We were supposed to meet at 8pm on Memorial Day. Although I hadn’t heard from him all day, I had hoped that with each passing hour I’d get a call, a text, a smoke signal… something. I was naïve enough to still shower and get dressed but for some reason I held off putting makeup on. I somehow knew the blow off was coming and subconsciously decided that without the effort of makeup, just a sliver of dignity remained.
At 8:15 the shoes came off and I poured myself a second glass of wine. I tried calling the only friend I had told about the pseudo-date, but it was only fitting she didn’t answer. I fought every urge to call or text him and instead thought about what I would tell a friend in the same situation. I imagine I would tell her not to bother texting or calling and the next time she saw him to pretend as if she didn’t even care or remember, to laugh a little too loud at other people’s jokes, to dress just slightly inappropriately. Then inevitably when his next call or text comes, don’t respond.
My best advice tends to be the advice I give to other people. The hard part is following it for myself.
In the end I can only hope he's dead in a ditch somewhere. But you know, no hard feelings or anything.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
marriage
Recently I’ve been bombarded with the modern dilemma of career versus marriage. It seems as if almost every girl I’ve friended on Facebook since kindergarten has updated her relationship status to either “engaged” or “married” within the past 12 months and inevitably I wonder if it’s just me? Am I alone in thinking that that 25 is just too young for marriage?
A few weeks ago, a 22 year old recent college grad that has sort of latched onto me at work, confided to me that the thought of getting married after 30 was unthinkable. I jokingly told her, “Well I can’t even find a boyfriend and I’m older than you are, so you shouldn’t worry.” And then, as if to drive the dagger in, she replied, “Yeah and you’re way older than I am!”
Sunday, March 30, 2008
the turtleneck
I suppose I was bound to come across it at some point in my life. I knew it existed out there like some mythological creature, but in my 25 years I had yet to actually come eye to eye with an uncircumcised penis, and it was an encounter for which I was severely unprepared. A few months ago I briefly dated a guy whose one major flaw was his foreskin.
My initial reaction was that it reminded me of something that should be attached to a dog. My father used to have an overly playful 80 lbs. French Bouvier, named Ego, who was infamous for his appearances on the leather couch in the living room. My step-mother claimed it was the pliability of the couch or perhaps leather just is one of those things that does it for both canine and man. But without fail, every time Ego would pounce onto that couch, it was in your best interests to flee the area. Within seconds, Ego’s enthusiasm would slowly emerge into a bright red, wet erection reminiscent of a tube of lipstick sliding upwards. And if you weren’t quick enough, it would be headed straight toward you.
I had somehow managed to suppress the memory of Ego’s lipstick - that is until I encountered the Turtleneck for the first time. It would be a disservice to those out there who have yet to encounter firsthand a turtleneck of their own if I skimp out on the details. The best way to describe this creature is as a cascading, flesh waterfall - the skin literally falling and draping a good inch beyond the tip.
The term “turtleneck” resulted from the guy’s over-attempt at humor, when post-relations he proclaimed on multiple occasions, “Welp time to put my turtleneck back on,” as he yanked forward his penis flesh in an almost painful manner.
Needless to say, after a few encounters with the turtleneck, it didn’t matter how many bottles of wine the evening was filled with… the turtleneck was not something worth trying on again.
My initial reaction was that it reminded me of something that should be attached to a dog. My father used to have an overly playful 80 lbs. French Bouvier, named Ego, who was infamous for his appearances on the leather couch in the living room. My step-mother claimed it was the pliability of the couch or perhaps leather just is one of those things that does it for both canine and man. But without fail, every time Ego would pounce onto that couch, it was in your best interests to flee the area. Within seconds, Ego’s enthusiasm would slowly emerge into a bright red, wet erection reminiscent of a tube of lipstick sliding upwards. And if you weren’t quick enough, it would be headed straight toward you.
I had somehow managed to suppress the memory of Ego’s lipstick - that is until I encountered the Turtleneck for the first time. It would be a disservice to those out there who have yet to encounter firsthand a turtleneck of their own if I skimp out on the details. The best way to describe this creature is as a cascading, flesh waterfall - the skin literally falling and draping a good inch beyond the tip.
The term “turtleneck” resulted from the guy’s over-attempt at humor, when post-relations he proclaimed on multiple occasions, “Welp time to put my turtleneck back on,” as he yanked forward his penis flesh in an almost painful manner.
Needless to say, after a few encounters with the turtleneck, it didn’t matter how many bottles of wine the evening was filled with… the turtleneck was not something worth trying on again.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
speed dating
Generally the thought of speed dating brings to mind a scene from some romantic comedy and might potentially sound like a good idea in theory. However, it is not something that actual real people participate in, or at least not anyone that I know.
About a week ago my friend Victoria approached me with the idea of giving speed dating a try. She and I both moved to Chicago about a year ago, and she figured it would be a good way to meet people beyond our cubicle walls at work.
About an hour before go-time, I was dead set on backing out and continuing my weekend love affair with my couch, but since I had already paid the $32 fee, my cheapness kicked in and I figured I would at least go for my free drink. So I crushed a glass of wine for some liquid bravery and made my way over to the bar.
Immediately I scanned the room for any potential hotties, and couldn’t help but feel like a total tool.
The way it works is the women are assigned a table and given a number. Every 5 minutes a whistle is blown and the guys rotate. Fortunately I had the foresight to jot down some notes, mainly because I knew I would get at least one or two good stories from this experience. On your “scorecard” you circle a yes or no next to the guy’s number. If both parties circled yes, the organizers will email the other person’s contact information.
So I got my free drink and made my way over to my table. I was lucky number 9. Bring on the plethora of men to add to my man-harem. That night’s lineup featured:
Vladimir – Vladimir is a part-time dish washer new to the US from Bulgaria. When not washing dishes, Vladimir fosters his entrepreneurship spirit by running his own vending machine business.
[whistle!]
Joe – Joe is a recently retired, former military operative in his mid 50’s. Rather than drinking a beer, Joe preferred his Styrofoam cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee, which only fueled his jarring and abrasive personality. Immediately he sat down, snapped his fingers at me and spewed, “Ok let’s do this. Where ya from? What do ya do? Ya like a guy who can boss you around a little?”
[please God, blow the whistle already!]
Peter – Peter was the quintessential dbag of the group. Offensive behavior included:
Jeff – I actually noticed Jeff at the bar before we even started. He was the creepy old man attempting to hide his raging boner as he stared me down. I pretended not to notice and prayed his 5 minutes would be as painless as possible. He’s the type of guy who is a regular to the Viagra Triangle scene in Chicago, looking for that perfect 21-26 year old he can brag to all his old men friends about. He was extremely forward, pulled his chair in close to me and touched my knee. About 75% of the conversation centered on where I went to college (Syracuse University) and it’s inferiority to his alma mater (Georgetown) that he probably graduated from 15 years before I was even born.
[whistle… Jeff was actually asked to leave and move onto the next person. Apparently he just couldn’t pull himself or his erection away from me.]
Danny – Danny is a petite and reserved gentleman who works as a nurse in a nearby hospital. He complained that although he works with a lot of women, they’re all in their 60’s and not dating material. The interaction with Danny was extremely awkward, most likely due to the fact that neither one of us could avoid thinking about the obvious… Danny’s vagina.
[if I had a whistle on me I would have blown it myself]
Lesson learned: if you’re going to participate in speed dating only do it with the intention of creating socially awkward comments for pure amusement purposes only.
About a week ago my friend Victoria approached me with the idea of giving speed dating a try. She and I both moved to Chicago about a year ago, and she figured it would be a good way to meet people beyond our cubicle walls at work.
About an hour before go-time, I was dead set on backing out and continuing my weekend love affair with my couch, but since I had already paid the $32 fee, my cheapness kicked in and I figured I would at least go for my free drink. So I crushed a glass of wine for some liquid bravery and made my way over to the bar.
Immediately I scanned the room for any potential hotties, and couldn’t help but feel like a total tool.
The way it works is the women are assigned a table and given a number. Every 5 minutes a whistle is blown and the guys rotate. Fortunately I had the foresight to jot down some notes, mainly because I knew I would get at least one or two good stories from this experience. On your “scorecard” you circle a yes or no next to the guy’s number. If both parties circled yes, the organizers will email the other person’s contact information.
So I got my free drink and made my way over to my table. I was lucky number 9. Bring on the plethora of men to add to my man-harem. That night’s lineup featured:
Vladimir – Vladimir is a part-time dish washer new to the US from Bulgaria. When not washing dishes, Vladimir fosters his entrepreneurship spirit by running his own vending machine business.
[whistle!]
Joe – Joe is a recently retired, former military operative in his mid 50’s. Rather than drinking a beer, Joe preferred his Styrofoam cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee, which only fueled his jarring and abrasive personality. Immediately he sat down, snapped his fingers at me and spewed, “Ok let’s do this. Where ya from? What do ya do? Ya like a guy who can boss you around a little?”
[please God, blow the whistle already!]
Peter – Peter was the quintessential dbag of the group. Offensive behavior included:
- Stating that he’s from “Cali.”
- A beaded necklace that was so tight I wondered if I should wear protective goggles in the event it popped off.
- Excessive muscles that could only be the result of steroids and a steady supply of protein bars.
- Current occupation: male stripper
- Walking away from Victoria’s 5 minute date 3 minutes early
Jeff – I actually noticed Jeff at the bar before we even started. He was the creepy old man attempting to hide his raging boner as he stared me down. I pretended not to notice and prayed his 5 minutes would be as painless as possible. He’s the type of guy who is a regular to the Viagra Triangle scene in Chicago, looking for that perfect 21-26 year old he can brag to all his old men friends about. He was extremely forward, pulled his chair in close to me and touched my knee. About 75% of the conversation centered on where I went to college (Syracuse University) and it’s inferiority to his alma mater (Georgetown) that he probably graduated from 15 years before I was even born.
[whistle… Jeff was actually asked to leave and move onto the next person. Apparently he just couldn’t pull himself or his erection away from me.]
Danny – Danny is a petite and reserved gentleman who works as a nurse in a nearby hospital. He complained that although he works with a lot of women, they’re all in their 60’s and not dating material. The interaction with Danny was extremely awkward, most likely due to the fact that neither one of us could avoid thinking about the obvious… Danny’s vagina.
[if I had a whistle on me I would have blown it myself]
Lesson learned: if you’re going to participate in speed dating only do it with the intention of creating socially awkward comments for pure amusement purposes only.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
