Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks


So, did you hear about my weekend? I had so much to say about it that I posted the Weekend Update TWICE. (It's been corrected. Sorry! This e-mail a post function leaves more than a few things to be desired.)

Anyway, I have officially become a cliche. (Some might argue that this I'm in a persistent cliche-like state, but what do they know?) In this long single girl drought I'm experiencing, with boys boys everywhere, but not a man to date, I have turned to the one thing that makes it all OK.


A few weeks ago a bought two pairs of black shoes because I had killed my favorite black pointy-toe pumps. (I simply wore them too much.) I figured I should replace this pair with two other pairs, so that no other shoes would have to meet such a sad fate. (I couldn't throw out the dead shoes. They're sitting in my room staring at me with these big puppy eyes, saying, "Put me in coach! I can handle it!" Poor dears. They're just too stretched out and they're scratched up and one of the heels has a big gash in it ... I've got to stop wearing the same pair of shoes for 18 hours in a row.)

Now, those two pairs of new shoes are great. I wear them a lot. But they're closed-toe heels and it's summer, so I needed something comfy for bumming around on the weekend. (To go with my cute summer skirts, duh.)

So, I bought two pairs of flip-flops. (Not terribly expensive, but still two pairs.) They're cute and comfy.

So that brought the tally of recent shoe purchases to four. (Also, since we're going with an honesty thing, I've also recently purchased two purses -- neither of which is the black everyday purse I need. But, pink! And, um, I got some new earrings. But I used my employee discount and one pair was a present for my sister.)

So, yesterday I took a different route home to avoid traffic. I passed by one of my favorite store for shoes and accessories. I didn't stop. I was very proud of myself. THEN, I saw the sign advertising a sale at another similar store and my Jeep decided to stop. (It didn't ask my permission to stop, it just KNOWS these things.)

I browsed a bit and didn't see much in the way of sale merchandise. Then someone pointed me to a shelf in the back which was rife with sale items.

Long story short, I bought two more pairs of black shoes. (The saleswoman played me! After I had decided on just one pair, she magically pulled two different styles out of the back in my size. They weren't even on the shelf yet! I had to buy at least one of them.)

Now, my friends, I feel that I can be honest with you. Trust me when I say that I have more pairs of uncomfortable black shoes than I have good sense. Seriously, the last thing I needed was more black heels (especially black shoes with three-inch heels), but they were on sale and I loved them.


So, I wore one pair today. They are literally the most uncomfortable shoes I have ever worn in my life. (I almost took the elevator up one floor instead of taking the stairs. Then I remembered that I haven't been to the gym in at least two weeks.) They throw me off balance and the heel is too high and WAY too skinny. Also they kind of pinch my toes. (They make my legs look fabulous though.)

And they're sooooo cute.

Weekend Update -- Belated edition

Re: The lateness of this round up of my weekend -- Hello, it's March Madness. How can I be expected to blog regularly when there are so many great games on all of the time? (Did you see Kentucky vs. Michigan State? Double OT? I don't even LIKE either of those teams and I was biting my nails.)

Thursday: This counts as part of the weekend because I didn't have to work on Friday. I went to the newest, hip, trendy, oh-so-cool restaurant in town with a buddy from high school and some other people. (This city so fickle. Almost a two-hour wait now and it'll be dead in six months, I'm sure.) It was really good, albeit a touch pricey. (A friend treated, though, which was unexpected but nice.) The weather was perfect and we ate on the outside terrace with a gentle breeze and beautiful stars. It was awesome.

I bailed on plans to go out afterwards because I was very, very worn out from work. (Meetings and reports and two hour conference calls, oh my!) I had a great time at dinner, but you know how you have old friends that you're friends with just because you are? You don't have that much in common with them anymore, but you've been friends since you were 16 and you figure, "Hey, what's a dinner now and again when you're in town and a few e-mails?"

Um, yeah. That's what this was like.

Friday: Attempts to sleep in were futile, as my body will not let me sleep past 8 a.m. anymore. I tried and managed to force it to almost 8:30, but I still was up almost two hours before the alarm was set to go off. Growing up sucks.

Shopped and lunched with my mom, who also had the day off. I managed to squeeze myself in with our hairstylist. (My mom was getting her hair dyed, and I got mine cut while the dye set. So sneaky of me.) Finished the prep for Birthday Girl's dinner and afterparty, bought a present at this cute boutique, picked up the cake, realized I forgot to shave my legs in the morning, so I did the oh-so-cute trick of shaving my legs whilst in full makeup, with professionally styled hair (I mean, why not have her style it after the cut?) and while wearing a skirt. Miraculously avoided cutting myself.

Dinner was for girls only in a small private room of a Japanese restaurant we love. We had a great time, but I was amazed that some of the people who came did not order food. I picked the restaurant because it served sushi (which most of us ate) and traditional Japanese food (for the non-sushi eaters). I was a bit annoyed that some people didn't order anything but a glass of iced tea or something. Order an appetizer or a house salad or a glass of wine or something, you know? The restaurant is devoting a server just to our party, at least make sure she gets a lot of tip. Anyway, it was annoying.

I had a good time, but I was definitely in PR mode all night. I was interacting with the servers and making sure the cake was served and the bill was paid and the tip was taken care of and no one ran out on their bill. (It only got worse at the bar we went to after dinner, where the cocktail server put 25 people's drinks on one person's tab, rather than taking a credit card from each person. This meant we had to have her break the bill out into 25 pieces, which annoyed her a took forever. She would also bring us bills in groups, so I spent 20 minutes trying to make sure that we had paid out. She finally got frustrated and said, "You know what, don't tip me if you don't want!" So, I had to go smooth things over and explain that I, as the sober PR lady, was just trying to make sure she didn't get screwed over at the end of the night. Also, I tossed a $20 in with someone's bill even though my one beer had been purchased at the bar and not from the server. Between all of the bars and the dinner, I think I tipped more than I actually consumed. Good thing Birthday Girl is a wonderful friend and deserving of a big birthday shindig.)

So yeah, after dinner, we (about 10 girls) headed to a bar, thinking we'd be the first ones there. Yeah, like half of our friends were already there. So, we ended up with between 25 and 35 people, which was exactly what Birthday Girl wants. She bounced around and took drinks and shots and flirted with every boy there. It's amazing how a birthday can make you feel like a beautiful goddess with huge amounts of confidence. (That and four glasses of wine, four beers, an indeterminate number of shots and a designated driver (me!).)

I also had a good time. I played paparazzi and took a million pictures. I hung out with some guys I don't get to see often because they live out of town and generally sat around looking cute.

I did notice one thing. I tend to get involved in (either willingly or not) really serious conversations about not always fun topics. I have really strong opinions about politics and current events, and so I always end up talking about these things at social occasions. I try to avoid it, because I don't want to be a buzzkill, but these conversations just find me.

My mom once told me that women with strong opinions intimidate men. I was pretty annoyed that she was encouraging me to not be so outspoken. I've always wanted to be with someone who could engage in conversation with me. And while I don't go around saying things like, "Hi, my name is S and here is what I think about the government's role in providing health care for the masses," I do tend to get introduced as "S, who's a hardcore [insert my political preference]."

I hate when women play dumb to impress men. And I hate that I'm even worried about all of this. I just noticed on Friday, after three separate men tried to bring me into conversations about Terri Schiavo and other current events, that maybe I'm coming across as too serious sometimes.

(I'm sure my two readers are thinking, "Um, you can barely use an elevator and you expect us to believe that people think you're serious?" Tis true, my friends. I don't talk about politics or current events here because that's not my focus here. But I am news junkie in the purest sense of the term.)

So, yeah, Friday ended at another loud bar. (Remember the Intoxicated Man and the Red Stripe from my last post?)

I managed to get in bed before 3:30 a.m., which was nice.


I worked at the store all day on Saturday. It was okay ... I was tired from work and the party, but I like the ladies who own the store and don't mind helping them out from time to time. (Plus, I get discounts on jewelry and stuff.) I stayed in Saturday night.


Easter with the family. Yummy food. Dyed eggs. Too much sugar. Awesome basketball games. Good times.

Annoyance of the week:

Crazy drivers. Seriously, I was cut off three times in less than five minutes. And I am NOT driving that slow. Forgive me, crazy drivers, if I do not have the presence of mind at 6:45 in the morning (before coffee) to drive 85 miles per hour on Interstate. Also, a little FYI -- you CANNOT exit the Interstate going 75 around a curve. It just isn't a good thing to do. It's how people end up with spinal cord injuries and missing limbs. So, also forgive me for wanting to decelerate on the exit ramp so that I don't die. I am so unreasonable sometimes.

My apologies to:

The little kids who came into the store with the, um, least involved parents ever. I know you are younger than two years of age, but you have a very slim chance of ever having a normal life if your parents let you roll around and lick the gross floor of a store and run in and out of the door and into a busy parking lot with lots of moving cars because they're too busy looking at cheap jewelry to pay attention to you. I wish I could have taken you home with me.

Peeeeeeep! Peeeeeeep!

I have been a bad, bad blogger lately. I had a three-day weekend, went out twice and have started to have some internal issues ... and yet I haven't posted since my last weekend update.

Bad! (I just slapped myself on the wrist with a ruler.)

I have part of this past weekend's update written, but I didn't get to finish. Also, there will be much discussion of my internal struggles, I am sure.

But not right now.

To whet your appetite a bit, I will leave you with the weekend's lamest attempt to pick me up:

Late in the evening (or early in the morning, depending on how you look at it), we end up at a dive-ish bar with a lot of young kids (seriously, they were all 12) and a very, very, very loud band. (More loud than good, natch.)

I go to the bar and order a Miller Lite for my friend (the Birthday Girl) and a Red Stripe for myself. (I was DD, and this was the second beer I'd had since 7 p.m. I sure as hell was NOT having a lame domestic, especially considering that my first beer was a yummy Hoegarden.) Now, I like Red Stripe because it's smooth and it errs on the side of a slight hint of sweetness as opposed to bitterness. (Try it. It's the one in the cute little thick bottle.) Also, it was either Red Stripe, Dos Equis or Negra Modelo. I am not a huge Dos Equis fan and I wasn't in a Negra Modelo mood. So I went with the Red Stripe. (I explained that because it sort of relates to the bad pick up line. Sort of.)

I turn around and hand Birthday Girl her beer. (No friend of mine is to buy drinks of his or her birthday!) I go to cross the bar when I'm stopped by an intoxicated man.

Intoxicated man: (mumble) never seen (mumble) chick drink Red Stripe. S: Wait, what? Intoxicated man: I've never seen a chick drink Red Stripe before. S: Oh. Really? Intoxicated man: Yeah, it's cool. Chicks who drink Red Stripe are cool. S: Yeah, um, it's a good beer. Intoxicated man [motioning Birthday Girl]: Your friend drinks gross beer. S [laughs]: Sort of. Intoxicated man: Red Stripe is smooth. Don't you think Red Stripe is smooth? S [walking off]: That's why I drink it. Intoxicated man: Um, wait ...

What I thought of this:

Call me "chick" again, jerkoff. Um, you just made fun of my good friend, the Birthday Girl. Eeeew.

What I should have said:


You are home to me

So I'm having lunch alone, because all of my work buddies went out to eat. (Because they don't have meetings at 1 p.m.) It's just me and my Amy's Organics and prepackaged carrot sticks. (Is it wrong that I buy those one-serving packs of carrot sticks rather than just packing them myself?)

I think I found a new place. I'm going to see it Friday. It's not exactly what I had wanted, but it's bigger, the price is right and it has a little yard. (Yay for grass.) It's in a good area too. I'm hoping it works out.

Have been out TWICE already this week. And I'm going to regular martini-drinking tonight. I don't know what's come over me. I am starting to believe that I'm not the old lady I think I am ...

Monday night I went to dinner with B and bunch of his friends. They invited me out after dinner, but it was damn near 11 p.m., and I was a little nervous about going out, because I felt this overwhelming niceness toward B. Also, a girl that B obviously has a crush on is moving out of town. Monday night they were going out with her to celebrate one of her last nights in town ... I couldn't stand to watch him get drunk and flirt like that. (I don't think she realizes that he's not happy that she's leaving, but I could tell from the way he said it that he was upset about it.) I know she's had ample opportunity to act on this crush and never has, so I wasn't expecting anything other than flirting.

But I just couldn't watch it on Monday night ... every now and again I just get this nagging pang of attraction to B. Like I never got out that last little bit of wanting him, and it'll always just linger in the background, and most of the time I'll be able to ignore it.

Anyway, it's a feeling that I haven't had in awhile, but I felt it Monday. I don't know why I'm feeling this way, because he's certainly not giving out any vibes. I simply refuse to give in to that even a little bit. I refuse to backslide into a heart-wrenching situation that is only going to cause me stress, no matter how much I like the warmth that bathes over me when I'm caught up in the middle of it and we're hanging out and staying up talking until all hours of the morning. I feel so great while I'm there, but I end up near tears each time I leave.

I think I just haven't spent enough time with him lately. We used to hang out all the time, but we're both really busy lately. So I don't have time to get annoyed with him and wonder why the hell I ever wanted him in the first place.

Moving on.

There's a birthday celebration for a good friend of mine on Friday night. It will be interesting to see which guys show up. Am planning on looking extra fabulous just in case a certain (terribly mean, unworthy of my time) guy comes.

'Tis better to ignore him whilst looking beautiful, no?

Weekend Update


Went to a play thing with a friend from college. Saw old co-workers, did not talk to them, as I no longer have to be nice to them. (Finding a better job rules.) Had a glass of wine at the play and then we grabbed dinner at a diner because we didn't get out of the theater until after 11 p.m. After dinner, I bailed on a party I was invited to and crashed because work's been doing a number on me. (I have 300 million things due between March 28 and April 5.)


Slept in. Was staying with younger sister since parents were out of town. We shopped (still no black purse!), saw "Million Dollar Baby" (Sad, but awesome) and ate sushi (But not the raw stuff, because my sister isn't that adventurous). Rejected a few invites out for the evening, as I did not want to leave my sister alone until 4 a.m., and was asleep by midnight.


Cleaned. Attempted to be cooking goddess by making black beans from dry form. Will be sticking to cans in the future. Shoe shopped, but did not buy any. Somehow spent $50 at Target without buying the one thing I needed (New blinds because I broke the ones of my window). Now have sheet pinned over the window. Went home and watched Law and Order: CI, because Vincent D'Onofrio can investigate me any time he wants. Asleep by midnight.

My apologies:

To the lady at the mall who tried to spray me with a sample of the new Paris Hilton perfume. I did not mean to laugh that loud when you offered. (Really, I thought I was just laughing on the inside.) I understand that it's your job and you're just trying to pay your bills like everyone else I know. Laughing was rude, but COME ON, you just tried to make me smell like Paris Hilton! What's that perfume called, Eau de skank? (Also, I am allergic to perfume.) (Really, I am.)


(Let me preface this with the caveat that I do not hate children. It's kind of a secret, as I kind of pretend to hate them, but I really don't. I'm the oldest of three kids and nine grandkids (and one hell of a babysitter), so I've changed many a diaper and fed many a toddler in my day. In fact, as much as I hate to admit it, I may actually want to have children of my own one day. But if you tell anyone, I will deny that I said it or that I even know you.) Seriously, too many children in Target last night. I understand sometimes you have to bring your kids with you to the store because you don't have anyone to watch them. I am sympathetic to this. (On rare occasions, my mother had to take us to the store when we were young. But she gave us STRICT instructions about the sort of behavior that would land us in our rooms without TV for two days. She also had this awesome Look of Anger and Disapproval, that I still, at 25 years of age, respond to.) But when I see three adults, two high schoolers and three kids younger than 10 all sharing one basket, clearly something is wrong. Perhaps someone could stay home with the kids while someone else shopped, no? This would be preferable to letting the kids tear through the store, run into my basket, almost knock me over and then run away. ALSO, if your kid does the aforementioned bad behavior, do NOT give me a mean look for "being in your kid's way."

Ways NOT to impress a cute guy:

Accidentally pressing the emergency phone call button in the elevator with your purse. Seriously, lights were flashing and phones were ringing and even though I cancelled the call. I apologized profusely, but I could hear it as I exited the elevator and walked down the hall, taunting me, as if to say, "Cute boy's never gonna talk to you in the elevator again! Go write a press release, loooooser!"


Listblogging, part 4 (I think)

Since my love life is leaving a lot to be desired, I'm going to listblog, so you'll at least have something new to read.

Good things:

  • It's Friday.
  • There's potential for new boys, as I'm hanging out with a different crew
  • tonight.
  • My boss thinks I rule.
  • It's supposed to be beautiful this weekend. (Maybe I'll jog outside instead ofat the gym. Or maybe not at all.)
  • March Madness means lots of good basketball games this weekend.
  • Feta cheese (Oh, the odd cravings I have.)

Bad things:

  • Road rage
  • Insomnia
  • That stupid "Real Good Time" song by Pink
  • Sunburn

Needless purchases I plan to make and justify by saying, "Hey, it was just payday":

  • One cute black purse (This time I'm buying it. Really.)
  • Brown heels (I need these. It's a crime of fashion to wear blackwith brownpants.)
  • Several expensive drinks tonight
  • A nice sushi dinner for me and a pal on Saturday
  • New lipstick (It's Spring)
  • Some cute cubicle stuff (I spend too much time here for it to be ugly.)

Songs I am obsessed with this week:

  • "Somebody" by Bonnie McKee
  • "Waiting" by G Love
  • "Vindicated" by Dashboard Confessional
  • "Hard Candy" by Counting Crows
  • "Hello" by Lionel Riche (damn Starburst commercial)
  • "Diary" by Alicia Keys
  • "Mr. Brightside" by The Killers

Goals for the weekend:

  • Rest
  • Get new blog design uploaded (Don't hold your breath!)
  • New blogroll
  • Meet charming, but single, guys with bigger brains and smaller egos

I'm not sleeping

I couldn't get to sleep last night. I tossed and turned and rearranged pillows, but to no avail. It was one of those nights where you just want someone else in bed with you -- not for sex, but just to BE there for the sake of being there. Maybe there was something in the air. Maybe it was the beers I had at dinner with B. Maybe it was my bruised ego, or the talk of the perfect couples all around me. It could even be that my bed felt so damn inviting last night and I didn't want to squander it. I just melted into it and wanted to stay there for days, adrift in a sea of blankets and softness, swimming the bright blue sheets. I know I'm not the only one who has moments when my bed is the only place I want to be ... I just wanted someone else wrapped in my down comforter, head on my fluffy pillows, skin on my crisp sheets. I love those sensations -- the feeling of arms around you and the sound of rhythmic breathing and comfort of shared body heat. And the knowledge that someone's going to be there in the morning, still holding you and fighting you for his share of the covers. I shut my eyes well after midnight and 6 a.m. came too early. Once I fell asleep, it was peaceful and relaxing. But all day long I couldn't shake that feeling from last night ... the feeling of missed opportunities and aloneness.

Random thoughts

So, apparently half of the people I know had, for a lack of a less-used word, drama at Saturday's all evening drunkfest. Arguments! Jealousy! Indecent proposals! Random hook-ups! I am too old for all of this. I had dinner with B and some friends tonight before heading to a bar for a drink. I needed to unwind, and B is the perfect person to help you unwind, because I don't think he has a tense bone in his body. It's nice to be his friend -- I'm glad that I was able to see the good in the bad of that situation, because I do cherish his friendship. There is very little I could do or say that would surprise or shock B. I've poured my heart out to him so many times, yelled at him so many times and come onto him so many times that he is immune to me. So, maybe I'm the slightly crazy chick he's friends with. So? I didn't mean to bring the T situation up, but he overheard me on the phone with a friend. I gave him a shortened version of the day and he reacted pretty much like everyone else. He couldn't believe how rude T had been. He added, "I told you that guy was odd." He's right. You know, we always make fun of our married friends who stay in and cook dinner and get up early and do yardwork and other "boring" things. We mock them for acting old and not being wild and crazy and fancy free. But maybe Billy Crystal was right when, in When Harry Met Sally, he said, "When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to begin as soon as possible." I am so cheesy. I think I'm just tired of the single marathon -- the dinners and drinks and dates and group dates and hanging out and exchanging numbers and waiting for calls and finding outfits and shaving legs and blah blah blah. I had a long talk with my best friend from high school on Sunday. She's just cut it off with her most recent beau. (Poor girl has terrible luck with men.) She asked about my family and we talked about my younger brother, who is in one of these great healthy relationships with the woman of his dreams. She asked me if I ever looked at him and other happy couples and was angry and jealous that I didn't have that. Obviously, I have. I'm not going to say I'm not jealous of people in happy relationships and angry that I've been pretty much metaphorically running into brick walls with every new man I encounter. I look around sometimes and wonder if I overslept the day everyone paired off. She said she tries to focus on the good, positive things in her life -- a job, friends, family. But she's also turned to home repair projects to take her focus off of the stress that is dating. She's a real whiz with a paint brush, and her roommates love it. Maybe it's the thing about the watched pot and the boiling. I think I have a dresser that needs to be refinished ...

You give love a bad name

I'd like to sugarcoat the story I'm about to tell, but I'm at a loss of how to do so. I can't spin it and make it sound better, nor can I frame it with enough caveats to make a certain guy's behavior acceptable. Saturday (yesterday) was a huge all-day party that a guy friend of mine gives every year. (We did this sort of thingt more when we were all still in school. Being an adult tends to take its toll on your social life.) This year's party was at a bar, where the juice and the beer were free for us for several hours. We took advantage of these no-cost drinks, and the party quickly went from fun to ridiculously fun. (For awhile.) This is the party where I was to see T, who has been calling me for two weeks without asking me out. T, who has been flirting with me and joking about needing to control himself around me. T, who, by all accounts, dragged me out of this same bar on New Year's Eve, and couldn't even make the two-block walk to his apartment without stopping to press me against a fence or parked car and kiss me full on the mouth several times. In fact, you could even go out on a limb and say that T, even though he's begun to act less taken with passion and more traditional and even shy, has been sending signals that he liked me. But you would be wrong. I was with some friends when T walked in. I resisted the urge to run over to him and wrap my arms around him and hug him. I remembered that I needed to hang back and let him come to me. I heeded the advice of numerous people to not just throw myself out there and be so available. So I pulled back, waiting for my Martian rubber band to snap back. He walked over to where I was and said something to a friend I was standing (literally) right next to. She answered and I said something. Never looking at or acknowledging me, he said something and walked away. I was stunned. My friend gave me this horrified look and another commented, "Um, was that the first of many awkward silences of the day?" I tried to put it out of my head. Perhaps he wasn't ready to talk to me, I rationalized. The boy's been known to act odd and shy, so I tried not to freak out and tried to enjoy myself. But he talked to every other person in the bar last night. He flirted with half of the women in the bar and carried on like he was having a wonderful time. He did ask me if I'd seen someone, addressing me by my name, as if to acknowledge that he did, in fact, know exactly who I was. It was humiliating. My friends know he's been calling. His friends know he's been calling. Half of the party witnessed our New Year's makeout session or heard rumors of our bathroom romp at a previous party. Everyone who knew me kept giving me these confused sympathetic looks that just made me more upset. Drinking did not help things. I had several beers and some punch. T was drinking like crazy -- he drank only Guinness (not free) and probably had a 12-pack himself. He was drunk. Unattractively drunk. He was falling all over himself flirting with everything that moved, save me. I gave him opportunities to talk to me and even tried to spark a conversation once when I was getting a new drink at the bar. Nothing. He looked as if he'd sooner die than speak to me. You would have thought that he either didn't know me or absolutely hated me. His demeanor chilled me to the bone and left me more upset than angry, more disappointed than furious. Then, things got worse and he tipped the scales from hurt to anger. I was attempting to have a non-T-related conversation with some friends when some song came on and a very intoxicated T leapt up from his barstool and pulled a woman to him and began dancing with her. (This wasn't a dancing type of party.) He spun her around and dipped her and they danced while she squealed with delight. I almost fell out of my chair. The conversation at the table died down, because it was next to impossible to ignore this spectacle. But I had to try to not notice or to at least look like I didn't care. I pulled out my cell phone and tried very quickly to think of someone to call. As I dialed the number of a friend (who was also at the party) and tried to look cool, I saw T look over at me. We locked eyes for a few seconds and then he dipped the drunk woman he was dancing with, as if to punctuate some sort of silent communication between the two of us. I wanted to not exist. It is one thing to want to avoid someone and something completely different to make a point that you are not talking to them and having a great time doing so. My friend picked up her phone, confused as to why I would call her from across the bar. I told her to turn around. She let out an audible gasp as she turned and saw T engaged in his little Dirty Dancing moment. She rushed over to talk to me. My feelings of disappointment quickly became feelings of rage. I was seething mad, because there is no reason for a 27-year-old adult to act in such a childish way. I don't care how me drinks he'd had. He was being an ass. A HUGE ass. I blurted out plans to my friend. "I'm going to walk over and yell," I said. "I'm going to yell at him and embarrass him and make sure that no woman in this bar would even THINK of speaking to him." She stopped me and pointed out that "Drunk Yelling Woman" was not an attractive role to fill. I offered up another plan, one where I called his voicemail and left him a message that said, "T, this is S. You know my number? Forget it and forget that I ever gave it to you or hooked up with you or spoke to you." My friend assured me this fell into the category of "Drunk Yelling Woman" and another pointed out that after a guy called her and said that same thing, we referred to him as "Psycho Boy" for months. My third plan was to pull him aside and say, "Hi, did I do something that caused you not to speak to me all day?" My friends rejected this as well, saying I could not let him know that I cared. The party continued. We watched some basketball and drank and had a good time. I was pissed, but trying to keep my seething internalized, because I wanted to have a good time. T was so drunk that he was stumbling everywhere. I did get up the nerve to go speak to him, and our conversation went like this:

S: Hi. What's up? T: Watching this pool game. S: So, um, what's been going on? T: I think you know what's been going on. S: Ok, so, you're dangerously loaded. [Motions to Guinness] How many of these have you had? T: I don't keep count. S: Well, maybe you should.
And then I walked away. Seriously. Terrible. T started flirting with some women I knew, but not very well. When he bounced over to a new woman, I stole his barstool and told them the situation. They were appalled, and one even reached over, softly slapped the back of his head and said, "T! What the hell are you doing?" He looked confused and went back to his new woman. They played songs on the jukebox. I am not sure which songs were theirs, but when "Perfect Blue Buildings" by Counting Crows came on, it pushed me over the edge. Counting Crows is one of my favorite bands and "Perfect Blue Buildings" is one of the most perfect songs ever written about being miserable in your own skin and just wanting to become oblivious to what's making you upset. I lost myself in the song and the drinks I'd had, until a friend leaned over and said, "S, let me take you to the bathroom." One of the women we were sitting with grabbed a napkin and very slyly wiped something off of my cheek. It was a tear. And THAT, my friends, was the end of T being in my life. I allow people to make mistakes. But in my years of dating, I've learned one thing. The ones who make you cry generally aren't worth crying over.

Something in a shade of gray or something in between ...

(Note from S: I'm on lots and lots and lots of cold medication right now ... LOTS. I don't even know if this makes sense ... it's all very free form and mixed up. Sorry!) So, T called to chat Sunday evening. I've been holding on out you! I'm such a tease! Actually, I wasn't feeling well Sunday and by that evening I felt like crap. By Monday I was feeling even worse, which brings me to today, and, folks, my voice is almost completely gone. So, I haven't been holding out on you. I've been ill. I don't feel terrible anymore -- my throat is sore and my voice is gone, but I generally feel ok, which is odd. I'm a bit concerned because I have some meetings later this week -- including one that I have to lead on Friday. Maybe I'll mime it. Anyway, back to T. He called around 5 p.m. He didn't seemed phased by my drunk dial, which means he's either a realist or the message wasn't nearly as bad as I sort of remembered it. Regardless, he wasn't in town when I called -- he went home for the second weekend in a row. (To me this is odd because he asked about what was going on in town when I talked to him last Wednesday ... why do that if you were going home, which is like two or three hours away? Maybe he's a procrastinator.) Now, I can't fault him for going home. I have a big family and I'm very close to my family members, even though I couldn't be more different from them and they drive me crazy at times. I'm spoiled that I live very near to my family and can see random aunts and cousins and grandparents and parents and siblings whenever I want. But, he's driving me crazy with his noncommittal attitude . He's so flirty when he calls! He makes references to us hanging out ... and then, NOTHING. So bizarre. I don't know about the rest of the world, but I don't call people I don't like and flirt with them for a half hour. Seriously. Anyway, we talked about my evening Saturday night and he was quick to ask if I'd hooked up with anyone. (He's asked this before when we've talked about our weekends.) I told him I hadn't and commented on the age and quality of the men there and he joked that I needed to lower my standards. "Come down off of your pedestal, princess," he joked when I described one dorky guy who did air guitar on stage by himself like he was Bon Jovi. Now, I don't know if T just thinks I'm, um, friendly -- which he totally could, especially considering our past relations -- or if he's just lacking confidence. Both thoughts drive me crazy. I wanted to snap back, "And what if I did hook up? What would you do? Not see me? OH WAIT!" Anyway, the conversation was unsettling. When we talk, I think he likes me, but as soon as I hang up the phone, I always think, "What the hell?" He noticed my raspy voice on Sunday and commented that I sounded like I was getting sick. (Which I denied, because I like to try to talk my body out of illness.) He said, "Well, I'll have to control myself around you, then. You may be contagious." I wanted to yell, "YOU'D HAVE TO BE IN THE SAME ROOM AS ME TO CATCH MY COLD!" Ah, the rub. Now, if I ever get better, T and I will be in close proximity for most of Saturday, when a mutual friend of ours is throwing a huge all-day party. (He has one every Spring.) T will definitely be there. We've talked about it and how much fun it'll be. T and I hooked up after the past two parties this friend has thrown and I have no doubt that he'll try to go three for three. I'm so put off by the whole situation right now. I like the guy, but I hate being toyed with. I don't even think he's doing it on purpose -- I think some of it is lacking confidence, which is very unattractive. I want to give him a chance to show me that he's interested, but I'm more than slightly concerned that he's not. And if he IS interested, I'm less than thrilled by his inability to express this interest in a normal way (I.e. A friggin' date). I will be honest. I wish I could say I'd be strong and not flirt with him and not kiss him and whatnot on Saturday. That would make me a liar. If we're both there, I'm going to flirt and kiss and snuggle and revel. And he will too. I have no doubt. We'll be drinking and hanging out and I'll forget about all of the uneasiness I have about the situation, because we'll be lost in conversation about a book or something. And I'll convince myself that he feels the connection that I do, when all both of us is really feeling is intoxication. I just have to keep reminding myself that what happens in Saturday is not necessarily indicative of our standing. It means nothing, because he's still going to be awkward and noncommittal. Remembering this is key. I should, like, write it on my hand or something.

In these shoes?

So, after a day of relaxing and being fabulous, I was pumped to go out. (In my new clothes, natch.) I wasn't driving, so I poured a big glass of wine and spent a bit of time getting ready. (I could have been ready sooner, but I had no reason to be and I had good music playing.) I wore my cute new pink skirt, a cute black shirt, awesome dangly beaded earrings and terribly uncomfortable, but very cute, high-heeled sandals. Despite wanting to have a good-ending evening, I shaved my legs. (We all know how that just curses you.) We went dancing. At first, I was not so thrilled about this for a number reasons. First off, I always feel like I got run over by a truck the day after I go dancing, because I don't actually own comfortable shoes and vodka makes me forget that I'm 25 and not 19, so I dance around like crazy in uncomfortable shoes and then I wake up the next morning and I'm sore. Also, the particular club we went to lets in kids younger than 21, who (not to be rude) I really would rather not hang out with. I hate tripping over a group of 20-year-old boys just taking up space on my way to the bar. Oh and they want to flirt with you so you'll sneak them a drink. (I'm on to you, 20-year-old boys.) And then there are the 18-year-old girls they bring with them. I'm going to be terribly mean here, but I hate drunk 18-year-old sorority girls with fake tans and horribly highlighted hair and screechy drunk girl voices. (Because they are always drunk, even if they are years from 21. There's always some older sleazeball who'll feed them shots.) Then there is the crying when their prick boyfriends dance with someone else. And the prick boyfriends are always wanting to fight any guy they see who might accidentally bump into someone else in an overcrowded bar. (Overcompensating much?) I will say one thing for the drunk 18-year-old sorority girls. Fabulous taste in shoes and bags, which I suppose you can have if someone else is footing the bill. (Forgive the jealous tone. I have shoe and purse envy.) Anyway, I went to college and I dealt with the aforementioned people then and I certainly don't want to deal with them again. But I really wanted to dance and a lot of my friends were going and I had a designated driver, so I figured, "Why the hell not?" Now, T has not called since I talked to him on Wednesday, when he asked what was going on this weekend. I thought about calling him around 8 p.m. while I was getting ready, but I decided against this, as I didn't want to sound too desperate. (Something I wish I would've remembered later.) I headed out to the bar with two of my girlfriends and we met up with several couples we know. (Eventually, I texted B, who happened to be at a bar down the street, so he and two other guys joined us. On a side note, it is quite amazing to have B meet me out and not immediately want to jump his bones. That ship has sailed, my friends. It's nice to not have my stomach flip around when he walks up. Sometimes I miss this giddy happiness, but not on Saturday.) So, I have three beers on top of the two, um, generously poured glasses of wine I had at home. Then we do a shot of vanilla vodka with a cranberry chaser. So good. Cheesecakelike. Then I did something stupid and switched to vodka and Red Bull. (Not the smoothest of moves.) We got to the bar around 10 p.m. and did shots around 11:15 p.m., so by 11:30 p.m., I had gathered up my liquid courage to call T. I tried to find the most quiet corner of the ladies' bathroom, but I could barely hear anything. I did hear his answering machine pick up (he's literally the only person I know who is still anti-cell phone), so I left a message. The message I intended to leave was, "Hey T, it's S. We're at [insert bar name]. Come have a drink." You know, something concise and not drunk-sounding and normal. (Is that asking for too much, dating gods and goddesses?) What I actually slurred was something like this (I was drunk, so this is all guessing. I know it was horrible): "Hey T, it's S. You had asked what was going on Saturday night ... and, well ... we're out. We're drinking and dancing at [insert bar name] . You know, I thought you might want to know and come dance ... I don't know if you dance or not. But, we are ... You don't have to dance ... But, um, come meet us! Or call me. I'll talk to you later!" You know, I am 25 years old and I am still totally clueless and out of control when it comes to men. It is embarrassing at times. All I want is for ONE dating situation to go well. ONCE. I am not asking for anything big. I don't have to find the love of my life or my future husband or have kids. I can be fine alone with my job and my books and a puppy or something. I just want ONE TIME to act normal and natural around a normal guy I like who acts normal and natural around me. ONE TIME. So, I dance like a moron for awhile (that's the Red Bull kicking in), checking my cell phone every 10 minutes (that's the vodka kicking in). No calls from T. So, around 1 a.m. we head to the bathroom and end up sitting on this bench in the, for lack of a better term, powder room area. I slur and raise hell to my friends about T and the not calling and acting all ambiguous. I call him a f*ckhead. A well-meaning sober girl I do not know (she's waiting in line for a bathroom) says, "F*ckhead? That's a bit harsh." A drunk girl I do not know says it is not. We head out shortly thereafter. I am drunk, but not screechy and crying, so I'm going okay. We leave before I can get too pathetic. I pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow. Thankfully I had two bottles of water and two extra-strength advils before I went to bed, so I was tired and sore and my ears hurt when I woke up, but I wasn't really hung over. I spent most of my day lounging around and cursing men and vodka. T hasn't returned my call. I can only hope he found the drunk me on his answering machine charming and not pathetic. Is that asking too much?

Day of fabulousness a success

Back from being fabulous and fun. Had quite a successful venture. Scratched the manicure, as the shop double-booked my manicurist and I didn't feel like waiting. I'll get a manicure another time. Shopping was VERY kickass. I tried on half of the mall and ended up with a new black skirt and very fun bright pink skirt, two cute stretchy tees with a neat neckline, chocolate brown work pants and two button down shirts, one pink and one lavender. And a light blue bra with pink lace straps -- which isn't really my style (I'm the queen of the black bra and normally abhor lace.) I should have bought the matching panties. I am a fool. That's a lot of clothes. Most of them were on sale, which was nice. I decided to just go ahead and buy a ton of clothes now, when I can afford it, rather than running to the mall to buy something every time I have a dressy brunch or a bridal shower or something. I always end up spending so much money that way, because when you're in a bind clotheswise, nothing that's on sale ever fits. I always end up spending twice as much as I want to spend because I'm in a hurry and frantic. And I NEVER like what I end up buying. Yes, I am just as neurotic in my shopping life as I am in my dating life. I found the perfect black everyday purse, but I had already spent quite a bit of money on clothes, so I it couldn't come home with me. I was quite upset. (It cried, too.) So, you know, nice day. The shopping was actually pretty relaxing, compared to my hellish work week, which included two out-of-town meetings and enough in-town obnoxiousness to cause me to be asleep in bed by 11 p.m. on Friday night. Am going out with friends tonight, because I'm totally one of those people who wears her new clothes as soon as they're bought. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a mint julep face masque to attend to.

Day of fabulousness planned

I am so tired of waiting for the phone to ring. Seriously, I was less annoyed when he didn't call for a month than now, when he hasn't called since Monday. (Wednesday doesn't count because I called him.) Is he just not going to ask me out? If he just wanted a hook-up, why would he bother chatting with me this week? Blah, all of this is making me feel pathetic -- not because he hasn't called, but because I'm so damn fixated on the fact that he hasn't called. I hate being the girl by the phone. I don't think it suits me or anyone else really. So, I've declared it a day of fabulousness. Have manicure appointment for 3 p.m. and shopping to do beforehand. On shopping list: One or two work-appropriate pieces, one or two going-out pieces, a new black everyday purse and those fabulous green shoes on the top of this page. (Will not be holding breath, re: the green shoes.) Also: one man who will actually ask me out on a date instead of just messing with my mind. Ciao!

Captain Ambiguous

I decided to be a strong modern woman and call T last night. (Fine, I whined about it first.) (Side note: I am normally not shy about calling boys. Ever. I am a bit forward at times. Also, I am quite adept at drunk dialing.)

I called a bit before 9 p.m. as I was on my way to pick up a girlfriend for martini night. I was calling to playfully hassle T into coming with us. (He has previously stated that he doesn't go out late during the week.) I felt confident that he would come around this night because two of his good friends were meeting us. (I confirmed with them before I called.) So, I figured this would be a low-stress way for us to spend a little bit of time together and he would see that I do like him and ask me out.

I had thought of everything.

So, he picks up the phone, and he sounds half awake. He assures me that he wasn't sleeping but that he was in bed. (Probably reading. He's a book fanatic, which is so attractive.) He sounded so comfortable and calm and I had spent all day in and out of meetings and on my cell phone in the car, even drinking a Red Bull at 4 p.m. to keep me focused for a meeting that was eventually cancelled. So, hearing the relaxed nature of his voice and his attitude made me wish I could just go curl up in bed with him and just sleep all wrapped up in his arms and blankets. Heavenly. (This is so bad. This type of thought always gets me in trouble.)

Needless to say the sudden urge to cuddle knocked me off of my plan, and so I wasn't making the best arguments for why he should come. Years of honing my communication skills didn't matter. It sucked.

Anyway, he was sweet and flirty about it, but he didn't come. I jokingly apologized for calling him when I knew he probably wouldn't come and he said, "No no, it's good for my ego." (In a totally cute and flirty way, not in an obnoxious and terrible way.) I responded, "Well, this hasn't exactly been good for MY ego," and we both laughed.

He DID ask what was going on this weekend, but I'm worried that I played it too cool. I said, "I don't know of anything, but I'm sure I'll find a reason to drink." That was the perfect opening, so of course he didn't take it.

He's just screwing with me now.

We did have a good time at martini night, though. Yummy watermelon. Also one of T's friends told me a story about something they did last weekend (T had already told me this same story) and I said, "Yeah, I know." He kind of smiled and replied, "I know you do. And I know who told you," like a little kid. I half expected him to start singing, "S and T sitting in a tree ..." Anyway, I think I've been a topic of conversation in T's group of friends.

That's a good thing, right?

I am so going to get in trouble ...

... for testing the "e-mail a post" function at work.

Short blog update

Hola. I just wanted to post a quick blog-type update for my four regular readers. I'm putting together a new layout -- nothing fancy at all, just better -- so forgive any little quirks over the next few days. (Seriously, the new design is so not that cool looking. I'm a print designer, not a Web designer. Sorry!) I will be including a traditional blogroll (in addition to the Kinja one) on my new site. If you would like to be blogrolled, please, four readers, let me know in the comments. Your wish is my command. (Not really.) I will be carrying my old blogroll over to the new design, but I want to make sure everyone who wants a link is linked. (I reserve the right not to link to sites that carry porn or content that I find terribly offensive. I.e. Kiddie porn, racism, etc.) Also, thanks for the commenting and keep it coming.

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

Associated Content Interview with Charming
The Hindu: Blog Sisters are here

Links (Updated!)


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