Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Being single sometimes makes you feel like...




Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Being Alone Can Be Scary as Hell


This past August, my grandfather passed away. I was fortunate enough, a month earlier, to spend his 80th birthday with him at a surprise party planned by my aunt. About 100 of his family and friends showed up for the occasion.

The next day, I was at his house, and he kept talking about how normally during the days it was just him and his dog, Buddy, a Doberman the size of a small horse. My granddaddy’s second wife passed away a few years earlier from breast cancer, and progressed macular degeneration left him legally blind and unable to drive for the past decade. He lived with my aunt and uncle, who both worked full-time, 9-5 jobs, so he was often alone during the day, except for friends that stopped by for lunch on occasion.

He must have commented that he’s alone a lot at least five times during my visit. And it suddenly hit me – my 80-year-old grandfather is afraid of the same thing I am as a single 27-year-old. Being alone.

With each engagement and wedding, I’m elated for my friends, but also reminded that I’m nowhere near that milestone. And with each passing year, I wonder if it’s ever in the cards for me.

But, my grandfather taught me an important lesson before he died. This thing I’ve placed on a pedestal, and think will bring me life-long companionship, is fleeting. Marriage can end in divorce, or in my grandfather’s case with his second wife, death. As with everything in life, there are never any guarantees.

I write this not to come across as a crass, bitter bitch, or give off the notion that I no longer believe in love and finding a soul mate. Quite the contrary.

It’s a reminder that this fear of being alone can persist no matter what the circumstances. A reminder to be thankful for what I do have, instead of focusing on what I don’t. A reminder to tell those in my life I love them, and maybe call or write them more frequently so they’re aware how much they mean to me.

My aunt said that as she held my granddaddy’s hand while he drew his last breaths, he seemed at peace. I hope he passed from the physical world no longer fearful of being alone, but thinking of all the people he had impacted throughout his life. Those 100 people at his surprise party were just a small percentage, I'm sure.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Hey, if the shoe fits...


Last week, I finally went to the doctor after my co-worker noticed my left foot was so swollen it was double the size of my right one. Hello, Shrek foot.

Diagnosis: stress fracture

No cardio of any kind (besides swimming) for two weeks.

No running for six weeks.

AND, I get to rock this awesome looking orthopaedic boot.

Here's a visual (not my actual foot, but you get the idea):

I don't know what's hotter - the shoe or the fact that I walk like Frakenstein when I wear it. I keep trying to adapt some sort of pimp/thug life strut but I'm unfortunately not baller enough to pull that off.

In the meantime, I'm trying to think of some really crazy story to tell people when they ask me what happened. You know - one that would make me look super heroic and badass or even just hilariously idiotic.

Chasing after Ryan Gosling and saving a teacup poodle from oncoming traffic are currently my top contenders. Suggestions welcome.

Seriously though, I'm going through major high heel withdrawals. I stood in front of the Nine West store for a good five minutes during my lunch break today salivating like each pair was a fresh-out-of-the-oven Krispy Kreme donut. Yeah, I'm that pathetic.

And I'm totally burning this orthopaedic p.o.s. as soon as the doc says it can come off...while dancing around in my favorite heels, of course. Fingers crossed for next Wednesday!

Monday, September 26, 2011

A not-so triumphant return to the world of online dating


I took a pretty lofty hiatus from online dating during the spring and summer months. Much like every exercise routine I try to follow, I just didn't feel like keeping up with it anymore.

Then I saw $60 deducted from my bank account in August for my subscription and figured I should probably attempt to utilize a service I'm paying for. And oddly enough, the online dating sites seem a bit more active during the fall/winter months. I think the most likely reason is at first hint of cool air and the start of football season, us single folk realize that the holidays are right around the corner, and the thought of spending another holiday season alone thrusts us into desperate means to find a mate. So, I updated my profile, added some additional pictures and have resumed life on and

I had my first date since the account update last week. Unfortunately, I can't say that much has changed.

I met King Charles at an Irish Pub close to both of our apartments. I was about 5 minutes late getting there, and when I got there, he was already seated at the bar with a beer in hand. When the bartender came over to take my order. I selected a Sam Adams Oktoberfest (one of my favorite aspects of fall) and started fidgeting for my wallet. King Charles made zero attempt to put my beer on the tap he clearly already had open, so I quickly realized I needed to actually take out my credit card.

Strike one.

Sadly, it got worse. Or better if you count the story I got out of it. King Charles owns - you guess it, a King Charles Spaniel. Not only that, but when explaining the breed he added, "You know, the same kind as Charlotte had in Sex and the City."

To be fair, he probably gets tons of comments while walking his dog or talking about his dog. It's not exactly the type of dog I'd imagine straight, single males owning. So I'm sure the first jab people throw at him is that he has the same type of dog as Charlotte York. But for the love of God, on a date - a first date at that, I'm not so sure your knowlege of Sex and the City is something you want to flaunt.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

On Falling in Love with your Best Friend


I'm going to go ahead and blame Julia Roberts for making it popular to enter into marriage pacts with your best friend if you aren't married by a certain age.

It didn't work out too splendidly for her, so I should have known it would crash and burn for me.

Essentially, in the past couple of months, I realized that I'm in love with my best friend.

It only took me 12 years.

I met J my sophomore year in high school, but we didn't really become close until our college years. When I was 20, single and slightly bitter, I told him that I was going to wind up as one of those single, crazy old ladies with a bunch of cats. It was then he suggested that we get married at 30 if neither of us had taken the plunge yet.

The thing is, J has always made his feelings for me known to everyone. In front of our friends, he referred to me as the love of his life, woman of his dreams and future wife. I always knew I deeply cared for him, but I pushed it aside as deep love for a friend and considered him along the lines of a brother.

It never occurred to me that I would ever see him differently. That is, until I realized that the feeling I get in my gut when I'm around him is unlike any I've felt around anyone else.

So, I pretty much pounced on him a couple months back when I found out he was back on the market. We kissed, among other things, for the first time that night, and it just felt...right. No awkwardness, no feeling like we shouldn't be engaged in what we're doing. I just kept wondering why it hadn't happened sooner.

That was two months ago. We've been on a couple dates, sent some cute texts back and forth, and had a couple other rendezvous. But I know things aren't where they should be.

So finally, I broke down and asked him where we're at. And I got some roundabout answer, interlaced with a lot of bullshit. He said he's always liked the idea of us, but the timing is off.

When he started throwing out the standard excuses I knew all he really needed to say but didn't have the balls to tell me was: "I like you, just not enough to date you."

And it sucks. I feel like I've been suckered punched. Or at least I did when I finally accepted the reality of the situation.

Because I can handle it when a random guy screws me over. I expect it. It doesn't phase me anymore.

But when it's someone who I've been friends with for years, who has taken care of me when I'm sick, picked me up when I'm drunk and emotional, was by my side at my grandfather's funeral...

...let's just say that I thought that I meant a bit more to him.

So I've done what I've done best - injected myself with a heavy dose of emotional novacaine.

Because it's easier. Easier than facing the sting of rejection. Easier than reliving the fact that his feelings don't match mine. Easier than realizing that I may lose one of my oldest friends.

But I guess that's the risk you take when you try to take a friendship to the next level. Things will never be the same between us.

And God damnit it sucks.

Though this reality - harsh as it may be - is infinitely better than the alternative: staying in limbo and waiting and hoping for that one day when he decides that he's ready to be with me. We've known each other 12 years. If he doesn't know by now, I don't think he ever will.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Words of Wisdom

"Don't be afraid to be single. It makes you stronger, and your relationships of the future will be stronger, too." - My therapeutic-as-a-glass-of-wine friend who has helped me keep my shit together the past 12 years.

He said this to me via Facebook im while he was in Austrailia for graduate school and I was airing my worries to him that I would never find anyone. I wrote it down and have kept it on my desk at work ever since. When I'm having a "Woe is me...I'm going to be alone the rest of my life" day, it gives me a kick in the ass to stop throwing myself a pity party.

Monday, May 16, 2011

The New 30 - 60 Day Rule

Is it just me, or is that stupid 3-day rule guys follow increasing exponentially?

I'm not talking by days, or even weeks. I'm talking MONTHS.

Seriously, under what realm of logic do men (at least, the ones I've had the pleasure of befriending) think it's completely acceptable to contact a girl in thirty-to-sixty day increments?

I don't know if it's the warmer temperatures, budding flowers or just the fact that women are now rocking tank tops, skirts and sundresses, but I've received texts from THREE different men in the span of a week who I haven't heard from in at least a month.

And frankly, I'm pretty pissed about it.

Not because I still care about any of these losers, but because it makes me wonder what vibes I am giving off to suggest I'm okay with this type of treatment?

For the sake of a few laughs, let's review the "love notes" I've received over the past week.

Bachelor #1

Quick overview: Personal trainer at a local gym. Met at a bar. Exchanged numbers, texted and talked on the phone the night we met for an hour. Hung out a few days later. I invited him to my apartment, told myself I would not sleep with him but we all know what ended up happening. The next morning, he said he would call me later. That was April 5.

On May 6, I received the following string of texts:

B1: Psst...

An hour passes.

B1: No?

Another hour passes.

B1: Psst...

I wanted to text him back and say: "Look dude, I know I slept with you the first time we hung out, but I don't want to be on your booty call list." But then I thought that would make it look like I still gave a shit.

One of my friends said I should just respond with: "Who is this?" Tempting, and somewhat gives me the upper hand, but that would just instigate futher communication. And I do not want anything to do with this guy.

I should have known he was bad news. His first name is Damion. You know what image comes to mind when I hear that name? That sadistic devil-child from "The Omen."

Bachelor #2

Quick overview: From Texas (that's about all I can remember about him). Met at a bar. Talked for a while before I called it an early night. Exchanged numbers. This was on April 16.

On May 14, (Hey - look at that! He wins the prize for least amount of time lapsed between contact. Only 28 days! Maybe he's a keeper...) I received the following text at 7pm:

B2: Hi Katherine!

I didn't save this guy's number back in April. (I never save a boy's number until I start receiving regular communication from him. This saves me from a) wasting storage space in my phone and b) being tempted to text him at 1 a.m when I'm wasted.) Obviously, I had no clue who the hell was texting me, but I assumed it was the guy I had met this past Saturday night, so I responded.

Me: Hey how's it going?

B2: It's going r you? What r u up 2 tonight?

(For the record, I DETEST this many abbreviations in a text. You are a GROWN MAN, not a 13-year-old girl. B2 was already losing major points, but I was also hoping I could figure out who the hell he was.)

Me: Not too bad, just getting off of work. I'm going to a house party in Arlington. What about you?

B2: Gonna go to a bar in Arlington.

Me: Oh nice. You know which one?

One hour later, at approximately 12:45 a.m...

B2: Spider Kelly's

(Aww...where we first met! How poetic.)

B2: Come!

Unfortunately for B2, I didn't check my phone while at the house party so I could not join him on the lovely rendezvous I'm sure took him weeks to plan.

The next morning when I sobered up enough to think with 1/4 of my brain capacity, I was able to confirm his identity by checking my call log from a month ago.

I wonder if he'll wait another 28 days to contact me...

Coincedence that both these douches have connections to horror films? I think not.

Bachelor #3

Quick overview: You may remember this charmer from this post a while back. Even after that horrendous date, I continued to repsond to his texts and calls, which were still frequent. Problem was, he never initiated coming up here to visit and take me out. He always asked when I'd be back in Richmond and wanted me to drop everything to hang out with him. I was annoyed, over it and relieved when he didn't text me for almost two months.

Then, two weeks ago, he sent me this:

B3: How is it going?

Four days later...

B3: Really?

That was sent after midnight on a Friday night. I didn't get it until I woke up at 9 a.m. Saturday morning. The same time I saw the texts from B1. Needless to say, I was was not in the mood for his nonsense.

Me: I'm not really sure what "really?" is all about, but after not talking to me for 2 months, you really shouldn't expect a response.

B3: I wasn't ignoring you. I haven't heard anything from you either...

Me: Just kinda felt like things fizzled out. No harm, no foul. But please don't randomly text me once every couple months and expect me to respond. I need and deserve more than that.

I won't bore you with the rest. But, I basically got a bunch of shit excuses as to why he waited so long to contact me, while also blaming me for not rearranging my schedule every time I was in town.

Then, he asked if we could hang out again.

I didn't respond for a few days, hoping he'd get the hint, though this guy has the intelligence of a pile of rocks so I should have known he wouldn't. A few days later, he kinda reamed me out, saying that he thought we were at least friends and I shouldn't ignore him.

After shaking my head/banging my forehead against my desk a few times/laughing my ass off, I essentially told him that we were never really friends and I got that feeling that he was going through a dry spell and wanthing to rekindle our hookup sessions, which I was not interested in.

After all that, he still asked if he could treat me to dinner.

Wow...just wow.

And the best part about all this is, he couldn't shell out $30 to buy me food and drinks when we were kinda/sorta dating, but now that I will barely talk to him, he suddenly wants to take me out?

This guy is either the biggest douche in the world or really just that stupid.

Have no fear, though - I still got to see B3 again. I'm not sure if it was just a weird twist of fate or the dating gods just wanted a good laugh, but I ran into him at a bar in Richmond on Sunday afternoon.

Of course, he sauntered on over and tried to talk to me. I made zero effort to carry on a conversation and leaned as far back in my chair as I avoid getting too close to this dude. Then, I downed about three shots because it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

Hello, Sunday funday!

Unfortunately, I don't have no horror movie to compare him to (his stupidity, is laughable, not frightening), but he does remind me of this little guy:

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Why my phone and my purse are BFFs

I've stopped trying to use Jedi mind tricks on my phone.

There were times where I've waited by the phone for a guy to text/call/facebook message/e-mail me.

Then, I got to the point where I felt so desperate staring at my phone screen, willing it to ring/buzz/light up, that I've started keeping my phone stashed in the confines of my purse. You know, so I'm not tempted to stare at for hours on end.

I actually think some small part of me believes that the guy of the moment is more likely to call if my phone is out of sight, out of mind. I also don't want respond to the call or text right away for fear of seeming too over-eager and available. I have to appear busy and that I have a life of my own, afterall.

So I play this ridiculously juvenile game, all the while pissing off my friends who can't get a hold of me because I'm too busy playing the invisable phone act.

It's stupid.

AND doesn't work. Obviously.

Case in point: I hung out with a guy last Monday, and when he left, he told me he'd call.

I definitely didn't expect him to call (since when do guys contact you when they say they will?) And I haven't been proven wrong. He even had me download this stupid HeyTell app to my droid so we could talk more easily. (It's kinda like a walkie-talkie.) Yeah, um...we can't talk more easily if you aren't going to make an effort to talk to me at all, genius.


You know, what I think it really boils down to, is that I'd rather not have see "no missed calls" or "no new messages" slapping me across my face every five minutes.

Yes, the bottomless pit known as my purse is a much better spot for my phone, buried beneath my color-coded planner, wallet, old movie ticket stubs and last month's cable bill I keep meaning to pay.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

I do not posess the luck of the Irish


I am not Irish. But, like most Americans, I pretend to be every year on March 17th.

This year, I went out with co-workers. Once again, I decided to forego dinner in lieu of Jameson shots and beer. (The results of this are always spectacular.)

By the time we reached bar#3, I was stumbling all over the place and had been flagged as bad news by the bouncer. (So I was told. I don't personally remember.) Here's a visual:

I crashed at a co-workers that night, and was greeted the next morning with your classic hangover symptoms - cotton mouth, throbbing head, churning stomach. Basically, the way you want to feel when you have to go to work for eight hours.

On the drive back into the city, I was rocking my oversized sunglasses, had my jean jacket coverning my face and has passed out in the lap of my co-worker's roommate.

About 20 minutes into the car ride, I knew I wasn't going to be able to hold it together much longer. Plus, I needed to go home and try to make myself presentable for work.

Using every ounce of energy I could muster, I lifted up my head (which felt like it weighed 500 lbs), sat up and tried and figure out where the hell we were. I could tell we were in the city, but that was about all I had.

So, I asked my co-worker if we were near a metro. We weren't. And he had forgotten to drop me off at my apartment.

But really, all I was concerned about was not covering his car with remnants of last night's alcohol and stomach acid. I figured a cab was my best bet anyway, so I said, "I'm getting kinda nauseous and need some fresh air. Plus I need to go home and change. Do you mind letting me out so I can grab a cab?"

Now, at this point, the three other people in the car were convinced I was going to vom any second. I knew I was a good five minutes off from that happening, but I didn't help my cause when I released some form of a hiccup/burp.

Co-worker's roommate yelled "Oh shit!" and scooted as far away from me as he could in a two-door car. Annoyed and tired of feeling like death, I snapped at him, "I'm not three years old. I know when I'm going to puke."

Five seconds later, the light turned red so I hobbled out of the car. Luckily, there was a cab a few cars infront of where I got out because I don't think I had enough brain cells left to figure out which road I should turn down to hail a taxi. Plus, based on my physical appearance, I don't think many cab drivers would have stopped for me.

Once I got inside the cab, I tried to roll down my window and get the fresh air I so desperately needed, but the cab driver squashed those dreams pretty quickly. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure the passenger gets to determine the climate of the cab during the ride in which he/she is paying.

Whatever. I got my vengence a minute later when I made him pull over on Constitution Ave. so I could vomitando.

For those of you not familiar with D.C., Constitution Ave. is the road that passes by the White House, Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial - basically all the major landmarks in our nation's capital. It is also one of the most heavily congested roads in the city.

So basically, during morning rush hour, people were having to swurve around the hungover asshole hanging out of a hybrid taxi (that's right - I was in a Prius).

I think my most favorite part about the whole situation was after I finished decorating Constitution Ave., the cab driver asked if I had been out celebrating St. Patrick's Day.

I really wonder what gave it away...

Maybe it was the green beads I was still sporting around my neck. Or it could have been that a combination of whiskey and beer was seeping through my pores and giving people a block away a contact high. But I think the most likely reason was that he had to pull over for me. At 8 am on a Friday morning. In front of the White House.

Don't you worry, I waved to Obama. I'm sure he's thrilled to have such a citizen of my grace and class representing D.C.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Dissecting Guy Code

Guy code: much easier to translate than this jibberish.

Actual gchat message I received the other day from a high school friend who I had a brief fall fling with (and who I haven't really hung out with or spoken too sense):

HS fling: How's life kid? We need to catch up. When are you free these days?


I'm single, have no prospects and I'm looking for someone to hook up with now that spring is on the horizon and I feel the need to spread my seed.

Too bad guy code wasn't offered as a foreign language in high school. I would have aced that class.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Well, hello there,

Ben Affleck.

I just saw you in The Town last night and holy majoly do you know how to make a girl swoon. Especially your abs in that work out scene. I could watch you do chin ups for hours.

I know that I've always been partial to your bestie, Matt Damon, (It may be because I stumbled across a movie crew once and an assistant told me you weren't as nice as him in person. And you also had that weird fling with JLo that resulted in the horrific Gigli, but since you're aging so well, I'm willing to overlook all those things.) so I'm sorry for neglecting you. And your abs. And your sex lines.

But we could totally work things out.

Boston is one of my favorite cities, too. And I will go to every Red Sox game. I may spend more time imitating David Ortiz when he does he incessant spitting/hand slapping routine every time he approaches the mound, but I promise I'll be enjoying every minute of the game.

You think about it and get back to me.
In the mean time, I'll be keeping The Town on repeat.


Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Ending things when you're in a casual, not-yet-definable relationship


Why did the chicken cross the road?
Screw getting to the other side. She was scared as hell to break up with her latest beau.

I'll admit it. I'm a chicken. I hate confrontation.

I can think of a million things I'd rather do than tell someone something I know they don't want to hear. But, it's unfortunately part of dating.

I've never really been in the position where I've had to tell someone I'm not interested after only a few weeks of dating. In the past, the relationships have always led to something more or they just fizzled out on their own.

That all changed this past weekend.

I had been hanging out with a guy for about a month. He was a super sweet guy who I knew would treat me well. The first three dates were fun. Not spectacular, I-was-swept-of-my-feet fabulous, but fun enough that I wanted to continue seeing him.

But by date number four, I started to get annoyed by him. They were stupid, petty reasons - incessant whistling, horrendous dancing, looping his arm through mine when we were walking. I told myself to stop being ridiculous and to give this geniuinely nice guy a chance.

So I did. I gave him about five more dates worth. But I never looked forward to hanging out with him. I always wished I was out with other people or at home on my couch with a glass of wine, watching some quality reality television. It became painfully obvious that something didn't click between us, and I needed to sever ties sooner rather than later.

I talked to my friends about it - just for reassurance that I was making the right decision. My friend Morgan put it best: "Just because he's done nothing wrong, doesn't mean he's right."

I decided to break the news to him before our dinner date this past Sunday. He called when he was outside my apartment and I asked him if he would mind coming upstairs first. Once he got upstairs, he said he probably needed to call the restaurant to change our reservation so we wouldn't be late.

FML, I thought. I can't have him cancel the reservation, so it looks like I'll have to do this post-dinner.

Dinner was...bearable. I've definitely had worse dates but it didn't help that I had to fight the urge to vomit I was so nervous. I had even written out what I was going to say beforehand so I would be prepared.

He kept making suggestions as to what we should do after dinner - grab another drink somewhere, rent a movie. I finally told him that I needed to meet up with Just Jack since his boyfriend had just broken up with him the day before. (This was ironically true, and I did need to be there for JJ, but it may not have been the best thing to say considering I was going to put him in the same boat as the friend I was about to leave him for.)

He was understanding about everything, though, and when the bill came, I offerred to pay my share - there was no way I was going to let him pay for me and then end things five minutes later.

On the way home, he asked what my plans were mid-week. I'm sure I was slightly deer-in-the-headlights when he asked me, but thankfully it was dark so I made some excuse about not having my planner with me and said I'd let him know.

When we got to my apartment and were saying our goodbyes, I almost chickened out. But I had called enough people that evening for moral support that I knew I needed to follow through with it, so when my friends asked, I wouldn't have to tell them I ran for the hills.

My Shakespearian-style monologue went something like this:

So, er, um - I had wanted to talked to you before dinner, but when you mentioned you ahd already made reservations, I figured we should just go ahead and go so we wouldn't, you know, um, be late. And um, I'm not sure who you feel about where things are going, but I have a good time hanging out with you, but um, I ::cough:: feel like you're more in the friend zone. I really do like hanging out with you and I know everyone says this, but I would still love to hang out as friends.

Bear in mind that throughout this entire jumbled mess, I was incessantly shaking, my voice was quivering and couldn't bring myself to look at him in the eyes for longer than .2 seconds.

His response? "Yeah, I've felt the same way for the last couple weeks, honestly."

Now, I'm not sure if he actually did feel that way or if he was trying to save face. But either way, I was just relieved to get the whole thing over and done with.

And in hindsight, I'm glad I told him to his face. I thought about freezing him out, sending him a text or calling him. But I bitch and moan enough about guys who just stop all forms of communication out of nowhere so I felt like it was good karma - and the mature route - to say everything in person.

I almost think it's harder to dump someone when you're in the beginning stages of dating. If you could really even classify it as breaking up. I mean - what are you really to a guy you've gone on maybe 10 dates with? Certainly not his girlfriend. Maybe that's what makes it so difficult. When you never make it to that next level. In essence, you're being broken up with because you're not good enough for that person - be it because of looks, personality, mannerisms, weird quirks.

Further down the road, when you're in a relationship, sure it hurts more. But that initial rejection stings like hell. I've felt it before, and I know I'll feel it again. Which made it so hard to do it to someone else.

It's also entirely possible that this guy didn't give two shits that I ended things. And maybe guys don't feel the same way girls do when this happens to them.

I just tend to put other people's feelings above my own and stay with guys way longer than I should to avoid situations like the one on Sunday night. So, as lame as this sounds, it was kind of a dating milestone for me. I've reached a lot of those, lately.

Dear God, do I still have a lot to learn.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

I may be Dutch...but I'm not a fan of going dutch on the first date


See this? It's not rocket science, fellas.

There have been countless articles, books and debates about guys picking up the tab, particularly on the first date. Uber-traditionalists will tell you that a guy should always pay. Uber-feminists will tell you that it's demeaning for you to let them pay.

I guess my views would be somewhere in the middle. I do expect a guy to pay on the first few dates, but I think it is unfair for them to pay for EVERYTHING. So as I go on more and more dates with a guy, I'll pay my share or even the whole bill. However, I always do the "reach for my wallet grab" or offer to contribute.

Most guys adamantly refuse. One guy was even shocked at my offer and asked if any guy had ever accepted. At the time, none of them had.

But as I get older and go on more and more dates, I'm experiencing more and more categories of men. Many of whom should not even be allowed to date.

When I was back in Richmond over the holidays, I met a guy. A fellow Steelers fan. It was a Thursday night. Pitt was playing Carolina. I dragged my bff, SK, to the bar to cheer on my team. And I was decked out in black and yellow.

So this guy approached me and we start talking. And then we end up at a different bar and numbers were exchanged.

I hung out with him a couple more times while I was in town and he hinted at continuing to see each other.

I didn't take him too seriously, so I was pleasantly surprised when he asked me to come visit a couple weekends later. I decided to drive down for only a night, because we had just started talking or whatever the hell you want to call it, and I thought it would be weird for me to stay with him an entire weekend while we are still seeing where things were going.

So, I got to his house late afternoon and we decided to go out to dinner. I was on the phone when the check came (I promise I'm not a rude phone-talking date...I was touching base with a friend we were meeting up with after dinner) and while I was talking to her, I saw him open up the tab, and place the receipt face up so that I could see it, too. I thought it was weird that he was showing me how much the meal cost, but when I finished my conversation, it was obvious why. He immediately turned to me and said, "Ready to settle up?"

I'm pretty sure my mouth dropped a little. I'd heard of guys doing this, but it had never actually happened to me.

I would like to stay the story ends there, but sadly, it does not.

After dinner, we went to a bar to meet up with some of his friends. I had SK come, too for moral support.

When the time came to close our bar tab, which was sitting in a highball glass right in front of him, he looked at the receipt, pulled a $100 bill out of his wallet, and sat it back on the bar. After a few seconds, he grabbed the $100, shoved it back into his wallet, pulled out a $20 and some ones, and then turned to me and asked if I had a couple bucks.

After telling him that all I had was a $5, he said, "that works," took the last of my cash and we left. (Side note: Thank God SK was there. Not only did she have my back and make a "you have got to be effing kidding me" sound when he asked me for money, but I didn't remember giving him my $5 and had to ask her if she knew what had happened to it the next day.)

As if this doesn't make him look bad enough already, I feel it necessary to breakdown everything that's wrong in this equation.

  1. He invited me to spend part of the weekend with him.
  2. I drove there - which already cost me $30 in gas and wear and tear/mileage on my car.
  3. I don't know his exact age, but he's in his late 30's - early 40's.
  4. He owns his own company, so combined with the age difference, he definitely makes more money than me.
  5. The drinks he had at the restaurant and the bar were more expensive than mine.
  6. He took the last of my cash when he clearly had enough to cover the bill.
  7. When you ask a girl out, it's common courtesy to pay for her.

I really didn't think it took a genius to figure this out, but clearly, there are some dense toolbags running around.

So fast forward a few weeks and he's still texting me, and I don't know why, but I'm still responding. He asked me to meet up with him when I was in town a couple weeks ago. I had plans to attend to a friend's birthday party, but I told him he should join. He made it pretty clear he didn't even want to make the effort when he told me to text him if it was fun, and if not, that I should come to wherever he ended up.

Yeah, um...I didn't bother. If you can't drive 15 minutes to see me when I'm in town then you don't deserve to hang out with me. And I'm not desperate - I shouldn't be the one constantly coming to you.

I hadn't heard from him since and thought that was the end of it. But SK ran into him last night so the texts have started up again. The best part of all this is he told her that he thought because the Steelers lost the Super Bowl I was upset and needed some time.

Um...did you just pee your pants laughing? Because I sure as hell did when SK told me that.

Either that is the lamest guy excuse in the world for going MIA on a girl for a few weeks or he is just the biggest dumbass EVER.

You know, if anything - these schmucks are providing some laughs and some damn good blog fodder.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Navigating through the bullshit

Like most girls, I grew up entranced by Disney movies with princesses living happily ever after with their respective prince. My two favorites were "Cinderella" and "Sleeping Beauty," and I apparently watched those on repeat until my parents "lost" the VHS so they wouldn't be subjected to "Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo" for the millionth time. (Just kidding about the hiding the movie part...though the rents probably considered it on multiple occasions.)

By the time middle school and high school rolled around, I had upgraded from animated love stories to craptastic romantic comedies such as, "She's All That," "10 Things I Hate About You," and "Save the Last Dance." (Sadly, I own all these movies...and watch them everytime they come on TV. Super lame, I know.)

Now, the recent trend seems to be raunchy comedies starring Seth Rogen/Jason Segel/Paul Rudd. Don't get me wrong, I adore all these movies. They're hysterical.

HOWEVER, they are perpetuating the cycle of fairy tales for single women who have grown up being spoon-fed lie after lie.

Let me 'splain.

In the preschool/elementary school years, we're taught that a prince on a white horse will sweep us off our feet and we'll ride off into the sunset in domestic bliss.

By the time we're old enough to realize that there are approximately 8 princes in the entire world (and most of them are imbred), we're thrown a new heaping of bullshit.

Princes aren't realistic or attainable for the everyday girl, so he gets replaced by the hottest, most popular guy/biggest badass in school - enter Freddie Prinze Jr., Heath Ledger, Chris Klein, etc. They will ultimately be an deuche and make fun of you or they may not even know you exist. But by the end of the movie they've fallen head over heels for you and go to great lengths to show it - typically by chasing you down when you've decided they aren't worth your time and they have to prove to you they are.

Then high school comes and goes, along with the facade that men actually perform romantic gestures, and we enter college/the real world/a combination of the two.

No matter which one you enter first, the guys are all the same. It's become impossible for them to think with the head located above their belt, and they make it their goal in life to hook up with as many girls as possible because they're young and at the peak of their sex drive.

So, as women, we start getting used...A LOT. Because it takes a few times before we understand what a booty text is, or that a guy might not be taking us out to dinner because he actually wants to date us, or that he may come over a few times and "cuddle," but the moment we sleep with him, he pulls the disappearing man act.

Then someone hands us a copy of "He's Just Not That Into You," or we develop tough enough skin to the point where we become immune to any sort of romantic emotions at all. Because sometimes, it's easier to be numb.

And just when we thought we've got it all figured out, Hollywood execs find another way to fuck with our minds and pull at our heartstrings.

Because it's totally likely that a guy will stop being a pot head, get a real job, buy an apartment and want to marry you after a one-night stand resulted in you getting knocked up.

It's also nothing out of the ordinary for a self-proclaimed man-whore who insists love doesn't exist to fall for an up-tight, controlling woman and throw all his old theories out the window.

So, go ahead, ladies! Whore it up! Store guy(s) in your phone as "booty call." Have as much no- strings-attached sex as you want and fall for the assholes, because, ultimately they will profess their undying love and adoration for you. It's the new guaranteed way to land yourself a man!

Written out in black and white, it seems so obvious.

But the problem is - my problem is, stuff like this:

and this: and this:

...still make me swoon. Every time.

So, as women, how do we navigate between keeping our guard up, but not becoming a total Ice Queen, and wanting the fairy tale, but not getting our heart broken over and over again?

When I figure it out, I'll let you know.

At the end of the day, I know I want my own real life love story - one that would beat the hell out of any of these movies, but I'll pass on the fairy tale. How much fun would that be anyway?

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Ringing in the New Year with a...Peck??!!

Happy 2011!

Since I have such lofty aspirations for myself, I made it my goal for the last day of 2010 to find a delectable make-out partner to ring in the new year.

Problem is, I'm not so great when it comes to approaching men. I usually timidly hover by the bar, downing tequila shots in attempt to work up some liquid courage while sending brain waves to the hottie of the night to come talk to me. If I do grow a pair and actually talk to the guy first, my pick-up line usually consists of, "Hi, I'm Miss Procras. Wanna dance?"

Luckily, SK, one of my nearest and dearest, spent the weekend with me. Girlfriend is a rockstar when it comes to approaching men and helped me land the guy I had been eyeing the entire night.

Unfortunately for me, dream boy wasn't one for PDA, so my midnight make-out sesh was downgraded to a few pecks. I've had steamier kissing escapades in middle school. Specifically, while sitting in the back row of the movie theater "watching" 'Titanic' for the twelfth time. Ahh memories...

But seriously, who the eff cares about PDA on New Years Eve??

I just hope this isn't symbolic of what my love life will consist of in 2011...

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