REASSURANCES

"So you're basically implying that you might like me. Is it just that you like me or do you like like me?"

"Hah! Fine! I like like you. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

THE INNER WORKINGS OF THE FEMALE MIND

Dear Interwebs,
Hi. I don't know if you've noticed or not but I am a girl.

If you're shocked, you're an ass.

Anyway! As a girl, I have this awful tendency to over analyze things. Things such as the global impact I'm having should my morning shower last over 10 minutes, or how wasteful I'm being by not eating the heel of the loaf of bread, or the sheer extravagance it now seems to drive to Clifton on the weekends to see my friends, or how guilty I feel for leaving my dog every day all by himself and placating him with food and OMG! He's going to be a fat, sausage dog because I only walked him 3 miles today instead of 4 or 5 and he definitely had more than his fair share of treats, AM BAD DOG MOMMY, or how exactly this relationship with a certain person of other-gender is going to work out. Because you notice? That right there? I CARE. I have a somewhat vested interest in whether or not this guy will pan out, something I had yet to feel with any of the others.

Which... shit.

Because tonight? Is only our fifth date, and my imagination is running H-A-V-O-C and I CANNOT READ THIS GUY. Which... is not entirely true, otherwise I would not have this previously mentioned gut instinct. So what that means is it isn't so much that I can't read him, I just don't trust myself to do it, because, what if I'm wrong?! What if he's just pretending to be interested in hanging out with me for some malicious reason? (Okay. I know. I KNOW! I am perfectly aware of how dumb that sounds, honest to god, I am, but as previously mentioned, I am a girl and therefore cannot be held accountable when logic and common sense take an OCCASIONAL vacation because I'm just a little bit more than slightly interested in a guy. A guy who happens to be smart and funny and successful and the brand new love of my preshus puppy's life.)

But, then again, tonight IS our third date in a week's time.

I'm pretty sure he's interested.

(The hell, though? What do I need, a freaking neon sign and his head firmly lodged up my ass? Um.. actually... that sounds like exactly what I want. Is that really too much to ask?!)

IN NEED OF A NEW NICKNAME

After a wonderful third date Thursday evening of dinner and pool and questions and flirting and him (finally) kissing me, I had a pretty strong gut feeling this weekend that Bachelor #9 would be sticking around for some time.

Last night confirmed it.

Not only did he not call Guinness annoying ONCE (even though he deserved it a few times), he let him chew on his hand for a solid five minutes and LAUGHED about it and played with him and pet him and showed him a general fondness. And Guinness seemed to take a liking to him as well, going so far as to lay himself across his chest and tuck his head under his chin, a maneuver he typically only reserves for me.

HUGE points in his favor. I mean... huge.

AND! He respects my boundaries. I know! Who knew, right? Also, really cute.

Last night, as a matter of course, I informed him of my intent to keep him around for a while, adding in a warning that for exactly how long was up to him (ie - annoying, needy, and domineering behavior would land his ass right out on the curb.) He laughed and asked how I felt about high maintenance.

So here is the thing. I need a new nickname for lucky Bachelor #9. Because "#9" sounds... what? Tacky? Nondescript? Boring? Slutty? Therefore, if he is to spend any amount of time around me and thus, any amount of time on this hear blog, then I need a new name to call him.

Help?

LOVE LETTERS

Dear Guinness,
I'm very sorry about kicking you in the head on our walk this evening. There must have been something incredibly interesting in the path of my foot and I just couldn't react in time.

Love,
Mama



Dear Mommy,
Is okay. Only minor concushun. I is tuff and haz hard head. Didn't even whimper like lil sissy dog cousin.

I can haz yer foods now though, right?

Paws,
Guin



Dear Guinness,
No, you can not "haz" my food.

XOXO,
Mama



Dear Female,
Bitch.

G

COMMON COURTESY IS, APPARENTLY, NOT SO COMMON

Dear Bachelor #2:

First off, don't text message me when you've been drinking. Because you're an idiot and it results in me telling you to f*ck off. And really, really meaning it.

Secondly (um, is that even a word?), don't be late. And stop cancelling on me. I realize you have a house you're trying to move into but there is a LOT to be said for making a girl feel special, and not being up to going out with me because you've been working on your house all day is not it.

Thirdly, if you ARE going to take me out, don't do it just to tell me an hour later, after I've already had a beer and can no longer drive anywhere (Why, yes. I am aware I'm a light weight. You want to make something of it BECAUSE I WILL CUT YOU.), that you are too tired to hang out anymore and are going to go home to bed. IT IS NOT EVEN TEN O'CLOCK, YOU ARROGENT JACKASS. What? You think you are the ONLY person I have to hang out with? You weren't even willing to come in and veg out on the couch.

I would have rathered you cancelled.

So I'm going to go back to my previous statement from last night. F*ck off.

SLAP-HAPPY

I am exhausted.

I have spent WAY too many nights this week (see: all of them) up late talking to various people. Now, it is generally assumed that when I'm tired, I'm cranky, and while this is true, there is one stage we reach before the cranky begins.

This stage has many names. Slap-happy. Goofy. Weird. Mostly weird.

Because you know what I did this morning? I sent an email out to my entire department, an email that anyone can walk in and request to see, and I used that email to all but declare war on a neighboring department.

All while giggling maniacally.

A LETTER FOR THE LADIES

My dear fellow womanly interwebers one and all! BEHOLD! For I have found the secret required to attract the men folk from near and far to your gracious and lovely forms.

Decide you don't want one.

Oh, it's easy enough to SAY you don't want on but that just won't cut it. You really need to mean it. You really have to believe it in order for this type of magic to occur, because it really does work like magic. In nigh on 24 hours OR LESS, the air will be ignited with sparks causing planets to reform and align into a giant, flashing, cosmic neon sign pointing right at your pretty little head and announcing to the whole of the male populous that you are frustrated and disinterested, a clear sign to back off and leave you alone, right? WRONG! These men will instead translate your disinterest into a seeming unattainability of sorts which will then SKYROCKET your apparent hotness exponentially. AND THEN! those bastards wil be coming out of the everloving woodwork.

But fear not. There is still one surefire cure to send them scurrying back to their little black holes.

The sweet, sweet reek of desperation.

THE REAL TRAGEDY OF IT ALL

Dear, sweet Interwebs, did you know I was fallible? Human? Prone to fits of stupidity and naivety? BECAUSE I SURE AS HELL DIDN'T. Why didn't anyone TELL ME?!

And now here I sit, shocked and dismayed. Appalled even. Because Bachelor #10? Did you know he was a player? Because he is. Oh hardcore he is AND I FELL FOR IT. But worse yet, I didn't REALIZE UNTIL THIS M-O-R-N-I-N-G that I fell for it.

But! But! But! Get this! He's a NERD! A genuine nerd! The man is a professional BAND GEEK for crying out loud! He used to be into D&D! He had a mullet in high school! (His defense on that one was it was the early 90s. Yes, he's that much older than me.) Geeks are not SUPPOSED to be smooth or charming or gut-wrenchingly funny! HE CHEATED!!!! I was not properly warned! And it is one thing, Dear Interwebs, to be duped and fall for a line in the moment but to not REALIZE it was a line until 36 hours later?!

I... am ashamed.

And the real tragedy of it all and the one thing that should have been the clearest indicator that I was maybe dealing with a professional? He is a really, really, REALLY good kisser. Like, good enough that if he DOES call back (which, like I said yesterday, I'm not really expecting) I might be seriously tempted to hang out with him again just FOR the kissing.

HELLO, INTERWEBS. I AM 25 FREAKING YEARS OLD AND I STILL NEED A CHAPERONE.

At least the second time around I'll be more skeptical, right? Right? Hello??? F*ck.

MEN OF HONOR

Bachelor #2 now holds the distinct honor of being the first person, with the help of Guinness, to spill something on the Patriot.

And it just so happens it was RED FREAKING WINE.

Jackass.

A BREAK BORE OF FRUSTRATION

Uch. I am done. DEE YOU ENN. Done.

It's gotten to the point where this just isn't fun anymore so what I'm going to do? I'm going to let the few remaining of the initial ten (oh, yes, Dear Interwebs, we're up to Bachelor #10) peter out into nothingness like they are all so bound to do and then I'm going to take a nice long break because I'm tired and I'm drained and, worst yet, I'm frustrated.

Because, you know? Out of all of this mess, I really found out that I have stronger feelings for the Distraction than I thought I did. And, because he and I have always been clear and upfront about our feelings and expectations, I told him that I was interested in more from of him.

Bottom line, he isn't ready. Not with me, not with anyone.

And then there is Bachelor #2 of the Piss-Me-Off persuasion who I really should just get rid of because I know it isn't going to work out and who, as a matter of fact, I probably will kick to the curb tonight when he comes over but for whatever reason I haven't done that yet.

Which brings us to Bachelor #9 who is still in the picture seeing how we've gone on two dates now but I'm not really sure of his interest level either despite him telling me he would call me again this week, but who, after date number two, isn't exactly someone I could see myself with long term.

And finally, Bachelor #10 who I met last night. I really rather like Bachelor #10. I like him the best out of the remaining three. He made me laugh until I cried. Alas, I remain unconvinced he'll call.

And that is just frustrating.

COUGAR

Two of my coworkers were standing around my desk, one threatening me with the possibility of maiming my eye if I didn't start a project for her, the other laughing uncomfortably and eyeing her suspiciously, when a fine looking guy walked by with one of the HR reps.

Let's just say he had a nice behind.

As he left, we mentioned to the HR rep that I thought he was attractive and inquired if she knew his age. She didn't know, but she went to go check. (YEAH! Because I have ins with HR 'round my joint!)

He was born in 1988.

HR: "Is that too young for you?"

Me: "I was born in '82! Let's just say if he can't buy beer, he's too young for me."

HR: "Are you sure? You could be a cougar."

Me: "!!! Don't you have to be a certain age to be considered a cougar? Like 40? 45?"

HR: "Alright. That's fine. You can be a baby courgar."

The Eye Maimer: "A whore baby cougar."

Bitches.

THE NEW AMERICAN DREAM

OMFG, you guys!!! Do any of you remember my fake internet boyfriend? Well, he just friended me on Facebook which means I am THAT much closer to having cheap, meaningless, and disappointing sex with an internet quasi-celebrity of questionable reputation!

Dreams really DO come true!

A FITTING TAGLINE IT WOULD SEEM

Tompkins: "It's okay. My wife is tough. She can take it."

Me: "Whereas I am a delicate flower."

Everyone else: "Damnit."

WHEREIN I ADMIT I'M AN IDIOT

So... um... we may not be kicking Bachelor #2 to the curb so soon after all. He managed not to piss me off once all night long and took me to see Iron Man and he cleans up nice and his butt looked really good in those pants and he killed bugs for me in my apartment and he drives a nice car and he has a house with a fenced in back yard and he's going to get a girl dog that Guinness can play with and if I keep him around long enough he might build me stuff or, better yet, teach me to build stuff.

I know, I KNOW! Quelled rage a mere 24 hours ago but STOP JUDGING ME! I mean, no, this guy is not The One (and should I ever be silly enough to say to you dear interwebs that I want to marry him, STOP ME) but he's fun for right now.

Besides, if I kicked him to the curb, my other boy issues (which I have yet to complain about, but oh... fret not, dear interwebs because I will) would be a bit less complicated. AND WHO WOULD WANT THAT?


Ed. Note: Ohh. He also likes Chuck Palahniuk who I am a complete and utter geek over because I have read nearly everything he has written* and oh, do I heart him so very, very, very much and want to have his demented little babies.

*There are a mere three books of his I am missing from my collection: Stranger Than Fiction: True Stories, Rant, and Fugitives and Refugees, any of which would make a great birthday, Christmas, belated housewarming, or just because present for the sick and twisted mind that is me. GET ON IT!

A BLOG ABOUT MY FEELINGS... AND BOYS... AND MY FEELINGS ABOUT BOYS

Dear Reader(s), I have a bit of a conundrum on my hands. I am going to a coworker's wedding this afternoon with Bachelor #2, who, at this point and if I was smart, I would drop like a bad, bad habit. Because he pissed me off something awful last night.

Twice.

You see, Bachelor #2? He was in Texas on business, and apparently his business is MUCH different from my business because he called me Tuesday night a little worse for wear in the beverage department, which he obtained for free. I took this as an opportunity to give him a little good-natured ribbing because we'd been on three dates to this point and the guy has not attempted to touch me. Open my car door? Yes. Pay for me? Yes. Ask me out again and again? Yes. A hug, a kiss, a cordial handshake? Sorry about your luck.

So I called him out on it by merely suggesting that if he were interested at all in making a move, I M-I-G-H-T be receptive (EXACT FREAKING WORDS HERE PEOPLE).

He took that to mean that our line of conversation could jump from first to fifth gear WITHOUT ANY TRANSITION WHATSOEVER. And I'll admit, I did not do the best of jobs reining him in once it went down hill. And holy god, what a hill.

But it was in that course of conversation that he all but invited himself along to this wedding because I was not yet with date. (This was BEFORE he turned all smarmy on me and yes, that is my only defense. What? You want to make something of it?)

Then last night he decided to stretch his perverted reach once again and demand something inappropriate in exchange for going to this wedding and after I shot his ass down he called later to SEE IF HE COULD GET OUT OF GOING. His excuse was that his dad was mad at him that he'd been doing all this work on his house while Bachelor #2 was gone on business and he really needed to spend the day helping out so his dad didn't ditch him completely.

Also, I was apparently wound a bit tight because I didn't find his "jokes" nearly as funny as I had on Tuesday.

Lucky for him, he grew up with three sisters and knows that the uncomfortable silences equal TRYING TO QUELL THE RAGE.

And really? At this point, I don't want him to go with me but he still is for a number of not very good reasons which I will list for you now:

• I had already turned in my RSVP with just little ole me listed on it but the coworker in question said it was still okay and, in fact, encouraged me to bring somebody.


• Once I told her I really was bringing someone, she had to rearrange her seating arrangements to accommodate him. (I did not know this until it was in the midst of happening and it also moves my ass from sitting near a coworker I dislike greatly.)


• It would be embarrassing at this point to show up dateless.


• I cannot get ahold of the Distraction to try to get him to take his place.

And now I get to spend the evening babysitting a date I don't really want to have while trying not to fall over in my three-inch heels and remaining appropriate yet sociable with people I have to work with every day who are gunning for me to do something stupid so they can HOLD IT OVER MY HEAD FOREVER AND EVER, AMEN.

BUT, SO HELP ME GOD, I WILL HAVE FUN AT THIS FECKING THING!

And then I'll throw his ass to the curb.

WE MAY HAVE TAKEN THE JOKE A TOUCH TOO FAR

Me: "I had to go shopping for a dress last night because I'm going to a wedding this weekend."

Cute and Funny Male Coworker: "ME TOO!"

Me: "Oh no! I hope we didn't get the same dress! Is yours black?"

C&FMC: "It is."

Me: "Does it swoop down in the back?"

C&FMC: "It does."

Me: "We may just have a crisis on our hands."

C&FMC: "Probably not, because my dress? It swoops way down."

Me: "Ohh! Does it show a little butt cleavage?"

C&FMC: "It shows the whole butt. It's really more of strip of black fabric that covers the nipple area. Anything below that is out in the open."

Me: "Oh wow. That's kind of tragic."

* * *

And then today:

Me: "I didn't see you when I was out walking Guinness last night!"

C&FMC: "That's because I didn't leave this god-awful place until 7. As in p.m."

Me: "That would be why. I got back early so I could go shoe shopping."

C&FMC: "Because that is very important."

Me: "It is! I had to get a little something to go with my new dress."

C&FMC: "Oh. (Conspiratorially) Are they slutty?"

Me: "Umm, yeah. They have to match the dress. Because toe cleavage is sexy!"

FITS OF GIGGLES

Think of all the situations in your life where laughing is NOT appropriate but it's kind of okay if everyone else involved is laughing too.

That's how my lunch went yesterday.