Full weekend of new guys and a bad ex boyfriend

Bad ex boyfriend: The one who tries to love, but doesn't know how. Says all the right things but the actions don't match up. The one who makes all your other ex boyfriends actually look good, when you thought some of them were cads.

Or you can just call my bad ex boyfriend "Jackass of all trades."

I digress.

First, the positive.

Date with Prison Break. Yum. Met him at 7:30. 2 beers turned into many. We talked til 1am. Lovely time. He's funny as hell. He's cute as hell. We texted and messaged a few times over the weekend. Yum is all I can say. Next steps? I don't know, as he's going to Florida with buddies for a long weekend. I'll take it from there. However, I get a message from him at least once if not twice a day, and I'm diggin' it!!

Costume party with Fun Girl, Philly Girl and other folks. WHOOHOO. Loads of fun. No boys involved, but man did I have a good time. Dancing. Love dressing up. Second weekend in a row for the pirate costume. Ran into that rocker I had the DISASTROUS make out session with over a year ago, and just said hi and flirted a bit.

Not a word from Concert boy since I turned him down for hockey tix on Friday at 4;30. That's just too late to ask for a Friday night date. He's still back-burner guy. I've decided to go solo to my friend's b-day dinner this weekend rather than ask him...

The ex? The ex got his frickin' ring back. He told me that if I did not stop telling people about the door (he doesn't want anyone to get the IDEA that he's abusive b/c he says he is not. Says being the key word. We all know how well his words match up with his actions...) then he's going to go to my ex and tell him I've been neglectful of my dog and mini me.

Good luck I say. I've got nothing to worry about here. Your empty threats no longer work on me. You did break the door in my house, and you were an ass in public to me on numerous occasions. People saw how you are...

My lawyer girl has now advised me to start taping every call I get from him, or just not answer altogether.

His mojo no longer works, and I still have no sympathy for him. The best thing I got out of the conversations was saying this:

If you cared about me as a person half as much as you care what people in general think about you, we would still be together. However, you care far too much what everyone - coworkers, friends, and people you haven't met - thinks of you that you have no room to care for people. And the thing is, people think about you a lot less than you imagine they do. People have full lives, with problems, and issues, and general good and bad stuff. They just don't go around thinking about Hags the Fag all the time.

Write more later or tomorrow - its busy Monday for me.

When it rains, it pours

Oy vey.

When I awoke this morning, I had no plans for tonite. I have a cold, and need to be at home I think.

That changed.

By 10, got a Myspace from Prison Break guy:

You going to the party in BC? I'm iffy. My tennis matches are probably going to be moved to Sunday. Would love to catch up with you this weekend.

Yeah, me too. I'd like to catch up with you and torture you a bit, Prison Break guy.

By noon, we've made plans for drinks and to watch the hockey game at a bar between our respective houses.

By one, I get a long email from N, the ex, the one who recently fell off the list (albeit he's never near the top of that list, he's just always lurking) apologizing for his behaviour with the women in his life, etc. and apologizing to me for having to see him do that, apologizing for telling his gf that I was engaged so she would stop being weird about me, etc. Atonement. Plus a reference to a song we used to like 13 years ago...

Hmmm. Is he back on the list?

By two - a shorter, phone text from N the ex, more sorrys and some hopeful messages. Hmmmm.

By 3:45, an IM from a person who I used to work with, who I occasionally go to lunch with, who proceeds to ask me what I am doing this weekend (I tell him a date and a party) and then proceeds to tell me his wife is gone all weekend. Jesus H Christ he is after me! Egads. RS and RS2/Hotness - you guys know who this is?!

By 4, Concert Boy, who has season hockey tix, asks me to the game. Ugh. I say I have a cold (true) and leave it at that. I tell him I love hockey (I do!) and would love to go another night.

By 4:30, someone who should not be named in a ford contour has just dropped something off at my house. I see him sitting outside in the car, but 2 minutes later he's gone. And what did he drop off?

10 white envelopes, my 11th grade SVHS ID card and my GASP! college republicans ID card from freshman year.

I could do without that college republicans thing. Ruins the uber-liberal rep I have going. I was young, white and naive back then when Reagan was in office. Now I am older, less white, and less naive.

But WOW I really need these 10 odd sized envelopes. Yay envelopes. Whoohooo. Envelopes this weekend.

Homey - shout out to you! Hope the fires are far, far away today.

Nobody loves you like you do

Oh guess who just called as I was finishing the last post and said:

Sorry to call. Do you happen to know when you took the ties to Goodwill?

Yes, it was two weeks ago.

Sigh. Sighhhhhhhhhhh. Um. Okay.

Hangs up.

If only he cared about people like he cares about himself. Leads me to these lyrics from a country song:


well, I hate to admit
when you dropped your hook I bit it
one look and you swept me away
when I dug a little deeper
it was obvious to see
you’re nothing more than just another pretty face
beauty, only skin deep
that’s all you think you need
so typical

nobody loves you like you do
you don’t need me to make your dreams come true
you’re your one and only so I’m leaving you to you
get a life, get a clue, get a grip, get it through your head
drop dead gorgeous

well you really had me going
but your colors started showing
what I saw wasn’t really my shade
now the picture’s getting clearer
maybe if I was a mirror then you couldn’t tear yourself away
baby your looks could kill
someday I hope they will
so pitiful

so typical

Payback is a bitch or That was karma kicking him in the ass

I should not be allowed near a computer when drinking. That's all I am gonna say.

I sent this last night after drinking too much with friends, one of whom knows he who should not be named and was telling me stories about him hitting on a 23 year old in front of said 23 year old's boyfriend, who he happens to work with. I guess that sort of low behaviour set me off.

Hey,

Just in case you need a tie anytime soon, your ties have been donated to the Goodwill on Lynn Rd. Don't even ask what happened to your Princeton ring....

Payback is a bitch,
(insert my name here)

Needless to say it prompted a response.

I was laying in bed, feeling rough b/c of the cold and the bourbon, and the phone rang. I had forgotten, call it that first wake up amnesia I've recently written about, about my short missive from the night before. But the phone ringing brought it all back, so I answered knowing I would have to face the music. Aw fuck why did I send it?

There was lots said. Him saying I'm mean and manipulative. Him saying that I care for no one else. Saying he really doesn't dye his hair, that he can't talk about me with people because he gets upset, that he doesn't understand why I feel the need to be mean to him...it goes on from there. He said, you've won, good living apparently isn't enough for you, you have to be mean, why do you have to be mean, what did I do to you but just protect myself?

(That is the funny thing about egoists. The harm they do is never intentional.)

Here are some exchanges:

Hags the Fag: People never ask me about you? Do you know why that is?

Me: Because you dumped me (and your callousness makes people uncomfortable)

Hags the Fag: No, because the few who did, when I talked, I ended up crying.

(Booo fucking hoo. How does it feel?)

Hags the Fag: Do you tell people you broke up with me in Houston? I bet you leave out the part about you being so moody and bitchy.

Me: Nope they know that. They also know the circumstances (hormones,prednisone) under which my body was operating. I've told people I was a bitch that weekend.

Hags the Fag: Then you called me back a few hours later, changing your mind, after you took that "test." I broke up with you to protect myself. I am not a guy who doesn't stay when times get tough.

Me: Chuckle. Whatever.

(Actually, yes yes you are that guy. You have become a walking cliche. You are the guy who leaves. You are the guy who didn't put into context that I just lost my job, lost half my hearing, and was facing some difficult choices. You cared naught for me, only for you. And honestly, this past spring and summer was the very time when I needed someone else caring for and about me. The very time. You didn't do it. You lost patience. Things were very, very bad for me and you ran. And I, and my great and wonderful friends, picked me back up and put me back together...)

He cried some. I didn't. I'm all cried out over him.

HtheF: Please tell me what you did with the ring. Please.

Me: If only you cared about people as much as you care about your stupid ring.

He said he cracked his ribs, god knows how, but he says he wasn't drinking. I tell this to Fun Girl, and again in her easy, breezy, wiser than she knows way, she says:

He didn't fall. That was God and Karma kicking him in the ass.

God, how did she get so good at putting so much into so few words.

It took two bottles of wine

but we did it.

And he wasn't clinical, or honestly, particularly careful about it when it came down to making a move. It was good. Spontaneous. Passionate. And I didn't have to make a move on him for it to happen.

I'd give him a 7.5 or 8 on a scale of 1-10.

He also gets bonus points for the incredible bottle of wine he brought over. Impressive. Expensive and impressive.

Overall, a good night. He was attentive and gracious. He saw my yearbook and we looked through it and had some laughs. He gave up some fancy dinner at his restaurant to eat my dinner. We watched game 1 of the World Series (man I hate the Red Sox) and also got sucked into America's Most Smartest Model on VH1. Ad Girl, if you have not seen that show, check it out. 5 minutes and I was hooked.

That's all for now. I still need to catch up on Homey's visit here (so good to see you girl, be careful of those fires when you return home) and tell stories about Prison Break guy.

Thanks for taking all the spontaneity and passion out of it

Exchange on IM today between me and concert boy - hours, I should note, before our dinner tonite at my house:

Him: So did you shower today (note: this is a running joke...)

Me: Nope. I want to be as dirty as possible when you arrive

Me: Part of the ongoing anti-intimacy thing we have going here

Him: I think you don't like sex

Him: I've heard stories...

(Okay guys. This is where I am about ready to throw this guy to the curb. He's turning his issue into mine...)

Me: Well, if you have indeed heard stories, they would definitely lean heavily towards me being a slut and a fairly easy to get into bed

Me: And that's me speaking the truth

Him: Oh just kidding with you

Him: As long as you are safe and careful, there is nothing wrong with enjoying sex.

NOTHING WRONG...key words there. He took all the passion out of this subject. I don't need to elaborate on what is actually wrong with that sentence. You guys can see it. Jesus H. Christ, is he patronizing me with that one or what?! All of you who know me, know that I'm comfortable with sex. I'm a bit of a slut. I think more like a guy. However you want to put it. He's making his issue into MY issue.

I've had that before. The difference is, now I recognize it.

He's coming over in less than two hours and I don't know whether I want to make him work really hard for this, or just jump in and see if he's as bad as everyone is predicting.

I am not even close to catching up on this blog - so here's a random post that attempts just that

I have been so busy with work and somewhat with my social life that blogging hasn't been possible.

Whenever I get lazy, I just write shit in lists. I'm trying to get caught up (honestly, this blog is weeks behind) so I'll do some random paragraphs about everything.

Gymnastics

I coach gymnastics now, twice a week, while mini-me is training. Long story on how I got into this, but it takes her training costs to half of what they were with me putting in time on Mon/Wed nights. The girls I teach are awesome, for the most part, but one class in particular is really gassy. Not fart out loud gassy, but smelly, silent but deadly, you really need to take a shit gassy. Its the only drawback so far. That and the unbehaved kids (always one -two in every class.) I really don't like kids too much, but the ones that really want to learn, that are really trying, make it totally worth it.

Anti-slut of the year award goes to: ME!

I have been on seven dates, plus one run in over the weekend at Mosquito and Jackpot, with concert boy. I get an award (and probably some disbelief from several readers) for this one, as I have only, so far, kissed him. No making out, no sex. He's not groped or gotten to any bases yet. However, he's coming for dinner tomorrow night, and we'll see if I get to take a test drive.

The List

Who's on the list, who's off the list.

So far, I've got a list that looks like this:

1. Prison Break Guy
2. Concert Boy
3. Writer Boy - NYC
4. Ex-bf from Junior High who is MIA
5. Old rich guy who peed off the side of the boat

Number 1 deserves his own entry, and will follow this one. Met him two weekends ago, right after NYC, and he's really, really cool. Looks just like Wentworth Miller. Sweet, tall, mid-30's and about to be divorced (been separated for 10 months.) Works in pharma. Travels. Owns a house. I'm diggin this one.

Number 2 is so nice, so generous, so smart, and it doesn't hurt that he's well-off, but hasn't made a move on me yet. I'm diggin him too, but curious about what's going on. Is he courting me? Is he intimidated? Is he dating someone else he sleeps with and he's a date around but only sleep with one kind of guy? Is he gay? We'll find out tomorrow I suppose. Oh he's shorter than number 1, and you know I really dig tall.

Number 3 is on the list b/c personality wise, he's a 9.5. He loves my friends, he's confident, he's thoughtful, he's smart, and he can talk to anyone and NOT piss them off. However, he's number 3 on the list b/c he lives in NYC, he's young, equipment-wise I rate him a 5, but he moves up to a solid 7 in the sack based upon moves and sincerity.

Number 4 is on the list b/c he's always been on the list since I was 15. He contacted me back in August, and since then, crickets. This one is really puzzling. I think of him every day. He won't move off the list til he dies...

Number 5 is on the list for perseverance and as a safety. A girl's gotta eat. I'm wondering how many times I can turn him down before he gives up. The last call was asking me to go see Celtic Woman. Who buys tickets to that shit? Apparently, rich guys from NC that pee off the side of their boats.

People who were on the list as real or as back-ups and honestly, safetys, are now off:

1. Ex from 10 years ago (N) -off for bad behaviour and being less than honest with women (other than me)
2. Punk Boy - he's still so very very fun to flirt with and he was good in bed when actually able to perform but he's tiresome and a player and honestly, a drunk from time to time
3. Ex from the lake - I am never going to be more than friends with this guy, so he's the safety that is off the list

Saturday, in the park, I think it was the 8th of October

After the walk of shame, and the crazy morning of the three of us getting ready in that room that had no privacy whatsoever, we did the following things:

• Saw Columbus Circle
• Walked Central Park West, until we found The Dakota
• Walked through the park, until we found a hot dog stand
• Ate said hot dog, the hot dog that had been keeping warm in the questionable looking water, very very quickly
• Walked down Fifth
• Saw amazing, yes utterly amazing shoes at Fendi that would cost more than a month's salary
• Went to H&M, and all scored well here
• Went to St. Patrick's Cathedral, sat and thought of Herbert for awhile
• Went to a cute cafe on E 54 near MoMA, and proceeded to have one of the more enjoyable lunches ever because of our group and our conversation
• Went MoMA spotting
• Got an attack of angry ass, no doubt because of that dirty water hot dog I ate, and I saw every bathroom on every floor of MoMA
• Changed at the hotel into party clothes, and proceeded to go out b/c that's what you do in NYC even if you are tired. I'll sleep when I'm dead!
• Got into an argument with a cabbie, who had no clue where he was going. He was trying to tell me he had taken me to E 7th Street, when clearly we were still on the west side in Washington Square Park. He eventually found our destination after I told him where to drive...he was only off by 7 blocks. Ha!
• Visited McSorley's - of New Yorker fame - and it did not disappoint
• Ate at Katz's with my friend T - and decided it was time to send a salami to my boy in the army
• Headed to Max Fish, where I got another attack of angry ass, and the bathrooms there are questionable at best. The first bathroom I entered had vomit next to the toilet - already! - at 10:15.
• Felt better after my bathroom escapades in Max Fish, and began to enjoy myself thoroughly, LES-style
• Headed to Darkroom, across the street, and stayed there much of the night. This place deserves its own entry because our group had such an amazing time there. The name is really apropos, its is dark everywhere, and everyone looks good as a result. You could get into serious beer google trouble in this bar. There were about 8 of us, all drinking heavily, meeting people, taking pictures, every single one of us smoked so we took turns going outside in groups of 3s. We danced. Flirted, It was just an awesome place, with a DJ who was mixing Don't Stop Believin with Timbaland with the Cure with New Order then onto old school Michael Jackson followed up by Return of the Mack and it just went on like that all night.
• Welcome to the Johnson's was the next stop, although we went the long way to get to a bar that was just down the street. The place was a cool dive, with cheap PBR and interesting hipsters. You get the picture. It was like I never left Raleigh. The first song playing as we walked in was the Cure, and I felt at home.
• At last call, a band came in to play, right off the street. They had a trumpet, a snare, a tuba, and a kick ass singer. It was quite loud, so my writer friend and I excused ourselves and headed outside to make out and smoke on the sidewalk. We could still hear the band outside, but made our own fun.
• I decided to forgo another trip to the loft bed, as it was past 4am, and headed back to the hotel with my friends. All of us very drunk, talking loudly. We're lucky we made it back. If I had been that cabbie, I would not have picked us up...

The day begins with a walk of shame, Hudson style

I wake up the next morning after that NYC drunkfest, and for just a minute, I am not sure where I am. You know that feeling, that feeling you get when you've stayed over somewhere, and you forget for a minute where you are. It is almost like we have amnesia for the first 10 seconds of waking up - its a lovely brief moment of time if you're having a particularly bad week because you have no recollection of anything except being alive for 10 seconds, no thoughts of bad jobs, bad boyfriends, regrets, sadness, loss, death - there's also no thoughts of the night before, and as you become aware of your surrroundings in the garish light of day, utter confusion sets in.

What THE FUCK am I doing in this loft bed near the ceiling? OMG.

My phone rings. Its fun girl, being the "mom" of the trip, making sure I am alive and okay and not laying in a gutter somewhere in the meat packing district. Yeah, I'm cool, coming back to the hotel now.

Not before we hit one last time. I mean, I'm still up in that loft, might as well get one last fling in.

I put on my dress. And I head for the bathroom.

WOW do I look bad. I'm not just saying this. I looked bad. My hair, because the loft was hot, had gotten all sweaty and almost afro-like. No make-up. Puffy eyes. I looked like I had been doing exactly what I had been doing, which is being somewhat of a drunk and a slut (even if it was for one evening.)

My friend gives me some cheap sunglasses, kisses me goodbye, and hails me a cab. I head uptown to the Hudson.

The walk of shame.

It is 10:30 am, and all the good people in the city - mostly tourists- are up and about with their starbucks and their muffins and their cameras. There's me, in my party dress, itty bitty purse, bright red patent leather heels, getting out of a cab at the Hudson. I know this goes on a lot there, and I wasn't the only one that morning returning to that hotel in such a manner, but it still feels weird when its you.

Up the yellow escalator. A woman and her 10 year old daughter to my right. I imagine I can hear her saying, "Don't ever be THAT girl..."

Lobby, very dark. I can barely see, but don't remove my sunglasses. At all. Not in the elevator bank (even darker than the lobby) and not in the elevator. I get to the room and knock.

"We don't accept your kind here..." says fun girl.

Weltanschauung part deux

My first story is not the funniest or the most monumental, but it might be the most interesting because it involves the only act of sex amongst all of us (to my knowledge, which I trust b/c nobody was holding anything back this weekend in terms of sharing...)



Friday night. At the Hudson. We've drank all afternoon. Fun Girl, her brother and I. Mostly her brother and I, because Fun Girl attended a lecture at NYU. That's another story I'll get to another day. It is 8 at night, and I'm in the room getting freshened up for the night. I put on my jackie o black halo dress, and head down stairs to meet my NYC friend.



He is the guy I mentioned in a previous post - someone I met whilst down at Disney last October. It's been a whole year since we've seen each other, but there have been emails and phone calls in that time.



I walk into the outdoor bar at the Hudson - this could be my new favorite place in NYC by the way - and there's part of my entourage but no NYC friend. He arrives shortly after.



We drink.



We laugh.



We mingle with fun girl, her brother, my friends from Raleigh, their friends from NY, you get the picture.



We talk about writing for awhile. The conversation gets strangely intense during this time, the only time of the night it was that way, and we leave it after 15 minutes to head back to frivolity.



Our group, one by one or rather two by two, drops away. Need to pass out. Need to sleep. Need to take the train home. My NYC friend and I are on our own at midnight.



We head to a rooftop bar on Fifth Avenue, making out feverishly in the cab. (I'm diggin' it - he's a bit husky for me but he knows what he wants and I'm getting more action from him in this cab than I did over 8 dates with concert boy.) The guy at the door gives me kudos on looking so young, he was visibly shocked when I handed him the ID. Good start. The place is playing cheesy music but the open-air roof view of Manhattan is so amazing that we don't care. Down some more bourbons. Talk about the city. Kiss a bit. He bites my neck. I love that movie Love at First Bite, so this turns me on in a slightly comical way.



We head down to SOHO, to the cafe where they filmed that scene in Unfaithful. You know the one where they have sex in the bathroom. No I didn't have sex in that bathroom, stop jumping to conclusions, all y'all. But the place was KEWL.



I had some sort of Mojo going in this place. I did not seem to have it anywhere else, but there, my god, I could not keep people away from me. Guys come and wait in the bathroom line to talk to me. They actually cut in the line to do this. Fights almost ensued. One guy asked me to sit and finish his dinner with him. An older gentleman at the bar wanted me to sit with him. Two german, yes authentic (uniforms and everything) german sailors won't let me pass til I talk to them. This all happened in the first 10 minutes. It was flirting whiplash, and a bit overwhelming.



I was worried about my "date" for the evening. I shouldn't have. He thought the whole thing was great, and got tons of amusement from it. And its a good thing, because the mojo did not wear off.



We got free drinks from the bartender or from god knows who at the bar. They were not bourbon shots. No too big for that. They were highballs with no ice and lots of bourbon.



I had another sailor approach me, while I was on the sidewalk with my friend smoking a cig, and he was nice looking. Fun Girl would have been all over this. He says he is Argentinian, but is a guest sailor on the German ship. I look at my friend, and the recognition in his eyes tells me he thinking what I am thinking: ahh that reciprocal shit is still going on between those two countries, even now in 2007...The argentinian asks me if I am taken, if this is "my husband" and I laugh and then my friend says, yes, yes I am her husband.



I suppose it is all in how you approach the world and your interaction in it. My friend chose to have fun, knowing full well who I was going home with that night.



So we walked to his place. And he's warning me about his bedroom.



I say, don't care if its a mess.



He says, its not like that.

I think, how bad could this be? I've been in small places before. And messy? Messy I can also hack, if just for a night, as I was once married to the messiest man on the planet.

The apartment is spacious by NYC standards. Nice kitchen, long hall, decent size living room. He wants to make out on the couch. I put my foot down there and said:

Unless you can assure me that your roommate is not home right now and is not coming home, I am not making out on this couch. I'm too old and my dress is too nice for this...

So, we go to the bedroom. Trepidation all over his face. He opens the door.

I don't see a bed. I see a few scattered clothes, and a desk. Some books. It's fairly dark, but I can see outlines of things. No bed.

I couldn't see the bed because it was suspended about 9 feet above us. And there, built into the wall, at a straight 90 degrees, was a long-ass-ladder.

Seconds turn into hours as I ponder this.

I decide to go for it. I look at him and say, there's no way I can climb that thing with this dress on. And I take it off, very quickly, and scamper up the long ladder in nothing but my thong and bra. What a site that must have been, my huge ass...

So I'm in the loft, and he climbs up too - naked I might add - and we proceed to make out and play other reindeer games. I liked the fact that I could actually put my feet up on the ceiling.

And that's the end of night #1 in NYC.

Weltanschauung

Read the fine print on that. Yeah, it says:

Mythic Creatures
Dragons, Unicorns, Mermaids

This was above us on the A train when we first arrived in NYC, right after we dropped our bags off at The Hudson. Fun Girl looked at me and said:

If that isn't a sign from the universe of things to come, I don't know what is.

Indeed. There are 5 million stories in the big city, and I have about 20 of them from this past weekend. It was great. Fabulous. Not in that, things are bigger than life when you return home sort of way. In that, wow, I really needed to get out town, hang out with old friends and new in a new setting, and get a little drunk sort of way. In that change your world view, if only a bit sort of way. So I did that. I relaxed, I went with the flow. We went without agenda or plan, just with a list of potential addresses we might want to visit should we find ourselves nearby. This, I have now found, is key to having a good time.

That and not traveling with an asshole. That helps immensely as well.

(Side note. There is nothing wrong with my trip planning. I have two if not three people who would vouch that I plan a mean NYC two day trip. Rave reviews I got. We took in a ton of the city, went to great, non-touristy bars. Like I said, leaving the asshole behind when you travel must be key.)

But I digress.

So I did two days in the big city. Nope, I don't want to move there. Not unless I score really, really really fucking big on the lottery. And even then, it would be iffy. But more travel there, that is definitely in order.

Items in no particular order that made the weekend good and fun and crazy are listed below. And be aware, some of these are just previews to longer, funnier stories I'll get to this week.

Fun Girl and her brother together are a show. And when they drink and are happy, they are a really funny show. MoMA comps courtesy of my company. I got laid. Bourbon tastes good, especially when drank on a rooftop on Fifth Ave. Old friends from Raleigh have not changed, and they have not gotten less funny. Being with a man who thinks you are hot and smart and is not at all bothered but rather is actually gracious about the attention you get is so fucking refreshing it makes my head spin. The Upper East and West side are indeed worth it - believe the hype. And nothing tastes as good as corned beef and a vanilla egg cream at Katz's.

Club bathrooms with vomit could not dampen the fun we had. Overpriced drinks did not dampen the fun we had. An attack of angry ass did not dampen my fun. Walking blocks and blocks in super high heels did not dampen my fun. Having to sleep 3 of us to a bed did not dampen the fun.

There was just too much goodness around in the air for any of that to break through. All those things did was give us more to laugh about.

Weltanschauung indeed. I came back refreshed in a very good, very healthy way. Here's to moving on with my life.

Sending some love

Shout out to RS2 Hotness in India - I hate that you are back there for even a week. Bring me some bangles if you read this.

Homey - it made my day to know you're coming to visit. 'Bout time!

Ad Girl - miss you!

Hospital Diva - I need to bring mini-me down there soon so we can hang out.

The ties have gone to Goodwill

Finally. They are outta here. My attorney girl gave me the green light, said more than 12 weeks is reasonable enough time. Every single one of 'em is at Goodwill on Lynn Road.

Its good to purge...

If you could get him to admit to being a jackass, then that would be something

To begin about the new ruse...it was about BJs.

Now this was exactly the sort of lame-ass shit I was afraid of. Told my friends - Vegas, Rock Star, Rock Star 2 - about it. They all agreed its going to keep going on because he is the biggest social moron there is. He has no idea he's being arrogant, or bothersome. Love the low social IQ on that one. This will ensure he is always going to be a problem for some girl, some where. God help her.

But I digress.

I don't answer for 24 hours. Had to discuss it with the posse, as ruses like this have become cocktail fodder for us. (He might be mortified to know how often we chuckle over his lame social skills and his masturbatory activities over Pimms or Stoli.) I decide to answer with a simple email:

I do not use the membership.

If I did need to, I would simply go buy a new membership for $40.

This is exactly the sort of frivolous message I was hoping to avoid. Please respect my wishes and do not contact me in any way.

Immediately he responds:

Trying to be courteous. Not foster communication.

Don't even get me started on courtesy. He can use please and thank you while he's being evil or shitting on people, and he feels he should get points for manners. This gets me going. I write:

Frankly, you're a bit past being courteous, considering your past actions. Consider yourself blocked from all email addresses.


He responds with:

you have a selective memory

you can, and will, do as you please

Well hello ee cummings. What up with the all lowercase and no punctuation. No doubt trying to save time. He used to text me the most bizarre messages, using absolutely no vowels and lots of numbers, and they were almost indecipherable. I think he somehow thought this was cool.

So this week. This week I get a call from Salon Blu about his every 3 weeks appointment. Now, who goes to the salon every three weeks. Who? Who?

Someone who does indeed dye his hair. What a pussy.

So I am tired of getting these calls. I've yelled at the people to stop calling. They don't listen. I send him an email:

Subject: I don't need to know when you cut and dye your hair

Body: Please tell Salon Blu to stop calling here about your appointments.

He writes back, again, almost immediately:

So sorry. I've asked them. Not sure why they are not complying.

Good call on the dye job. How did you know?

Check out dooce.com. You are good enough to do that.

Again, sorry. Have fun in New York.

I don't write back. I want to. I want to respond to everything in there. I want to say the following:

They aren't complying because you didn't change the number, you lazy fuck.

How did I know? You LOOK like you dye your hair. It's obvious.

Hello, my cat's name is mittens Mr. Non Sequitur. I do actually blog, and some of it is way funnier that than boring blog b/c we have such great material to laugh about.

I told Fun Girl that I couldn't believe he so non-chalantly admitted to dying his hair. She said, in that breezy ease of hers, that if I could get him to admit to being a jackass, then that would have been something. But the dye job? Eh. People expect that sort of pansy ass shit out of him.

I began to realize I was too old to not have furniture in my living room, no matter what the circumstances

So I bought this Mitchell Gold sofa at a steep, steep discount. Thanks to Fun Girl and her interior design job...do you like?

I got it at basically 55% off. Huge deal. Delivered next week. No more sitting on the floor. And at my age, there was really no excuse, no excuse whatsoever for not having one. I had nowhere to make out with my dates...what are we gonna do, roll around on the floor?

Bi weekly ruse of the week from the Fuckwit

Several ruses of the week have occurred since that last one with the coupon...and that coupon, to top things off, was EXPIRED by 8 months. Lame. Lame. Where to begin as I am doing this all in review...



The last ruse was the expired coupon. There were two separate ruses about giving him and some unnamed friend (likely some 28 year old he's fucking) help with technical recruiters. All of the above ruses went unanswered.

So after that, nothing for a week. There's a pattern emerging, one that exists such that we should rename this to biweekly ruse of the week.

The next week, the week before the wedding he and I originally were going to go to on Sept. 14th, I got a phone call from him. It said:

You haven't been responding to my emails. I believe you have blocked me from all of them. Can you please tell me where I can contact you should I need to?

Very business-like. I should note, dear readers, the arrogance in which he conducts himself. He automatically assumes that I didn't get the emails, because if I had, surely I would have responded. Fuckwit. He's clever enough to have sent these emails from email addresses I didn't necessarily block. I blocked his yahoo address on yahoo, but had no idea (at that time) how to block it from my work account. I saw those posts. I just answered with crickets.

Fast forward to Wednesday that week. I had been paralyzed a bit about what to do with that air ticket he bought me. Some of us were planning on going to NY, but no one would commit, and I wasn't sure I could get coverage for mini-me. Let the following be a lesson that supports that whole Goethe quote (http://thinkexist.com/quotation/whatever_you_do-or_dream_you_can-begin_it/13527.html) in that if you just fucking jump out of the plane, your parachute will indeed be there.

I had less than 48 hours til the ticket was no good. I needed to change it to something, just to save the $300 credit with AirTran. So I called them up, and booked the ticket for NYC on the first weekend in Oct.

I had no idea whether NYC boy would be available. I had no idea whether Fun Girl could go. I didn't have a hotel nor a plan. And I didn't yet have a baby sitter or a pet sitter.

Fuck it. I booked it.

The ticket agent said, "We've just sent you your itinerary."

Uh oh. That's not my email address. I gave them mine, and they sent it on to that one as well.

600 seconds elapse. That's how long for it took to reach my inbox. And for my phone to ring. Yes, it was he who should not be named. I let it ring to VM. Here's the gist of it:

Um hey I um just got something I think you need. I really need to um know where to send it. (sounds exasperated by this point) You aren't calling me back. You aren't emailing me. I don't enjoy these calls any more than you.

Yes, yes you do. You social moron. You do enjoy this. I didn't call him back.

Fast forward to last week. Monday. I get an email from him. Its the itinerary. The message says, I think you need this. Don't know where to send.

Then, another email with the itinerary, from a different email address of his, sent to every known address I have ever had. It says, please confirm that at least one of these is unblocked.

So I respond, definitely NOT posthaste, "Confirm."

Nothing. For 48 hours. Then the stupidity begins with another email:

"Do you still use the BJs membership?"

I am honestly tired of writing about this, and there's more to go. So I'll return in a little while with my response.

My personality is no longer in a coma and I am definitely getting laid this week

Hmmm so much to write.

I took some time off, mostly b/c work got busy. Then I was sort of busy on weekends...doing not much of anything.

Sooo where did I leave off. I don't even know where to start.

Def Leppard Concert Boy, aka D:

We've been on several dates. He's taken me to two NC State football games, complete with the tailgating. Nice friends. He's good at including me, making me feel welcome. He's also been training for a triathalon, keeping him busy. He's taken me to his restaurant, introduced me around. I have been liking being around him so much I did the unthinkable.

I went to a Dave Matthews concert.

Yup, you heard me right. DMB. Those of you who have known me for awhile know that I despise that shit. I don't like Phish, I don't like the Grateful Dead. I don't like DMB. I recognize they are good musicians. Damn that fiddle player is amazing. But I don't like it. I've tried. I'm into the whole Virginia thing. You guys know I love that state. But DMB, this I cannot do.

I have to admit, I really don't like its fan base. It's an unimaginative group of frat boys and sorority girls, all conformists, all with their baseball hats and Nissan Xterras.

But I digress. I went to the concert because he asked. And he asked me to bring two of my friends as well, as he had four tickets total. I thought it was sweet. I didn't tell him I hate DMB, I just said I was "lukewarm." That's the nicest thing I've ever said about them. People are banned from playing DMB at Lakehouse...

So I went. The seats were great. He was so generous. Buying me drinks, food. Trying to buy me merchandise (do you want a DMB t-shirt? no, no I don't. really? they look cool. no, no really I don't need another t-shirt.) I had forgotten what it was like to be around a man who isn't cheap.

Every frickin song sounded the same. I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. My friend Harley girl got a little tipsy and was very amusing that night. She sort of passed out in the back seat of his Jeep on the way home (he drove us all...again, this guy is just so nice) but not before asking us to make a run for the border. I wasn't in a Bell sort of mood, so we got McDonald's and ate it on my back patio.

We ate and hung out and talked for awhile. He was looking good. I was watching him talk about his companies, his work, his training, and I was thinking, wow he's cute in this light. I'm thinking I want to have sex with him. I think he might have wanted to have sex with me, but he wasn't pushing for it, and honestly, there was little room at the Inn. Let me explain...

Harley girl went upstairs and passed out in my daughter's room. My daughter, meanwhile, was in the spare room with two of her friends, sleeping. So I had a total of 4 people ALREADY in my upstairs. It was particularly crowded, and I have a noisy bed. It makes too much noise when its in use. We would have woken up the house.

So, I didn't offer and he didn't press, and we made out quietly on the front porch and his kisses are much, much better. He left, my clothes barely mussed and my balls, if I had them, very very blue. I have now gone on six dates, SIX dates with this guy, and not so much as more than a kiss. He'll talk about my fabulous boobs til the cows come home, but will he grope? NOPE.

And as such, being somewhat of a contrarian, I'm getting fished into this. I'm on a mission to get laid by this guy. It's gonna happen. Enough of all this spending money and taking me places. Take me to bed, damnit. A girl's gotta eat, but a girl's GOTTA EAT too.

So, I have a date with him on Thursday night. This time I asked. He's asked for the last 6, thought it was time I put it out there. Sushi and drinks. Then perhaps I'll take him for a test drive.

Punk Boy:

Seen him out a few times. Broke the ice with him a few weeks ago by sending over a shot. Didn't talk to him, just had the bartender deliver the drink and he got wink from me. Hung out with him two Friday nights ago, with my friend Kirsten Dunst look alike, and it was good. Nothing happened. He's having a fling with one of those 25 year old punk girls, I believe.

Saw him again this Friday night. Was out with Fun Girl, and some others. She said there was some staring...but he always does that. He did wander over to say hi, I was very friendly but nothing beyond that. Spent a lot of time on the dance floor talking, just talking with my drummer friend P, in from LA for the weekend, and it probably looked like there was more going on with he and I than there really was. Little Red Corvette came on, and I made no move away from talking to P, and I saw Punk Boy and his 25 year old skedaddle out of there mid-song.

Others on the list:

N, my ex from 12 years ago, was out this past Friday with his super psycho sometimes ex, sometimes not ex girlfriend. I'll call her Militant. Because that's really close to her name and that's who she is. I hug N, and he says, "This is Militant."

And I say, "How do you do? I'm (insert my real name here.)"

She responds, forcefully and with the strength of an NFL quarterback calling a play before the snap, "I'm Militant."

N says, drolly, "Yeah...didn't I just say that?"

She greets me, almost breaks my hand. Spends 15 minutes seeming to get mad about me. She didn't seem to. She got mad. Fun Girl told me not to look over and make it worse. Then, apparently to appease her about me (I was looking pretty good, I must say) he made a comment about me being practially engaged.

Whoa whoa whoa. I know. Stop the presses. At this moment, I could not be more single. Honestly, I've never been so single in my life. Probably not since 8th grade. Probably not since 3rd grade.

So, she tests him and me on that statement. Says to me, in front of everyone:

"Congratulations on getting engaged."

I thought I didn't hear her right. I mean, that's possible right. I mis-hear shit all the time. I just miss shit totally. So I say, excuse me?

"Congratulation on your engagement..."

I tell her I'm not engaged, and I look very very confused. Everyone else around has a shocked look on their face. The two of them leave, and they have a fight brewing. Those of us left behind, we just say WTF????

My writer friend - the 30 year old - from NYC:
I am IM'ing with him as I write this. (I am also IMing with D the concert boy, and it feels good to be juggling again.) I am visiting him this weekend. He's single too. And I'm anxious to finish what we started last year. I've thought of him off and on since then, and as of late, we've talked more. I get some sweet texts from him like this:

"Dangerous. This city." Sent at 3 am on a Thursday night/Friday morning.

That's all. Enough that's he's not overt or stupid or dirty when he is drunk texting.

So he's trying to set up time for Absinthe at the Waverly Inn. I've got us set up at The Hudson. I'm starving myself starting NOW. (A lot of good that will do. I've kept the weight that I have lost off but haven't moved below 116 down to my goal of 110....oh well.) I predict that yes, these pipes will be clean. He's a cutie. He's thirty. He's got a full head of hair and he's more confident than that fuckwit I dated when my personality was in a coma.

Speaking of him. He DOES INDEED for sure dye his hair. He admitted it in an email to me today. That will have to wait. I am tired, I need to IM some more with that sweet NYC boy who is still smitten with me as his older woman fantasy before I call it a night.

Sorry I haven't written. Started on the actual novel and it took some juice out of me...