So, I guess it's that time where I'm supposed to put together all of my collective thoughts about the year and sum it all up in a neat little synopsis, tied up tight with a little red bow.
Fuck that. 2008 was a messy year, it was all over the place, and so shall this blog post be.
As I think about the events of the last 12 months, I am shocked at how LONG this year seemed. I have always felt that my life has been rushing by me with every passing birthday, but this year seemed to drag on and on, torturing me with its longevity.
Many of the milestones that hit were heavy duty and seemed, at the time, drastic and traumatic: serious breakup, turning 40, and losing my job.
Looking back on those events, however, I am able to realize that a lot more good has come out of each of those things than not. The guy wasn't right for me...40 is the new 30....and I hated my job with a passion that shone as bright as a thousand suns. So only good can come out of any of it.
Another thing that I seem to have figured out this year that I am friggin RESILIENT. I keep getting punched in the face and somehow emerge with only minor bruising. The glass has been half full more often than not, although once in a while when it is half empty I do so want to fucking give up and throw in the towel on life. But not that often.
I've had break up sex. I've had make up sex. I've had booty call sex. I've dated guys that epitomize every male in NYC, from musicians to computer geeks to writers to former Olympians...guys with blue hair, stoner dudes, artists, frat boys, playrights. ALL of them had baggage. I got myself a stalker. I now know how it feels to be a complete victim and I will never take such things lightly AGAIN (he's still calling). I've made friends with guys who have had their dick in me, and made friends with guys who WANTED to have their dick in me. I've also lost friends, also because they've had their dick in me, and have learned the hard way that fucking is not always the answer to everything.
Mysterious Guy just called. He asked me this question: "If you weren't you, who would you be?" I couldn't even wrap my brain around that. If I wasn't me, I wouldn't be anyone. Period, the end. I'm taking this life, the good the bad and all of it, and making it whatever it needs to be. The pieces of my personal puzzle will fall into place, little by little they've already begun.
So. Happy New Year and all that crap. See you in the '09.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
All I Want for Christmas is a Restraining Order
As I mentioned in my last post, I had a date lined up with a guy called Psych Ward.
Susan commented that she was a little concerned about his name....which made me chuckle a little to myself. You see, the reason I named him Psych Ward is because of his profession. However, Susan is a smart cookie, and had reason to be worried, as I will illustrate for you now.
Psych Ward and I had plans to meet up at my favorite bar (note to everyone, do NOT take a first-time date to your favorite bar-a) you don't want your beloved bartenders to think you're actually WITH this person and b) your favorite bar will never, ever be safe again, since said person now knows where you hang out and can stalk you). Psych Ward is very attractive, which I think he spends most of his life using to his advantage. He seemed disheveled, but I cut him some slack as it was snowing out and he had commuted in from LI. Fair enough.
He did, however, reek heavily of Marlboro Reds, and everytime he went to the bathroom he would come back smelling like he had rolled around in an ashtray. I finally asked him if he was smoking in the bathroom, to which he gave me a boyish grin and admitted that indeed, he was.
He then proceeded to down several beers chased with shots of JD. One, two, three went down his gullet. The date was only an hour in and he was wasted and I was bored.
He suddenly became an octopus of gigantic proportions...all eight of his hands were groping at me while we sat at the bar. I kept shoving him off of me and actually told him right out that i didn't feel a love connection so I did not want him touching me. He retreated like a naughty puppy being punished for pooping in the house, but then five minutes later it was as if he'd completely forgotten about our previous conversation and started groping me all over again.
Marlboro tinged kisses kept coming my way. I kept telling him I did not want to kiss him. Why I stayed I have no idea. I don't know if it was because it was Saturday night and I didn't want to slink home at 9pm with my tail between my legs...or because I felt bad that he had taken the LIRR in just to meet me in the snow, or if he was just that pathetic that I didn't have the heart to just leave...so stupidly, I joined him in his intoxication and somehow the night was weirdly salvaged.
That is NOT to say that I was going to ever go out with him again.
I knew he was going to call...and I figured when he did I would let him know that I had a nice time but I didn't think we were a match...so sorry....best of luck...blah blah blah. Like any normal person would do, I have manners, I'm not a bitch.
He didn't call for several days, and I thought I might be off the hook...and then, there it was, the voicemail I'd been dreading.
"I want to take you out again. This weekend."
No, no no no all sorts of HELL NO.
I fully admit that I avoided calling him back, but in all fairness, it's Christmas week, and it's busy.
Yesterday, Christmas Day, he sent me several emails, and called me SEVEN times. The messages he left were so long that my voicemail was cutting him off. I have to wonder how long he still rambled before realizing he was talking to thin air. He accused me of screening my calls. He diagnosed himself on my voice mail. He diagnosed ME on my voicemail (apparently I have self-esteem issues). He gave me all the reasons why we should be together. He tried to get me jealous by telling me he was being pursued by another woman. He told me I was a bullshitter. He cursed, cajoled, pleaded, analyzed. It was horrifying and entertaining all at once. I didn't know whether to laugh or call the cops.
It never even occurred to him that it was Christmas, and the reason that I hadn't picked up my phone was because I was spending the day with my family. It was like that episode of Seinfeld, where George leaves 500 messages on his date's machine, getting more and more angry that she's not calling him back, and it turns out that she had been away for the weekend and never checked her messages.
Except that was a really funny episode.
Susan commented that she was a little concerned about his name....which made me chuckle a little to myself. You see, the reason I named him Psych Ward is because of his profession. However, Susan is a smart cookie, and had reason to be worried, as I will illustrate for you now.
Psych Ward and I had plans to meet up at my favorite bar (note to everyone, do NOT take a first-time date to your favorite bar-a) you don't want your beloved bartenders to think you're actually WITH this person and b) your favorite bar will never, ever be safe again, since said person now knows where you hang out and can stalk you). Psych Ward is very attractive, which I think he spends most of his life using to his advantage. He seemed disheveled, but I cut him some slack as it was snowing out and he had commuted in from LI. Fair enough.
He did, however, reek heavily of Marlboro Reds, and everytime he went to the bathroom he would come back smelling like he had rolled around in an ashtray. I finally asked him if he was smoking in the bathroom, to which he gave me a boyish grin and admitted that indeed, he was.
He then proceeded to down several beers chased with shots of JD. One, two, three went down his gullet. The date was only an hour in and he was wasted and I was bored.
He suddenly became an octopus of gigantic proportions...all eight of his hands were groping at me while we sat at the bar. I kept shoving him off of me and actually told him right out that i didn't feel a love connection so I did not want him touching me. He retreated like a naughty puppy being punished for pooping in the house, but then five minutes later it was as if he'd completely forgotten about our previous conversation and started groping me all over again.
Marlboro tinged kisses kept coming my way. I kept telling him I did not want to kiss him. Why I stayed I have no idea. I don't know if it was because it was Saturday night and I didn't want to slink home at 9pm with my tail between my legs...or because I felt bad that he had taken the LIRR in just to meet me in the snow, or if he was just that pathetic that I didn't have the heart to just leave...so stupidly, I joined him in his intoxication and somehow the night was weirdly salvaged.
That is NOT to say that I was going to ever go out with him again.
I knew he was going to call...and I figured when he did I would let him know that I had a nice time but I didn't think we were a match...so sorry....best of luck...blah blah blah. Like any normal person would do, I have manners, I'm not a bitch.
He didn't call for several days, and I thought I might be off the hook...and then, there it was, the voicemail I'd been dreading.
"I want to take you out again. This weekend."
No, no no no all sorts of HELL NO.
I fully admit that I avoided calling him back, but in all fairness, it's Christmas week, and it's busy.
Yesterday, Christmas Day, he sent me several emails, and called me SEVEN times. The messages he left were so long that my voicemail was cutting him off. I have to wonder how long he still rambled before realizing he was talking to thin air. He accused me of screening my calls. He diagnosed himself on my voice mail. He diagnosed ME on my voicemail (apparently I have self-esteem issues). He gave me all the reasons why we should be together. He tried to get me jealous by telling me he was being pursued by another woman. He told me I was a bullshitter. He cursed, cajoled, pleaded, analyzed. It was horrifying and entertaining all at once. I didn't know whether to laugh or call the cops.
It never even occurred to him that it was Christmas, and the reason that I hadn't picked up my phone was because I was spending the day with my family. It was like that episode of Seinfeld, where George leaves 500 messages on his date's machine, getting more and more angry that she's not calling him back, and it turns out that she had been away for the weekend and never checked her messages.
Except that was a really funny episode.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Those Damn Rules
I'm sure none of you could tell, but I am not one to subscribe to the general rules of conformist society. Which I think is a very, very good thing. Except, my guy friends are trying to reign me in when it comes to dating.
I never really thought about such things as "the 3 date rule"...letting the guy call me first...not making the first move..playing hard to get. I mean, if you like someone, what's the big fucking deal? I've never been good at playing games, my poker face might as well be an "O" face and I get bored during Monopoly.
But, from what I understand, in these modern times of ours, men are still horribly antiquated in their dating rituals and beliefs, and I've been doing it ALL WRONG all this time. Can you fucking believe it??
Which means that, I'm not supposed to act on any impulsive instantaneous attraction to any of the guys that I date. I am supposed to act like a perfect little lady, let them give me a peck at the end of the night, and then I demurely slink off into the darkness, letting them wonder what mysteries lay underneath my mini skirt.
I am not to email them the next day, but instead wait the dreaded three or so days for them to contact me. When they ask me for plans, I am not to answer immediately, but instead make them wait, to give the impression that I am slightly unavailable.
Believe me, I have not gone insane. And I have not read that horrible book "The Rules" that makes me want to just vomit all over my Frye boots. This is advice that I am getting from trusted buddies of mine who allow women to act in such freakish ways.
I don't get it, but hey, I'll give it a try.
Enter Mysterious Guy. Mysterious Guy and I have been out twice now. I have a certain, inexplicable attraction to Mysterious Guy, but personality-wise I don't think we have a lot in common. However, he is the perfect candidate for this crazy experiment I am conducting..let's see how long I can keep him interested in me.
First date, he complimented me. A lot. He commented on my cleavage. How badly did I want to shove his face right in there, get a little motor boat action going right in the middle of the bar. But no...I had to sit there, clench my teeth, thank him, and start talking about clowns, or something. Anything to divert the conversation away from my twin peaks.
At the end of the night, he tried to walk me home, but I insisted that he go on his merry way. In truth, I was really craving a slice of pizza more than I was craving him, anyway...so it wasn't that much of a sacrifice. But I did let him kiss me, a lot. Kept my tongue where it belonged and told him I'd talk to him soon.
Well I'll be. I got a text from him later that evening making sure I got home ok. And an email the next day. And by Monday, he had asked me out again.
Date #2. An improv show and dinner. Again, conversation steered down a forbidden road. He asked me what my favorite sexual position is. I told him I didn't think that was appropriate dinner conversation *coughreversecowgirlcough*. I was amazed at how difficult it was for me to not lapse right into a full on discussion about the merits of doggie style and which of my four vibrators works best in that position..but I was good, and kept it clean.
I let him walk me to the train, and we made out on the steps, til some horrible teenagers walked by and screamed out "Oh look, they're in love." At least I hope they were teenagers, and not, like, people I work with or something. We broke away, he said he'd talk to me later and I scurried down the stairs like one of those subway rats I keep seeing on the tracks.
So now, I need to see if I've made it to Date #3.
I asked Ha Ha Sound what I should do now, the conversation went like this:
ME so. guy from sat night and i have emailed a few times since our last date...
he's asked me out the last two times
should i ask him for plans?
or wait and see if he asks me out a third time?
do you think it's wrong if i say "i'll make it worth your while"
hahahaha
Ha Ha Sound: yes
just wait
let him call
he'll call
Soooo....I wait.
But if I make it to Date #3, I hear there is a prize for being patient. And we all know what that is.
Fuck, yea!
I never really thought about such things as "the 3 date rule"...letting the guy call me first...not making the first move..playing hard to get. I mean, if you like someone, what's the big fucking deal? I've never been good at playing games, my poker face might as well be an "O" face and I get bored during Monopoly.
But, from what I understand, in these modern times of ours, men are still horribly antiquated in their dating rituals and beliefs, and I've been doing it ALL WRONG all this time. Can you fucking believe it??
Which means that, I'm not supposed to act on any impulsive instantaneous attraction to any of the guys that I date. I am supposed to act like a perfect little lady, let them give me a peck at the end of the night, and then I demurely slink off into the darkness, letting them wonder what mysteries lay underneath my mini skirt.
I am not to email them the next day, but instead wait the dreaded three or so days for them to contact me. When they ask me for plans, I am not to answer immediately, but instead make them wait, to give the impression that I am slightly unavailable.
Believe me, I have not gone insane. And I have not read that horrible book "The Rules" that makes me want to just vomit all over my Frye boots. This is advice that I am getting from trusted buddies of mine who allow women to act in such freakish ways.
I don't get it, but hey, I'll give it a try.
Enter Mysterious Guy. Mysterious Guy and I have been out twice now. I have a certain, inexplicable attraction to Mysterious Guy, but personality-wise I don't think we have a lot in common. However, he is the perfect candidate for this crazy experiment I am conducting..let's see how long I can keep him interested in me.
First date, he complimented me. A lot. He commented on my cleavage. How badly did I want to shove his face right in there, get a little motor boat action going right in the middle of the bar. But no...I had to sit there, clench my teeth, thank him, and start talking about clowns, or something. Anything to divert the conversation away from my twin peaks.
At the end of the night, he tried to walk me home, but I insisted that he go on his merry way. In truth, I was really craving a slice of pizza more than I was craving him, anyway...so it wasn't that much of a sacrifice. But I did let him kiss me, a lot. Kept my tongue where it belonged and told him I'd talk to him soon.
Well I'll be. I got a text from him later that evening making sure I got home ok. And an email the next day. And by Monday, he had asked me out again.
Date #2. An improv show and dinner. Again, conversation steered down a forbidden road. He asked me what my favorite sexual position is. I told him I didn't think that was appropriate dinner conversation *coughreversecowgirlcough*. I was amazed at how difficult it was for me to not lapse right into a full on discussion about the merits of doggie style and which of my four vibrators works best in that position..but I was good, and kept it clean.
I let him walk me to the train, and we made out on the steps, til some horrible teenagers walked by and screamed out "Oh look, they're in love." At least I hope they were teenagers, and not, like, people I work with or something. We broke away, he said he'd talk to me later and I scurried down the stairs like one of those subway rats I keep seeing on the tracks.
So now, I need to see if I've made it to Date #3.
I asked Ha Ha Sound what I should do now, the conversation went like this:
ME so. guy from sat night and i have emailed a few times since our last date...
he's asked me out the last two times
should i ask him for plans?
or wait and see if he asks me out a third time?
do you think it's wrong if i say "i'll make it worth your while"
hahahaha
Ha Ha Sound: yes
just wait
let him call
he'll call
Soooo....I wait.
But if I make it to Date #3, I hear there is a prize for being patient. And we all know what that is.
Fuck, yea!
Monday, November 03, 2008
Break Time
I woke up this morning with a complete feeling of dread. I couldn't put my finger on it, save for the fact that I've been feeling pretty down the last few days-and then I remembered that I have this entire week off.
Now, any normal and sane person would be ecstatic to realize that they will be spending the next seven days doing whatever they want, not having to report in to their job, being able to travel, or go to the gym for 10,000 hours, or sleep in and watch the telly if that's what they're so inclined to do.
Me, not so much. Me, I need to get all freaked out at the idea of having way too much TIME on my hands to obsess about stuff. Spending quality me time with Me is never a good way to utilize days off. Especially when in this sort of droopy, dreary, oh woe is me mood that seems to have overtaken me of late.
Looking for love in all the
wrong places has become my main focus in life, which I fully admit and take ownership of. But all of my efforts are absolutely getting me nowhere, obviously, so something clearly needs to change. Every couple of weeks I say to myself that I am going to quit dating cold turkey, and just coast for a while...build my friendships and work on me..but then some testosterone-emitting penis-wielding jerk always gets in the way! It doesn't help that I have absolutely no patience whatsoever and I refuse to allow myself time to get to know someone in a "proper" manner. But I'm learning, I guess...it's so hard to be good when one is in the prime of one's life and horny as fuck.
It's also really bullshit to realize that my last two boyfriends have completely moved on and are in relationships...I hate doing the comparison thing but hell if I'm not going to give into that little indulgence. It makes me feel even more pressure to be coupled up, which I know is ridiculous and childish but dammit, I wanted to win that game!!!
In all honesty, competition and horniness aside, I really am ready to find myself back in a twosome. I have a lot of love to give, I just need the right fucking person to want to accept it.
But this week off isn't about all that. This week off is supposed to be the gateway to finding myself in a better place. Thinking about my career, reaching out to people and networking, thinking about ways to make extra money other than this, cleaning up my act a little, and learning how to be more zen about things. I realize all of this is not going to happen in a week, but at least I can get the thought process going.
Except, I'm totally fucking depressed and all I want to do is go back to bed.
Now, any normal and sane person would be ecstatic to realize that they will be spending the next seven days doing whatever they want, not having to report in to their job, being able to travel, or go to the gym for 10,000 hours, or sleep in and watch the telly if that's what they're so inclined to do.
Me, not so much. Me, I need to get all freaked out at the idea of having way too much TIME on my hands to obsess about stuff. Spending quality me time with Me is never a good way to utilize days off. Especially when in this sort of droopy, dreary, oh woe is me mood that seems to have overtaken me of late.
Looking for love in all the
wrong places has become my main focus in life, which I fully admit and take ownership of. But all of my efforts are absolutely getting me nowhere, obviously, so something clearly needs to change. Every couple of weeks I say to myself that I am going to quit dating cold turkey, and just coast for a while...build my friendships and work on me..but then some testosterone-emitting penis-wielding jerk always gets in the way! It doesn't help that I have absolutely no patience whatsoever and I refuse to allow myself time to get to know someone in a "proper" manner. But I'm learning, I guess...it's so hard to be good when one is in the prime of one's life and horny as fuck.
It's also really bullshit to realize that my last two boyfriends have completely moved on and are in relationships...I hate doing the comparison thing but hell if I'm not going to give into that little indulgence. It makes me feel even more pressure to be coupled up, which I know is ridiculous and childish but dammit, I wanted to win that game!!!
In all honesty, competition and horniness aside, I really am ready to find myself back in a twosome. I have a lot of love to give, I just need the right fucking person to want to accept it.
But this week off isn't about all that. This week off is supposed to be the gateway to finding myself in a better place. Thinking about my career, reaching out to people and networking, thinking about ways to make extra money other than this, cleaning up my act a little, and learning how to be more zen about things. I realize all of this is not going to happen in a week, but at least I can get the thought process going.
Except, I'm totally fucking depressed and all I want to do is go back to bed.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Tall Tales
Tall Guy and I went out again on Saturday night.
I wasn't all that surprised that he wanted to go out with me again, I mean, I'm pretty amazing. And our makeout sesh was pretty intense. But ultimately, I knew that there were still issues at hand and that I didn't have much of an argument..I mean, unless I go out and buy some stilts, there's still a foot and a half difference in our heights.
Which, godammit, is so not a big deal to me!
I made him come to Brooklyn because I had been out pumpkin picking all day upstate and I was tired...in fact, I could have just as easily stayed home, but he seemed adamant that he really wanted to hang out again and who am I to say no?
So, I watched him down a shitload of beer. Cuz the guy can drink. I mean, he's really tall. 5 beers in and I'm still sipping my second vodka tonic, and I'm feeling myself getting wasted by the second, while he's staying relatively sober. And the subject of the height thing comes up AGAIN. I wouldn't let him get away with it as an excuse. I was like, "Tell me you don't like me (which you can't) tell me you're not attracted to me (which you are) but for the love of God do NOT tell me I am too short." It doesn't make any sense. To me. Then again, I'm not the one walking around with a 79 inch frame.
I finally decided that he just has issues, period, and told him as much. He didn't disagree with me. So I think we decided to just be friends. Except that he came home with me. And stayed the night. And stayed the morning. And we didn't act like friends, at least not the friends that I generally keep around (ok there's a few of you out there. shut up).
Especially since he spent a lot of time telling me how "different" I am...how he has never met anyone like me...so give the midget a chance, dude!
So I dunno. I hadn't heard from him all week, so I sent him a little email today...I don't even know what the purpose was...I guess to remind him I'm alive? I'm kind of at the point where I don't want to remind someone I'm alive anymore. I want to be chased. Just a little. No more chasing for me.
I've got two different thoughts going through my head. One is that I need to just walk away from this, if he is able to get past his shit, he'll let me know. But then my other thought is the one that is going to end up being the death of me...it goes something like this: "he needs to know how great you are. you need to remind him of how great you are, often, so that he will know that he will be missing out on something if he lets you go."
Yea, forcing someone to like you is one of my strong points, but in the end, never fruitful, and always painful.
He did call. And said something about having to go away over the weekend. So I said "Have fun" and he said "but. I'll talk to you before that."
Oh?
it's already Weds.
Whatever. I'm not holding my breath. I'm trying NOT to hold my breath.
Meanwhile...there's a perfectly nice guy who keeps calling. And I'm just not calling back. I can't call back...I don't have it in me. He might be the love of my life for all I know and I just don't care right now.
And Remax2 and I are supposed to go biking this weekend. He just called to confirm. Fucking Remax2. I would have killed to have that fuckwad pick up the phone and call me a month ago.
Life. Weird, shitty, freaky life.
I wasn't all that surprised that he wanted to go out with me again, I mean, I'm pretty amazing. And our makeout sesh was pretty intense. But ultimately, I knew that there were still issues at hand and that I didn't have much of an argument..I mean, unless I go out and buy some stilts, there's still a foot and a half difference in our heights.
Which, godammit, is so not a big deal to me!
I made him come to Brooklyn because I had been out pumpkin picking all day upstate and I was tired...in fact, I could have just as easily stayed home, but he seemed adamant that he really wanted to hang out again and who am I to say no?
So, I watched him down a shitload of beer. Cuz the guy can drink. I mean, he's really tall. 5 beers in and I'm still sipping my second vodka tonic, and I'm feeling myself getting wasted by the second, while he's staying relatively sober. And the subject of the height thing comes up AGAIN. I wouldn't let him get away with it as an excuse. I was like, "Tell me you don't like me (which you can't) tell me you're not attracted to me (which you are) but for the love of God do NOT tell me I am too short." It doesn't make any sense. To me. Then again, I'm not the one walking around with a 79 inch frame.
I finally decided that he just has issues, period, and told him as much. He didn't disagree with me. So I think we decided to just be friends. Except that he came home with me. And stayed the night. And stayed the morning. And we didn't act like friends, at least not the friends that I generally keep around (ok there's a few of you out there. shut up).
Especially since he spent a lot of time telling me how "different" I am...how he has never met anyone like me...so give the midget a chance, dude!
So I dunno. I hadn't heard from him all week, so I sent him a little email today...I don't even know what the purpose was...I guess to remind him I'm alive? I'm kind of at the point where I don't want to remind someone I'm alive anymore. I want to be chased. Just a little. No more chasing for me.
I've got two different thoughts going through my head. One is that I need to just walk away from this, if he is able to get past his shit, he'll let me know. But then my other thought is the one that is going to end up being the death of me...it goes something like this: "he needs to know how great you are. you need to remind him of how great you are, often, so that he will know that he will be missing out on something if he lets you go."
Yea, forcing someone to like you is one of my strong points, but in the end, never fruitful, and always painful.
He did call. And said something about having to go away over the weekend. So I said "Have fun" and he said "but. I'll talk to you before that."
Oh?
it's already Weds.
Whatever. I'm not holding my breath. I'm trying NOT to hold my breath.
Meanwhile...there's a perfectly nice guy who keeps calling. And I'm just not calling back. I can't call back...I don't have it in me. He might be the love of my life for all I know and I just don't care right now.
And Remax2 and I are supposed to go biking this weekend. He just called to confirm. Fucking Remax2. I would have killed to have that fuckwad pick up the phone and call me a month ago.
Life. Weird, shitty, freaky life.
Monday, October 13, 2008
You've Got Mail
As you may recall, a few months back my douchebag ex dumped one of our cats back in my lap. I couldn't have been happier to have Bong back, but having to have Douchebag back in my life, even for a mere 10 minutes, was traumatizing at best.
Douchebag texted me a couple weeks ago saying that he could come by one Saturday and bring over a box of record albums that he still had of mine, and pick up a box of stuff that snuck its way into my storage unit all those years ago.
I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of seeing him, yet again, but the thought of having all of my childhood records back - The Monkees, Captain and Tanille, The Osmonds and Shaun Cassidy, to name a few-was thrilling enough that I figured I could endure another 10 minutes with him.
I'm going to spare you all the agony of hearing about our second reunion, because really, how much hatred can one girl spew on her blog? I'm a lover, not a fighter...however, what I'm here to tell you is about what I found in that box of record albums.
It sat on the floor of my bedroom for a week, because I'm lazy like that...and I don't have anywhere to put a stack of records at the moment, so in the box they remained. Until I decided to have a cleaning frenzy and opened up the Pandora's box that lay at the foot of my bed.
Inside, I was greeted with 2 years worth of my mail.
Magazines, Christmas cards from people who didn't know I had moved, a box of cookies that a friend had baked and sent to the wrong address by mistake, junk mail, lots of junk mail....the icing on the cake was a bill from a hospital that did not know I had relocated, and sent me REPEATED requests for payment, which of course went unheeded, so I then received a stack of correspondence from a collection agency..again, unheeded. Another lovely gem that I found was a repeated request from the county clerk's office to fill out a form for jury duty, which of course I did not do. So the last correspondence from THEM is that if I do not show up in court by April 11, 2006, I am subject to a $1000 fine.
Two years worth of mail shoved into a box and handed to me as if this were a perfectly sane and natural thing to do.
I mean what the hell am I supposed to do with 2 year old cookies and 10 Shape Magazines from 2006?
I know it wasn't his duty to monitor my mail, but I honestly didn't realize that I was even still getting mail there. I had since moved, changed the address on all my important stuff...changed my address on my drivers license...I would like to think that if he noticed something important (ie a bill from a collection agency, or a last notice from the county clerk's office) that perhaps he could have let me know, but apparently shoving it in a box and moving it around multiple times was clearly easier to him.
All I want to do is write him a scathing email but honestly, what would be the point.
What is the MATTER with people?
Douchebag texted me a couple weeks ago saying that he could come by one Saturday and bring over a box of record albums that he still had of mine, and pick up a box of stuff that snuck its way into my storage unit all those years ago.
I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of seeing him, yet again, but the thought of having all of my childhood records back - The Monkees, Captain and Tanille, The Osmonds and Shaun Cassidy, to name a few-was thrilling enough that I figured I could endure another 10 minutes with him.
I'm going to spare you all the agony of hearing about our second reunion, because really, how much hatred can one girl spew on her blog? I'm a lover, not a fighter...however, what I'm here to tell you is about what I found in that box of record albums.
It sat on the floor of my bedroom for a week, because I'm lazy like that...and I don't have anywhere to put a stack of records at the moment, so in the box they remained. Until I decided to have a cleaning frenzy and opened up the Pandora's box that lay at the foot of my bed.
Inside, I was greeted with 2 years worth of my mail.
Magazines, Christmas cards from people who didn't know I had moved, a box of cookies that a friend had baked and sent to the wrong address by mistake, junk mail, lots of junk mail....the icing on the cake was a bill from a hospital that did not know I had relocated, and sent me REPEATED requests for payment, which of course went unheeded, so I then received a stack of correspondence from a collection agency..again, unheeded. Another lovely gem that I found was a repeated request from the county clerk's office to fill out a form for jury duty, which of course I did not do. So the last correspondence from THEM is that if I do not show up in court by April 11, 2006, I am subject to a $1000 fine.
Two years worth of mail shoved into a box and handed to me as if this were a perfectly sane and natural thing to do.
I mean what the hell am I supposed to do with 2 year old cookies and 10 Shape Magazines from 2006?
I know it wasn't his duty to monitor my mail, but I honestly didn't realize that I was even still getting mail there. I had since moved, changed the address on all my important stuff...changed my address on my drivers license...I would like to think that if he noticed something important (ie a bill from a collection agency, or a last notice from the county clerk's office) that perhaps he could have let me know, but apparently shoving it in a box and moving it around multiple times was clearly easier to him.
All I want to do is write him a scathing email but honestly, what would be the point.
What is the MATTER with people?
Fuck You Friend Zone
On my quest for finding a Someone, I found myself conversing with Tall Guy. Tall Guy and I have been talking for about a month now, with the caveat that he has height issues and only dates other Tall People. But thought it would be fun to get together for a beer with a Short Person like myself, because who can resist the likes of me? ;)
We talked on the phone a lot until we could find a free night for the both of us. Our conversations were lengthy, and always netted out with me laughing my ass off at pretty much everything he said. Which we all know is a huge turn-on to me. Another huge turn-on to me? When someone tells me I can't have something...his conversations always sort of ended with "you know, there is a HUGE height difference between us." (he is on the taller side of 6'4", and I am just under 5'4"). ie, we can probably never date...I reminded him that we were just meeting up for a beer and that he should stop worrying so much.
So we met last night at a bar in TriBeCa before I was to go a show for a friend's birthday. And dude is tall. I made sure to wear 4-inch heels so he wouldn't feel like he towered over me, but I still felt like one of the Lollipop Kids next to him. The thing is, I usually only date Tall People, it's not on purpose, but I do prefer long and lean to being with another Lollipop Kid such as myself.
After a few drinks it was painfully obvious that there was a definite attraction going on...we slid easily into a familiar place, since we'd spent so much time on the phone...but I kept hearing that dreaded "Friend Zone...Friend Zone" resonating in my brain. Fucking Friend Zone. I did NOT want to end up there YET AGAIN! But inevitably, the conversation turned back to the dreaded height bias. To the point where he even felt the need to tell me that if we were to ever have sex, the missionary position would be a joke.
To which I replied, "I only like to be on top."
Well, that seemed to have done the trick, because, at least for the next half hour or so, I'm pretty sure we exited the Friend Zone. Next thing I knew, we were making out like crazy, and then we were leaving the bar, and making out more (I had to stand on the stoop of a neighboring apartment building in order to reach) and then he walked me to my next destination , where I found myself pinned to a wall (standing on yet another stoop). Yea, I don't kiss my friends like that.
Me via text, several hours later: Let's do that again sometime.
Him: Yes, please!
We talked on the phone a lot until we could find a free night for the both of us. Our conversations were lengthy, and always netted out with me laughing my ass off at pretty much everything he said. Which we all know is a huge turn-on to me. Another huge turn-on to me? When someone tells me I can't have something...his conversations always sort of ended with "you know, there is a HUGE height difference between us." (he is on the taller side of 6'4", and I am just under 5'4"). ie, we can probably never date...I reminded him that we were just meeting up for a beer and that he should stop worrying so much.
So we met last night at a bar in TriBeCa before I was to go a show for a friend's birthday. And dude is tall. I made sure to wear 4-inch heels so he wouldn't feel like he towered over me, but I still felt like one of the Lollipop Kids next to him. The thing is, I usually only date Tall People, it's not on purpose, but I do prefer long and lean to being with another Lollipop Kid such as myself.
After a few drinks it was painfully obvious that there was a definite attraction going on...we slid easily into a familiar place, since we'd spent so much time on the phone...but I kept hearing that dreaded "Friend Zone...Friend Zone" resonating in my brain. Fucking Friend Zone. I did NOT want to end up there YET AGAIN! But inevitably, the conversation turned back to the dreaded height bias. To the point where he even felt the need to tell me that if we were to ever have sex, the missionary position would be a joke.
To which I replied, "I only like to be on top."
Well, that seemed to have done the trick, because, at least for the next half hour or so, I'm pretty sure we exited the Friend Zone. Next thing I knew, we were making out like crazy, and then we were leaving the bar, and making out more (I had to stand on the stoop of a neighboring apartment building in order to reach) and then he walked me to my next destination , where I found myself pinned to a wall (standing on yet another stoop). Yea, I don't kiss my friends like that.
Me via text, several hours later: Let's do that again sometime.
Him: Yes, please!
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