October swimming in an unheated pool

I have been so tired today, from another late night (surprise surprise!) last night.

My night began with a trip to meet many coworkers for a happy hour. On the way downtown, my sister called to say she was engaged. Finally. My reaction was, "It's about fucking time!" and unbeknownst to me, she had her cell on speakerphone. Hope her fiance does not hate me.

So I was feeling really good about that news - a great start to the night.

When I arrived at the bar I had a really hard time finding the group. This did not bode well for a fun night. There were only 6 people there - one of them was Ivy League hottie - and the only open spot was next to him.

This was torture. No one at work knows about us, nor do we want them to. How do pretend to not know someone you spent 14 hours with and were naked with in your kitchen just four days previous?

You do it by flirting with everyone but him. This sucked. A little. But, seriously, all I wanted to do was flirt with him and I found that I couldn't even look at him. He ended up moving to the other end of the table when some more girls from work arrived, and I got pigeon holed at the girlie end of the table with the uptight girls from work. (I felt so dirrrrty around them.)

Meanwhile, a couple of blondie girls arrive and seat themselves around Ivy League, and one proceeds to give him a massage on his shoulder. I know he's got more than me he's dating, and now I get to see it right in front of me.

Thank goodness for instant messages. I fire one off to my ex boyfriend from 10 years ago who is always out and about on any given Wed/Thursday/Friday/Saturday saying:

At the pub. Come rescue me!

And he fires back, just a mere 30 seconds later:

Give me 20 minutes

Whooohooo! I will be saved. But it gets better. I got a phone call from Yorkshire, which I missed but promptly returned. Then I get one from Ivy League, who has NEVER texted me before:

Hey cutie!

Shit, that's the best you can do? Cutie? I have fought my whole life against that. Cute is the word that short women hate. Cute is for puppies and girls that live by the rules and watch Lifetime and the View. Men might like cute, and sometimes they marry cute but they dream about hot. So I fire back:

You can do better than that...

The intent was to get a dirty message out of him. But instead, I got nothing. No flashing light. No new message. Oh, I had a view of him between two blondes and they were all laughing and I am stuck listening to the girls talk about eharmony dating and office stalkers while sipping their cider. Yes. Cider. There's me with bourbon and cigarettes. (One of these things is not like the other.) No sex talk. No hottie moments for me. So I fire off another one to the en route ex:

These people are lame. Save me and make me look like a rock star

Ivy League heads outside for a long long time. So long I think he's gone. I am depressed. Damn. He's under my skin now. I didn't want this. I was being so cool. I've got to get back into cool aloof mode.

Ex shows up with his very very handsome photographer friend. They both kiss me hello. Lots of love, lots of attention. Oh yeah. They buy me a drink. We stand at the bar and talk and flirt. I tell them about Vegas. The ex thinks I need to spend Thanksgiving with him and not in the UK with Yorkshire hottie. (Yeaaahhhh hmmmm turkey with the ex here in town or hot sex in London with a guy I have only spent 12 hours with. Tough decision.) The ex asks why the people at the table are staring at us. Glaring, evuuhhhn (to quote snagglepuss.) Especially the dark haired one.

Shazam! It's working.

I make a move to leave by returning to the corporate table and paying my bill. Ivy League excuses himself and waves good bye to everyone. 5 minutes later, I am outta there as well with my two guy friends. I get another text, this one from Ivy League which says:

Is this better? Spending 1 hour with you is better than spending 4 hours with all of those people combined.

Hell yeah. That's what I am talking about. My mojo is back and I bar hop with the boys. I kiss the ex in the patio of WCC and it feels nice. I run into drinking friends, people who I have been seeing in bars in Raleigh and Chapel Hill for years. It is always fun, but empty. I sometimes don't know their names, but I could tell you what they drink, who they hook up with, where they have passed out.

We all decide to go to photographer's house. Other people are supposed to come too but they don't for awhile. We think its a great idea to go swimming in October in an unheated pool. I opt not to jump in, but hang out in my underwear. The ex proposes the ultimate threesome for me - two guys and me - and I ACTUALLY gave it some thought. Oh my. Again, sometimes I go too far with the carpe diem. This is cut short by the arrival of several coke whores in their 20s who cannot figure out who I am, why I am not intimidated by them, and why the ex won't leave my side. I grow bored with all this, and since the moment for the threesome came and went, I leave him with a kiss on the cheek and a directive to go hang out with the girls who don't have a clue.

I leave there thinking of Ivy League...and it was nice.