, the minute we started to get comfortable, we got careless.
When it came to making out we had learned that if we left the television on, we could make out safely on the couch with no worries about noise. As thing started to get more intense as we dated longer, I could not get the image of his mother or father walking down the stairs catching us mid-grope. I started to get wierded out by the knowledge that the parents were just a flight of stairs away.
We began to argue about it, he called me a dead fish one night. Because instead of being in the heat of passion, like he was, I was dead still thinking that every noise I heard was the garage door opening with his younger brother walking in.
Finally, we were smart enough to make our way to the basement. Two flights of stairs separating us from the parents. (Thinking back, I actually cannot believe that it took us that long to think of it?)
One night he and I got into a fight. Typical affair for a young fiesty couple. Well, it was late into the night before the whole affair was finally settled, and I was exhausted. He offered to let me sleep over with the similar clause on the offer as always, I had to sleep in a separate bed from himself, (parents rules). Those crazy catholic parents, they think that sleeping together means sex. Well, in our case it did, so I guess that they were not wrong to put that stipulation on it.
Anyway, after making up, (best part of fighting), we laid on the couch even more exausted than before the fight, both of us were falling asleep. I nudged him to wake up, I was totally paranoid about those crazy catholic parents finding us sleeping together in the morning. He woke up and grunted that we were both fully clothed again and that there was nothing to worry about, just two innocent adults sleeping on a couch together snuggling. So, I fell asleep.
Early the next morning I heard his dog come down the stairs. I petted him and when he started to lick my face I shooed him away, I needed more sleep. Finally, he left, I was wide awake. I decided to get dressed and sneak home before anyone knew that we were even sleeping on the couch in the basement. I sucessfully made it out, no one knew any better, or so I thought!
Later that afternoon, I received a call from him. He and his mother had been talking, she had let the dog out earlier that morning. She continued to tell him that while she was making coffee the dog had found its way to the basement. She hurried down to make sure that he did not wake either of us, surprised as she was to see us both on the couch. Anyway, she managed to get the dog back up stairs but, as she began to finish making the coffee, the dog kept nudging her leg for her to play with him. She looked down and realized that the dog had something in his mouth, figuring it was a toy she started to tug at it. Finally, she got the "toy" out of his mouth and was about to toss it back for the dog to fetch and realized what it was... a condom.
Hearing this story on the phone was probably no less horrifying than hearing it come from your own mother. I do not think that I spoke for about two minutes and when I finally did open my mouth the words that managed to make their way out was "Oh my God." (Great time to invite God into this… right!)
He said that his mom was ok was being cool about it, but I could not help but think that the next time I went over to his house I would have a big A pinned on my shirt.
Role Reversal
Written in February 2008
It was about mid morning and I was chugging through the late week work, trying to meet my deadlines, when I my cell phone rang. My cell phone rarely rang at work, and I hear it even less. For some reason, I was able to hear it, and it was my mother. She was injured at her school and needed to get to the emergency room for some test. She was nervous, but being the stubborn woman that she is, insisted upon driving herself.
It was wierd, we were mother and daughter walking into the emergency room, but our roles were completely reveresed. As the sliding doors opened the smell of hospital disinfected assalted my nose. We were usered into a cubicle type room that was used for registering patients, and waiting began. A nervous paramedic in training named Maria popped into the room to take my mothers vitals. While Maria was in the small cubicle, a surly nurse squeezed in to make the room feel smaller. Poor Maria tried to finish her tests, but the surly nurse pulled rank and finished them for her.
Our next stop on the Emergency Room Journey was to our very own cozy room, with the warm and inviting lighting of the neon lights and the sterile furniture and uncomfortable bed. My mom was wheeled in and instructed to strip down and wear the gown. Now on a normal basis this would not sound inviting, but my poor mother was already cold with her two winter coats on. She was a true sport and did as she was told, without complaining as I would have.
After what seemed like an eternity, a woman came into our curtained room and introduced herself as the doctor. At first she was gentle and relating to my mother. She was attentive and answered my questions, but suddenly, the gentle doctor turned into a moodswing monster. The doctor snapped at my question, and shoot a look that would have killed a grizzly from miles away. It sure shut me up quickly. After the cold front left the room, we waited again.
A nurse, different from surly nurse, came in to take my mother for tests. I watched the clockand waited as the minutes clicked by. I used the phone, I got a drink, I read both pamphlets in the room (the first about germs and the second about tetnaus shots, and learned more than I really wanted to know about either), was completely out of my mind bored and worried about my mom. She may be stubborn, and tough, but she is still my mom.I started to think, how wierd it was to be worried about her. I had a flash of role reversal when we were on the way in, but it was really setting in this time. My stomach started to churn in a way I had never felt. My imagination had come up with a what seemed like a million scenarios as what the future held for my mother.
By the time my mom came back from some of the tests, I had concluded that she was going to have a myriad of diseases and health problems, most of which I could not spell, nor pronounce.Dr. Moodswing flew back into the room just long enough to curtly tell my mother she was FINE and should feel that way after taking multiple pain pills she was prescribing. We were discharged, FINALLY. We left the hospital the world was back the way it should be, my mother was ok.
It was about mid morning and I was chugging through the late week work, trying to meet my deadlines, when I my cell phone rang. My cell phone rarely rang at work, and I hear it even less. For some reason, I was able to hear it, and it was my mother. She was injured at her school and needed to get to the emergency room for some test. She was nervous, but being the stubborn woman that she is, insisted upon driving herself.
It was wierd, we were mother and daughter walking into the emergency room, but our roles were completely reveresed. As the sliding doors opened the smell of hospital disinfected assalted my nose. We were usered into a cubicle type room that was used for registering patients, and waiting began. A nervous paramedic in training named Maria popped into the room to take my mothers vitals. While Maria was in the small cubicle, a surly nurse squeezed in to make the room feel smaller. Poor Maria tried to finish her tests, but the surly nurse pulled rank and finished them for her.
Our next stop on the Emergency Room Journey was to our very own cozy room, with the warm and inviting lighting of the neon lights and the sterile furniture and uncomfortable bed. My mom was wheeled in and instructed to strip down and wear the gown. Now on a normal basis this would not sound inviting, but my poor mother was already cold with her two winter coats on. She was a true sport and did as she was told, without complaining as I would have.
After what seemed like an eternity, a woman came into our curtained room and introduced herself as the doctor. At first she was gentle and relating to my mother. She was attentive and answered my questions, but suddenly, the gentle doctor turned into a moodswing monster. The doctor snapped at my question, and shoot a look that would have killed a grizzly from miles away. It sure shut me up quickly. After the cold front left the room, we waited again.
A nurse, different from surly nurse, came in to take my mother for tests. I watched the clockand waited as the minutes clicked by. I used the phone, I got a drink, I read both pamphlets in the room (the first about germs and the second about tetnaus shots, and learned more than I really wanted to know about either), was completely out of my mind bored and worried about my mom. She may be stubborn, and tough, but she is still my mom.I started to think, how wierd it was to be worried about her. I had a flash of role reversal when we were on the way in, but it was really setting in this time. My stomach started to churn in a way I had never felt. My imagination had come up with a what seemed like a million scenarios as what the future held for my mother.
By the time my mom came back from some of the tests, I had concluded that she was going to have a myriad of diseases and health problems, most of which I could not spell, nor pronounce.Dr. Moodswing flew back into the room just long enough to curtly tell my mother she was FINE and should feel that way after taking multiple pain pills she was prescribing. We were discharged, FINALLY. We left the hospital the world was back the way it should be, my mother was ok.
Mission Makeout
Written in October 2006
A single gal’s least favorite thing to do on a Saturday is go to a wedding. I received a wedding invitation to my high school friends wedding, oh joy. I was definitely not looking forward to going. Luckily, a large group of my girl friends were also single and going alone. Still the idea of going to a wedding when single, was not something my idea of a wonderful Saturday. I convinced my friend to go dress shopping with me, if I was going to go to this wedding, I wanted to looked good. I bought a somewhat scandalous green halter dress that paired nicely with spikey gold heels. Single gals need to have fun too, and thus began mission makeout.
On the day of the wedding I was running terribly late. I wanted my hair to be just right, I needed to perfumed, but not too much, gum for good breath and a toothbrush too! I just kept forgetting things. When I finally got in my car, I was running VERY late. I was about a half mile from the church when a freight train pulled right in front of my car. So, basically, I ran in to the church late. My friend the bride was just about to walk down the aisle as I ran to get a seat next to my other friends. As I sat down, I was blissfully unaware of all the glares I was getting for my tardiness!
The ceremony was beautiful. It was rather surreal. I met the bride before our first day of high school at volleyball camp. I saw the groom go through a rough glasses phase between freshman and junior year. They were getting married. I was sitting watching my two friends stand up in front of me and pledge their eternal love. I couldn’t believe that I was hearing these two young people do something so adult. All I wanted to do in my skanky outfit was makeout with an eligible bachelor, and my friends were pledging to makeout with only one person forever! Shocking!
At about the homily, my friend in a whisper pointed out the usher sitting two pews ahead of me. He was tall, and from the back looked fantastic in a tux, hmmm, he would do just fine. I did feel a bit awkward checking out a man in the House of God, but God would want me to makeout right, it’s just good clean fun? The wedding ended and that long and terrible time in between weddings and receptions began. Four of my friends and I were sharing a hotel room near the reception site, so we filled that time with several drinks and signing wedding cards. The more we drank, the funnier we thought we were.
With our DD already appointed we piled into a car headed over as the reception began. Our table was half my gals, and half of the bride’s work friends, uh oh. My friends and I have a tendency to take over everything, and that night proved to be no exception. The wine began passed at my friends glasses and somehow never made it to the work friends. A waiter brought a second carafe and sadly, that too never made it to the work friends. The wedding was turning out to be more fun than I expected.
After two wine carafes my friends and I were dancing queens. Mission Makeout went into full swing on the dancefloor. There, I took my slinky green dress and spiky heels and shook it like a white girl. I scanned the dance floor for the hot usher and spotted another gentleman, a second option for mission makeout. I would need to weigh my options carefully, flirt appropriately, and shake it in both their directions. I spotted hot usher approaching the bar, dropped my drink on the nearest table and headed off to order another one.
I suavely ordered another vodka and something and smiled through the tipsy haze at the hot usher. Hot usher smiled back at me, sweet, I was in. We struck up some lame conversation about something that I cannot remember. He then introduced himself as the usher from the wedding next door. What? I think he was trying to make some sort of a joke or he was trying to pull my leg. I clearly had been checking him out at the church, so what was he talking about? In the course of mission makeout, I of course, played along. I even introduced him to one of my gals as the usher from another wedding. When it was just about to get weird, he laughed and admitted he knew the groom from college. Thank goodness! If he had kept that charade up much longer, I would have had to move on to option two. Phase one of mission makeout was complete, begin phase two.
Phase two posed a bit of an issue as hot usher didn’t dance. I used my feminine wiles and dragged him on the dance floor. It worked for about two songs and then hot usher pulled a Houdidni and disappeared. Bummed by the missing hot usher, I left the reception with my gals. We had found out everyone was heading to the hotel bar, fingers croseed that all my efforts weren’t for naught.
Sitting at the bar, hot usher was drinking Jack on the rocks… Hoorrah! I sat flirtatiously next to him leaning just forward enough for him to catch my scent of perfume mixed with vodka, oh yea and a classy view of my rack. I was incourageable, my mission was the only thing on my tipsy brain. While I was thinking of how suave and flirty I was, my friends later had the pleasure of how informing me that I was acting like a fool. Embarrassment would have to be dealt with later, I was so close. Between sips of his jack straight he was sending the signals hard core, that or he was drunk, but that was not an option at the time. Phase two complete, Phase three, always had been a bit trickier.
In phase three, I needed to get hot usher alone. My first attempt failed, I loudly announced that I needed to go to the washroom, then tip toed out thinking that he would have followed. He did not. (I later realized that the bathroom pickup was not the hottest option that I could have gone with.) I got smarter in my second attempt, or so I thought, I said that I had forgotten my room key, and needed to head up stairs to get one from my friend. Take two, again no dice. In the time that I was aimlessly walking the halls getting my room “key” the bar had started to clear out. What was it going to take?
Finally, I just asked him if he wanted to walk me to my room, at least if I wasn’t going to makeout, I would have company on my second walk up to my hotel room. About ten steps outside of the bar, he threw me against the wall and kissed me as if I was the heroine in a harlequin romance novel and he the hero. It was hot. We kissed against the wall for several minutes. Hot usher really was a hot usher, he had these arms and shoulders that were strong and muscled. His hands found my back and pulled me against him. When we both came up for air, we headed up to his room. The connection was fuzzy because of the cocktails, but the heat could not be denied.
In his room, on the bed, hands were everywhere, his lips were all over me and things were moving quickly, until… knock knock, pound, pound… “Lemme im!” Hot usher’s buddy and bunkmate for the night, had come a knocking. Damn… we looked at each other, we weren’t finished, so we headed down to the hotel lobby. It was about two in the morning and the lobby was clear. We found a quiet couch around the corner from the lobby and continued to makeout. It was one of the hottest makeouts I had ever had. After two solid hours we kissed each other out. We were exhausted. Together, we dragged ourselves back up to my room, where I realized I actually didn’t have my key. We then tried his room, only to find out that he didn’t take the time mid makeout to grab a key. We tried pounding on his door, unfortunately, the booze induced coma roommate was not going to budge, back to my room. Three of my friends were sleeping none in a booze induced coma, someone had to wake up. We pounded, whispered, and pounded more. I was so tired, I sat on the floor, was I going to end up sleeping on the floor of a hotel? How dirty was I going to be that night?
Creak… the door opened and my annoyed sleepy friend glared at me and let the hot usher and I in. She threw us one pillow and one blanket and we were back on the hotel floor. GROSS! We madeout until we forgot the grossness of the situation and we fell asleep.
What felt like five minutes later, the drapes were thrown open. Ughh, the sun needed to go away. Morning had come to quickly and I had hot usher drool on my arm. I had just realized that the hot usher was still there, oh my gosh, what the hell was I supposed to do. I did what every girl does when trying to get rid of her previous nights makeout… I woke him up and kicked him out. I had hoped that I did not wake up my friends, but I was definitely not that lucky. On his way out, hot usher walked slowly and loudly. At the door he paused, and looked at me. What was he waiting for, I needed him to leave, the night was over? He then shocked me, and I am hard to shock. He asked me for my phone number. WHAT did he need that for? Oops, I actually said that part outloud. Reluctantly, I gave it to him, at least he would go away then. We had made out one night, what was he going to do with my number?
Oh well, he had it now, Mission makeout complete?
A single gal’s least favorite thing to do on a Saturday is go to a wedding. I received a wedding invitation to my high school friends wedding, oh joy. I was definitely not looking forward to going. Luckily, a large group of my girl friends were also single and going alone. Still the idea of going to a wedding when single, was not something my idea of a wonderful Saturday. I convinced my friend to go dress shopping with me, if I was going to go to this wedding, I wanted to looked good. I bought a somewhat scandalous green halter dress that paired nicely with spikey gold heels. Single gals need to have fun too, and thus began mission makeout.
On the day of the wedding I was running terribly late. I wanted my hair to be just right, I needed to perfumed, but not too much, gum for good breath and a toothbrush too! I just kept forgetting things. When I finally got in my car, I was running VERY late. I was about a half mile from the church when a freight train pulled right in front of my car. So, basically, I ran in to the church late. My friend the bride was just about to walk down the aisle as I ran to get a seat next to my other friends. As I sat down, I was blissfully unaware of all the glares I was getting for my tardiness!
The ceremony was beautiful. It was rather surreal. I met the bride before our first day of high school at volleyball camp. I saw the groom go through a rough glasses phase between freshman and junior year. They were getting married. I was sitting watching my two friends stand up in front of me and pledge their eternal love. I couldn’t believe that I was hearing these two young people do something so adult. All I wanted to do in my skanky outfit was makeout with an eligible bachelor, and my friends were pledging to makeout with only one person forever! Shocking!
At about the homily, my friend in a whisper pointed out the usher sitting two pews ahead of me. He was tall, and from the back looked fantastic in a tux, hmmm, he would do just fine. I did feel a bit awkward checking out a man in the House of God, but God would want me to makeout right, it’s just good clean fun? The wedding ended and that long and terrible time in between weddings and receptions began. Four of my friends and I were sharing a hotel room near the reception site, so we filled that time with several drinks and signing wedding cards. The more we drank, the funnier we thought we were.
With our DD already appointed we piled into a car headed over as the reception began. Our table was half my gals, and half of the bride’s work friends, uh oh. My friends and I have a tendency to take over everything, and that night proved to be no exception. The wine began passed at my friends glasses and somehow never made it to the work friends. A waiter brought a second carafe and sadly, that too never made it to the work friends. The wedding was turning out to be more fun than I expected.
After two wine carafes my friends and I were dancing queens. Mission Makeout went into full swing on the dancefloor. There, I took my slinky green dress and spiky heels and shook it like a white girl. I scanned the dance floor for the hot usher and spotted another gentleman, a second option for mission makeout. I would need to weigh my options carefully, flirt appropriately, and shake it in both their directions. I spotted hot usher approaching the bar, dropped my drink on the nearest table and headed off to order another one.
I suavely ordered another vodka and something and smiled through the tipsy haze at the hot usher. Hot usher smiled back at me, sweet, I was in. We struck up some lame conversation about something that I cannot remember. He then introduced himself as the usher from the wedding next door. What? I think he was trying to make some sort of a joke or he was trying to pull my leg. I clearly had been checking him out at the church, so what was he talking about? In the course of mission makeout, I of course, played along. I even introduced him to one of my gals as the usher from another wedding. When it was just about to get weird, he laughed and admitted he knew the groom from college. Thank goodness! If he had kept that charade up much longer, I would have had to move on to option two. Phase one of mission makeout was complete, begin phase two.
Phase two posed a bit of an issue as hot usher didn’t dance. I used my feminine wiles and dragged him on the dance floor. It worked for about two songs and then hot usher pulled a Houdidni and disappeared. Bummed by the missing hot usher, I left the reception with my gals. We had found out everyone was heading to the hotel bar, fingers croseed that all my efforts weren’t for naught.
Sitting at the bar, hot usher was drinking Jack on the rocks… Hoorrah! I sat flirtatiously next to him leaning just forward enough for him to catch my scent of perfume mixed with vodka, oh yea and a classy view of my rack. I was incourageable, my mission was the only thing on my tipsy brain. While I was thinking of how suave and flirty I was, my friends later had the pleasure of how informing me that I was acting like a fool. Embarrassment would have to be dealt with later, I was so close. Between sips of his jack straight he was sending the signals hard core, that or he was drunk, but that was not an option at the time. Phase two complete, Phase three, always had been a bit trickier.
In phase three, I needed to get hot usher alone. My first attempt failed, I loudly announced that I needed to go to the washroom, then tip toed out thinking that he would have followed. He did not. (I later realized that the bathroom pickup was not the hottest option that I could have gone with.) I got smarter in my second attempt, or so I thought, I said that I had forgotten my room key, and needed to head up stairs to get one from my friend. Take two, again no dice. In the time that I was aimlessly walking the halls getting my room “key” the bar had started to clear out. What was it going to take?
Finally, I just asked him if he wanted to walk me to my room, at least if I wasn’t going to makeout, I would have company on my second walk up to my hotel room. About ten steps outside of the bar, he threw me against the wall and kissed me as if I was the heroine in a harlequin romance novel and he the hero. It was hot. We kissed against the wall for several minutes. Hot usher really was a hot usher, he had these arms and shoulders that were strong and muscled. His hands found my back and pulled me against him. When we both came up for air, we headed up to his room. The connection was fuzzy because of the cocktails, but the heat could not be denied.
In his room, on the bed, hands were everywhere, his lips were all over me and things were moving quickly, until… knock knock, pound, pound… “Lemme im!” Hot usher’s buddy and bunkmate for the night, had come a knocking. Damn… we looked at each other, we weren’t finished, so we headed down to the hotel lobby. It was about two in the morning and the lobby was clear. We found a quiet couch around the corner from the lobby and continued to makeout. It was one of the hottest makeouts I had ever had. After two solid hours we kissed each other out. We were exhausted. Together, we dragged ourselves back up to my room, where I realized I actually didn’t have my key. We then tried his room, only to find out that he didn’t take the time mid makeout to grab a key. We tried pounding on his door, unfortunately, the booze induced coma roommate was not going to budge, back to my room. Three of my friends were sleeping none in a booze induced coma, someone had to wake up. We pounded, whispered, and pounded more. I was so tired, I sat on the floor, was I going to end up sleeping on the floor of a hotel? How dirty was I going to be that night?
Creak… the door opened and my annoyed sleepy friend glared at me and let the hot usher and I in. She threw us one pillow and one blanket and we were back on the hotel floor. GROSS! We madeout until we forgot the grossness of the situation and we fell asleep.
What felt like five minutes later, the drapes were thrown open. Ughh, the sun needed to go away. Morning had come to quickly and I had hot usher drool on my arm. I had just realized that the hot usher was still there, oh my gosh, what the hell was I supposed to do. I did what every girl does when trying to get rid of her previous nights makeout… I woke him up and kicked him out. I had hoped that I did not wake up my friends, but I was definitely not that lucky. On his way out, hot usher walked slowly and loudly. At the door he paused, and looked at me. What was he waiting for, I needed him to leave, the night was over? He then shocked me, and I am hard to shock. He asked me for my phone number. WHAT did he need that for? Oops, I actually said that part outloud. Reluctantly, I gave it to him, at least he would go away then. We had made out one night, what was he going to do with my number?
Oh well, he had it now, Mission makeout complete?
Blowfish
Written in December 2007
Ok... so I had put on what I call.... relationship weight. I hadbeen dating my ex-boyfriend for more than a year. Both of us had gotten comfortable with each other. He liked the fact that I am not high maintenance when I order food, like some women. But, often, that translates to eating crappy food.
I have been wearing the same pants that I used to wear when actually was skinny. Every morning I squeeze myself into these pants and count the minutes down until I can get out of them. Well, today, my pants had a different idea for me.
This morning I had an important meeting with some big wigs. These meetings are obnoxiously long, but food and beverages are always served. In these meetings one must drink coffee in order stay awake and be able to pay attention, so I did. I was trying to be more aware of what I eat, so I also drank a bottle of water too! Well, about halfway through the meeting I had to pee. The meeting was droning on, people were arguing about something unimportant. With every change in conversation, my attention drifted back to my bladder. Every other minute I shifted in my seat, I would briefly find a postition in which I could hold it a little better, and then it would come back to me... I had to pee. My boss's phone rang... I had my salvation... I ran to the bathroom.
I opened the door and went. RELIEF! I pulled up my pants quickly, rushing to get back to the meeting to beat my boss before the meeting started again, but then the worst happened. My pants wouldn't zip all the way. About three quarters of the way up the little black zipper just decided to tell me how fat I had actually become. It refused to go any farther. I panicked... I no longer cared about getting back to the meeting before my boss, I just needed to get back to the meeting with my pants zipped up.
I cursed that cookie that I ate about ten minutes before, I hated those m and ms that I popped in my mouth earlier that morning, and all that I could think about was why didn't I work out yesterday? I sucked in my stomach, and tried again. Nothing. I tried the ever popular jump and zip, it had worked for me in the past. Nothing. After twenty tries my fingers were beginning to raw and I was sure that everyone in that meeting wondered where I could have slipped off to. All that I could think about was what I had eaten the night before.
It finally inched shut. I breathed... but not too deeply, it was closed. By this point, my fingers were red, and my brow was slick with sweat, relief, my pants were closed. Back to the boredom I went with pants fully zipped and a resolution to work out that night.
Ok... so I had put on what I call.... relationship weight. I hadbeen dating my ex-boyfriend for more than a year. Both of us had gotten comfortable with each other. He liked the fact that I am not high maintenance when I order food, like some women. But, often, that translates to eating crappy food.
I have been wearing the same pants that I used to wear when actually was skinny. Every morning I squeeze myself into these pants and count the minutes down until I can get out of them. Well, today, my pants had a different idea for me.
This morning I had an important meeting with some big wigs. These meetings are obnoxiously long, but food and beverages are always served. In these meetings one must drink coffee in order stay awake and be able to pay attention, so I did. I was trying to be more aware of what I eat, so I also drank a bottle of water too! Well, about halfway through the meeting I had to pee. The meeting was droning on, people were arguing about something unimportant. With every change in conversation, my attention drifted back to my bladder. Every other minute I shifted in my seat, I would briefly find a postition in which I could hold it a little better, and then it would come back to me... I had to pee. My boss's phone rang... I had my salvation... I ran to the bathroom.
I opened the door and went. RELIEF! I pulled up my pants quickly, rushing to get back to the meeting to beat my boss before the meeting started again, but then the worst happened. My pants wouldn't zip all the way. About three quarters of the way up the little black zipper just decided to tell me how fat I had actually become. It refused to go any farther. I panicked... I no longer cared about getting back to the meeting before my boss, I just needed to get back to the meeting with my pants zipped up.
I cursed that cookie that I ate about ten minutes before, I hated those m and ms that I popped in my mouth earlier that morning, and all that I could think about was why didn't I work out yesterday? I sucked in my stomach, and tried again. Nothing. I tried the ever popular jump and zip, it had worked for me in the past. Nothing. After twenty tries my fingers were beginning to raw and I was sure that everyone in that meeting wondered where I could have slipped off to. All that I could think about was what I had eaten the night before.
It finally inched shut. I breathed... but not too deeply, it was closed. By this point, my fingers were red, and my brow was slick with sweat, relief, my pants were closed. Back to the boredom I went with pants fully zipped and a resolution to work out that night.
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