Updates.

• I went out to the bar on Thursday night, and ran into a guy I met and hooked up with on New Year’s Eve.** I’ll call him Neighborhood Dude. He’s a fun guy, so I went to talk to him and danced on him a bit. Things progressed, and he said, in a kind of cute, begging voice, “Come home with me.” I was already down before he asked – so I responded, “Well, we’ve already had sex, so it’s not like my numbers would be increasing. Done and done.” Then, we danced some more – and Bar Guy [who works there, and at whom I threw the paper airplane at a week before] walked by. I saw that he was there but I didn’t acknowledge him [because he was busy] and he didn’t acknowledge me [probably because he was busy]. But instead of acknowledging me at that point, he said to the guy I was dancing with, “If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it, [name]!” Yes, the song had just recently played. But the irony was not lost on me. I told Neighborhood Dude, “You have no idea how funny that is.” Then we left. We went back to his place, but it was a little weird. He’s not cuddly or very affectionate – not that I expect that, but it certainly helps getting…umm…the systems turned on. There was a little of this and a little of that, but we both fell asleep before the sexytime. I woke up the next morning to the alarm. I got up, put my clothes back on, and was going to leave. My hand accidentally knocked a mirror on his wall and made a loud noise, which woke him. I apologized, and said I was leaving, and walked over toward him. He stuck out his hand, I took it, and he kissed my hand. Then I said something about having a good day at work, and then, “…okay. Bye.” The last time we hooked up, I bounced before he woke up, but left my number on a bank envelope on his bed. Never heard from him. A few weeks after that I saw him at that same bar, and he came up, gave me a hug and said, “Hey! How are you? I woke up and you were gone…” I said some bullshit about having something to do. But the role reversal made me laugh. This update is getting really long. The point was about having Bar Guy see me with Neighborhood Dude. But Neighborhood Dude is cute, funny as shit, and intriguing. Just wish we’d intentionally hang out at some time instead of leaving it up to chance. 
• Oh, the sex. Yes. I should address that. I met a sweet guy from Ireland through a friend, and we had sex. A lot. And it was awesome, as I mentioned before. He’s adorable, dark hair and blue eyes, tall [at least 6 feet - though I didn't spend much time standing up with him...], funny in a cute way, cuddled with me, held my hand, told me I was beautiful and had awesome breasts [never a bad thing to hear]. But he lives in Ireland. Though, it’s strange…when we were lying in bed, talking, one of his arms around me, the other holding my hand, him telling me stories about Irish history, I thought: “Ohmygod…I would marry this guy.” In a second. I’d do it. If he said, “Hey, I’m coming back to Boston…let’s get married!” I’d most likely elope with this adorable Irish dude who was awesome in the sack and a complete sweetheart. Highly doubt it – but I’ll keep you all updated.
• School and work are fine. Nothing interesting to note there.
• My birthday is on Tuesday. YAY!
• Ugh, all this sex talk has mentally worn me out. I’m done for now.

**Just realized I never blogged about New Year’s Eve because I was on hiatus. It. was. awesome. and. INSANE. Briefly: Got drunk, went to a party, made out on a stairwell with a guy [he was all up in my Spanx], went to a VFW Post bar with some other random dudes, left, ran into them again on the street corner, they offered weed and convinced us to come back with them, we did, got high, met Neighborhood Dude, he put his face under my dress while we was in the kitchen with our friends, made out in the bathroom [all the while me being on another planet due to the pot smoking], then we left, went home, looked at the pictures the next day – and wondered how the FUCK any of that happened. And we really just intended on going to our friend’s party and having a relatively quiet night…

Peering over the wall…

Update: I hung out with The Kinda Sorta Guy [But Really Just a Friend] on Sunday. My out-of-town friends were not impressed. They suggested I put more effort into another guy who we saw at a bar in my neighborhood – a guy who is rumored to like me [so many of our mutual friends tell me]. He and I went out once, but he was too drunk to make good conversation. Anyway, later in the evening of St. Patrick’s Day, we went back to my neighborhood bar and I wrote Bar Guy a note and drew a silly  leprechaun picture, folded it into a paper airplane, and launched it to him across the bar. I said, “Open it.” He said, “It’s a note?” I said, “Yep,” and walked away. It basically said, “When are we going out again?” This afternoon I saw him on the street. He hugged me, said hello, and kept walking. I asked if he was going to work – he said yes. Nothing about the note. Granted, I was on the phone with the cable company trying to get some more channels [for my roommate, who requires SoapNet. Cue eye roll.] But still – he should have seen me, said, “Thank you for the note! It made my night! You’re awesome! Let’s hang out next week.” But no! That’s not what happened! And I don’t get it. So I sent him a quick text when I got home:

Me: Hey jerk. Did you like my present I threw at you last night?

Bar Guy: Yes honey. I brought it home with me.

Me: Good. You should frame that shit. It’s worth dollaz.

Thinking about it more – this is why I am hidden behind a wall and make no effort. I shouldn’t have expectations of what other people are going to say – or how Bar Guy should have reacted to my awesome paper airplane present. And until I am to the point where I don’t expect shit from guys…I think I need to stay single, and behind my wall. I got too all-in-a-tizzy over the whole thing, which is the reminder that I should STOP CARING SO FUCKING MUCH. I was so nervous about giving a thirty-something man a note asking him out. I was upset that he didn’t jump for joy when he got it. I was bummed that he didn’t respond instantly. What the fuck is wrong with me? I really want to not care at all and just go with the flow – but I can’t. And I don’t like opening myself up to any sort of rejection. I’ve been rejected enough, and hurt enough, and I can’t do it anymore. Not even a tiny bit. 

The worst part is that I have realized that I do – still, after all this time – have massive expectations of men. And I can’t have them. But I can’t not have them, so I don’t know what to do.

It’s all just so. fucking. annoying. I’m done caring. I’m done trying. And I’m just…done with it…all of it.

Note to self: There is nothing of value on the other side of that wall. Quit peering over it. Climb down the ladder. Go back to watching Hulu and eating Ben & Jerry’s. 

Ahh, me, Ben & Jerry…now that’s my kind of threesome.

OK, maybe not so much, then…

Well, since I wrote the last post about the kinda-sorta-not-really guy situation…I haven’t really talked to him. I sent a very short email on Monday, thanking him again for inviting me to the concert – no response. Then I sent an IM on Wednesday – no response. I didn’t wait around for more than a couple minutes, though, because I had class. Then finally Friday I IMed him again, and we chatted for a few minutes. I know it was midterm time this week, and didn’t expect too much…but I guess after I wrote what I wrote earlier in the week…well, I certainly didn’t expect to hear nothing. He asked what my friend and I were up to that night, and I told him she was working and I was going to a movie then a dance party with a friend. I invited him, knowing that a dance party is not really his thing. He declined, then I said I was going to take a nap and signed off. 

I always jinx things by talking…er, typing…about them. 

Whatever.

Anyway.

Yesterday I was in Starbucks, having coffee after a long morning in clinic [observing a profoundly mentally retarded 8-year old, who was blind and deaf], and I overheard a woman talking on the phone to a friend. From what I gathered, she has an 8-month old baby, who has been in the hospital for almost her entire life – save 26 days. The woman expressed how she was upset by the fact that the congregation at her synagogue hadn’t called her to check on her and the baby. “It’s not like I need anything or any help, but they could have called to say, ‘Hey, how is everything?’”

I agree and disagree. I agree, because people in your life, you hope, care enough about you and should call to check in – at the very least. On the other hand, you can’t expect people to do anything for you, or to be anything other than what they are. Everyone has shit going on every day in their lives – and while I agree that having a baby in the hospital for several months on end, who may not make it, is stressful and deserving of concern…sometimes people just don’t have anything to give to others. It sucks, but it’s the truth.

Also, sometimes people just don’t know what to say. “How are you?” they may ask. “Terrible!” would likely be that mother’s reply. What do you say to that? Sometimes it is just easier not to say anything at all.

It is interesting to think about human’s expectations of each other. We expect that we won’t hurt each other, or ignore each other, and that we will always be nice and supportive. But people are people – good and bad – and if you can find a group of people that are nice and supportive even most of the time and only hurtful on accident on occasion…consider youself lucky.

So when I take a minute and think about it, I realize that I am one of the lucky ones. And regardless if one person in my life has some shit going on and ignores me during the week…I have plenty of other people in my life who love me and want to spend time with me.

Tonight’s fortune cookie said: Look around and you will find the greatest treasure of all, friendship. 

A Haphazard Shot In The Dark.

So, some of you may be happy to know – I have somewhat of a “guy situation.” Sort of. But not really. It’s more like, I randomly met this awesome guy through a joke Craigslist ad [in the W4M section] that I wrote with my friend, which he responded to. He wrote that he was new to town, our ad “stood out” and he could only imagine the douches that responded to it – I replied that he had no idea [we got several dick pics and offers for threesomes - yeah...], and I asked where was he from. When he said he spent some time in college in North Carolina, I was immediately hooked. We exchanged tons of hilarious emails, which turned into hilarious texts, then phone calls [mostly drunken - and yes, I saved his voicemail and listened to it, easily, 40 times. I know. I know...] Then I invited him to hang out with me and my friends on our normal Thursday night party night – and after a series of unsuccessful attempts, he finally came. And it was great. He is awesome, and funny as shit. Did I mention also adorable? I didn’t? Oh. Well, he’s very attractive. And tall. And really, really funny as shit, which was really sealed the deal for me. He makes me think harder – and I haven’t met someone who gave me such a mental workout in…well…maybe I never have. 

Bad news: He has a “lady situation” back in NC. But it’s cool. I wasn’t bugging about it then, and I’m still not. I would ask him over gchat sometimes to tell me about her, and he always just said it’s a “mess” wouldn’t say much else. Finally one Friday night, under the influence of a ton of alcohol, I prodded further and he finally answered. He said things were kind of a “mess” and he wasn’t sure what was going on – she lives so far away and is still finishing her program in school. But it was apparent to me that he has strong enough feelings for her to keep this up, even though they only started dating a few months before he moved to Boston. And I totally respect that. They want to give it – whatever it is – a chance, and that’s really not something I want to get in the middle of. 

But he still wants to hang out with me, and we have hung out several times now. He texts, IMs, or emails every other day or so – mostly random stuff. Like YouTube videos, or something funny he saw. Something that, obviously, made him think of me – something that he thought I would think is funny. And I do. We have the similar gross, vulgar sense of humor. He must like me at least somewhat – he would have stopped talking to me long ago if he didn’t.

In recent weeks, I have come to the realization that I have a big personality. Sometimes I think it’s too big, and maybe frightens guys [and people in general] away from me. Especially those kinds of people that are insecure. Because, aside from the random moments of self-doubt [usually associated with my menstrual cycle or the lousy Boston weather], I am becoming more and more “at home” in my head as time goes by. I am who I am, and I can’t change it – and fuck, I wouldn’t want to change it, anyway. I’m pretty bad-ass – fuck you if you don’t agree.

I also like saying “fuck.” That probably also scares away those who have sensitive ears to vulgarity.

Anyway, my point is that I have come to the realization that it is going to be a long time before I find a guy who is strong enough to be able to not only put up with me, but can dish it back – in the form of humor and wit, and self-confidence. Since I have been single now officially a year – and in the past year, have only had three guys make it past one date, and one guy make it past two dates – obviously I haven’t met anyone who can handle me.  

Until I met this guy. He could totally handle me. And could actually probably maybe…make me happy. Or give me a run for my money. Or something.

So here I am, friends with an awesome, hilarious, cute guy – who is amazing on paper – but who isn’t really available. And you know, that is okay. The more I think about where I am in my life, I don’t think I’m really available, either. The more I think about it, I’m still kind of behind that big wall I built a few months [a year?] ago, in hiding. And I can’t find a fucking sledgehammer.

The more I think about it…I’m not sure I want to find the sledgehammer.

Maybe it’s not my job to, anyway. Maybe that’s his job. Whoever he is. Whenever the time is right. And now…well, now is just not the right time. In the meantime, I’ll be his friend, and I’ll enjoy every fucking second of it. 

And I will not, under any circumstances, over-think the nice things he does for me [like try to get me concert tickets to a show he knows I would like] or take the following quotes taken directly from his email to me as some message that it’s “fate” that we met so randomly through a ridiculous website, out of all the people in Boston, out of all the people in the entire world…:

“Your ad stood out and I could just imagine the kind of responses it got…Your motive for writing your ad is essentially my motive for responding to it: kind of a haphazard shot in the dark for no other reason than we’re bored and we can.  Kinda rad…”

Two or three months later.

I started this a while back – it’s about damn time to finish and post it already. Let’s go.

——————————————————————————————————-

It has happened…five times, I think.

I dated a lot last summer. And into the fall some, too. But nothing stuck into the winter…except all this snow and ice that currently has my car baracaded into my street parking spot here in Boston.

It’s the typical situation: girl meets boy. Boy somehow convinces girl that he is not a douchebag. Girl is skeptical, but believes him. Girl and boy hang out and have a good time. Boy then either douches out, disappears – or, more typically, both.

Then, two or three months later, the boy will text girl. He will say, “Hey, haven’t heard from you in a while, what’s going on?”

Girl is always:
1) Shocked
2) Irritated a bit, at the lengthy delay in attempts at contact
3) Curious…at why now, two or three months later, is this boy texting?

[PS--In case you're lost already...the "girl" is me.]

The first time this happened was with R, a guy I dated a few months just after the Ex and I broke up. We met opening day at Fenway [for those who aren't in the know, that's early April]. He was really cool, we went out several times over about two months, but one day he just didn’t return my text and I never heard from him again.

Until about two or three months later.

I had just gotten home from a date with the guy who  asked me out through my blog [yeah, note to self: don't do that again]. Then I got the text from a number I had deleted [because if you ignore me, you're going to get deleted]. We texted a little bit that night, and he expressed interest in “going bowling and making out” again sometime. I blew it off, having just come back from a really great first date with another guy who would ultimately only make it to be a tiny footnote in my life, a mere mention in order to fully mention another, more important story.

Then in November, I got a text from a guy I slept with over the summer [I have written about this story before - the hot bartender]. Very strange text exchange. He also texted me a “Happy Thanksgiving.” Still no response on my end. 

In early December, I got a text from a guy D who I met at a Sox game in September. He and his roommate took me out to lunch, and tried to persuade me [jokingly?] to have a threesome with them. I hadn’t heard from D in…two or three months. He was just “checking in.”

A few weeks after that, I got a text from a guy I dated in October. It had been about two months since I had heard from him. We ended up texting for a few weeks, and even went out [and hooked up], but then things faded out again.

If this pattern sticks, I’m thinking he will text me around opening day – April 6th. That will make it…about two or three months.

I really don’t get it. Why, if I obviously wasn’t interesting enough two or three months ago, am I suddenly worth checking in on? 

I’m so over it all.

Blast from the Past, Part II

Well, I thought the story was over…

But again, the Universe had other ideas.

Thursday morning, I woke up, slapping my pink Razr phone as it buzzed and rang to wake me up. Flipping it open, I saw a new text message. It was that 646 number again:

N: We fucked right? Or atleast tried too lol

Ew. Ew. Ew.

I never thought of it that way. “We fucked right?” Ew. What a vulgar way to put what…we…did. Or “tried to” do.

And why, oh why, are you STILL texting me? It’s been three days’-worth of texts, and you still haven’t quite figured out who I am? LET IT GO.

But all of this got me thinking about that word, and left me to wonder: am I the type of person who “fucks?” And what is the difference between fucking, screwing, humping, scrumping, doin’ it, having sex or hooking up? Basically, nothing. But the word “fucking” as it applies to me and what I do in the bedroom [and bathroom or living room, from time to time] makes me really uncomfortable. Yes, I was drunk. Yes, it was a one-night thing. No, I really didn’t know the guy. [Wow, this story is shaping up to make me appear really classy]. But I still feel like trying to accept the idea that I “fucked” a guy is next to impossible — and something that I’d really rather not do anyway.

Ew. Ugh.

I much prefer “hooking up” or “gettin’ it on” — the latter especially in texts to a friend at 2am when a dude is in the bathroom and I’m excited for what I know is about to happen.

Regardless, I obviously did not respond to N’s text. And several days later, I’ve heard nothing else from him. Thankfully.

END OF STORY.

I hope…

Bad Thoughts

Lately, I’ve been all committed to myself, and it’s great. I’m running, and pretending to study, and doing my own thing. Awesome.

And then…I start thinking about…someone…someone I probably shouldn’t. It’s pointless, as he isn’t available, so we’re just friends. Plus, the nature of our interaction is…complicated. But there’s definitely something there. He said it, I said it. It’s pretty annoying, actually. And there’s nothing I can do.

But I keep…thinking…

And I wish I could stop it.

We’re friends. Friends. Yeah. Friends is good.

Rewind.

I change my mind.

Fuck being confused. Fuck waiting around.

I do know what I want. Maybe not in the grand scheme of things. But if meet a guy and I like hanging out with him, and I know he likes hanging out with me, why should I just wait for him to contact me? In my job, it works better if I tell the people what I’m doing, and don’t ask them if I can and wait for them to say yes.

I’m going to try this now. I will say “Hi, I want to see you, so we’re hanging out [day] & [time].” Then if they say no, well, that’s fine. But at least I was direct. Then they know I am a direct, take-charge kind of woman. And since when is that a bad thing?

And then, if they know I am take-charge in my regular life…they’ll see the fuzzy pink handcuffs hanging on the back of my door and realize I’m take-charge in the bedroom. And I know for damn sure guys don’t think that is a bad thing.

I confused directness with putting in all the effort [like with relationships]. But it’s dating, not anything serious. I’m not saying “We’re going to be boyfriend/girlfriend!” I’m just saying “You’re cool and I want to see you” and working that out, which isn’t difficult. It’s just taking charge of another aspect of my life.

Why hadn’t I figured this out before??

Twenty-Five and Jaded.

Twenty-five and jaded. Yep, that’s me. The more I think about the status of my life and relationships, the more and more pessimistic I get. So maybe it’s best not to think about it, since it is apparently the thinking that makes it worse…but I’m too introspective to avoid thinking. And apparently not busy enough, if I have all this time to just sit around and ruminate. I should pick up a third job. That would be far more helpful than this brooding bullshit.

Anyway, It’s been over 7 months since The Ex and I broke up, and I have never been happier with that decision. But being back on the “market” [which is a horrible term -- but makes sense in our shallow, capitalist society], it is becoming increasingly clear to me that dating sucks.

It was fun at first. The attention always is. Meeting new guys, making out, having fun. The summer is perfect for that. Something about autumn, however, makes me want to cuddle by a fireplace with hot cocoa and a nice guy.

Scenario checklist:
- Current season: autumn. Yesss. On top of that, it’s October, which is my second favorite month [only after March, because it contains my birthday]. There’s leaves changing colors. There’s crisp autumn air. There’s pumpkins and mums abounding, which is so quintessential New England. Love it.
- Fireplace: nope, but I do have a quasi-hearth area in my living room, well-stocked with candles. Light them all, and presto! Insta-fireplace. So romantic.
- Hot cocoa: duh. Always on hand. And I can make that shit from scratch, too. I’m legit.
- Nice guy: hmm. I’ll get back to you on that. [I think, perhaps, it's possible that nice guys exist, but I don't have any myself...]

I shouldn’t be so “blah” about all this. Honestly, I am doing whatever I want to do, whenever I want to do it. And it’s great. But I think my jadedness speaks to a bigger issue women my age are dealing with: the fact that guys don’t try anymore. They don’t, because they don’t have to. Women do all the work. We initiate communication, we set the dates, we call the shots. So the guys don’t even have to do anything. If we like a guy, we’ll call them. We’ve completely taken out the element of making them “work” for it. And it fucking blows. I’ve met dozens of guys in the past six months, yet have only gone out with three more than once; of those three, only one I went out with more than twice [and out of nowhere, he just stopped all communication in June, then randomly texted me a few weeks ago asking to "go bowling and make out" again soon. Umm...really?] And it’s not for my lack trying or being a fucking catch — because I am. I’m smart, witty, intelligent, and have pretty eyes. And I can cook. Why aren’t guys knocking down my door?

So I start thinking about this, and then this ridiculous bitchy streak comes out and I want to say to any and every guy I will potentially meet in the future, “Sorry, I just don’t think you have what it takes to date me.” Then I would see what they say and do in response. Would they immediately turn and run? Would they take it as a challenge? Would they step up and actually…[gasp]…try to put in some effort with an awesome girl who they’d be lucky to spend time with??

I’m not even looking for a serious boyfriend. I really just want a nice guy to drink cocoa with beside a potential fire hazard. Is that so much to ask?

I’m just starting to wonder if, in order to get this, I’m going to have to:
- drastically lower my standards [not my favorite idea]
- start online dating [again...]
- stand on a street corner advertising my goods [this could also help solve the current money woes]
- move [because apparently Boston guys suck]
- change the qualifiers from “nice guy” to “nice girl” and start batting for the other team [I do know lots of awesome single ladies]
- be really, really patient. Like, really fucking patient. Like English Patient patient.

Whatever. I’m just so…done.

[And how many times have I said that? Anyone counting?]

Maybe I just want someone to say, “Miss M, you’re great and you have nothing to worry about! Keep doing your own thing! [Insert various other compliments here]!”

But there we go with the whole external validation thing. I should just validate myself.

Hmm…[Rereading what I just wrote, and trying to believe it]…Maybe I just did.

Currently.

Stuff I Like Right Now:

• this chicken parmesan sub
• apple cider [fermented and not]
• first dates…
• …with an awesome dude*
• plans for a second date with an awesome dude
• Food Network [specifically Paula Deen & Alton Brown]
• watching Food Network and eating a chicken parmesan sub, while not writing this 10-page paper that is due at midnight
• blogging about watching Food Network, eating a chicken parmesan sub, and the aforementioned procrastination
• the funny little Albanian delivery man who brought me my delicious chicken parmesan sub, and who flirted with me in Italian**
• “hipster” glasses [on people other than me...namely an awesome dude]
• an awesome dude

* So there — I mentioned you in my blog. Four times. How do you feel about that?

** Obviously by describing someone as “funny” and “little,” they are not anyone I would ever be interested in as anything other than a conveyor of food products, but still respect nonetheless for his delivery abilities. In a former career, I delivered sandwiches. So I get it: The bringing of the food. The driving of the car. The grimacing at the minuscule tips. The flirting with the customers, bending over in your shorty-shorts. The desire to punch all six of the guys in the office that time after they left you a 50 cent tip, yet had the nerve to ask your number. My number?! It’s 911. Douchebags.