Confessions of a Booty-Texter

Booty texts.

Sure, they’re shameless and scandalous, but we all can relate to sending, receiving and accepting them at some point. (Some of us more than others.)

Whether you consider it a blessing or a tragedy that it’s been adapted as an acceptable (and preferred) form of communication in the dating world, there’s a certain thrill in receiving one late at night after a few drinks. And if you’re rejected, it doesn’t sting quite so much as a face-to-face or even an over-the-phone encounter.

So although I’m very much of a proponent of booty texting in the right context, I’m very much anti-booty texting when it comes from certain parties­--ex-flames being one of them.

The past few weekends, I’ve been receiving texts from a former fling between the hours of 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. This Romeo drops such poetic lines as “Hey” and “Hey, how are you?”

Five years ago, the younger, naïve Miss Procras. would giddily scream to all her girlfriends how much this boy likes her and wants to hang out with her. But this is an older, wiser Miss Procras. who knows he wouldn’t be texting her at 2 a.m. on a Friday night if he really cared how she was doing.

So, I rolled my eyes, muttered “you’ve got to be effing kidding me,” and hit the delete button.

Under normal circumstances, I’d ignore the text and not think twice about it. I’ve sent my fair share of booty texts, I know we all gots needs. However, this particular former fling, who I’ll refer to as Shit-way, really grates my nerves. Let me explain why:

1) He knows I have a boyfriend. Last time I saw him, which was about four months ago, we talked for about 15 minutes. Well, let me rephrase that, he talked about himself for 15 minutes. In between him telling me about his girlfriend of over a year, I was able to slip in the fact that The Hoff and I were together.

Once I received his texts, I figured that his relationship must have ended. (A quick Facebook check confirmed this.)

2) When Shit-way and I were together, he was still hooking up with other girls. I know this because one of my friends used to hook up with him and told me that he was still trying to get her to come over when we were dating. When I confronted him about it, he told me that he had asked her to come over but was “just kidding.”

Just kidding? Seriously? I’m not an idiot. I know as well as the next girl that guys never joke around when their penis is involved.

But I decided not to say anything and just hook up with other people too. Clearly he didn’t consider us to be in a relationship, so I wasn’t going to either.

Two weeks later, after not hanging out with him for about ten days, Shit-way asked if we could meet for lunch. I knew where this was going, but I decided to humor him anyway. It was so hard to keep from laughing when he started the whole “I think we should just be friends” speech.

What I wanted to do was laugh in his face, throw my coke on him and say, “You’re a moron. We were obviously never in a relationship.” But I’m not one to make a scene. So I smiled, agreed, finished my lunch and wished him well.

3) The sex was NOT good. Let me just go ahead and say that I took this kid’s virginity and he had no clue what he was doing. Who knows-maybe he’s improved. But I think that’s highly unlikely.

4) It kills me that Shit-way has the balls to think I would actually want to hook up with him after all this. Um…how ‘bout a big HELL NO. I’m thinking of sending him this so I won’t have to put up with his nonsense anymore. Or maybe I should post this on the D.C. Craigslist to spare other women the hassle.

Nah, I’m not that mean. And I’m a firm believer in karma so it’ll all pan out. I’ll just keep my thumb stationed on the delete button of my cell phone until he gets the hint…

Where's Ashton and the Rest of the Punk'd Crew?

Okay, now I'm really starting to think someone is messin' with me.

After my post yesterday about the mediocrity of my job, I arrived to work today and was summoned into the conference room with the rest of my co-workers. The head supervisor wanted to meet with us. No one was quite sure how to take this impromptu meeting because it had to do with our merit increases.

About a month ago, we were all told that our merit increases would be put on hold indefinitely. To be honest, we all took it with a grain a salt. This day and age, you gotta be thankful to be employed!

So this morning, my supervisor told us that while there's no word on our merit increases, we would be all be receiving bonuses.

....

Um...seriously???

I sat in shock, just staring at my name on the white envelope I had just been handed. I was too scared to open it, for fear the contents might be pink or have the words "Sike!" typed out in 82-point bold font.

Once I got back to my desk, I finally mustered up the courage to open the envelope, ever so carefully. No pink paper was hidden on the inside nor did any fifth-grade slang jump out to greet me. Just a pleasant surprise and great start a regular old hump day.

Now I just need to figure out how to use it.

Should I:

Buy my first pair of designer shoes?
Add a few pieces to my Spring collection?
Plan a vacation?
Pay off my credit card bill?
Invest it?

I'm calling my dad at lunch to get his advice. I probably won't like his answer, but I know it's the right thing to do. Damn you, conscience.

I think this also means I shouldn't complain about my job anymore-at least not for the rest of this week.

Having an Office Space Moment...

Considering I was on my death bed for a majority of last week, I didn’t have much energy to blog. A cold that then turned into a sinus infection will do that to ya…and leave you in bed for five days straight.

Thankfully, the black lung subsided in time for my trip to Nashville this past weekend to visit one of my best friends from home. We’ll call her law student. She’s in her last semester of law school and since she moved, I kept telling her I was going to come visit. Seeing as how she’s going to graduate in less than three months, I figured it was now or never, so I bought a plane ticket two weeks ago.

A little background on law student:
-We’ve been friends for 11 years.
-She’s Italian and is therefore feisty, blunt and can drink…A LOT.
-She may be the only other person on the planet who can consistently be as late as I am. Don’t ever plan to go somewhere with the two of us…we’re guaranteed to arrive a good hour past when we say we will.
-During my trips to visit her during undergrad, I either a) tried so hard to keep up with her that I got ridiculously wasted and passed out or b) hooked up with inappropriate people (ie-high school ex-boyfriends).

Law student wanted to show me a good time in Nashville. So she decided to take me along as her date to a barrister’s ball. For those of you unsure what that is (I know I sure as hell hadn’t heard of one before), it’s basically like a sorority/fraternity formal for law students. Based on my track record, I questioned her judgment/sanity for inviting me, but graciously accepted anyway.

I ended up controlling myself and actually made a respectable date. I started out the night right with a Sparks-I’m nothing if not classy-and then split a bottle of champagne and a bottle of wine with Law Student. This was all before the dance. At the venue, we quickly attacked the open, though I quickly realized there was no way I could handle the three-part liquor one part mixer cocktails the bartenders were concocting. So I stuck to beer for the remainder of the night.

But Nashville is definitely a fun city and Law Student’s friends were all really friendly and fun. One of their first comments to me was, “There’s this misconception that law students study all the time and never drink, and that’s definitely not the case.” With that incentive, I’m seriously considering going back for my JD...

I have to admit, though, as awesome as Las Student’s friends were I couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed by the way my life has panned out thus far. Here I am, almost 25 with a journalism degree I’m not even using. I’m ashamed to tell people what I do for a living because I just took my current job just so I wouldn’t have to move back home with my parents.

And one of the first questions people inevitably ask when you meet them, is “what do you do?” I always try to sugarcoat my answer as much as possible. “Well, I was working for a magazine, but I was laid off, so now I’m working for It’s not that my current company sounds bad, so I hope that they’ll just accept that answer, but when people press further, my job description just sounds…lame. Like any Joe-Schmo could do it. And explaining this to dozens of students at a highly ranked law school doesn’t exactly give you a self-esteem boost.

So I left Nashville not only thankful for a much-needed visit with Law Student, but also a renewed determination to find a job that challenges me and I enjoy. I know we all can’t be lawyers or doctors or Nobel-prize winners. But I guess if I actually had a job that excited me I’d be more confident in talking about it.

Fate can have a funny way of intervening sometimes. I had to represent my company at a conference yesterday, and directly next to-I'm talking within one foot of-my booth, was a bar. A full bar. Stocked with wine, beer and liquor. Problem was, every time I looked over, my mouth salivated, which made it a little difficult to talk to people who approached my booth. If nothing else though, it made my mediocre job seem not so bad…even if it was just for a day.

Wordless Wednesday-Classic Miss Procras.

My first Wordless Wednesday-another idea I snabbed from the lovely Lbluca77.

Oh, you know... just another typical Saturday afternoon in the life of Miss Procras.

Hope that gives you a good laugh to get through the mid-week slump! Happy Hump Day!

Praying to the Porcelain Gods…Literally

We've all over-indulged in the alcohol department once or twice in our lifetimes. Usually, a friend or significant other is your caretaker for the night, dutifully guiding you to the nearest bathroom and holding back your hair as you puke your brains out. This doesn't happen to me very frequently. Not that I don't puke from alcohol consumption (dear God, I wish that were the case), but I'm more of a morning-after puker.

This is probably a blessing in disguise for my friends, family and innocent bystanders. When I urk the same night as I drink, I tend to find some not-so satisfactory vomit receptacles. Like stairs on a bus. Or beige carpet. Or a recyclable bin (though I've heard vomit is biodegradable, so that one actually works). But never, in a million years, did I think I'd vom at church.

It all started innocently enough. Lo and I decided to meet up at my hometown to catch up and have a girl's weekend. We went to dinner where I proceeded to down two apple martinis. Afterwards, we went to a couple bars, and I decided I'd be safe and stick to vodka. One cranberry and vodka and one grape vodka concoction later, we headed home.

I honestly didn't feel that drunk. I mean, I only had four drinks over the span of four hours. And I'm no two-beer queer. But holy hangover did I feel like poo Sunday morning. For some reason, I was wide awake at 8:40 a.m. on the only day of the week I could actually sleep-in. So I downed some Coke, thinking it would stop the pounding in my head. Not so much. An hour later, I started getting ready for church. Lo and I were both up at this point, so we figured may as well go and seek forgiveness for our ever-mounting pile of sins.

I was fine through most of the service, but mid-way through the sermon, a wave a nausea swept over me and I knew I was gonna spew. As calmly as possible, I exited the sanctuary and hightailed it to the nearest ladies room. I ended up choking and spitting saliva all over the door as I tried to keep the chunks down.

I've never tried so hard not to vomit in my entire life. My body was like a drug dealer, enticing me: "Just puke, you'll feel better. Come on, everyone does it," while my sadistic mind countered back with, "You're in church! Everyone will know you’re hungover. Put your big girl panties on and just deal with it!"

My mind won for about five minutes—enough time for a mom and her 3-year-old daughter to exit the facility. (Btw…have you ever noticed how long it takes toddlers to use the restroom and wash their hands? I don’t know if they’re still getting used to the whole “using-the- big-girl-potty” process or if they just naturally take ten times longer than everyone else to do a simple task.)

As soon as they left, my body told my mind to go eff itself so it could free my liver of the toxins I introduced to it just 12 hours earlier. I should have felt better after that hurl session. But when I'm hungover, I get really paranoid. And the bathroom was right outside of the nursery. I was convinced all the 6-month-old babies and nursery attendants knew I was a hungover hussy who vomited at church.

I returned to my seat once the sermon ended and popped some breath mints so the people around me wouldn't faint. Hey, we still had to sing the doxology. I didn't want my puke breath wafting towards the rows in front of me. I'm sure no one else did either.

My family was oblivious to my little incident-which was good and bad considering we were going out to lunch to celebrate my grandma’s birthday. I didn't think Wendy's or Taco Bell was an appropriate suggestion as a venue to celebrate my grandma's 84 years of life, so I resisted my hungover cravings and agreed that Olive Garden was a splendid idea. (Those garlic breadsticks weren’t sounding too shabby, either…).

The nausea hit again once we were seated-my body’s timing is impeccable. Except this time, to coincide with the nausea, my head started to feel like it weighed 800 lbs. I needed to lie down. Immediately.

I started brainstorming excuses for leaving the table. I decided on the tried, but true, "I need to get something out of my car." (A hungover person's line of thinking isn't really much better than a drunk person's.) So, I excused myself and headed to my car for a power nap. (Right after hitting up the hostesses for some saltines. They had none. Figures.)

After about 15 minutes of half-ass sleep (because really, how well can you sleep hungover in a car?), I decided I better head back inside before my family sent out a search party. I got about halfway to the door, and saw Lo walking towards me. Best friends have stellar ESP skills.

Back at the table, I tried diving into the salad and breadsticks but started having horrible gag reflux.
Dad: “How’s The Hoff doing?”
Miss Procras: ::muffled gag:: “Fine.”

Hence, I excused myself for the second time and sprinted to the restroom for vom session #2 of the day. Once the salad and breadsticks I had just eaten resurfaced, I decided it was time to give my body a little pep talk:
“Listen, liver, kidneys and other important organs I obviously tortured last night, I know I put you through hell, but get your shit together so the fam doesn’t think I’m a raging alcoholic.”

My body decided to listen this time. Two breadsticks, two plates of salad and two gallons of water later, I felt halfway human again.

As discreet as I tried to keep my hangover, I’m pretty sure the fam caught on. Before we left, my grandma said, “Miss Procras, you burn the candle at both ends and in the middle. We’ve got to slow you down.”

Oh man, even my grandma knew. I’m still not sure whether to be embarrassed, ashamed or just push this out of the memory bank forever.

I think I’ll just shake my head and have a good laugh. Stuff like this always happens to me, so may as well entertain other people at my expense.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Why did my all-time-fav. Hollywood hottie have to turn out to be such a dirty old man?? What is he doing marrying a 19-year-old!? (Btw...he has a 9-year-old daughter! That means there's only a decade between his daughter and his fiance. So weird.)

I was so excited for the new Fast and the Furious to come out. Obviously I know the movie will suck, but it would be nice to watch Paul take his shirt off again. But I just don't know if I can look at him the same knowing he was with this girl when she was 16 and he was 32.

::Sigh::Teenage crushes die hard...

Dear Beer Companies, Please Follow the Below Suggestion Accordingly. K-Thanks.

Below is prime example of why I love Lo. We were discussing Valentine’s Day when she came up with a genius idea. I think all beer companies need to adopt this into their product line-up. It’s a guaranteed way to increase sales among women in the 24-30 demographic.

Lo: i mean, i don't hate valentine's day, i just think people who love/like each other should show their affection everyday and not just wait for that one day a year.

me: i agree-it's very commercial.

Lo: which is why i take advantage of all the suckers who are spending tons and tons of money in restaurants that evening, and visit the grocery stores and chinese restaurants who are not getting business. thats how I’m showing my love.

me: exactly.

Lo: but let's be honest, nothing says love to me like a 8 pack (i wish they made those...6 is never enough and 12 is too many) of coronas and some chinese

me: um…AGREED

Lo: i mean, 12 is enough for guys, but too much for girls.

me: definitely. And you feel like such a wuss just buying a 6-pack.

Lo: you feel like a cheap wuss. i just think if hotdogs can come in 8 packs, so should beer

me: hotdogs-your other favorite food!

Lo: which is even worse. I KNOW!! i do consider beer a food because i have sacrificed eating dinner some nights to drink

me: and i think that is respectable/commendable. you do what you gotta do.

Lo: p.s. be jealous of me because i am spending the afternoon of v-day watching a basketball game with my dad and probably stuffing my face with my 8 pack of coronas and hot dogs.

me: oh i am! sounds better than any valentine's day i've ever had.

So, 8-packs of beer. Think about it Anheuser-Busch, Coors, Miller, etc. It's no coincidence that a prophesizing plastic sphere you shake to determine your destiny was dubbed a magic eight ball. Or that to win a game of pool you must sink an eight ball.

We're on to something here. Oh, and we'd like a liftime supply of your product as payment for our genius suggestion.

Fondly,

Two fun-loving gals who would love to imbibe more than a 6-pack, but less than a 12-pack.

Ain't No Cure For the Post-Super Bowl Blues

I’ve blogged before about how I’m a die-hard football fan, but I never specified my team. I heart the Steelers. And no, I didn’t jump on the bandwagon after Big Ben’s first Super Bowl win in 2006. Needless to say, I’m still a little giddy from the big win on Sunday.

I’d like to commend the Cardinals for making this Super Bowl one hell of a match-up. Seriously, after Larry Fitzgerald scored that touchdown putting the Cardinals ahead, I about lost it. I had to leave the room, get some fresh air and then watch the remainder of the game by myself. I get a little intense during football games.

It didn’t help matters that one of the Hoff’s roommates kept laughing every time the Steelers screwed up. Not cool. I secretly wanted to punch him in the face, but I refrained. I’ll just get him back next year when he’s watching a Redskins game..except I’d be laughing for 3+ hours straight because, let’s face it…most high school football teams could beat the Redskins. BURN!

I was very Martha Stewart this Super Bowl and made some chili and spinach dip for the game. Good food+good outcome=fantabulous Super Bowl ’09.

You know what’s kind of sad though? Not only do we have to wait six months for football season to start again, the next big drinking event we have to look forward to is St. Patrick’s Day. That’s more than a month a way! I don’t know if I can wait that long…I may have to start creating my own holidays/celebrations to hold me over.

For example:

*Saturday, 2/14: I think Valentine’s Day should just turn into a huge booze fest. That’s usually the drunkest day of the year for Lo. I really miss having her around to pound Coronas, pig out on Chinese and watch Lifetime movie marathons. Oh, memories…

I’ll probably end up making a spontaneous 3 ½ hour drive to see her next Saturday. The Hoff has a friend coming into town, (he got confused that his friend said he’d be in town 2/13-15 and neglected to realize that Valentine’s Day falls smack dab in the middle of that visit. I’m not bitter at all...) so Lo and I can have a nice, romantic evening scarfing our faces, getting wasted and hating men…Lifetime makes that easy to do.

*Monday, 2/16: Most of us here in D.C. have President’s Day off, so why not take advantage and get rip-roaring drunk? You could even make it themed-have people dress up as their favorite President/First Lady and only consume beverages that are red, white and blue. So patriotic!

*Wednesday, 2/25: Many people are at church on Ash Wednesday. I haven’t been since 2002. My alternative? (Hopefully without sounding like too much of a blasphemer.) Flaming shots! The matches from lighting them on fire create ash…what better way to mark the start of Lent!

*Saturday, 3/7-Sunday, 3/8: Celebrate the start of Daylight Savings Time with a tropical-themed party. Particularly beneficial for those of us in the colder climates who are suffering from the wintertime blues. Serve drinks such as tequila sunrises, sex on the beach, pina coladas, mai tais and pineapple iced teas. Crank up your heat to full blast, tell guests to wear bathing suits and you’ve got you own deserted island!

That ties you over until the weekend before St. Patrick’s Day (which falls on a Tuesday this year). And let’s face it, if you’re like me, you’ll start celebrating the Friday beforehand. Even a self-proclaimed procrastinator can appreciate that some things deserve to be done ahead of time!