Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks


Just in the mood to write

Not a lot happened today, I'm just in the mood to write for some reason. (Insomnia's a bitch.) I ran some errands, spent some time at the bookstore, but did not buy any books for some odd reason. (Normally bookstore gift certificates from Christmas don't last nearly this long.) I know that the main reason I can't buy any books right now is that I'm in the middle of Anna Karenina by Tolstoy, which is as good as it is long. (And it is very long.) I'm about 350 pages into the 800-some-odd-paged book. While it's not something I would normally read, because I'm not a Russian nobility enthusiast, I am enjoying it. The writing is quite good and the translation I'm reading is very clear. Cheers all around. After the bookstore I sat at a coffee shop and read for awhile. Had a latte. (It was supposed to be an au lait, but the barista foamed the milk and I didn't really feel like complaining.) I talked to the aforementioned best friend from high school, who did, in fact, have quite a humorous story to tell. I'll spare the details, since it's not MY story. Basically, she ran into this guy at a bar and he was like, "Do I know you?" and she replied, very matter of factly, "Yeah, I had sex with you about four years ago." (This does not sound as funny as it really is ... imagine just deadpanning to a former hook-up who didn't totally recognize you that, yeah, you had slept with him.) Anyway, he tried to get her number and she managed to not have to part with it, and he came by her table later where all of her friends laughed at him because she immediately told them the story. It was amusing. On the matter of T and the late night phone call, she said I should call him and wake him up one night and see what he says. (I'm not going to do that.) She also said I should just keep the number in my phone and call him later and totally ignore the question of how I knew it was him calling. (I will probably not do this either ... I don't want to admit that I reverse-phone-numbered him. That's so cyber-stalkerish. Googling someone is acceptable, but using an internet directory to check their number off of the caller ID is pushing it. And yes, I Googled him. His name is a bit too common to really give me any good dirt, unfortunately.) Hopefully he'll call again and I'll actually answer this time. I put him in my phone under a pseudonym -- albeit a very OBVIOUS one to anyone who knows the full backstory. (Which has not yet been fully detailed on this site.) It's probably not obvious enough to tip off random people who look in my phone, however. (I have a tendency to do like pseudonyms in my phone. A friend once changed B's entry in my phonebook from his name to "Playin' Me." It stayed for months.) I hate that I'm now sitting by the phone waiting to see if he calls again. I hate being that pathetic, passive-aggressive woman, but I don't have the cahones to be the aggressor in this situation anymore. He joked that he likes passive women who stay in their place -- but I'm almost 100 percent sure that was said to annoy and tease me. Maybe it's because I've been burned in the past, but I don't know if my ego could handle him brushing me off if I called him. At least now I can rationalize not calling him because I can claim I didn't know it was him calling because he didn't leave a message, even though I know that's total bullshit. (Or maybe I'll just get drunk this weekend and throw caution to the wind and call him. It's not like I'm a Rules girl who can't call a boy.) (Most likely, I'll just obsess about this for the next few days.) Dear God, I am too good at being neurotic.



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Charming, but single is 25 26 27(!), lives in the Southern part of the U.S.A. and likes both her drinks and her boys tall. E-mail (listed below) her and she may respond. You can also IM her in AIM/AOL. (If she ever remembers to sign on.)
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Former taglines of this blog: "A Journal in Dates and Drinks" and "A Dateless Journal of Drinking."




Those Particulars
Some Backstory
Memories of the Way We Were
Updates and Towel Snapping
One Year Wrap-Up
Just As She Is
An Open Letter to Myself
After 26 years, she HAS learned something
An Open Letter to the Men Who Message Me Through Match
Sharing a smoke



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