Monday, April 30, 2007

What. The. F**k.

I am dragging today. And since I got a total of two hours sleep last night, it’s no wonder. As if Mondays weren’t hard enough, now I feel like I was hit by a truck.

Want to know what happened last night that kept me awake? (And get your heads out of the gutter – if I was getting action I wouldn’t be bitching to you about my lack of sleep.) Good, that’s the spirit:

OK, so last night started like any other Sunday night. I watched some tv, tried to finish up a book I was supposed to have edited last week, and eventually collapsed in exhaustion. And then, around two in the morning, it happened. A fucking nightmare.

As far as I can tell, there are three kinds of nightmares a person can have: 1) The kind that don’t wake you up, they just leave you feeling like shit the next morning while you remember (sort of) the dream, 2) The kind that wake you in the middle of the night, make you feel uneasy, but don’t stop you from getting back to sleep, and 3) The kind that wake you in the middle of the night, completely freak you out, force you to mentally calm yourself down while your heart races and your skin crawls, and then make it impossible to even begin thinking about going back to sleep. I had a code 3 dream last night.

Essentially, the gist of the dream was that I was asleep in my bed, when I realized that someone was in the room with me. Standing over me. I could hear him breathing, and just as the panic started to hit, he attacked me. I tried to fight and scream, but he was just too strong, and I wasn’t able to make any noise – although I kept trying. A classic really.

As I shot up in bed, instantly awake, I found myself in the exact same dark room and bed as my nightmare. So I scrambled to the door and turned on the light. Then I checked the closet and under the bed (I don’t care how pathetic that sounded), and only after I was satisfied that there was no one in the bedroom did I venture out into the living room. There I turned on all the lights, checked the windows, and tried to control my shaking (yes, I was shaking).

It was at this point that I think I finally accepted it had just been a dream. (Probably the fact that my cat was still asleep on the bed should have been my first clue – there’s no doubt in my mind that if a stranger was in the apartment, she would hide under the bed and let me fend for myself.) Still, I wasn’t exactly feeling calm. In fact, I was sufficiently freaked out. So I kept the lights on, got back into bed, turned on the tv to whatever awful shit is on in the middle of the night (what the fuck do insomniacs watch anyway?), and proceeded to stay awake until my alarm went off. Not my finest (or most adult) evening. But hey, at least I didn’t call my mom.

Now, I’m exhausted. No amount of coffee is going to get me through the afternoon today (I’m willing to bet), and I’m still a little uncomfortable about my dream. I mean, what the fuck? I normally never even remember my dreams. Now I have a fucking doozy of a nightmare, and I lose a night’s sleep? How do I deserve that?

So I’m torturing the rest of you with this. Have you ever had a nightmare that fucked you up into the next day? Because until last night, I hadn’t. And it’s not fun. Ugh.

Happy fucking Monday everyone.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

I Have Thoughts

I do. I have thoughts. About all kinds of things actually. Want me to prove it? OK. Here’s just SOME stuff that I’ve been thinking about lately:

-Britney Spears is fucking nuts, which is fine (although logically, I know her clothes shouldn’t bother as much as they do), except this chick has kids. I mean, fuck. Those kids don’t have a chance. What do you think they’ll score on intelligence tests in ten years? I say they top out at 70 – which WILL make them smarter than their parents. Ah, evolution.

-The Yankees are making me physically ill at this point. I’m about to see if they’ll let me pitch – I give myself a 50% chance of making the team.

-Went into Victoria’s Secret yesterday, and realized that they don’t even bother making bras that aren’t padded anymore. Kind of a ‘Fuck You’ to every woman out there who doesn’t need to (essentially) stuff her bra. After all, just because she’s big up top doesn’t mean she can’t always look bigger! Assholes.

-I need to help people more often. It gets me good stuff. Let me explain: I helped the daughter of a coworker with her college essays (out of the kindness of my heart), and now that she’s decided where she’s going – after getting into a bunch of schools (because I’m awesome) - the whole family wants to thank me. The daughter made me coconut dark chocolate chip cookies (so delicious AND my favorite), the mother took me out for drinks after work (always appreciated), and the father had a bottle of extra-special scotch shipped into the country for me (because I’m extra-special). All I can tell you about the scotch is it’s delicious (of course I tasted it right away), you can’t get it in any liquor stores around New York (or apparently the U.S.), and I can’t remember the name of it (the label is hand-printed and I’m not at home to read it to you – suffice it to say, this is not mainstream stuff). I love helping people.

-If I had to live off of one food for the rest of my life, I think it would have to be pizza. Wait, no, nachos. Mmmm, or my Dad’s ribs. Fuck, I forgot about Chinese food – all Chinese food. Goddamnit that’s a stupid question.

-My favorite word of all time (learned it in the fifth grade): pusillanimous – it means lacking courage and resolution. Say it out loud. It has such a nice rhythm to it. What? Where did you think ‘pussy’ came from? (I love language.)

-I may be paying too much to get a haircut. I mean, $200 for someone to essentially trim off my dead ends? It’s not like my hair is short and cute and needs lots of styling. Would it be a bad idea to buy a pair of good scissors and just trim my own hair? Probably.

-You know what? I truly enjoy cooking. And I’m actually really good at it. Yet, I live off of Campbell’s Tomato Soup, cheerios, Red Bull, and coffee. And no, I’m not on a diet (the women in my family pretty much top out at a size 6, so it's just not necessary). So the conclusion I’ve come to for why this is: cooking for one person sucks. Probably the worst thing about being single.

And finally:

-My friend Christine is having a bit of trouble with her roommate. And shockingly, it’s NOT because he’s a super-religious, revirginized tool. (Seriously, he has ‘reclaimed’ his virginity – a nifty trick that I made a very inappropriate joke to him about when I was told.) Nope, the trouble comes from his being a republican. And let’s just say Christine isn’t.

So, in a moment of passive-aggressive inspiration, Christine has invited me over to hang with them this weekend. Now, I’ve met the roommate, and let’s just say he wasn’t feeling the Redhead love. It might have something to do with the aforementioned inappropriate joke, or it might have to do with my walking into their place for the first time and yelling, ‘Jesus Fucking Christ!’ (What? You should see this place. Who has a duplex in the Village with their own private deck AND a skylight? How was I supposed to react?) Still, not the sort of thing you’re supposed to say in front of someone really religious. Apparently. Either way, I find it interesting that my friends use me as an instrument of revenge. And you know what? I’m not even insulted.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

A Quickie

OK, I’m not putting up a real post today. Why? Because I’m fucking tired and wish I was outside right now, that’s why. BUT, I am in a giving mood, so here’s a quick story:

I’m sitting on the train this morning on my way to work – completely zoned out as usual – when this guy sits down beside me. I give him a quick glance and decide he’s cute, but at 8 in the morning I don’t really care. So I settle back into listening to my iPod and trying to read my book.

Then, two stops later, he turns to me and says, “I’m sorry, I don’t know if people actually do this, but I just wanted to tell you that you’re gorgeous.”

Um, OK. This got my attention. I turned and gave him a more thorough once over, and came to a conclusion – definitely cute, nice body, but not a chance in hell. I mean, he was wearing sunglasses. On the train. We were fucking underground for christ’s sake! Talk about a pet peeve of mine. (If you’re not the Blues Brothers, you can’t be wearing sunglasses anywhere but outside – during the day.)

So I smiled, said thanks, and then looked away. Which makes me a bitch (which we already knew), but I really think it was my only choice. After all, I’m not giving my phone number to a stranger on the train no matter what (probably). This was a no win situation for him. Yet still he did it. And I appreciated the effort – it WAS nice to hear.

In fact, it kind of made my morning. It’s always great to get a compliment – especially from a good looking guy. And I think guys out there should know that. Even if nothing comes of it, giving a woman a compliment (and just leaving it at that – the woman will let you know if she wants to continue the conversation) is always a nice thing to do. It makes her day. And that’s good karma for the man.

Food for thought. Happy Tuesday.

Monday, April 23, 2007

Blind Dates

What is everyone’s thought on the blind date? I personally am not sold on them. However, I’ll freely admit to being a fucking moron, so take what I say with a grain of salt.

Now, I’ve had some experience with blind dates – painful, all painful (and cause for giving the person who set them up a hard time). But I’ve also heard success stories. So what the fuck do I know? Hell, I even have a friend who has set up two couples that eventually got married. (And no, I won’t let her set me up.)

So I guess my question is: How socially acceptable is the blind date? Does it still reek of desperation (as I always used to think before actually growing up), or is it just a good way to meet new guys?

Here’s the thing, I’ve dated (what feels like) almost every lawyer or ‘guy working in finance’ in the city of NY, and I need to change things up. The guys I’m meeting at bars and parties all seem like the same guy, and I’ve been getting bored. (Plus, as my regular readers know, I have absolutely terrible taste in men.) So my friends are starting to move in. They’re asking to set me up. And I may be starting to let them.

Case in point, my phone rang yesterday and my friend Hannah (from the non-draft post – lives in D.C.) was on the other end. She opened with:

Hannah: I may have given your number to this guy I know. So if he calls, be nice.
Redhead: (Not even batting an eye.) What’s his name?
Hannah: Nate.
Redhead: Looks?
Hannah: Very cute. Tall, built, full head of hair. But…
Redhead: But…?
Hannah: He’s in his late 30s.
Redhead: Hmmm. That okay, I don’t mind older. Ever married?
Hannah: Nope.
Redhead: Why not?
Hannah: I don’t know. He seems to always have a girlfriend thought.
Redhead: How’d you meet him?
Hannah: He used to be roommates with Scott.
[Note: Scott is Hannah’s boyfriend. I do not trust him. He is as fucked up as a person can be, and he and Hannah fight all the time. BUT, they love each other. So as a friend I can’t really say anything – I can just bitch about him behind her back. The fact that Nate is a friend of Scott’s is not a positive in my mind.]
Redhead: Job?
Hannah: Very successful.
[Another note: She gave me an actual job here, but I already forgot it. I do remember it sounded good though.]
Redhead: Reason you gave him the number of someone who lives in NY rather than D.C.?
Hannah: He saw a picture of you when he was at my apartment and asked who you were. Scott talked you up and then had me gave him your number. So now I’m warning you he may call.
[One more note: This is interesting. Scott and I generally give each other a hard time. So while I’ve never been out and out rude to him – he IS my friend’s boyfriend – I’ve also never really been nice to him. Let’s just say I’m surprising that he would talk me up – I wouldn’t if I were him.]
Redhead: Sure. Whatever. Sounds good – I’ll be nice.

So last night, when the phone rang (and blessedly pulled me away from yelling at my baseball team), I wasn’t surprised that it was Nate. I was surprised that we hit it off right away. Basically, I found out he had played minor league ball – and really knew his baseball – and we were off and running. Two hours later I got off the phone – after promising that I would go visit Hannah (and him) – in the next month or so, and shook my head.

He’d made a good first impression.

Still, what does that mean? He may know what I look like, but I wouldn’t know him if I fell over him. And that just seems weird to me. Liking someone without actually meeting them. Strange, right?

So I’m reaching out to all of you. Is it worth investing time in phone conversations on someone before even meeting them (and seeing if there’s any chemistry)? Is that a natural new form of dating? Or is it a colossal waste of time?

Thursday, April 19, 2007

I Can Be Cruel

Yet another story from years ago – this one I was reminded of last night when a friend did something similar (and called me LATE at night – after I’d suffered through another freezing game in the Bronx – to talk about it). She felt bad and I commiserated – but didn’t volunteer my own story to make her feel better.

I’m a bitch.

That doesn’t mean I won’t share the story with my readers though. In fact, it will be good to get this one off my chest – I haven’t really known what to make of it since it happened anyway. Just keep in mind, I was young and stupid then – so don’t judge me:

Several years ago my parents decided to take everyone on a cruise. The family used to go on cruises once or twice a year when I was younger, but as everyone grew up and went away to school/graduated and got jobs, my parents stopped taking us. They kept going away. They just stopped inviting us along.

Anyway, with all of us out of school and working, finding a time when everyone could get away was hard. But we managed. And before I knew it we were in Europe aboard a ship. It was beautiful, nice to have everyone together, and relaxing. And I needed a vacation – I had just broken up with my boyfriend. We’d dated for a while, and while I was happy to see him go, it was still stressful. So what I needed were naps, lots of good food, and many massages.

I was in the right place.

I guess it was about three or four days into the cruise when I noticed this guy. He was an officer on the ship (and had the cute white uniform to prove it), and he kept watching me. Whenever I saw him he would be looking at me. And he was scrumptious.

Not only did he have the uniform, but he was JUST MY TYPE. By my type, I mean he was tall, lean, and he had blonde hair. I have a thing for blonde hair. (I would later find out he was from Norway – let’s just say he looked like he would be from Norway.)

But I decided he was off-limits. Why? Well, I was on vacation with my family, I had just gotten out of a relationship, and I did not need a guy. I needed a break from guys. So I pushed Blondie to the back of my mind.

A little over a week into the trip, I knew I had made the right decision. I was having a great time. How had I forgotten how much I LOVED cruises? I love lying around all day, I love stopping in for quick look-sees at different ports, and I love just standing on the deck looking out at the ocean all around me. But most of all, I love the evenings. I love getting dressed up every night, going for drinks before dinner, and going to the casino after dinner. It’s decadent and perfect.

I didn’t need anything else. Well, except for maybe…

One night after dinner I walked into the casino. Still in my formal dress, I saw my sister across the room at a blackjack table. As I started to make my way towards her, I noticed a blonde head sitting to her right. Hmmm.

Sneaking up behind my sister, I tapped her on the shoulder and quickly stole a glance to her right. Yup, it was Blondie in his formal uniform. Uh-oh – he looked good enough to eat.

After a quick chat with my sister, I settled back to just watch them play (my luck in the casino during that cruise was beyond awful). And somehow Blondie and I got to talking. He had a charming little accent, blue eyes, and dimples. I was in trouble.

Not helping things was the fact that I’d had a drink before dinner, a couple glasses of wine with dinner, and I was sipping on some Chambord at the casino (after-dinner drinks almost never work, but on a cruise they’re practically required). Either way, I was under the influence – I had spaced things out enough to not be drunk, but I wasn’t sober.

All of a sudden Blondie and I weren’t just talking, we were flirting. My sister noted this and excused herself. I didn’t leave with her. Instead I stayed with the man. (Big mistake.)

At some point we wandered from the casino to the nightclub, and from the nightclub to his room. I honestly don’t even remember how it happened. But however it did happen, I somehow found myself sitting on the couch in his room, and we were kissing.

And it was weird.

Don’t get me wrong, he was gorgeous. He knew what he was doing. But it was weird.

His tongue felt too big. His hair felt strange. His body – which was perfect – felt odd. ‘He doesn’t feel like [my ex]’ I thought.

Where did that come from? What a ridiculous thought. And what the fuck was I doing thinking about ANYTHING, much less my ex, at that moment anyway?

I mean, sure, it made sense that I would find it a little strange to kiss a new guy after kissing someone else for the previous two years. But eventually I’d get swept up in the moment and my brain would shut down. Right?

So I waited. I waited to get swept up in the moment. His kissing technique was great, I thought. He was sexy, I thought. He was doing everything right, I thought.

So then why was I still in my own head?

Shit. Keep trying.

I kept trying as he unzipped my dress. I kept trying as I unbuttoned his jacket. I kept trying as we moved to the bed. I kept trying while my hand was down his fucking pants. And all the while, I was thinking, ‘I’m not enjoying this.’

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed a break. Sitting up in the bed, I said something about using the bathroom and escaped.

Closing and locking the door behind me, I turned and stared at myself in the mirror. I was not wearing a whole lot at that point, but it was my eyes that I was concentrating on. Nope, no answers there.

With a sigh I turned, and sat on the edge of the tub. I just needed to think about things logically. If I wasn’t enjoying myself, then I should just stop. Right?

Ugh, but I couldn’t leave at that point! I was not (and I hate this word, but what else really applies here?) a cocktease.

[Note: I don’t believe in owing a person anything. Just because a guy buys me dinner or a drink doesn’t mean I owe him anything more than a thank you. I also don’t believe in rules like ‘you need to go on three dates with someone before sleeping with them,’ etc. My whole theory is and has always been: Do what you want and what you’re comfortable (and can live) with. As long as everyone involved is a consenting adult, who cares what anyone else thinks. Period. Now, having said that, I don’t generally try to give men the impression that they’re going to get something when they’re not. So this situation had become a bit of a moral dilemma.]

After about three minutes, I took a deep breath and went back into the bedroom. I needed to man-up and make a decision. Either go through with it or ends things right then.

And there was Blondie, stretched out on the bed in his unbuttoned pants and nothing else. Long, tanned, and hot as hell.

Wait, what was the problem?

So I walked over to the bed and crawled on top of him. I started kissing him again, thinking everything was solved. Only his lips still felt strange. His hands still felt weird.

What the fuck?!

Trying to calm down and STOP THINKING, I felt momentary relief when he pulled my hair a little bit and kissed my neck – I love that. Only…shit, it wasn’t working. That trick always works!

OK, no problem. Leaning over I kissed his neck, nibbled on his ear, started kissing my way down his chest, and…

He chucked, said something in Norwegian (I’m assuming) and rolled me on my back. And then he was kissing me everywhere again. Only that left me with nothing to do. I couldn’t just lie there – that left entirely too much time for thinking and concentrating on relaxing.

Just as I thought I was getting a handle on the situation, he started to move south. And one thought jumped into my head and sent me into panic mode – ‘No way. Much, much too personal – not gonna happen.’

So, as he headed…down, I half sat up and said, “I think I should go.”

Just like that. No explanation. Nothing. I said it, scrambled off the bed, grabbed my dress and slipped it on, and scurried to the door. Then I stopped.

Agh, what was I doing? I couldn’t just leave like that? I couldn’t turn into THAT girl? I had to at least say something.

So I turned and looked over at him – sitting in the middle of the bed looking all beautiful and confused – and opened my mouth to at least say I was sorry. But nothing came out.

Feeling like the biggest pussy in the world, I just turned the knob and left. I totally wimped out. I froze under pressure (and I NEVER do that – I am fucking great under pressure)! I turned into someone I would usually mock. And it sucked.

Needless to say, I avoided Blondie like the plague for the rest of the cruise – which did mess with my relaxation plan quite a bit. But I deserved it.

And…that’s it. That’s the story. I have never, ever told anyone about this. Ever. So do me a favor – after you read this, feel free to comment a little bit, and then banish it from your mind forever. Because it never happened. Got it?

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

The Engagement Party

I set the stage yesterday for the engagement party story, so read that before jumping in here. And now, let another Drunk Redhead story begin:

My parents were throwing the engagement party for Brother and SIL, and no one throws a party like my parents. Fully catered and held at our (actually, their) house, my parents pulled out all the stops. (My father is the type who would be mortified if a person wanted anything at one of his parties and it wasn’t readily available.) That means that there were three (yes, three) separate, fully-stocked bars set up around the first floor of the house, and food galore. Platters of finger foods were laid on all available tables, waitstaff were circulating (and were under orders never to tell anyone they were out of anything), and a full spread was set up in the dining room for those who wanted to actually eat something substantial.

The house looked beautiful, the atmosphere was relaxed, and I was dressed to kill. Stud was going to notice me. Period.

I had bought a gorgeous dress that was classy enough to make my dad happy – it covered me from the tops of my breasts to my knees – and sexy enough to make me happy – strapless and fitted to every curve from the tops of my breasts to my knees. It showed me off my body to perfection (and that has always been a particular strength, thank you very much).

The shoes were killer stilettos, the makeup was smoky eyes and glossy lips, and the hair was straightened. I never straighten my hair because it takes forever and it’s perfectly nice in its natural wavy/loose curls state, but for Stud I made an exception.

Now, my hair is long under normal circumstances, but when straightened it’s really long. File that info away for later.

So yes, I was ready to knock Stud out, and everyone in my family knew I was excited to see him. SIL was curious as hell, since she had never met Stud before but had gotten a rundown on him from both me and Brother. And while you know how I feel about Stud, Brother’s opinion is less glowing. Because while Stud was always a good friend, he was not ‘dating the sister’ material. I don’t know, something about being ‘completely undependable’ and ‘possibly gay.’

I know, I can’t just throw that out and not explain. OK, the ‘completely undependable’ part was common knowledge (and totally irrelevant to me 5 years ago – and possibly still today), and the ‘possibly gay’ thing was all conjecture. There was never anything really specific to back up that theory. Stud was in no way effeminate. He never showed any interest (in that way) toward men. It was just that…he never really showed any interest in women either. He dated them (women), but never for long. He never talked about them. He just didn’t seem to care, which I guess makes some guys (and girls) wonder. But not me. I had faith that no man as hot as Stud could be gay. (Yes, I’m a moron.)

But either way, I would know for sure by the end of the engagement party. Because I was dressed to kill, and Stud would HAVE to be gay not to notice. (Seriously, I wasn’t fucking around – I can’t physically look much better than I did that night.)

So the party started. I had a drink that I was nursing as I made the rounds talking to my parents’ friends, Brother’s friends, and my sister (who I strongly suspect was just waiting for me to do something stupid). But after about an hour, Jen and I teamed up. And we started drinking a bit more seriously.

I was maybe three drinks in when Stud showed up. I was in the sitting room, and SIL came in and whispered to me that he was there. Literally breaking off a conversation I was having with an old high school teacher (who was also Brother’s soccer coach way back when), I made my way to the front foyer. And there he was.

I hadn’t seen him since middle school, but I would have recognized him anywhere. Tall, lean, with that gorgeous light brown hair and green eyes that I remembered so well. I barely knew what to do with myself. I think a little part of me had wondered if I would still find him as attractive as I used to. I did.

Now, I’m not all that aggressive with men. I’m not shy, but I never make the first move. I flirt, and I respond to flirting, but I’m never overt. I don’t fawn.

I fawned. I practically fucking drooled. I went over, said hi, and then proceeded to follow Stud around. I didn’t leave his side. I volunteered to get him drinks. I offered to introduce him to anyone he wanted. Basically, I threw my pride out the window.

And I drank. Jen kept bringing me drinks while she watched, along with Jim, SIL, Brother, my sister, my parents, and many other people. It was sad. I couldn’t have been more obvious. And I just didn’t care.

Stud, true to form, was being nice to me but couldn’t have seemed less interested. I looked hot, and he didn’t care. And it was bumming me out – so I kept drinking. Thanks to all that alcohol, I was sufficiently stupid enough to not get the hint and give up.

On a trip to the bar in my father’s study, Jen and I were plotting. As we approached the bar, which had beautiful votive candles on it, I guess I leaned in too close. And since my hair was longer than it normally is (straightened) it caught fire.

Now it wasn’t THAT bad. Really only about two hairs went up, but they were lonnnggg hairs. It was almost like a magic trick. Poof. A fraction of a second at the most, and then it was done. Really it wasn’t a big deal. You would never have known it had happened. If it weren’t for the shocked looks on the bartender and Jen’s faces and the smell of burnt hair of course.

Unfortunately, my father chose that exact moment to walk in. Wandering through the door, he took a sniff and blandly looked at me as he said, “Redhead, what am I smelling?”

“Redhead just lit her hair on fire,” Jen blurted out, before running from the room.

Agh. The look on my father’s face was so sad because he didn’t even look surprised. He just shook his head, told me to slow down with the drinking, and walked out.

I, of course, needed a drink after that – I'd had a traumatic experience. So I ordered a Bailey’s (which is just yummy but something I never drink). The thought here is that it would comfort me.

As I emerged into the living room with my drink, it became clear that Jen had spread the word of my little accident. People were looking at me curiously, and I was feeling even more stupid. I needed to escape.

Just then Jim approached me. He (and in fact all of SIL’s family) understands stupid drunk. Which is a blessing. Also, I think he was in need of some entertainment.

So he invited me outside for a cigarette with him and Stud. No one in my family knows I smoke (because I don’t want them to), but somehow Jim knew. I MAY have told him in one of my drunken moments.

Either way, I should have said no. I didn’t need to have a cigarette at my parents’ house. I didn’t need for them to know what a complete and total moron I was for smoking. But did I say no? Of course not.

We went out onto the front porch, and lit up. I’m not sure why I did it. Maybe I just wanted to spend some more time with Stud. Maybe I just wanted a cigarette. Either way, I was leaning against the front door smoking when my dad opened it. And I fell through the entranceway into the foyer. On my back. Kind of like a turtle.

Thankfully I was aware enough (yeah right) to chuck the cigarette off the porch as the door opened. So it may have looked like I was just hanging out on the front stoop with the guys while they smoked. Not sure what my dad thought at that point. I just got another head shake.

As my dad helped me up, said goodbye to the people who were leaving (hence, why he opened the door), and turned away, Jen slipped outside and closed the door behind her. At this point she was sloppy drunk. It took her all of 30 seconds to step off the front porch – backwards, into the bushes. As she disappeared into the shrubbery, Jim (who had a few drinks in him as well), yelled “Jen, I’ve got you!” and jumped into the bushes after her.

It was funny. It was stupid. And Stud didn’t seem impressed (party pooper). So he trooped back inside while I helped Jim and Jen out of the bushes and back onto the porch. Then I followed my prey inside (like I said – no pride).

I found him in my dad’s study. Being a glutton for punishment, I went in for the kill. I got touchy-feely. Nothing crazy, but I was touching his arm, getting close, basically just invading his personal space and sending out very clear signals (like I hadn’t been doing that all night).

And, um, nothing happened. He did nothing. He just wasn’t interested. Nice, but uninterested. And with that, I was done. I had no more cards to play. Because no amount of alcohol can get me to kiss a guy first. So I had to concede defeat. No phone numbers were exchanged. No long-held dreams were fulfilled. Nada.

On the plus side, the party eventually (and mercifully) ended. My family got a good laugh out of my behavior, and I (thankfully) didn’t throw up on anyone or anything. A relatively tame Drunk Redhead story actually. But it still haunts me.

I was such a dork, and was so totally and completely rejected. I never got my kiss. Never got Stud in any way actually.

But something positive did come from that night. Not only did I promise Brother and SIL that I wouldn’t drink too much at their wedding (which I didn’t), but I learned just a little bit more about drinking. And limits. And while it might not seem like it in this blog, I really don’t get stupid drunk anymore. I learned my lesson. After many, many wrong turns.

So now you know another story of one of those wrong turns. My gift to you. Another Drunk Redhead story. Hope you enjoyed it.

Monday, April 16, 2007

Intro to Tomorrow’s Drunk Story

What is with the fucking rain in NY? If it weren’t so cold I don’t think I’d mind that much – surprisingly I don’t melt when I get wet – but this is ridiculous. I’m freezing.

(Oh, and for any of my regular readers – all two of you – who have been following the saga of Guy #2, I thought I’d catch you up: he actually called me again over the weekend. It seems that he broke up with his girlfriend and wants to see me, proving 1) he totally is missing the point of why I wasn’t calling him back, 2) he might be insane, and 3) I really must be as good a kisser as my exes say.)

Anyway, I’m going to tell another drunk story tomorrow. But in the meantime – to keep that post from being disgustingly long – I thought I’d set it up a little bit today and introduce the main players. (As usual, all names are being changed to protect the innocent.) So here goes:

My brother and his wife recently had their second child in less than two years. And while that makes me think they’re freaking insane, it’s also awesome. Mainly it’s awesome because they produce fucking cool kids, but it’s also awesome because they’re loosing their minds right now trying to take care of two kids under the age of two.

So as I watch them settling into domestic bliss (or madness), I can’t help but think back to how it all began. Specifically, the story I’m going to tell took place at their engagement party five years ago.

Without further ado, the people you should know for this story are:

Brother – let’s not complicate things, my brother will just be called Brother here. I’ve mentioned him before, and (sadly) he’s been witness/instigator to many a Drunk Redhead story. He’s actually completely awesome, but he is my older brother so I’ve been tortured by him in the past. A lot.

SIL – this actually stands for sister-in-law. Of course, she wasn’t my sister-in-law at the time of this story, but do you honestly care? SIL is very, very cool. She was one of the only girlfriends Brother ever introduced me to who wasn’t either a vegetarian or on a diet. In fact, first time I met her was at a pub, and she ordered a burger, fries, and several Guinness’. She’s smart and extraordinarily successful, and she can drink me under the table (100% Irish). So except for the fact that she actually enjoys exercising and doesn’t like dogs (I know, that’s a huge strike against her), she’s cool. She can hang.

Jim – SIL’s brother. A great drinker, fucking hysterical, seems to get me into trouble whenever our families hang out.

Jen – Jim’s wife. A cute, tiny little blonde thing. She and Jim got married pretty young, come from the same small town as SIL (obviously), but unlike SIL never left. Genuinely nice but a sloppy drunk.

Stud – there’s just no other name I can give him. Stud went to high school with Brother, was co-captain of the soccer and lacrosse teams with him, and therefore was always at our house. He was my uber-crush. He was incredibly popular in school, too beautiful for words, and four years older than I was (and am). I worshipped him. I couldn’t get enough of him. And everyone (I repeat – everyone) knew it. And while Stud couldn’t have cared less about me, I always wanted him. So while I hadn’t seen him since I was 14 (and he graduated and went off to college), I’ll admit I never forgot him.

So, back to Brother and SIL’s engagement party. Stud was coming. No one had seen him in a long time (he moved to LA after college and worked at a magazine there), but he had just moved back. Brother extended an invite, and Stud said yes. He would be there – and he would be coming alone. Stud was single. And I had finally grown up.

What could possibly go wrong?

Thursday, April 12, 2007

My ‘Hotness of Mankind’ Non-Draft

OK, finally I have thrown together some kind of female version of the KSK ‘Clothing and Accessories that Accentuate the Hotness of Womankind’ Draft. Only it isn’t a draft, because that would have confused the shit out of my friends. (They don’t know about this blog or KSK, they wouldn’t understand why I would want to do something like that, and I wasn’t feeling creative enough to come up with a good lie.)

Instead I sent out an email to a few friends asking for examples – with explanations – of some ‘clothes or accessories men wear/use that make them hotter.’ It was a bit more organized and formal than our emails generally tend toward being, but they know I’m in publishing so they humored me. Then I started things out so they could get an idea of what I was thinking, and I encouraged everyone to comment on each choice.

Anyway, I didn’t give them too many rules. I just let things flow and then threw everything together later (in no particular order). But these are all real choices by real women.

So, before we begin let me introduce you to your commenters (and yes, I have a lot of friends who are lawyers):
Redhead: You know me, I’m a mouthy bitch.
Christine: I’ve mentioned her here before. She works as a real-estate developer, was my roommate in college for 2 years, and weirdly has very strong feelings on what men should and shouldn’t wear (and surprisingly little sense of humor about it).
Linda: Old friend of mine; we made it through private school together. She’s a lawyer in NYC, and her taste in men tends to be a little out there (she once dated one of her father’s friends).
Hannah: I’ve known her forever, love her to death, and hate that she doesn’t live in NY. She’s tends to be much more conservative than I am. She’s a lawyer in D.C. and always has great stories about the cases she’s working on.
Alex: I got to know her through Hannah, and we were instant friends. We bond over a shared love of sports (although unfortunately she’s a Mariners/Seahawks fan) and a shared distrust of Hannah’s boyfriend. She’s also a lawyer in D.C.

(Note: All names have been changed to protect the innocent. Oh, and some of the explanations/comments have been edited – sparingly – for clarity and to keep this from being godawful long. I’m not sure I succeeded.)

OK, so let’s do this:

*Redhead: Tattoos

What? I have a fetish for tattoos. I don’t want a guy to be covered with them (it’s better when they’re a surprise anyway), but a nice half-sleeve, something on the back, maybe on the hip – all that works for me. Remember the guy I dated who had a horseshoe tattooed right beneath his belly-button? I was fascinated by it. I definitely dated him longer than I would have without it.

Christine: Fucking tattoos again?
Hannah: I hated that guy!
Redhead: Be nice!
Linda: Ah, but you’re not a fan of the crucifix tattoo. Remember the guy with the huge one on his arm…
Redhead: (Internal cringe) Yeah, that one freaked me out.

*Christine: Low Shorts/Pants

This is all about the man’s “Y.” I don’t know the technical name here, but it’s that area where the pelvic bone meets the groin, creating a “Y” effect. Such a sexy part of the body. Anything that is fitted low enough to show that off (no shirt required) is very nice.

Redhead: It’s called “The David.”
Alex: I don’t know what it’s called, but I agree. Even if they’re wearing a shirt, when they reach up to get something and flash you with it…I’m drooling right now.

*Linda: Cologne

There are two types of men in the world. The ones who wear cologne and make me think of fresh powder and musk, and the ones who are responsible for half the deaths on the subway. What is with some of those guys? Can they read a label? But the ones that get it right… I’ll sleep with them just on principle!

Redhead: (Chuckling)
Christine: No way. I hate cologne!
Redhead: Actually, the right cologne (and not too much of it) on the right guy is a HUGE turn-on for me. I can’t help it – it gets the blood pumping.
Linda: Thank you!

*Hannah: The Nice Suit

This has to be a perfectly tailored, not too flashy (be careful with pinstripes) suit, paired with the right shirt and a great tie. Men do not realize how much women like a well-fitted suit. It instantly makes them 50% hotter. An average looking guy moves up a notch in attractiveness when he is in a suit.

Linda: Amen.
Christine: It’s the fit of the suit that’s most important. A man’s shoulders are a huge turn on, and the broader the better. But they never look broader if the jacket is too big, and some guys don’t understand this. The shoulder seam has to be just at the shoulder, otherwise the guy looks like he’s a little boy playing dress-up. And no cuffs or pleats (one pleat is OK – but no more than one).
Redhead: Um, I don’t know what you just said, but I think I agree.
Hannah: It’s all in the fit. A real man owns a suit that fits his body perfectly.
Christine: Exactly.
Linda: The right suit makes me want to take it off.
Redhead: Jesus, Linda!

*Alex: Boxer Briefs

Briefs remind me of little boy underwear, and I don’t date boys. And straight boxers are fine, but they’re just not as sexy as the boxer brief. It’s something about the tight fit. That’s what a man wears. Plus, their asses look great in them.

Redhead: Couldn’t agree more. I just Googled boxer briefs (I really shouldn’t be doing this at work), and…I think I’m blushing.
Christine: Wuss.
Linda: No, no, no. I like boxers.
Redhead: OK, make your argument.

*Linda: Silk Boxers

They’re like the male version of the silk teddy. They may not be practical but they’re hot as hell. I see them on a man and he is my king. I just want him to lie down, relax, and let me take care of him. And when I’m done, I steal them.

Christine: Linda, we are never going to be fighting over the same guys.
Hannah: Silk?
Alex: Are you kidding?
Linda: No.
Alex: Are you sure? Redhead, weigh in.
Redhead: Nope, I’m not getting involved. I prefer commando. Easier to see the “Y.”

*Redhead: Men in Uniform

Men get…

Hannah: Wait. I get to choose men in uniform. My boyfriend is the one who has a uniform (ed. note: he’s in the military), so I get to do this one.
Redhead: OK, go.

What woman doesn’t like a man in uniform? Men look more capable and more dangerous. They’re fun for dress-up, and when your man actually earned the uniform, it’s that much more enjoyable – trust me, I know. Plus, men aren’t the only ones who like their women to dress up.

Christine: No argument here.
Redhead: Question: Are you specifying military uniforms with this choice?
Hannah: I don’t know. Am I?
Redhead: Why yes you are. Especially because you stole this one from me.
Hannah: Hey!
Redhead: I get the next one. And I choose…

*Redhead: Firemen

It’s better when they’re actual firemen, but just dressing up like one is fine too. They’re so brave, and strong, and sexy, and…brave.

Hannah: That was eloquent.
Redhead: Did I ever tell you guys about the time the fireman knocked on my door?
Christine: Is this a real story?
Redhead: Oh yeah. I had just moved to NY, and I was home sick on a Saturday night. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. I’m wearing sweats, my hair is up in a knot-type thing, and I’m wearing no makeup. But I go answer the door anyway (because I’m a moron). And who do I find, but two firemen!! Apparently something had happened in the building (but who cares about that), and they needed to check out the apartment. So I let them in (drooling), got lectured about having a grill on the balcony, tried to make awkward small talk, and then watched them leave. I mean, between looking SO bad AND sitting home on a Saturday night, I must have looked like such a loser.
Christine: You are a loser.
Linda: Wait, that’s the story?!
Redhead: Yeah. It’s one of my big regrets. Those firemen were hot.

*Linda: Sunglasses

It’s simple, the right kind of sunglasses can instantly make a guy look cool. I once knew a guy who looked like Woody Allen, and when he got himself a hot pair of shades, I actually thought he looked like Keanu Reeves. It was weird.

Alex: The right sunglasses can definitely be a turn on.
Christine: I don’t think they can turn Woody Allen into Keanu Reeves though.
Redhead: It would be worth a try.

*Christine: A Nice White T-Shirt

Guys think they can buy any old white t-shirt, pair it with jeans, and look good. The t-shirt has to fit correctly. Like I said before about the suit, the shoulder seam has to be at the shoulder. The t-shirt should fit to his body and show it off without being too tight. It is all about making sure the quality of the clothes is good. Spend more than $10 bucks on it.

Redhead: Christine, you’re scaring me.
Hannah: No, I get what you’re saying. In an effort to not look like they’re trying too hard, some guys don’t try hard enough. Sometimes the effortless look takes a little effort.
Christine: Exactly. I’m not asking too much when I say this.

*Alex: The Perfect Pair of Jeans

These need to be nice and low on the hips – loose but not too loose. They need to be able to hold themselves up. And they hug the ass just right. Plus, they look great with the white t-shirt or a button-down. Men usually do a pretty good job choosing these.

Christine: Not always in the Midwest. When I lived in Chicago guys were not wearing the right jeans.
Redhead: Not one man in Chicago got it right? Seriously?
Christine: Not like they do in NY.

*Christine: The Classic Blazer

To go with the jeans and white t/button down. This is a basic that all men should have because it looks great. Again, fit is everything. Navy blue is a good color for this, but any basic dark color will do.

Hannah: No argument.
Redhead: Hey Christine, do the seams on the shoulders need to be right at the shoulders?
Christine: Shut up. The best thing about men are their broad shoulders and narrow hips. And the right cut shows this off. I’m not wrong here.

*Linda: The Non-Greaser Leather Jacket

It’s so hard not to screw this up. I’m not talking black leather and I’m not talking motorcycle jacket. This is a classic, dark brown, spanking new leather jacket. It says “I may be preppy, I may be bad-ass, I may be both. Wouldn’t you like to know?” And I always want to know.

Redhead: A leather jacket? No. These never, ever, ever look good on men. They shouldn’t even attempt it.
Alex: Agreed. Men should not wear leather jackets after 1990.
Christine: I’m not a fan.
Hannah: Dark brown is definitely the way to go if they’re going to wear them, but it doesn’t really work for me either.

*Redhead: The Necklace

Now let me explain. I don’t like jewelry on men (with the exception of wedding rings and watches), but for whatever reason sometimes necklaces work. You know the ones – the almost-chokers. Like the leather strip around the neck. Or the smallish silver beads (with no charm or anything on it). Close to the neck and not hangy. I can’t tell you why, but it turns me on. It makes me want to touch their neck.

Christine: That’s it, you’re not allowed to critique us anymore.
Redhead: What?!
Alex: Are you kidding?
Hannah: Why don’t you pair that with the tattoos, Redhead. Then you can bring him home to your father – that would be interesting.

*Hannah: The Tux

Obviously well-tailored (Christine), and classic. Men should not get creative here. A classic bow tie or solid colored tie, and every man looks like James Bond.

Redhead: Men think that single women at weddings are easy because of the desperation/love aspect, when really we’re easier because there are so many men in tuxes.
Christine: Ah, Redhead’s speaking from experience. Want to tell this story, Redhead?
Redhead: No.
Hannah: I know it!
Alex: What story?
Redhead: Get back on track people!

*Redhead: Shoes

I don’t know enough about men’s shoes to truly explain this one, but I do have strong feelings about them nonetheless. I mean, it’s a dealbreaker. I don’t want running shoes on a guy unless he’s running. Flip flops are okay in warm weather but sandals never are. I’m talking leather shoes, not too fussy, never tassled, and and no rubber soles. OK, I’m probably not explaining this well, but suffice it to say, a good pair of shoes on a guy can legitimately turn me on.

Christine: YES!
Hannah: Definitely no sandals.
Alex: Redhead, I can’t believe you chose shoes? I didn’t even think you knew men wore shoes.
Redhead: You’ve got to look somewhere on the subway.

*Linda: The Gym Bag

Love the guy who’s dressed up on the subway with a gym bag. I don’t care what’s actually in there – could be porn for all I care. As long as it looks like he works out, that’s totally hot. But it has to be a real gym bag by Nike or something. It doesn’t work if the bag has a cheesy company logo on it.

Redhead: I’d rather he just had a body that looked like he worked out.
Alex: No, the gym bag is a turn on. It’s best when paired with a guy in a suit though. It shows that he knows how to dress well, but he also knows how to sweat.
Linda: And it’s less stuffy than a briefcase.

Agh. OK, we stopped there - basically (this was a compilation of 3 days of emails after all). Anyway, let’s just all be happy that I didn’t get fired after some of the image searches I did yesterday. Work? What work? Fuck.

So, I hope this was an interesting/entertaining look inside a few women’s brains. Although honestly, men’s clothes and accessories aren’t as fun a topic as women’s. Still gentlemen, it’s what’s underneath that counts. And now I’ll leave you with Linda’s parting words:

“I say the best accessory of all – especially if you’re unattractive – is four of your hottest friends.”

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Some Truths

So it’s going to take me another day to get my female version of the KSK ‘Hotness of Mankind’ draft going – mainly because all my friends have jobs that expect them to work. (Also, it’s a little hard to get your friends to do something like this without telling them why, and their not knowing about my blog is exactly how I want/need it.) Anyway, Jez, I will fulfill your reader request. I just won’t do it today.

In the meantime, here are a few Truths:

*Truth. Sitting outside in freezing cold temperatures for over 4 hours – like I did at Yankees Stadium on Saturday – WILL give you a cold.
*Truth. Getting a cold is a small price to pay for a fucking awesome baseball game.
*Truth. Zicam really does work to shorten colds. It just tastes like shit.
*Truth. I have a mouth like a truck driver, and it upsets my mother.
*Truth. Yankee starting pitching may just kill me this year. (And I still don’t trust Carl Pavano.)
*Truth. A Tetanus shot will make you feel like someone just punched you in the arm – for an entire week.
*Truth. I’m allergic to cats, I have a cat, and the shedding picks up in the spring – translation: I’m totally fucked.
*Truth. People who name their pets real human names, like Maggie or Amber, suck; pets should have names that make it clear you’re not talking about a person.
*Truth. This story about the lead chick on that show The Hills – and a possible sex tape she made – takes saying mean things about people to a whole new level (read the end).
*Truth. If you’re going to make a sex tape, never, ever, ever allow your partner to keep it. For any reason. I don’t care how much you trust that person at the time.
*Truth. All women love the movie The Sound of Music – it was on TV Sunday night, and every woman I know watched it. We all love it. We can’t help ourselves.
*Truth. The new guy on The Bachelor this season is a tool. How am I the only one who sees this? Who are the women who go on this show?
*Truth. Besides having good legs, Cameron Diaz is built like a boy. The media is delusional.
*Truth. Haagen Dazs coffee ice cream is the best ice cream. Ever.
*Truth. If your doing a Google image search (which I have been for tomorrow’s post), never put in ‘men in uniform’ while at your desk at work. You will see naked men. And they’ll be doing things to themselves. This is the definition of NSFW.

Update 1: Dog the Bounty Hunter season premiere tonight - don't miss it! The show is pure genius. Craptastic!

Update 2: The Ladies... are taking over KSK tomorrow. Therefore, I'm holding off on my 'Hotness of Mankind' post until Thursday. Not that I'm any competition - and I may write something - but tomorrow really should be about what I hope these ladies do. (I love a good smackdown.)

Thursday, April 5, 2007

Reviewing the Recent KSK Draft

So Kissing Suzy Kolber had another mock draft today (or at least the first half of it), and it was entitled ‘Clothing and Accessories that Accentuate the Hotness of Womankind.’ And some of their choices were interesting. Some were stupid.

Anyway, since I’m feeling less than creative – again – I decided to review their draft choices so far. What? Drafts are always subject to review.

Without further ado, here are the first two rounds and my comments:

1. The Bikini
A strong choice. Always sexy to men when on the right woman. However, it is important to keep in mind that not all women have bikini bodies. I’m assuming that this choice was made with the assumption that bikini women can tell themselves apart from one-piece women.

2. High Heels
As a woman, I think high heels are sexy too (that’s why I can never own too many of them). They make all women’s legs look better – so if you have good legs to begin with, heels can do a man in. Almost every man I’ve dated has wanted to have sex while I’m still wearing my heels. So this one was a no-brainer choice.

3. Thong Underwear
Fucking uncomfortable – I hate them. But…I wear them a lot of the time. The fact that men like them in irrelevant. It’s all about the panty lines. Oh, and ladies - they’re underwear; the general public does not want or need to see them. (I know most men disagree with me on this one.) All in all though, a good pick.

4. Pearl Necklace
Jesus, Flubby!

5. Catholic Schoolgirl Outfit
Getting dressed up in outfits is always fun, and the catholic schoolgirl is a classic. Men – and women – like it when their partner gets dressed up for them; role playing can be fun! Solid pick.

6. Edible Panties
Hey, whatever gets a man’s mouth down there. Glad it went in the first round.

7. Camisole
Absolutely. Men like breasts AND the camisole is light in hot weather. This is a logical choice that men can actually expect to see a woman in. The fact that it turns men on is just a bonus. Perfect first round pick.

8. Mary Janes
A fine choice if Monday Morning Punter meant the ones with heels (which would look great with the catholic schoolgirl outfit by the way), but that also makes it an invalid pick (see #2). And since flat Mary Janes aren’t anything to get excited about, I’m simply going to shake my head and move on.

9. Slinky Black Cocktail Dress
Absofuckinglutely. Women spend their entire lives looking for the perfect black cocktail dress, and sexy (read: slinky) is a consideration. I personally own four – so we’re happy men appreciate our efforts and it made the draft. Although, the example on the KSK site is awful.

10. Wedges
I own several of these as well, but again see my note on the Mary Janes. Big Daddy Drew didn’t specify stilettos when he chose high heels, so wedges fall under that category. This in an invalid pick.

11. Garter Belt with Thigh Highs
Can’t argue this one. They’re totally impractical and women never actually wear them UNLESS they’re for a guy, but I’ll agree they’re sexy as hell.

12. Bustier
No shit. Yes, men like breasts. But I will say that with the exception of in private, only small chested women should ever wear bustier tops in public. Women who are…let’s just say ‘blessed in that area’ look like porn stars if they wear them as tops. Not even remotely classy. Trust me, I know. So let's call these an at-home choice for ALL women (and men).

13. Booty Shorts
Definitely cute and so much more comfortable than thongs. But, they’ll leave panty lines, so they’re really only useful in private (like so many other things on this list). Still, that doesn’t make them a bad pick.

14. Tight as Shit Business Suit
I’m impressed that guys find this so hot, and I agree that they're sexy. However, that’s a lot of money to spend on a suit that you can’t actually wear to work. An ‘eh’ pick in my mind.

15. Eye Makeup
Makeup is always a good choice. I love makeup, and the right eye makeup is crucial. Still, I was surprised by this one. I would have bet money that lipstick – either a shiny gloss or dark color – would have been picked first. It is drawing attention to the mouth after all. But my own personal experience may be influencing me here – my lips are kind of full, so men who date me obviously like that and want me to play it up. Either way, I’m glad that Captain Caveman realizes just how attractive makeup makes women (we’re really not most attractive when we wake up, trust me).

16. Low Rise Jeans
I’m a fan of this one – and of the jeans. They’re comfortable and sexy, and as long as they’re not Tara Reid/Britney Spears low (where you need a bikini wax to wear them), they’re legitimately cute. If men like them too, that’s just a bonus.

17. One Piece Tennis Dress
I don’t play tennis, but I guess they’re cute – if Maria Sharapova is the one wearing them. I say the super-short white tennis shorts are sexier (and more multipurpose), but if men prefer the dress, that’s fine.

18. Glasses
What?! I don’t see this at all. Is it the naughty librarian thing? I don’t believe men actually like women who need and wear glasses all the time; they only like a cute girl in a cute pair of glasses SOMETIMES. Trust me, I wore glasses for a long time before I had lasic surgery a few years ago, and everyone was shocked that I had such “pretty green eyes” afterward. Of course, I’d had those eyes my entire life, but NO ONE COULD SEE THEM behind the glasses. Not a well thought-out pick.

19. Nose Stud
That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.

I'm Not a Bad Person

Hey - this is really just a post to say I'll post something more substantial later. Work has been crazy (who can actually edit 3 books in 1 day?!), and my private life has been crazier.

Quick story: Just started seeing a guy - our first date was last week, but it was a good one - and we were going out again last night. He showed up at my apartment to pick me up, and we had a quick drink before leaving. Then, as I was locking my door, we had the distinct pleasure of running into my sort-of-neighbor from down the hall.'s just say never date a neighbor, because it can come back to haunt you. Like it did for me - last night.

My sort-of-neighbor - who it turns out I didn't like that much and have basically been avoiding for the last few months - apparently was having a bad day yesterday. And he took it out on me right in front of my date. (Yes, I do seem to attract the psychos, thanks for noticing.)

Basically, he told my date I'm a bitch who uses guys, and he should run. He said this right in front of me. It was...horrifying.

Have you ever had someone do that to you? No? Well lucky you. I wish I could say the same.

To say the date was strained after that would be an understatement. (I don't think I'm going to be speaking to either guy in the future.) But on the plus side, it did come out that sort-of-neighbor is moving at the end of the month. So that's something - thank fucking God.

And on a further plus side, I'm going to a Yankees game on Saturday. Yay to that.

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

I’m So F*cked

Wow, I forgot what baseball season was like for a while there. So glad I got an early reminder yesterday. Baseball is fun.

No, wait, that's a lie. Baseball is torture.

I don’t know how I do it, but somehow (every winter) I convince myself that baseball is fun for me to watch. I think how I miss my boys. I think that I can’t wait for spring. I even make it through spring training in this blissfully ignorant state. And then the games start. It normally only takes a day or two before something happens, and then I remember that baseball isn’t an enjoyable pastime for me. Baseball stresses me out. Baseball makes me act strangely. A quick story:

One day last season I was bored and turned on the Food Network before a game. That annoying chick Rachel Ray was on, and she was doing the show 30 Minute Meals. So I watched (I was probably hungry at the time and hoped watching someone prepare food would be as good as getting off my ass and actually doing it myself), and after the show was over I turned on the Yanks game. And we won. We won big. So, for THE REST OF THE SEASON I had to at least check in on Rachel Ray and 30 Minute Meals – for good luck of course – before each game. Now, Rachel Ray makes me want to tear my hair out. She giggles and I shudder. She says EVOO and I yell ‘It’s extra virgin fucking olive oil you annoying bitch!’ Rachel Ray does not make my life better or more enjoyable. But I tortured myself with her for four months. Every day. Because I thought that’s what my team needed.

Insane? Sure. Totally par for the course as a sports fan? Yup. We’re a sad, sad lot.

Because those of us who really care – who live and breathe a particular sport or team – do not enjoy the games. The games aren’t fun to watch. We suffer through the games and wait for either the relief of a win (actual joy doesn’t happen often), or the frustration of a loss.

I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I don’t enjoy baseball. I’m obsessed with baseball, and my team, but I’m more haunted by them than anything else. Our (and yes, I think of the Yankees’ losses as my losses) really bad games kept me up at night. They put me in a bad mood for days. Sure, I may take a loss in May better than a loss in October, but honestly I’m just as pissed losing to Tampa Bay as I am losing to Boston. Because losing to Tampa Bay is embarrassing. (Yeah, I said it.) And that can happen any time of the year.

Blowout losses can also happen on any given night. And while last-minute losses are shockingly painful, at least the pain is swift. Blowout losses start to piss me off at the beginning of a game, and three hours later I’m still yelling at my TV. Talk about having absolutely zero sense of humor – I give new meaning to ‘you don’t want to be around me’ during a blowout loss.

So I shouldn’t have been shocked yesterday when I started to lose it. There I was, sitting at my desk with a little scoreboard in the corner of my computer screen following our season opener. And we were losing to the Devil Rays. I felt myself getting angry. I started muttering. People in my office stopped to ask how the game was going (they know me well), and I refused to answer. And then it hit me. I’m fucked. I have 6 (hopefully 7) more months of this ahead of me. And somehow I had forgotten what it was like. I do it every year. And then it all comes back.

As much as I LOVE baseball, I HATE baseball.

I can’t control myself any more than I can control what’s happening on the field. And I can’t make myself care less. So what do I do? I’m a baseball fan – I suck it up.

The Yanks eventually pulled out the win yesterday, and I was happy. But I know that there’s another game tomorrow…and the day after that…and the day after that. And we’re going to lose some of those. I know that. It’s a marathon not a sprint (as they love to say), and I know that too. (I have to keep reminding myself of all those things – it helps.)

So as of right now I’m going to enjoy the little things. I’m enjoying our win yesterday. I’m enjoying A-Rod’s homerun. I’m enjoying Boston’s loss to the Royals.

But a little heads up to anyone who may be reading – don’t be surprised if I lose my mind a few times (probably more than a few) in the next couple months. Perspective only lasts so long.

My boys are back.

Monday, April 2, 2007

Check This Out

Ugh, it’s Monday and I’m low on blood after an early morning doctor’s visit – why do they always take so much blood for testing? And why can’t they at least give me a Twinkie afterwards like they do at any blood drive?

Anyway, I’m tired and not feeling even a little bit creative, so instead of rambling as I normally do, I’m instead going to point you towards a You Tube clip that almost killed me. I mean, this was so upsetting/hypnotic that I haven’t been able to get it out of my head – so now I’m sharing it with as many people as I can. I’ve already permanently scarred my friends with it. In a weird way, it’s almost like I’m taking a little bit of their childhood away. Hee, hee.

So, with that lovely introduction, I hope you enjoy it – keep at eye out for the 3 minute mark; that was the moment when I lost it at my desk and had to pretend I was choking on something (to not give away the fact that I wasn’t, well…working). As the saying goes, ‘there are some things you can’t unsee.’

Oh, and if you read the Sports Guy on ESPN – sadly I do even though he irritates the hell out of me – you may have already seen this clip. He had a link to it in his Friday column, and that’s where I first encountered the glory that is...nope, I’m not giving anything away here. All I will say is that I’m terrified for the next time I have to watch the Muppets with my nephews.

So Happy Monday everyone! I’m going in search of sugar.