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.

The Only Thing Constant is Change

I'm alive...sorta.

I'm spending my hiatus from work applying to grad schools, searching for jobs and deciding whether to stay in D.C. or move back to Richmond. Big changes ahead, folks.

Speaking of change, how do you like my new digs? During the copious amounts of free time I've been blessed with recently, I propositioned the totally awesome and fabulous LiLu to redesign my blog. She happily obliged and did a kick-ass job. Seriously, this is how I envisioned my blog to look when I started it but lacked the design savvy-ness or skills to create such a masterpiece.

Lilu, I raise my martini glass to you and will be buying you mucho beverages tonight at happy hour.

So, if you're wondering where I've been hiding...it's basically from reality. And reality (bitch that she is) keeps smacking me in the face and telling me I gots to figure out my shiz.

But, dear reality, you will be ever-so-forcefully kicked to the curb this evening so that I can consume deliciously cheap cocktails with Just Jack, LiLu and other awesome D.C. bloggers.

Happy Friday!

Holiday date nights with Just Jack

It's been a while since I wrote about Just Jack. Mainly because I don't see his pretty face nearly enough. So, I was beyond excited for our holiday date night last night.

Date nights with Just Jack=guaranteed hilarity.

Witness for yourself:

My little bro got me a pair of Ugg boots for Christmas. Just Jack DESPISES Ugg boots. (See this post for further clarification.) So of course I wore them just for him on our date night. Only the best for my gay-bee.

He couldn't resist ragging on me and I'm sure he'll never relent whenever I wear them in his presence. "I hope your warm and comfortable, Miss Procras., because you look ridiculous," were just some of the comments I endured. (His wifey, Straight Lady, owns Crocs so now he has two women in his life to torment. Bet he never thought that would happen.)

Anywho, we decided to order pizza from The Italian Store for dinner.

***D.C. residents, if you have not experienced the deliciousness that is The Italian Store, you are missing out on some of the best pizza ever created. And no, I'm not exaggerating. ***

Direct quote from Just Jack after he opened the box and ogled its contents. "I just had a mini-O from the site of that pizza."

Leaving the parking lot, we almost were run over by Santa, who had somehow traded in his sleigh for a red Ford Escape.

JJ: "Santa, go back to the North Pole and make me a toy for fuck's sake."

Our date night commenced with pizza, the cheapest bottle of wine we could find in the store (screwtop, of course), poured into pink plastic cups almost as flaming as JJ, a few reruns of Grey's, a viewing of Love Actually and some hot chocolate mixed with Kahlua, creme de menthe and vodka.

It was glorious.

And I must say, nights like this make my life complete.

Love you, mean it, JJ!

Wishing you all a Happy New Year! See you bias in 2010!!

Botox Is a Blog's Best Friend

As you can tell, my blog had some work done. The old blog was looking tired, worn and outdated. This new and improved one looks fun, fresh and full of life.

Note the sarcasm.

I have all these great design ideas for my blog. I just have no clue how to go about bringing them to fruition.

Clicking the "customize" tab, sorting through templates and playing with color schemes is about the extent of my design skills. I've used InDesign, Illustrator, Photoshop and Dreamweaver before. I just lack both the patience and the talent to create projects I'd allow anyone to see.

So, my poor blog will be confined to blogger templates until I either a) miraculously wake up one morning an Adobe Creative Suite genius or b) pay someone to design my blog for me.

Sorry, blog, momma can only give you a mini-botox injection right now. Don't you worry, though you'll be nipped, tucked and wrinkle-free soon enough.

In other news, I came across this article today and have never been more disturbed/appalled/grossed out/other horrid adjectives.

I work for a breastfeeding helpline, and I'm all for a woman breastfeeding her baby if that's what she wants to do. By why do 5-year-old girls need to be learning how to breastfeed on their yet-to-be-developed bodies? There is something seriously wrong with that picture. Thoughts?

PS-Check out Just Jack's blog today for a guest post by yours truly.

Miss Procras.: A Recap

I'm still in vacation mode. I have yet to unpack, do laundry or anything else one should be doing upon returning from a trip. But we all know I'm not one to follow those sorts of norms.

What really sucks is trying to break vacation mode at work when you have two huge deadlines looming. Don't my bosses know I need to catch up on blogs, celebrity gossip and what happened in the rest of the world while I was in Bermuda?! I mean, I missed the Saved by the Bell reunion for crying out loud!

Since I'm a little slammed at the moment, I asked Just Jack if he would do a guest post for me. He graciously obliged (thanks, Lovie!), and decided to provide you all with a little insight into our relationship.

Hello Fellow Miss Procras. Followers!

For those that don't know who I am, you can call me Just Jack. I've been asked to appear as a Guest Blogger. I, of course, was flattered but not surprised. I mean, I am fabulous and whatever I say tends to be golden...even if it is making fun of your outift!

You can catch me regularly on my own blog Kiss It! Spank It! Tranny! Shameless plug, I know, but word of mouth advertising is always the most effective, even when most of the time the words coming out of your mouth warrant a bronzer compact flung at your face ;)

Anywho, back to the real topic of today's post: Miss Procras. herself. I've had many memories created from my long-time friendship with the slut and I wouldn't trade it in for anything. We've become rather close over the past year, I think, and its made seeing her all the better.

But in order to understand what we are now, you'll need to understand what were back then. And, for that, let me start at the beginning.

The first time I met Miss P was at her and her roommates' Pink Party. I did not own anything pink, at the time...shocking...but you had to wear pink in order to enter the party slash get a drink. I purchased a pink Aeropostale polo (looking back in hindsight...ew) and headed over that evening to their apartment. I knew their roommate at the time and no one else really. I had met Miss P briefly before the party as we were both orientation guides that summer. Let's just say that we ended up finding each other at the party and proceeded to make fun of people and their disgusting outfits for the rest of the evening. Can we say kismet?

After that I began regularly hanging out at the apartment and became very close with their other roommate, Lo (as Miss Procras refers to her on this blog). I was soon inducted as honorary roommate (the fourth one was a total twat who owned a small dog that warranted nothing except the urge to throw it off the balcony). At that time I also became a member of the Pink Penthouse tribe, which will live in infamy in the form of a small wooden chair painted, by us, as an omage to our friendships, the color pink, and the memories that we carry with us to this day. It still resides, I believe, in the student lounge at JMU.

Since then Miss P and I have formed an inseparable bond; one consisting of me yelling at her for never being on time to anything, relationship advice, and, as always, help picking out an outfit and accesories for an evening out. I've been through a lot of things with her and seen her grow to the person she is today. I've seen her at her worst and have watched her triumph over some tranny bull shit that we all seem to encounter from time to time.

I love me some Miss Procras., lateness and all...even when it means picking me up from the metro when I don't have a car, being a fervent supporter of the gay community by participating in Showtunes Night and the High Heel Race, or simply catching up over a glass of wine. There are very few people that affect your life in such a way that you know you want to be a part of theirs for a very long time...I said it yesterday in my blog...hold on to them because they don't come around very often.

I love you, Miss P. Always remember two things 1. I've seen your boobies and 2. I'll always be around for you just like I know you will for me too!

Love,

JJ

P.S. That top does not go with those jeans, I love your gold wedges, and go with the silver earings tonight ;) Oh and don't shop at Kohl's, TJ Max, Ross, Marshalls, OR Sanrio Surprise. Nothing says "disgusting tranny" like a Hello Kitty t-shirt and a plastic purse to match!

TMI Thursday: No Love without the Glove

I haven’t done a TMI in a while. Not that Monday’s posting wasn’t a bit of a TMI, but I felt inclined to do another one, after being inspired by the hilarious LiLu. A la Wayne Campbell: "I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy." That girl has some kick-ass TMI Thursday posts.

Anyway, this is more of a TMI for The Hoff than me. I apologize in advance, Hoffster.

I’m always amused to discover where boys stash their condoms. It’s like a treasure hunt when they have to go get one. The nightstand is always a popular choice, or the bureau, and of course the wallet for those unexpected rendezvous (but boys, beware-the wallet is not a safe haven for the Troj’s.)

Wherever the location, it tends to be easily accessible - you don’t want to interrupt the mood too much.

Unless you’re The Hoff.

The first few times we hooked up, The Hoff would have to get up, walk across his bedroom to the closet, reach on the top shelf and shuffle through a seemingly innocent-looking shoebox.

In the time it takes for the mood to almost completely fade and be replaced with this awkward, we-don’t-know-each-other-super-well-yet-but-we’re-about-to-do-it undertone, he’d triumphantly hold up the wrapper. I’m sure he also wanted to shout: “Arghh, matey, I found the booty!” (No pun intended).

I couldn’t help but laugh (discreetly) every time this scenario played out.

The Hoff must have either caught on or gotten fed up with the location because one night, I was surprised/freaked out when he rolled his bed away from the wall (yes, his bed has wheels on it…definitely keeps things interesting), and unveiled a new hiding place. Very inconspicuous: under the bed, up against the wall. And no more five-minute searches involved. Clever one, that Hoff.

Being the typical girl I am, I couldn’t help but share this info with my girlfriends and Just Jack.

Fast forward a few weeks later. Just Jack is with me at The Hoff’s for the first time, and The Hoff is giving him a tour. We reach The Hoff’s room and Just Jack immediately walks to the closet, points and says, “So, they used to be here, and now they’re here (while pointing to the wall).”

Just Jack and I thought this was the most hilarious thing ever, but I think The Hoff was slightly embarrassed. I think he’s still getting used to the fact that us girls share EVERYTHING with our girlfriends and gay best friends. Just a fact of life.

TGIF, bias!!

No Full House, Family Matters or Sabrina the Teenaged Witch to look forward to tonight. I’ve got something wayyyyy better on the agenda. My darling gay BFF, Just Jack, turned 25 on Tuesday and a group of us are going out tonight to celebrate. AND, it’s Pride Weekend here in D.C. Woop, woop!

I’ve gotta say, I’m starting to favor the ‘mo bars over straight ones. Here’s why:

• The drinks are 1,000 times stronger and cheaper. I have yet to get a bar tab more than $30.
• You don’t have to worry about getting hit on by pretentious snobs of Capital Hill, preppy mama’s boy Georgetown students or your generic schwated pervos. (Real-life occurrence last week while I was out with friends: Semi-cute guy was hitting on a girl in our group when he looked over, saw another girl walk by, and said, “Oh, she’s cuter than you, I’m going to go talk to her.” What. A. Douche.)
• Along the same lines, you are guaranteed to get complimented at least once on your outfit, shoes, purse or figure. It seems more meaningful coming from a gay man because you know they’re not just trying to get in your pants. That, and they understand fashion much better than straight men.
  

All in all, a fun-filled weekend planned with the ‘mos. Hope everyone's is equally fabulous!

Beach Bound

Tomorrow, I’m heading down to the beach for a much-needed weekend of rest and relaxation. Just Jack’s parents have a kick-ass house that they are generous enough to let a big group of us use each Memorial Day weekend.

This self-proclaimed procrastinator has not had the pleasure of living up to her name in quite some time. I’m looking forward to whiling away the hours on the beach by working on my tan, starting in on my summer reading list and keeping a frosty beverage in my hands at all times.

The Hoff is coming with me. It will be the most time we’ve spent together in a few months, but I think it will be good for us to get away from D.C. and hang out in a different environment. We are still working things out, and it seems like our relationship is improving, but I won’t get into all that now.

The real test of this weekend will come tomorrow morning. I need to leave bright and early to avoid the horrendous beach traffic and arrive with ample time for sunbathing and day drinking. My goal is to leave at 6 a.m., but, as you all know, I have little problem doing anything in a timely fashion (drinking excluded).

So, I decided to throw a little contest. Whoever can come closest to my actual time of departure tomorrow morning will win a lovely beach souvenir. Just post your guess to the comments section no later than 11:59 p.m. EST Monday, May 25.

Hope you all have a relaxing, alcohol-filled Memorial Day weekend!

Blasts from the Pasts

Living in a big city like D.C., one would think that the chances of running into an ex-fling unplanned are pretty slim to none.

Not in my life.

The past always find of creeping-or shoving-it's way back in.

Last Wednesday, I went out for drinks with an ex-boyfriend. I’ll call him Cougar Magnet. For some reason, women over the age of forty throw themselves at him. It’s pretty funny because though he relishes in the attention, he tends to date women his own age.

Quick back story on my relationship with Cougar Magnet: We were together for two years during college. Break-up was kinda ugly. Didn’t really talk to him much until recently when I ran into him in the foyer of my office building. Can we say random? Ever since then, we catch up every few months over drinks.

So, anyway, Cougar Magnet and I went to this overly crowded bar to watch the NHL playoffs. After finishing our beers, he went to the bar to buy us a second round and left me alone to guard our seats.

Not five minutes after he leaves, I look over and see another former fling, who shall be referred to as Ron Jeremy. Side note: He looks nothing like the real RJ, but he’s as sleazy as a porn star, so it works.

Anyway, when I saw him, I noticed him standing with an equally trashy-looking blonde. Not to do the whole, girl-hating thing, but she definitely looked like a cross between a playmate and a Rock of Love contestant. They started walking toward where I was sitting, so I (unsuccessfully) tried to hide my face by pretending to rummage for something in my purse.

Three reasons:
1) I popped a blood vessel in my eye last weekend and look like a freak.
2) I didn’t want to have to deal with the uncomfortable, yet obligatory introductions of his new gf.
3) As part of my “makeover,” I’ve decided to rid myself of any and all negative influences in my life – Ron Jeremy being one of them.

Here’s the 411 on Ron Jeremy: We had a purely physical relationship that lasted about two months last summer. One night, I agreed to meet him out at this bar that's always super crowded and always charges a cover fee. As I soon as I arrived, I texted him to let him know I was there, but he didn't respond.

So, I decided to do a quick walk-thru, on the off-chance I’d find him before he texted me back. Surprisingly, I spotted him right away and started walking towards him. As I got closer, I noticed he was talking to a girl and slowly began to realize what was going on.

The girl seductively brought her beer bottle to her lips as he leaned in and said, “I think you should give me your number.”

He was totally hitting on her- after he had texted me to come meet him!! How slimeball can you get?!

Frantically, I turned around and hightailed it to the front of the bar. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t about to leave after paying a $7 cover, but I didn’t want to stay, either. I started going through my phone and calling people on the off-chance they’d be at this bar or somewhere nearby so they could come save me.

No luck.

I called Just Jack to tell him what happened and ask him what I should do. He offerred to take a cab and come meet me, but I didn’t want him to have to do all that. I decided to just stay, grab a drink at the bar and hope that a cute boy talked to me.

In the middle of me explaining my plan of action to Just Jack, I saw the girl Ron Jeremy was hitting on leave the bar with her friends.

“20 bucks I get a text in the next 5 minutes,” I told Just Jack before hanging up the phone.

You can start calling me Miss Cleo because not two mintues later, before I could even get my first drink from the bar, I got a text from Ron.

“Hey, I’m by the bathroom. Where are you?”

A number of thoughts are ran through my head at this moment. Do I ignore him? Call him out? Slap him/pour my drink on him?

Regrettably, I chose none of the above. I texted him back and told him I’d meet him by the bathroom. It had been a couple of weeks since I saw him, so I gave him a half-ass hug, really wishing I had the balls (no pun intented) to kick him in the groin. We made awkward small-talk for a few minutes before migrating upstairs.

Ron made the weakest attempt at an apology I've ever heard of for not calling me the past two weeks.

Ron Jeremy: I’m sorry that I haven’t called you lately; I’ve been really busy with work and stuff.

Miss Procras. inner dialogue: Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Miss Procras.: I’ve been busy, too. You don’t have to apologize, it’s not like we’re dating or anything.

Ron Jeremy: No, but seriously, I’ve been traveling a lot.

Miss Procras.: If you really wanted to talk to me, you would have found the time to call.

Ron Jeremy: That’s true. It’s just really bad timing for me. I just got out of a long distance relationship and I’m not ready to jump back into anything.

Miss Procras. inner dialogue: More bullshit. Are you still trying to justify this to me? Get over yourself, dude. I’m not trying to date you.

Miss Procras.: Let’s face it, Ron, our relationship pretty much consists of sex and alcohol.

Ron Jeremy: Yeah, well, that’s not all I’m about. I mean, honestly, I don’t get many girls. I’m
usually the one my friends laugh at.

Miss Procras. inner dialogue: Is this dude for real? Does he really think I’m going to fall for this crap? If you have to justify yourself, you clearly have issues.

Miss Procras: (after downing my beer) Uh-huh, right.

I decided to just get drunk and enjoy the band…at least they were worth listening to.

Later on, Ron started talking about his parents.

Ron Jeremy: My parents are awesome, you’ll see when you meet them.

Miss Procras. inner dialogue: Is this seriously the same guy that used every excuse imaginable to tell me he didn’t like me enough to date me?

Miss Procras.: Um…I don’t think I’m going to meet your parents.

Ron Jeremy: Why not?

Miss Proras.: What are you going to do, introduce me to them as the girl you occasionally fuck?

...And guys say that girls are the confusing ones who can’t decide what they want.

I must say though, my life feels much better without having people like Ron in it. I knew the second time I hung out with him that I could never date him. (He boasted about being a trained fighter and told me I was on “his side of the bed.”)

Why I continued to hang out with him is beyond me. Maybe I liked what little attention I got from him. But he brought nothing positive to my life and it’s good to have him out of it.

I just wish I wouldn’t have to sporadically run into him and be reminded of that part of my life.

Michelle, My Belle

Last night tops the list as the coolest event I’ve been to in D.C. Just Jack works for a huge theatre company here, and invited me to accompany him to an event they were hosting. Needless to say, he was able to snag us AMAZING seats-I’m talking seven rows back, smack dab in the middle, unobstructed view, seats.

And the best part? We were two rows behind the First Lady herself! In case any of you are wondering, she is just as poised and beautiful in person as she is on t.v. and magazines.

And holy crap, I’ve never seen so many secret service agents in my life! They really do wear those ear pieces, stand perfectly straight and never smile. Reminded me of “First Daughter” and “Chasing Liberty.” (Don’t judge me, you know you’ve watched those on ABC Family, hungover on a Sunday afternoon, surrounded by Taco Bell wrappers and Advil.)

Mrs. Obama did not attend the reception afterwards, but I did get to mingle with some of the D.C. elite.-senators, ambassadors, directors, singers, dancers… I felt like such the little socialite.

The open bar and buffet weren’t too shabby, either. Thanks to Just Jack, my wine glass was never empty.

But my primary duty was to serve as Just Jack’s arm candy. This was his night. He’s been hard at work on this event for months, and it was so cool to see something he worked so hard on be such a success. Not to mention, everyone was coming up and congratulating him. That always makes the months of hard work and planning that much more rewarding.

I must say, the event also opened my eyes to the diverse performing arts scene in D.C. Funny how much you never realize goes on in a city you’ve lived in for the past three years. But, this gives me lots of new ideas for weekend festivities-especially since Just Jack has the hookup for free tickets.

I Heart Football (And I have the bruises to prove it)

It's no secret to my family and friends, so I guess I shouldn't keep it from the blogging world either...I am a football fanatic. I guess it has something to do with having a father who eats, sleeps and breathes football. My dad played football in high school and college, and every Sunday from late August-early February, you can find him stationed in front of the t.v., screaming for his favorite team. I learned very quickly not to even attempt having a conversation with him on game day. It was useless...he wouldn't remember anything you said anyway.

Me, being the daddy's girl that I am, decided that I too would dedicate my Sundays to football. Just so I could hang with Pops. Now, I think my love of the game may have surpassed his. It's not often I have a voice left after watching my college team or the Steelers play. The boyfriend, who I'll refer to as, The Hoff, is convinced that I'm going to have a heart attack at the age of 24. Like I said, I love football. And if high blood pressure and strained vocal chords don't say love, I don't know what does.

Anyway, so this weekend, like many of my fall weekends, consisted of football. There was a slight interlude on Friday night where I grabbed drinks with my gay BFF, Just Jack, at his fav. bar. Love going to his bar with him. I can go there looking like poo and not worry about it, they play better music than any straight bar I've been to, and to top it off, we get free drinks! Of course, when Just Jack came by to pick me up, I left him patiently waiting for a good 30 minutes. I thought I made pretty good time considering I had to shower, pack and make pasta salad for a tailgate on Saturday. He thought otherwise, and made it known with his trademark sarcastic quips. Nonetheless, we finally made it to the 'mo bar and I helped him scope out some attractive men while getting a lil' tipsy in the process.

Saturday was game day. And a game face was definitely needed for this particular football game. The high for Saturday was low-mid 30s with a wind chill in the 20s. Probably not a big deal for New Englanders, but for a Southern girl like myself, that is downright brutal. I even used every secret pocket I could find in my ski jacket and hoodie to smuggle beer into the stadium in effort to keep warm. By the third quarter, I couldn't take it any longer. It was obvious my team was going to win, so I ducked out early and spent the remainder of the afternoon defrosting. (Please note: I know leaving a game early does not reflect a true, hardcore fan. This is the only time I have done this and will hopefully be the last.)

Sunday, I obliged The Hoff by going to a sports bar to watch his team play. (The game wasn't being broadcast at his house.) The Hoff is from New England, and hence, he is a Patriots fan...one of his many flaws. The Pats slaughtered the Steelers last season-I shouldn't be at a bar watching, let alone cheering for them. But I decided to swallow my pride, hoping it would earn me girlfriend brownie points. (In actuality, I heart watching the Pats play this season. I'll take any opportunity I can to watch Matt Cassel run around in tight pants...but The Hoff doesn't need to know that.)

So anyway, a good five beers later, we head back, arm-in-arm, to The Hoff's car. Between the beer and my shoes-these cute, brown flats from Nine West with absolutely NO grip to them-gravity was not in my favor. I'm rambling, as I tend to do after five beers, and mid-sentence, my feet completely slip out from under me. I try grabbing The Hoff, hoping he'd catch me like a good knight in shining armor should. I guess my killer grip was too much for him, because I sent him stumbling forward, flinging our to-go box of wings out in front of him. It must have looked something like this:

I just wanted to watch football, not experience the injuries first-hand. Nonetheless, I'm left with a wounded foot, a bruised ass and a ruined pair of flats. Obviously, my biggest concern was the flats. The Hoff redeemed himself by taking me straight to the mall so I could look for a new pair. No new flats, but I did get ice cream out of the trip.

The things we go through for love...