Well, as my readers know, I do tend to go off on my tangents – and no one does random like I do. So for this Friday, I give you yet another look inside the mind of Redhead (you might want to hold onto something…not THAT):
-Referring to myself in the third person – still fun!
-I keep having this urge to go blonde for the summer. Sure my mom would kill me if I did it, it would probably fry my hair, and I can only guess how shitty it would look with my pale ass skin, but…I don’t know. I still kind of feel like a change. Fuck it – I have a massage appointment at the spa this weekend (which is right above the salon where I get my hair cut), maybe I’ll just do it.
-Speaking of massages, I can’t wait for mine. This is something NY Guy is no good at (although he does get points for trying). I honestly think he’s taking out all of his pent up frustration at me when he rubs my back (although he’d never admit to it); in other words, it hurts like a bitch. But a professional massage – guaranteed to make me want to purr. Fuck. Yeah.
-My top 10 iPod songs this week (I’ve been feeling kind of mellow): Have You Ever Seen the Rain? by CCR; Hero of the Day by Metallica; I’ll Be Your Lover Too by Van Morrison; Lake of Fire by Nirvana (actually, the whole Nirvana Unplugged album’s been getting a lot of play recently); Black by Pearl Jam; Deserted by Blind Melon; Redemption Song by Bob Marley; Behind Blue Eyes by The Who; Feeling Good by Nina Simone; Hard Headed Woman by Cat Stevens.
Oh shit, there’s no Sublime on this list. OK, let’s throw in Badfish from 40 Oz. to Freedom.
-There’s this scene in The Wedding Planner (that piece of shit movie with Jennifer Lopez and Matthew McConaughey that’s ALWAYS on TV) that has totally ruined M&Ms for me – which I’ve decided is just criminal. And I need to vent about it for a second so bear with me: In the movie, McConaughey’s character is being charming (or at least I’m assuming that’s what they were going for – I clearly don’t agree), and he goes to this movie with Lopez’s character. Anyway, as they sit down he pours a bunch of M&Ms into his hand and starts to discard all the candies that aren’t brown. When Lopez asks what he’s doing, he explains to her that “they have less artificial coloring because chocolate’s already brown.” Cue my head exploding. Um, dude? Isn’t your character a fucking DOCTOR? Shouldn’t he be smart enough to know that ALL M&Ms (yes, even the brown ones) have a candy shell over the fucking chocolate? The brown have just as much artificial coloring as the rest – because the candy shell isn’t made of chocolate. You fucking incompetent moron. And the worst part? That I think of this shitty scene every time I’m eating M&Ms. And it pisses me off.
-I’m going to be out of town next week (sitting by a pool, trying not to burn – don’t worry, it’s being considered a ‘working from home week’ so I’ll still be checking in and probably posting; I’ll just be doing it in a bathing suit), and I’ve decided to do John a favor. Now hear me out: I have tickets for a Yanks game next week (my season seats), and I’m not going to be around, so I’m just GIVING them to him (he already knows everyone who sits around me anyway). So, he gets to take his dad to a game (something he’s been wanting to do for a while) AND sit in my awesome seats. In exchange, I get to continue to avoid ‘The Talk’ AND avoid the torture of watching my team continue to suck. (Note: This is not entirely true since I will – of course – still watch the game. I’ll just be doing it in relative privacy – which is probably for the best. What can I say, I’m a glutton for punishment.) Anyway, fair plan right? Tickets in exchange for continued avoidance? Everybody wins?
-This is the transcript of a conversation I had with my friend Linda last night:
(Note: I was watching TV the entire time – which is something I often do when I’m on the phone with someone – and hadn’t really been paying attention. Anyway, the gist of the conversation was that Linda had been on a date and I was getting the post-mortem.)
Linda: You would have loved this guy.
Redhead: Why’s that?
Linda: Oh, he had the gentleman thing down pat – he was on time, insisted on paying, pulled my chair out for me, the whole nine yards. Then, at the end of the night he hailed me a cab, held the door open for me, and put his hand on my elbow to help me get inside.
Redhead: Did you immediately get down on your knees and thank him properly?
(Silence.)
Redhead: I’m kidding!
And you wonder why my friends keep me around.
-I think avocados may be one of the best foods ever – they’re all buttery and rich and soft in your mouth…yum. Who doesn’t like avocados? I’m hungry.
-I hate Dave Matthews. See, I had a roommate freshman year of college who was legitimately psycho, and every time she cheated on a boyfriend (which was always about a month after she left her previous guy for him), she would blast Dave Matthews while she was getting it on. So picture this, me minding my own business (shut up, it’s possible) while trying to avoid The Roommate, and then burying my head in my hands when that fucking whiny ass voice came on her stereo. Which happened every month and half or so.
Now I wasn’t a huge Dave Matthews fan before then, but it’s safe to say I positively loathe him now. Like, ‘my skin is crawling turn that shit off’ loathe him. And guess who loves Dave Matthews? Yup, John. Yet another reason to add to the list of why I can’t ever touch him.
-I think every Starbucks should have a special line for their regulars. My Starbucks – near my office – has been especially crowded lately, and I’m not happy about it. (Know what I don’t want to do in the morning when I’m waiting for my coffee? That’s right, stand in line for 10 fucking minutes!) I mean hell, they already know what I’m going to order; they should have an express line for people like me. I’m special damnit! Fuck, I need a vacation.
And with that, I’m done for now. Feel free to comment on any of this, throw your own random thoughts at me, or kiss my ass. Whatever you’re up for.
Have a great weekend.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
A Friend in Need
Well, it’s happened. My friend Christine has taken the leap from using me to torment her roommate (I mentioned her situation here), to calling me up and threatening to…you know, kill him. So, it seems it’s time to hunt for apartments (or find her a really, really good lawyer), and guess who’s been recruited to help? That’s right – Redhead.
Now, I don’t remember Christine helping me search for apartments when I last had to move, but apparently (as she’s explained it) I owe her – according to her I’ve been blowing her off to ‘hang with the boyfriend’ lately. To this I would like to point out that A) That’s bullshit – I don’t blow her off any more now than I ever did (which admittedly is a lot), and B) Even if I was, this isn’t fair! I call this cruel and unusual punishment – I HATE looking at apartments. It’s tiring, most of them are depressing as hell (and ridiculously fucking expensive), the market in Manhattan is always competitive and stressful, and (let’s be very clear here) I HAVE NO INTEREST IN IT! Some people like doing shit like looking at apartments and picking out paint colors and talking about decorating. I am not one of those people. If I could have made my friends go look at apartments for me (and pick one for me), I would have – hell, I would have paid them to do it. But noooo, I didn’t. Why? Because I’m awesome, that’s why…and they’re not stupid enough to have agreed. (Oh, and FYI – if Christine asks me to help her pack, our relationship is over.)
Having said all that, I can be guilted into things. Including apartment hunting (apparently). But together – I have my pride. Or I did, until last night. Last night I became…I don’t know, Christine’s assistant? Her gopher? Her bitch? This is what happened: I got home from work yesterday and was minding my own business, trying to decide whether I wanted to have an ice pop (orange) or a Red Bull (sugar free) for dinner – I seriously need to go grocery shopping – when my phone rang. I answered it (mistake #1), cautiously said ‘sure’ when Christine asked if I would do her ‘a favor’ (mistake #2), and then didn’t hang up once she explained what that ‘favor’ was (mistake #3).
Turns out, I had unwittingly agreed to walk 7 blocks in the 95 degree heat (and humidity), to go look at a 6th floor walkup for her. Alone. She was ‘stuck’ in a meeting downtown (I suspect this was a lie), and didn’t want to miss out on what sounded like a good deal (it was a reasonably priced one-bedroom in Manhattan – not an easy find). And since I live nearby (damnit), I could easily go check it out (they were having an open house) and give her a call if it was worth trecking uptown. (What…the…fuck?) Yeah, I know – amazing, right? Who agrees to this shit?
Quick sidenote: Christine has decided that if she lives closer to me, we’ll go out more (less of a chance of my complaining and using the ‘lazy’ excuse when she wants to get together). AND, it stands to reason that we will have more of an opportunity to meet hot guys the more often we go out.
One more sidenote: Christine has decided that I’m about a month away from dumping NY Guy, and therefore has concluded that it’s not wrong to plan ahead for my single days. As she put it, “I look forward to the day when you finally fall in love – I really do. I can’t wait actually. I intend to call you whipped and mock you at your rehearsal dinner. But let’s be honest – you’re not there yet.” Ooookay…
Fuck. Anyway, that’s all just a lead in to how I found myself climbing a seemingly endless set of stairs in an unairconditioned building last night. (WTF? Why do stairs never seem to have any bearing on how much you exercise or how in shape you are? I thought I was dying by the time I reached the top floor – yup, the top floor.) Somehow I made it to the top without spontaneously bursting into flames, turned to my right, and was faced with the horror – it was fucking packed. Guess what you don’t want when you’re hot and cranky? That’s right, a crowd of people around you. Yet that’s what I got.
But being a good (nay, awesome – yes I just wrote ‘nay,’ shut up) friend, I soldiered on. Slipping through the door and retreating into the bedroom area, I finally looked around. And it was…adorable. High ceilings, air conditioning (thank God), a loft over part of the living room with an old-fashioned winding staircase leading up to it – it was completely unique and charming. I knew I had to call Christine. Fast.
So after ordering Chris to get her ass in a cab, immediately, I went to work. There were too many people there, many of them asking to fill out applications. And the super was trying to shut down the open house early – he had plenty of interest after just the first 20 minutes. Now the women were a lost cause – they would have torn me limb from limb if I tried to slow them down, but the men could be momentarily distracted. And the super could be sweet-talked. In the 15 minutes or so that it took Christine to arrive, I somehow got one of the last applications, borrowed a pen from a fat guy who hadn’t yet filled out his own application, and tied up the super in a discussion about his dog so he wouldn’t lock up. I also talked two other guys out of the apartment and did everything short of tap dancing to buy Christine some time. Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty – it was the longest 15 minutes of my life.
But she made it (pretty damn quickly actually), and immediately agreed with me – the apartment was perfect. Thank fucking God. Handing her the application and pen, I promptly collapsed in the corner of the kitchen and tried to fend off the fat guy who had (admittedly) been so nice to me.
Isn’t looking for apartments fun?!
Anyway, as I was contemplating how I would make Christine pay me back for this debacle, she finished up her application and we got ready to leave. As we started to troop down the stairs, I zoned out a little. And then it happened…Christine lost her footing. (Note: She does this shit all the time – totally makes her worth hanging out with.) There we were, me going down behind Christine (thankfully), when she misjudged the next step, and WHOOSH! Down she goes – and kept going. Down what was, quite literally, I’m going to guess about half a flight of stairs. Hard. It was…fucking brilliant.
PLUS, she was wearing a dress, and the skirt totally ended up around her waist (woo hoo pink thong!). And…I tried to keep it together. I swear, I really did. I tried to choke out an, ‘Are you okay?’ before completely losing it. And I sort of succeeded. She seemed dazed, more than a little embarrassed, but otherwise okay, yet still I waited for a mumbled ‘I think so’ before completely collapsing. (That’s right – Friend of the Year!)
The super ran out to see what the commotion was and found Christine on the landing below STILL with her skirt about her waist, me sitting on the stairs laughing so hard I was crying (and possibly snorting a little), and a smallish crowd of apartment hunters staring at us in horror. (The fall really did look bad, and my reaction couldn’t really be considered…typical/concerned/kind – but I’m not kidding when I say she does shit like this ALL THE TIME.) Finally, Christine righted herself, stumbled up the stairs to retrieve me – still crumpled on a step hysterically laughing – assured the super she was okay (and wasn’t going to sue) and mumbled something about me not really being insane (blatant lie). Then she tugged me down the rest of the stairs and out of the building.
So, in the end I think I hurt more than helped Christine’s chances of getting the apartment, but what can I say – I’m a loose cannon. Thankfully she didn’t seem too concerned about it one way or the other, and we decided the plusses way outweighed the minuses – Christine finally saw a worthwhile place, I got a REALLY therapeutic laugh out of the whole thing (and so did she after I recounted her fall over and over and over again), and we stopped for beers and got frozen yogurt on the way home (a yummy dinner if ever there was one). All in all, I give last night’s field trip two enthusiastic thumbs up. Did anyone else do anything even remotely interesting?
Now, I don’t remember Christine helping me search for apartments when I last had to move, but apparently (as she’s explained it) I owe her – according to her I’ve been blowing her off to ‘hang with the boyfriend’ lately. To this I would like to point out that A) That’s bullshit – I don’t blow her off any more now than I ever did (which admittedly is a lot), and B) Even if I was, this isn’t fair! I call this cruel and unusual punishment – I HATE looking at apartments. It’s tiring, most of them are depressing as hell (and ridiculously fucking expensive), the market in Manhattan is always competitive and stressful, and (let’s be very clear here) I HAVE NO INTEREST IN IT! Some people like doing shit like looking at apartments and picking out paint colors and talking about decorating. I am not one of those people. If I could have made my friends go look at apartments for me (and pick one for me), I would have – hell, I would have paid them to do it. But noooo, I didn’t. Why? Because I’m awesome, that’s why…and they’re not stupid enough to have agreed. (Oh, and FYI – if Christine asks me to help her pack, our relationship is over.)
Having said all that, I can be guilted into things. Including apartment hunting (apparently). But together – I have my pride. Or I did, until last night. Last night I became…I don’t know, Christine’s assistant? Her gopher? Her bitch? This is what happened: I got home from work yesterday and was minding my own business, trying to decide whether I wanted to have an ice pop (orange) or a Red Bull (sugar free) for dinner – I seriously need to go grocery shopping – when my phone rang. I answered it (mistake #1), cautiously said ‘sure’ when Christine asked if I would do her ‘a favor’ (mistake #2), and then didn’t hang up once she explained what that ‘favor’ was (mistake #3).
Turns out, I had unwittingly agreed to walk 7 blocks in the 95 degree heat (and humidity), to go look at a 6th floor walkup for her. Alone. She was ‘stuck’ in a meeting downtown (I suspect this was a lie), and didn’t want to miss out on what sounded like a good deal (it was a reasonably priced one-bedroom in Manhattan – not an easy find). And since I live nearby (damnit), I could easily go check it out (they were having an open house) and give her a call if it was worth trecking uptown. (What…the…fuck?) Yeah, I know – amazing, right? Who agrees to this shit?
Quick sidenote: Christine has decided that if she lives closer to me, we’ll go out more (less of a chance of my complaining and using the ‘lazy’ excuse when she wants to get together). AND, it stands to reason that we will have more of an opportunity to meet hot guys the more often we go out.
One more sidenote: Christine has decided that I’m about a month away from dumping NY Guy, and therefore has concluded that it’s not wrong to plan ahead for my single days. As she put it, “I look forward to the day when you finally fall in love – I really do. I can’t wait actually. I intend to call you whipped and mock you at your rehearsal dinner. But let’s be honest – you’re not there yet.” Ooookay…
Fuck. Anyway, that’s all just a lead in to how I found myself climbing a seemingly endless set of stairs in an unairconditioned building last night. (WTF? Why do stairs never seem to have any bearing on how much you exercise or how in shape you are? I thought I was dying by the time I reached the top floor – yup, the top floor.) Somehow I made it to the top without spontaneously bursting into flames, turned to my right, and was faced with the horror – it was fucking packed. Guess what you don’t want when you’re hot and cranky? That’s right, a crowd of people around you. Yet that’s what I got.
But being a good (nay, awesome – yes I just wrote ‘nay,’ shut up) friend, I soldiered on. Slipping through the door and retreating into the bedroom area, I finally looked around. And it was…adorable. High ceilings, air conditioning (thank God), a loft over part of the living room with an old-fashioned winding staircase leading up to it – it was completely unique and charming. I knew I had to call Christine. Fast.
So after ordering Chris to get her ass in a cab, immediately, I went to work. There were too many people there, many of them asking to fill out applications. And the super was trying to shut down the open house early – he had plenty of interest after just the first 20 minutes. Now the women were a lost cause – they would have torn me limb from limb if I tried to slow them down, but the men could be momentarily distracted. And the super could be sweet-talked. In the 15 minutes or so that it took Christine to arrive, I somehow got one of the last applications, borrowed a pen from a fat guy who hadn’t yet filled out his own application, and tied up the super in a discussion about his dog so he wouldn’t lock up. I also talked two other guys out of the apartment and did everything short of tap dancing to buy Christine some time. Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty – it was the longest 15 minutes of my life.
But she made it (pretty damn quickly actually), and immediately agreed with me – the apartment was perfect. Thank fucking God. Handing her the application and pen, I promptly collapsed in the corner of the kitchen and tried to fend off the fat guy who had (admittedly) been so nice to me.
Isn’t looking for apartments fun?!
Anyway, as I was contemplating how I would make Christine pay me back for this debacle, she finished up her application and we got ready to leave. As we started to troop down the stairs, I zoned out a little. And then it happened…Christine lost her footing. (Note: She does this shit all the time – totally makes her worth hanging out with.) There we were, me going down behind Christine (thankfully), when she misjudged the next step, and WHOOSH! Down she goes – and kept going. Down what was, quite literally, I’m going to guess about half a flight of stairs. Hard. It was…fucking brilliant.
PLUS, she was wearing a dress, and the skirt totally ended up around her waist (woo hoo pink thong!). And…I tried to keep it together. I swear, I really did. I tried to choke out an, ‘Are you okay?’ before completely losing it. And I sort of succeeded. She seemed dazed, more than a little embarrassed, but otherwise okay, yet still I waited for a mumbled ‘I think so’ before completely collapsing. (That’s right – Friend of the Year!)
The super ran out to see what the commotion was and found Christine on the landing below STILL with her skirt about her waist, me sitting on the stairs laughing so hard I was crying (and possibly snorting a little), and a smallish crowd of apartment hunters staring at us in horror. (The fall really did look bad, and my reaction couldn’t really be considered…typical/concerned/kind – but I’m not kidding when I say she does shit like this ALL THE TIME.) Finally, Christine righted herself, stumbled up the stairs to retrieve me – still crumpled on a step hysterically laughing – assured the super she was okay (and wasn’t going to sue) and mumbled something about me not really being insane (blatant lie). Then she tugged me down the rest of the stairs and out of the building.
So, in the end I think I hurt more than helped Christine’s chances of getting the apartment, but what can I say – I’m a loose cannon. Thankfully she didn’t seem too concerned about it one way or the other, and we decided the plusses way outweighed the minuses – Christine finally saw a worthwhile place, I got a REALLY therapeutic laugh out of the whole thing (and so did she after I recounted her fall over and over and over again), and we stopped for beers and got frozen yogurt on the way home (a yummy dinner if ever there was one). All in all, I give last night’s field trip two enthusiastic thumbs up. Did anyone else do anything even remotely interesting?
Monday, June 25, 2007
Monday Ponderings
-There’s this guy at work who’s a total loser (kind of chubby, short, dresses badly), which is fine in and of itself. But the problem (as far as I can see it) is that Loser Boy doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo concerning his status in the world. On the contrary, I suspect he’s (somehow) convinced himself that he’s the shit. (It’s something in his walk – he struts.) Anyway, this bothers me (what doesn’t), and so I’ve taken it upon myself to handle the situation. Mainly this just means I’m a complete bitch to him for no real reason (don’t worry, he’s just some glorified temp that I don’t work with – it’s important to never torture a person just for kicks when it might affect your career), while wondering A) Why do I care about this guy?, and B) Just how quickly am I going to be sent to hell when I die? Hmmm, Mondays.
-I was at a wedding this past weekend, and I’m pretty sure the dad of one of my friends was hitting on me. I would normally say I must be mistaken (seriously, I’ve known this man since I was in the third grade), but let me lay out the evidence and let you decide: 1) He (after only one drink) got my attention when I was talking to some groomsman by yelling out ‘Red,’ and walking towards me. (Note: This is a man I STILL refer to as Mr. Lastname, and up until Saturday he’s always referred to me by my first name – which is not Red), 2) He actually lifted up a lock of my hair as I chatted with him and started to rub it between his fingers, 3) He mentioned how good I looked SEVERAL times, and 4) He suggested I join him on a business trip he's taking next month to Ireland. Yup, I have the heebie jeebies.
-Speaking of awkward, I think I may have a problem on my hands. As my regular readers know, I have this platonic friend named John who I’m very close to. He’s great – a Yankees fan, smart, stable, kind, funny. Just a good buddy that I’ve known for years. And except for some weirdness last year, we’ve always been on the same page concerning our relationship. Mainly, we don’t have sex.
And this has always worked for us. I’ve dated other guys (and talked about it), he’s dated other girls (and talked about it), and we've never dated each other. Sure I always flirted with him (sometimes mercilessly), but it never meant anything – it was all just fun practice. John was my friend. And honestly, (after a fucking decade of friendship) I thought he had accepted that.
Sure, there were clues that I may have been deluding myself – like the fact that ALL of the women I’ve ever introduced him to have come back to me with some variation of: ‘He’s so great – cute, smart, funny. But you realize he’s in love with you, right?’ Or my mom’s near constant reminder of ‘Redhead, you have to make sure you don’t lead John on.’ But you know what I say? Ignorance is bliss, if it aint broke don’t fix it, and…whatever other platitudes might work here.
Or I did say that. Now I think all this denial has finally caught up with me. I’m fucked.
See, John was at the wedding on Saturday, and NY Guy wasn’t. John wanted to dance – I was drunk enough to comply. John wanted to fetch me drinks – I wasn’t going to stop him. John suggested we get together for dinner next week (just the two of us) – I said that sounded great. John commented that he didn’t want to hear any more about NY Guy (when I started talking about him) – I said no problem. Everything was fine. It was all good. And then…it wasn’t.
There we were, sitting down towards the end of the night while I ate his cake (I love cake), when John leaned in and said, ‘I got a hotel room for the night. You could stay with me instead of going home.’ (Choking…can’t breathe.) Wait, what?! Where the fuck had that come from? My parents were there for fuck’s sake – they were giving me a ride home. What did John expect me to do, tell them ‘No thanks – instead of going home and sleeping in my own bed, I think I’d rather stay in a hotel room with John, let him have his way with me, try to act like the thought of him touching me doesn’t freak me out, and then do the walk of shame in MY BRIDESMAID’S DRESS tomorrow morning!’ I don’t think so.
So I opened my mouth to crack a joke, maybe pretend I didn’t know what he was saying (even though I did), and…nothing. What do you say to not hurt and/or embarrass the other person in this situation? I’d never rejected anyone that I really cared about. What do you say when you know that the wrong words or tone can literally destroy a friendship? I mean, he looked so sincere and (shudder) vulnerable.
Well, I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, I just know what I did. And what I did was mumble some gibberish (seriously, I’m not even sure it came out sounding like English) about my parents (hey, you’re never too old to use your parents as an excuse), before throwing in an awkwardly worded sentence that roughly translated to: ‘Let’s talk next week at dinner.’
So, now I need to have something to say by the time we go out for dinner (since I think my evasive maneuvers are finally getting old). Right now, I’ve still got nothing. And I was hoping my readers (especially the males) might have some suggestions. Otherwise I’m seriously screwed (I don’t pull off sweet and understanding well – especially when ad libbing). So, um, save me.
-I was at a wedding this past weekend, and I’m pretty sure the dad of one of my friends was hitting on me. I would normally say I must be mistaken (seriously, I’ve known this man since I was in the third grade), but let me lay out the evidence and let you decide: 1) He (after only one drink) got my attention when I was talking to some groomsman by yelling out ‘Red,’ and walking towards me. (Note: This is a man I STILL refer to as Mr. Lastname, and up until Saturday he’s always referred to me by my first name – which is not Red), 2) He actually lifted up a lock of my hair as I chatted with him and started to rub it between his fingers, 3) He mentioned how good I looked SEVERAL times, and 4) He suggested I join him on a business trip he's taking next month to Ireland. Yup, I have the heebie jeebies.
-Speaking of awkward, I think I may have a problem on my hands. As my regular readers know, I have this platonic friend named John who I’m very close to. He’s great – a Yankees fan, smart, stable, kind, funny. Just a good buddy that I’ve known for years. And except for some weirdness last year, we’ve always been on the same page concerning our relationship. Mainly, we don’t have sex.
And this has always worked for us. I’ve dated other guys (and talked about it), he’s dated other girls (and talked about it), and we've never dated each other. Sure I always flirted with him (sometimes mercilessly), but it never meant anything – it was all just fun practice. John was my friend. And honestly, (after a fucking decade of friendship) I thought he had accepted that.
Sure, there were clues that I may have been deluding myself – like the fact that ALL of the women I’ve ever introduced him to have come back to me with some variation of: ‘He’s so great – cute, smart, funny. But you realize he’s in love with you, right?’ Or my mom’s near constant reminder of ‘Redhead, you have to make sure you don’t lead John on.’ But you know what I say? Ignorance is bliss, if it aint broke don’t fix it, and…whatever other platitudes might work here.
Or I did say that. Now I think all this denial has finally caught up with me. I’m fucked.
See, John was at the wedding on Saturday, and NY Guy wasn’t. John wanted to dance – I was drunk enough to comply. John wanted to fetch me drinks – I wasn’t going to stop him. John suggested we get together for dinner next week (just the two of us) – I said that sounded great. John commented that he didn’t want to hear any more about NY Guy (when I started talking about him) – I said no problem. Everything was fine. It was all good. And then…it wasn’t.
There we were, sitting down towards the end of the night while I ate his cake (I love cake), when John leaned in and said, ‘I got a hotel room for the night. You could stay with me instead of going home.’ (Choking…can’t breathe.) Wait, what?! Where the fuck had that come from? My parents were there for fuck’s sake – they were giving me a ride home. What did John expect me to do, tell them ‘No thanks – instead of going home and sleeping in my own bed, I think I’d rather stay in a hotel room with John, let him have his way with me, try to act like the thought of him touching me doesn’t freak me out, and then do the walk of shame in MY BRIDESMAID’S DRESS tomorrow morning!’ I don’t think so.
So I opened my mouth to crack a joke, maybe pretend I didn’t know what he was saying (even though I did), and…nothing. What do you say to not hurt and/or embarrass the other person in this situation? I’d never rejected anyone that I really cared about. What do you say when you know that the wrong words or tone can literally destroy a friendship? I mean, he looked so sincere and (shudder) vulnerable.
Well, I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, I just know what I did. And what I did was mumble some gibberish (seriously, I’m not even sure it came out sounding like English) about my parents (hey, you’re never too old to use your parents as an excuse), before throwing in an awkwardly worded sentence that roughly translated to: ‘Let’s talk next week at dinner.’
So, now I need to have something to say by the time we go out for dinner (since I think my evasive maneuvers are finally getting old). Right now, I’ve still got nothing. And I was hoping my readers (especially the males) might have some suggestions. Otherwise I’m seriously screwed (I don’t pull off sweet and understanding well – especially when ad libbing). So, um, save me.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Tomorrow
Update: The dude in my office who never did anything but stare at my chest - fired! That my friends is justice (although I never actually said anything to anyone about it). So fine, let's call it karma.
Anyway, I'm feeling lazier than usual (who even thought that was possible?), and have decided to make you guys do some work for once (please, please don't let me down - I hate having to think when I don't want to).
OK, here's your job: Email/post comments stating what you want me to write about. Now it can be a question and answer thing (you ask me whatever you want - I decide if I want to answer you) or it can just be you suggesting a topic that you want my opinion on. Use your imaginations. After all, you must be curious about something - me, life, the universe, whatnot. (God knows I find myself fascinating.)
So let loose - hit me with your best shot (fire away). Fuck, that song's going to be in my head for the rest of the day now.
Anyway, I'm feeling lazier than usual (who even thought that was possible?), and have decided to make you guys do some work for once (please, please don't let me down - I hate having to think when I don't want to).
OK, here's your job: Email/post comments stating what you want me to write about. Now it can be a question and answer thing (you ask me whatever you want - I decide if I want to answer you) or it can just be you suggesting a topic that you want my opinion on. Use your imaginations. After all, you must be curious about something - me, life, the universe, whatnot. (God knows I find myself fascinating.)
So let loose - hit me with your best shot (fire away). Fuck, that song's going to be in my head for the rest of the day now.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
More Matches
So, after some time off from match.com to deal with my ghastliness (I’m looking awesome today by the way – NY Guy looked ecstatic when he saw me this morning!), my hiatus came to an end yesterday. With an email from Christine. The subject of the email: Help! The body of the email: Be the bad guy for me, please!
Hmmm, okay. What do I need to do? (Yes, I really am that willing to do her dirty work.) Turns out that since Saturday Christine had gotten 26 emails/winks on Match. And she felt like she should reply to everyone (because she’s a nice person). I am not a nice person, and had told her in no uncertain terms DON’T do that. So now she needed me.
No problem. I can play the bad guy (easy peasy). I’d just go on and delete all the losers, and then she could reply to anyone I’ve left to her heart’s content. Just call me the All-powerful Dating God! (Shut up.)
So I logged on to her Match account and started to weed through the guys (it took forever – if I’m going to put in this much time, shouldn’t I be the one getting laid in the end?). Anyway, my process was: a) Delete everyone who didn’t pass the picture test immediately – it doesn’t make sense to waste time reading the profiles of people who we would never, ever, ever want to see naked (no matter how good their personalities may be), then b) Read the profiles of everyone left over. Be picky – with 26 guys responding every 3 days or so, Christine (I) can afford to be picky. If I don’t have a little bit of a crush on him by the end of his profile, he gets cut.
In the end, that left Christine with 5. (And let me just say that no, I’m not living vicariously through Christine right now. I just happen to be better at this whole Internet communication/writing/flirting thing than she is…fuck. Fine, I may be enjoying this more than I should. And yes, I do want 2 of her guys for myself – so what?)
However, since I’m always thinking of my readers (do you guys notice how often I lie to you at this point?) I did take notes yesterday. For your entertainment. Hell, I even copied and pasted some lines from the profiles I particularly enjoyed. That’s what you’ll find below – actual quotes from profiles (I didn’t edit these AT ALL), along with my thoughts. (Oh, but the first two are just general observations that I had to share with someone.) Anyway, enjoy:
-Is every guy’s favorite food sushi? I swear out of 26 guys, 24 of them put sushi underneath Favorite Things. Is there a hidden meaning to this, or do all men just really like raw fish? Fuck. Never mind.
-There is not bigger turn-on to me than the ‘strategically placed tattoo’ option under Body Art. Yes, I have a thing for tattoos (that’s well documented), but the idea of a STRATEGICALLY placed tattoo just kills me – it makes me think about having to go looking for it. Oh, and the fact that Christine doesn’t really like tattoos – not taken into account at all yesterday.
-Favorite Hot Spots: Anyplace with a beat you can dance to.
Redhead: Cheesy. Possibly sincere, but cheesy. Also, that’s just not going to work for Christine. She’s…clumsy (to say the least – it cracks me up). The amount of alcohol required in getting her to dance (badly) is substantial. And if she dated someone who liked to dance…well, let’s just say Christine’s liver deserves better. (No joke, the last time I saw her dance she’d had so much to drink that she also almost agreed to have a threesome with a friend of mine and his girlfriend – and that is NOT Christine’s style.)
-For Fun: Punch out Bush supporters.
Redhead: Okay...funny. Also weird and extreme. My thoughts here: Being politically aware and having beliefs is great. Making comments like this ON A DATING SITE is strange. Couldn’t the same thing be accomplished by simply clicking the ‘liberal’ option for himself and his potential dates on the right hand side of the screen? I thought so.
-I’d like to start off by saying I’m much better looking in person than my pictures would indicate.
Redhead: I actually read some variation of this a few times. My thoughts: The pictures you have were enough for me to take the time to read you profile. So shut up! What are you, a girl? Are you the type to spend more time getting ready for a night out than I am? Is your ego that fragile that you felt the need to add that clarification? Wuss. Pass.
-On the weekends I enjoy grabbing a few spirits (thats another word for cocktails!) with friends.
Redhead: ‘Really? Is that what ‘spirits’ means? Because I wasn’t sure – it’s such an unusual word. I mean, wow! You’re so smart!!! (High-pitched squeal.) Of course, you’re not smart enough to know ‘thats’ is spelled ‘that’s’ but whatever. Fuck it. I want you!’ AND…scene. (I wanted to kick this guy’s ass.)
-I am seeking a woman who is smart, atteractive, funny, and elegant with a strong sense of virtue.
Redhead: Can’t…stop…laughing. Where to begin? Well, I am curious what ‘atteractive’ means (why did he not explain it like the previous guy?), but I’m thinking it wouldn’t matter anyway. You see, he requires a woman with a ‘strong sense of virtue,’ and while I love Christine (I do!), she…um…doesn’t really fit that description. Neither do I though! (Thank God.) Ah well. Moving on…
-Hi Gals, thanks for taking the time to read this. I am looking for someone who continuously lies to me, treats me bad and tells me I am ugly… (NOT) If you her, thanks but no thanx.
Redhead: Funny…NOT. (The fact that he actually pulled the ‘NOT’ thing – which I hadn’t heard since elementary school – was actually pretty amusing. In a sad, pathetic way.) But the real gem of this (besides the whole ‘I’m funny, I am! Please like me and find me witty!’ tone) is the end. ‘If you her’ mixed with a ‘thanx’ – fucking priceless. It makes you wonder if this guy is lazy or stupid. Wait, why choose one?
-I like a woman who is secure with herself, although I dislike arrogance.
Redhead: Damnit, that sucks! Why do all the guys dislike arrogance? Wait, do you think it was a bad idea to put down ‘I’m arrogant, self-centered, and a complete bitch…(NOT)’ in Christine’s profile? Shit.
-Love to…spend time w/ my family & friends because they’re extremely important to me heck knows where i’d be without them.
Redhead: Agh…the editor in me can’t take it! OK, first of all, ‘heck?’ Really? And is it possible that he doesn’t realize ‘I’d’ ALWAYS has a capital I in it? These family and friends – did they not send him to school? Is he a story of child abuse just waiting to come out? Because I’m thinking that ‘without them’ he might have learned how to form a grammatically correct sentence. With them…
-I am attracted to women that enjoys being thier own special selves...not trying to be someone they are not.
Redhead: I don’t even know what this means. And I’m not getting into the whole plural/singular thing either (that’s the least of my worries here). But…I know it’s touchy-feely crap and all, but I still don’t get it. What is he saying? I don’t understand!
-I have been described as a smart, funny, unsuppressedly youthful, a great dancer and good kisser.
Redhead: …OK, I’m good. Needed to have a quick chuckle there. Now let’s get to it – um, well, I’m glad he’s been described as a good kisser. That must have been nice for him. And it is very kind of him to share that with the rest of us. I guess. But seriously, let’s get to the important shit: What the fuck is ‘unsuppressedly?’ No, wait – that’s not the most important thing. The most important thing is WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? Where did they come from? I mean FUCK – if I wasn’t worried about the state of the educational system in the U.S. before, I certainly am now. Jesus.
-Hi…I like snowboarding, girl and beer…thats pretty much it.
Redhead: What could I possibly add to this?
-So anyway, me with 200 characters…Sounds more like my last big birthday party than my personal intro.
Redhead: And…we’re done.
Hmmm, okay. What do I need to do? (Yes, I really am that willing to do her dirty work.) Turns out that since Saturday Christine had gotten 26 emails/winks on Match. And she felt like she should reply to everyone (because she’s a nice person). I am not a nice person, and had told her in no uncertain terms DON’T do that. So now she needed me.
No problem. I can play the bad guy (easy peasy). I’d just go on and delete all the losers, and then she could reply to anyone I’ve left to her heart’s content. Just call me the All-powerful Dating God! (Shut up.)
So I logged on to her Match account and started to weed through the guys (it took forever – if I’m going to put in this much time, shouldn’t I be the one getting laid in the end?). Anyway, my process was: a) Delete everyone who didn’t pass the picture test immediately – it doesn’t make sense to waste time reading the profiles of people who we would never, ever, ever want to see naked (no matter how good their personalities may be), then b) Read the profiles of everyone left over. Be picky – with 26 guys responding every 3 days or so, Christine (I) can afford to be picky. If I don’t have a little bit of a crush on him by the end of his profile, he gets cut.
In the end, that left Christine with 5. (And let me just say that no, I’m not living vicariously through Christine right now. I just happen to be better at this whole Internet communication/writing/flirting thing than she is…fuck. Fine, I may be enjoying this more than I should. And yes, I do want 2 of her guys for myself – so what?)
However, since I’m always thinking of my readers (do you guys notice how often I lie to you at this point?) I did take notes yesterday. For your entertainment. Hell, I even copied and pasted some lines from the profiles I particularly enjoyed. That’s what you’ll find below – actual quotes from profiles (I didn’t edit these AT ALL), along with my thoughts. (Oh, but the first two are just general observations that I had to share with someone.) Anyway, enjoy:
-Is every guy’s favorite food sushi? I swear out of 26 guys, 24 of them put sushi underneath Favorite Things. Is there a hidden meaning to this, or do all men just really like raw fish? Fuck. Never mind.
-There is not bigger turn-on to me than the ‘strategically placed tattoo’ option under Body Art. Yes, I have a thing for tattoos (that’s well documented), but the idea of a STRATEGICALLY placed tattoo just kills me – it makes me think about having to go looking for it. Oh, and the fact that Christine doesn’t really like tattoos – not taken into account at all yesterday.
-Favorite Hot Spots: Anyplace with a beat you can dance to.
Redhead: Cheesy. Possibly sincere, but cheesy. Also, that’s just not going to work for Christine. She’s…clumsy (to say the least – it cracks me up). The amount of alcohol required in getting her to dance (badly) is substantial. And if she dated someone who liked to dance…well, let’s just say Christine’s liver deserves better. (No joke, the last time I saw her dance she’d had so much to drink that she also almost agreed to have a threesome with a friend of mine and his girlfriend – and that is NOT Christine’s style.)
-For Fun: Punch out Bush supporters.
Redhead: Okay...funny. Also weird and extreme. My thoughts here: Being politically aware and having beliefs is great. Making comments like this ON A DATING SITE is strange. Couldn’t the same thing be accomplished by simply clicking the ‘liberal’ option for himself and his potential dates on the right hand side of the screen? I thought so.
-I’d like to start off by saying I’m much better looking in person than my pictures would indicate.
Redhead: I actually read some variation of this a few times. My thoughts: The pictures you have were enough for me to take the time to read you profile. So shut up! What are you, a girl? Are you the type to spend more time getting ready for a night out than I am? Is your ego that fragile that you felt the need to add that clarification? Wuss. Pass.
-On the weekends I enjoy grabbing a few spirits (thats another word for cocktails!) with friends.
Redhead: ‘Really? Is that what ‘spirits’ means? Because I wasn’t sure – it’s such an unusual word. I mean, wow! You’re so smart!!! (High-pitched squeal.) Of course, you’re not smart enough to know ‘thats’ is spelled ‘that’s’ but whatever. Fuck it. I want you!’ AND…scene. (I wanted to kick this guy’s ass.)
-I am seeking a woman who is smart, atteractive, funny, and elegant with a strong sense of virtue.
Redhead: Can’t…stop…laughing. Where to begin? Well, I am curious what ‘atteractive’ means (why did he not explain it like the previous guy?), but I’m thinking it wouldn’t matter anyway. You see, he requires a woman with a ‘strong sense of virtue,’ and while I love Christine (I do!), she…um…doesn’t really fit that description. Neither do I though! (Thank God.) Ah well. Moving on…
-Hi Gals, thanks for taking the time to read this. I am looking for someone who continuously lies to me, treats me bad and tells me I am ugly… (NOT) If you her, thanks but no thanx.
Redhead: Funny…NOT. (The fact that he actually pulled the ‘NOT’ thing – which I hadn’t heard since elementary school – was actually pretty amusing. In a sad, pathetic way.) But the real gem of this (besides the whole ‘I’m funny, I am! Please like me and find me witty!’ tone) is the end. ‘If you her’ mixed with a ‘thanx’ – fucking priceless. It makes you wonder if this guy is lazy or stupid. Wait, why choose one?
-I like a woman who is secure with herself, although I dislike arrogance.
Redhead: Damnit, that sucks! Why do all the guys dislike arrogance? Wait, do you think it was a bad idea to put down ‘I’m arrogant, self-centered, and a complete bitch…(NOT)’ in Christine’s profile? Shit.
-Love to…spend time w/ my family & friends because they’re extremely important to me heck knows where i’d be without them.
Redhead: Agh…the editor in me can’t take it! OK, first of all, ‘heck?’ Really? And is it possible that he doesn’t realize ‘I’d’ ALWAYS has a capital I in it? These family and friends – did they not send him to school? Is he a story of child abuse just waiting to come out? Because I’m thinking that ‘without them’ he might have learned how to form a grammatically correct sentence. With them…
-I am attracted to women that enjoys being thier own special selves...not trying to be someone they are not.
Redhead: I don’t even know what this means. And I’m not getting into the whole plural/singular thing either (that’s the least of my worries here). But…I know it’s touchy-feely crap and all, but I still don’t get it. What is he saying? I don’t understand!
-I have been described as a smart, funny, unsuppressedly youthful, a great dancer and good kisser.
Redhead: …OK, I’m good. Needed to have a quick chuckle there. Now let’s get to it – um, well, I’m glad he’s been described as a good kisser. That must have been nice for him. And it is very kind of him to share that with the rest of us. I guess. But seriously, let’s get to the important shit: What the fuck is ‘unsuppressedly?’ No, wait – that’s not the most important thing. The most important thing is WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? Where did they come from? I mean FUCK – if I wasn’t worried about the state of the educational system in the U.S. before, I certainly am now. Jesus.
-Hi…I like snowboarding, girl and beer…thats pretty much it.
Redhead: What could I possibly add to this?
-So anyway, me with 200 characters…Sounds more like my last big birthday party than my personal intro.
Redhead: And…we’re done.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Shut Up
OK, I’m going to continue to slack off and give you a half-assed post today. And if you don’t like it, you can bite me. I’ve officially been pushed to my limit.
What’s the story you ask? Fine, I’ll tell you quickly just to gross you out (since you all should be tortured just like I have). Where to start…well, as of Saturday my eye wasn’t really much better than it had been on Monday last week. So I was (not surprisingly) setting new records in pissiness. And in an effort to avoid my boyfriend (who was just trying to help but was starting to get on my nerves) I went into Jersey to visit my parents (I had been planning on going home Sunday for Father’s Day anyway).
Long story short, my mom (upon seeing me when I got home) knew something was very wrong. Like seriously wrong. And I’d like to point out at this point that this was more than my fucking doctor (the bitch who hates me for being a smoker) had deduced the day before. That bitch had told me to simply continue soaking and putting ointment on the fucking eye, and eventually it would heal.
Moron. Incompetent, fucking, moron. (Guess who’s no longer my doctor?)
Anyway, my mother knew better. She (the one without the medical degree) took one look at me, and immediately got on the phone with an ophthalmologist friend of hers (after making the obligatory grossed out noises over my appearance of course). Yes, I let my mommy take care of the problem – fuck off.
So her ophthalmologist friend gets the picture that this sounds like it’s an emergency (or at least that my mom is not going to leave him alone until he agrees to see me) and has us meet him in his office a half-hour later. Five minutes after arriving and taking a close look at me, he proclaims me hideous (yay, that’s the word I had used too!) and…well, I won’t go too into it now, but I ended up needing surgery. ON MY EYELID. The spider bite had gotten infected (don’t ask), and he needed to go in and clean the infection out.
And here’s where I pose the question: Have you ever gotten a shot in your eye? Looked up and seen a needle coming at your eye? Anyone? Anyone? WELL FUCK YOU. I have.
It hurts.
But I’m over it (total lie). And now that I’m (thankfully) no longer crying tears of blood (which was AWESOME by the way), I think the worst is (finally) behind me. I’m told I’ll even be back to looking normal in a week or so. And this time I actually think it might be true!
In the meantime, I need help coming up with another word to describe myself – hideous seems a little overdone now. I’m thinking: Revolting; Unsightly; Gruesome. I don’t know – feel free to offer up your own suggestions. As for me, my grody eye and I are going to try to get some work done (can you believe I’m in the office today?). Yes, I may be the best employee ever (another lie).
Happy fuckin’ Monday.
What’s the story you ask? Fine, I’ll tell you quickly just to gross you out (since you all should be tortured just like I have). Where to start…well, as of Saturday my eye wasn’t really much better than it had been on Monday last week. So I was (not surprisingly) setting new records in pissiness. And in an effort to avoid my boyfriend (who was just trying to help but was starting to get on my nerves) I went into Jersey to visit my parents (I had been planning on going home Sunday for Father’s Day anyway).
Long story short, my mom (upon seeing me when I got home) knew something was very wrong. Like seriously wrong. And I’d like to point out at this point that this was more than my fucking doctor (the bitch who hates me for being a smoker) had deduced the day before. That bitch had told me to simply continue soaking and putting ointment on the fucking eye, and eventually it would heal.
Moron. Incompetent, fucking, moron. (Guess who’s no longer my doctor?)
Anyway, my mother knew better. She (the one without the medical degree) took one look at me, and immediately got on the phone with an ophthalmologist friend of hers (after making the obligatory grossed out noises over my appearance of course). Yes, I let my mommy take care of the problem – fuck off.
So her ophthalmologist friend gets the picture that this sounds like it’s an emergency (or at least that my mom is not going to leave him alone until he agrees to see me) and has us meet him in his office a half-hour later. Five minutes after arriving and taking a close look at me, he proclaims me hideous (yay, that’s the word I had used too!) and…well, I won’t go too into it now, but I ended up needing surgery. ON MY EYELID. The spider bite had gotten infected (don’t ask), and he needed to go in and clean the infection out.
And here’s where I pose the question: Have you ever gotten a shot in your eye? Looked up and seen a needle coming at your eye? Anyone? Anyone? WELL FUCK YOU. I have.
It hurts.
But I’m over it (total lie). And now that I’m (thankfully) no longer crying tears of blood (which was AWESOME by the way), I think the worst is (finally) behind me. I’m told I’ll even be back to looking normal in a week or so. And this time I actually think it might be true!
In the meantime, I need help coming up with another word to describe myself – hideous seems a little overdone now. I’m thinking: Revolting; Unsightly; Gruesome. I don’t know – feel free to offer up your own suggestions. As for me, my grody eye and I are going to try to get some work done (can you believe I’m in the office today?). Yes, I may be the best employee ever (another lie).
Happy fuckin’ Monday.
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