Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks


Another notch in my lipstick case

Note: The blog vacation was hard, because there were moments during the past two weeks where I just really wanted to write. This post is from two weeks ago, FYI. On Monday, after working most of the weekend, I finished a big work project around 8 p.m. I told The Nurse, he seemed happy for me. I was ecstatic – I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders as I scratched something off of my “To Do” list. I wanted my bed and possibly a massage, but first I wanted a celebratory drink. I sent The Nurse a text to meet me for a beer, he sent back that he was staying in. I, tired and emotional, quipped back, "Maybe I am just cranky and tired, but I feel like I have been trying to hang out with you for weeks and you don't care." I smiled as I sent it off. This was clearly going to be the text message that ended the whole damn thing and I was just happy I'd sent it. Because you don't go out with me several (six or seven) times and get intimate with me many times and then just stop. You don't get to just walk away like that without giving me an explanation. Because it isn’t nothing and you don’t get to pretend that it was. And I don't care what the books say. He doesn't have to be into me, but he can at least have the nerve to tell me instead of dropping off into oblivion. He texted back that we would hang out and that he'd been busy with school. I wanted to scream – I hadn’t had a day off of work in longer than I’d care to admit and I’d worked from 5 a.m. to 8 p.m. that day. I do appreciate that school is a lot of work, but I wanted to reply, “You don’t know busy, buddy. I am the Queen of Busy and I’m still managing to try to see your Not Busy Ass.” Cooler heads prevailed and I replied that I just needed some reassurance to make sure that I wasn't making an ass out of myself. (Which I was, but you know, c'est la vie.) Tuesday and Wednesday we talked and he acted like nothing happened. Thursday I asked what he was doing and he said he had plans with his church. I didn't even know he HAD a church. He certainly hadn't spent his Sunday mornings in July and early August inside of a church, if you know what I'm saying … And plans? He makes plans? On Friday as I rushed out the door in the morning, I felt a slight stab of disappointment. I caught a glimpse of a baseball cap The Nurse left at my house one morning. It was sitting on my table staring at me, a physical reminder that a guy I had really liked was in my house a week or so before and inexplicably not again. And this little flutter in my stomach told me that I'd been had, that it was over, that he wasn't coming back for his hat, or to return the books he'd borrowed or to hold me close to his chest and wrap his arms around me and kiss the spot at the base of my neck where my shoulders meet. And it made me sad, because it was a month or so of fun (and worry, of course) and I genuinely liked this man. I was mad that I cared. Friday night after dinner and two beers at a restaurant, I was to meet some girlfriends for wine at a bar. I went home to change and lounged on my bed for a few minutes, texted The Nurse because I am officially THAT girl and I felt the tight squeeze of disappointment wrap around me where his body should be. I wanted so badly for him to just reply and let me know that I hadn't been wrong about him. I started answering work e-mails and woke up the next morning, fully clothed, with all of the lights and the TV on, Blackberry snuggled next to me. I had missed text messages galore on my personal cell – from my friends, wondering why the hell I wasn't out on a Friday night. The only text I really wanted never came. Saturday after a few hours of work (are we seeing a trend here?), I joined the Banker for another Tent Sale, which was less vicious than the last. I bought a pair of really simple Steven by Steve Madden black flat sandals and some cute animal print slides. After working more in the afternoon, I decided that I would look fabulous and sexy and go out and do it up right. Screw The Nurse and his promises to call and then not calling. Screw them all for being predictable, for running for God knows why. And screw me for falling for their song and dance and thinking that this time would be any different than the rest. After some relaxing, I began getting ready to go out. I was Veeting my legs to smooth, hair-free perfection when Best Friend Ever called. “You’ve got 10 minutes before I have to jump in the shower,” I said. And I continued with the Veeting of the legs and washing my face and and plucking my eyebrows while she gushed about her fabulous boyfriend. I told her about The Nurse and the text message about making an ass out of myself. She listened and dutifully commented on how he was missing out on something great and how I was lovely and smart. Trite things always sound so sincere and special when Best Friend Ever says them – I believe her more than anyone else. “So, ok, not to make an ass out of myself,” she said. “But … I have some news.” “News?” My ears perked up, thinking it was gossip about someone from high school or an ex or something. “Well, you see, [Boyfriend] is going to ask me to marry him before the end of the year …” I felt my stomach drop to the floor and tears prickle my eyes. Like she had killed a man or something. She was leaving me. She was really going to leave me alone and become one of Them. I swallowed. “Really? You’re going to say …” I trailed off. “Yes.” I squealed and leaned against the bathroom counter. I really was happy for her. And I gushed, “He really is the nicest most wonderful man you’ve ever dated. And he treats you so well. And you are so happy.” “I know!” “Seriously, this is awesome,” I said. “This is so great.” I repeated it again, convincing myself. “So, hold [Date] of next year, because that’s my goal. We’re getting married here, so you’ll have to travel, so that’s why I’m telling you now even though he hasn’t asked me officially yet.” “Thank you.” I began mentally budgeting plane tickets and a bridesmaid dress and wedding presents and a hotel and time off of work. She gushed some more about the church where they were to get married, the discussions of the ring and other preparations, like the insane size of her wedding party, since he has a huge family and many friends. “You’re telling me I have just over a year to get a date suitable for the weekend wedding of my best friend.” “Yes.” “And to the gym.” We said our goodbyes and I leaned over the sink to regain the composure I’d lost in the last 15 minutes of the call. I was ecstatic for her, but I still felt like vomiting up my guts because I just wasn’t sure I was quite ready to see her walk down the aisle. I’d known her boyfriend was right for her, but there is a big difference between knowing your Best Friend is happy with a man and shopping for a bridesmaid dress. I looked up in the mirror and rubbed my eyes. And then I turned on the shower really hot and let it steam up the bathroom. By the time my shower was over, I’d washed the fear and sadness away. Twenty minutes later I finished lining my eyes and slid into a little black dress. I spun in front of the mirror, tucked my lip gloss into my purse and hurried out into the night to make some mischief.



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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



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

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