Groupie moment.

Reasons why I love the people in my life:
Me: 'Hey, DW, new car?'
DW [stalling in the apt driveway]: "Yea it's a Ferrari 458. Just picked her up."
Me: "Yea? She's a beaut. 'Bout time you upgraded!"
DW [chuckles, revs engine, and drives off to park his brand friggin' new Ferrari.]

Turning a negative into PTO

Because everyone has decided to get married and/or have babies out of state this year, I'm out of vacation days. That being said, after being dumped on my a$$ this past weekend, I needed a personal day to sort some of the mess out. Negotiating with my manager:

Manager: [walks over to shoot the breeze on this lovely Monday afternoon] Hi, how was your weekend?

Me: Terrible, I was dumped via text.

Manager: [surprise face] Uhhhh, wow, brutal.

Me: [noticing prey is stunned and vulnerable, I pounce] that being said, can I take Thursday off, please? I kind of need a mental health day.

Manager: [regains some consciousness] Yes, er, I guess, let me check with the boss.

Me: [knowing the kill is mine, agrees and puts on my best poker face]

[Manager walks into a full meeting where boss if currently leading discussion with two of our consultants]

[Me, poker face still intact, internally is mortified and embarrassed- but praying to God the two FEMALE consultants add pressure to Boss Man to show a little mercy].

[Manager walks out of the meeting 30 minutes later with a smile and a thumbs up.]

[I keep composer, but internally I'm flipping desks and throwing papers shouting "Fuck yea, like a boss!"]

Get. on. my. level.

Joy ride.

Never a good sign when your Slavic bus driver asks you in his good, but limited English "are you OK?" to which you of course lie to the complete stranger with a, "yes, sir [forced, fake a$$ smile]" only for him to lean slightly in, look you in the eye, and repeat, "Miss, are you OK?" to which you of course truthfully reply [because now that the stream of tears has blown your cover], "No." as you pay the fare and load the bus, whimper and sniffle the 20 minutes it takes you to get home.


Not exactly a joy ride indeed.

To: Nice Guys From: This Girl

Dear Nice Guys,

      Novel idea for you gentlemen: STOP chasing after that idiot girl who wants the douche-bag boyfriend.  Though she may turn around on her own later down the line, take it from me, you are currently wasting your time.  While you're at it, pretty please drop that dead weight you call your manipulative, crazy-bitch of girlfriend.  I don't care how good you think the sex is. I can assure you your mental health is worth more in the long run, and 'psycho-slut' doesn't always equate to 'tigress in the sack'...unless you're using the metaphor to comment on her tendency toward clawing out your eyes and not her sexual prowess (in which case, to each his own). 

I suggest you turn your attention, instead, to that nice young lady over there who may be to shy to make a move or is going through her awkward phase (which in my case lasted up to 10 years- and counting-but I digress).  That nice girl will most likely not try to sleep with at least one or more of your friends, roommates, male relatives, etc. (or et al). She will probably show you the time of day. I would even bet she would appreciate you and wouldn't purposefully do things to openly humiliate you in public or private settings (now doesn't that sound like a lovely change of pace?).

So please, fellas, I beseech you. You can do better.  Nice girls aren't always hideous, amorphous blobs of socially inept human flesh. Some are actually really friggin' attractive (and crazy good in the sack. I mean like, 'd@mn-how she do dat der?!' good!) So please, pretty please, either change criteria of what you are looking for in a girl- or quit bitching about how nice guys finish last. You're chasing after the wrong rabbit tail.

Cheers,

Idiot girl who (finally) came to her senses.

Disorient.

It's so good, I get giddy with anticipation and loose balance standing on my own two feet.

It's so good, I need a search engine to find my wits afterwards.

[Wish he would come around my way. Feel how I feel.]

The reason

Bar with a mixed group of friends, including my boo, a married couple, a lady parts doctor, and an established-distinguished older man (E.D.O.M).  Sadly, my boo bear departs early while the night goes on. And this conversation happens:

EDOM: So who's the young man? He seemed pretty cool.

Me: O, him? He's the reason I won't have sex with you.

EDOM: Really? Him?

Me: Yup.

EDOM: Suddenly I'm no longer a fan of his (sips beer)

Funny Diet

Apparently joking that you're gonna get fat  because he's not into you for your figure is one of the most heinous jokes out there and such actions should not be taken lightly.

So to you fellas, thanks for the eating disorder and skewed self-image, couldn't do it without you.

Pretty girl.

Scene: walking through a public park with my photographer friend to build up her portfolio.

Old man on bench: "Wow, pretty girl! I wish I had a camera!"

Me: "Thank you," [turns to my friend] "but I'm kind of glad you don't."

Cooking with wine.

Seems like such a waste to put the wine in the food.

Hard to believe.

You ever look at a guy's girl and think to yourself, "So that's what's considered attractive? That right there? That real life Picasso is the new gold standard? Seriously? You're telling me it doesn't hurt to look at her face? Really? [shrugs] Ok, guess I'll be single a little bit longer than expected."? No, just me? Really? Hard to believe.

Theivery.

They're a little reminder that you still find me attractive, and I like to pretend that you're just checking to make sure I'm still nearby because you can't believe you're lucky enough to score a catch like me.

Please don't correct if I'm wrong and it's just happenstance. Pretty please.

Grand Gesture

Girl-talking it up with a friend about my currently undefined relationship status:

Me: I don't know what to do, where we're going, or what we even are! I know he likes me, as he says, and it's not like he's treating my poorly.  He's actually been great! I just don't know what's going on.

Friend: Really? So what grand gesture are you waiting for?

Me: I don't know what grand gesture to wait for...

Friend: Well, what grand gesture do you want?

Me: I don't want a grand gesture! All I want is for him to say, "Hey, you, with the face I like. Ditch the dead weight and let's be exclusive girlfriend/boyfriend. Whadduhya say?" [slight pause, thinks, and continues]: If he wants to slay a dragon and find the other half of this golden amulet, he can, but it's not required...

Interview with a man piece.

A gentleman friend, one I have spent extensive amounts of time with in the past and again in the present, comes to pick me up for an outing. A friend, about whom my mom has expressed concern because she does not know the young man with whom her youngest daughter is spending so much time, sits down with my mother for the 8 to 10 minutes it takes me to finish getting ready and chats it up with my mother.  Knowing that she gave him the polite, but thorough interview, I ask Ma her opinion later. I am confident the woman picked up enough to draft a brief but sufficient psychiatric profile as only a mother could in such a short amount of time. I ask her some preliminary questions, just wondering what she asked him and what she learned about him, etc. After disclosing to me her findings about his education, hobbies, and 2 to 5 year life plan, I ask her:

Me: So, Ma, what do you think of Mr. Awesome?

Ma: What do I think of him? I don't know him! He's just some- some man piece of yours!

Me: [Buries face in hands, and buries any hopes of finding an 'acceptable' guy.]

Jeese, Debbie, lay off me.

This guy I'm seeing, nick named "Mr. Smarty Pants", bought me flowers "as a thank you for all the little things [I] do." I know, right? 100 points to him! So the lovely floral bouquet is prominently displayed on the kitchen table.  Here's the conversation with my mom after she's walked by the centerpiece a few times:

Ma: The flowers are nice, where'd you get them?

Me [beaming with joy and in a bubbly voice responds]: From Mr. Smarty Pants!

Ma: So man piece bought you flowers?

Me [180 from the previous description]: Yes, Ma, man piece bought me flowers.

Ma: How nice.

Me [internal thought concludes]: And you wonder why I am reluctant to talk to you about guys, or introduce you to any- and never bring any home to meet you....

Not big on surprises.

Hey, remember that time that ridiculously good looking guy with all his shit together and no girlfriend was TOTALLY into you and everything worked out perfectly and there was nothing wrong with the scenario?

Yea, me either. 



What the fuck is wrong with you?

Mother's opinion on my type.

Me: Hey Ma, did you wanna get a look at the guy I'm seeing. In case you "ever need to pick him out of a lineup," as you say.

[Ma grabs her glasses and comes over for a look. Leans in close for a better look and reports:] Wow, he looks generic.

[After laughing hysterically for maybe five solid minutes, I respond:] I guess I have a type?

Ma: Guess so.

Your girlfriend is a whore.

So for this one, it is addressed to someone(s) specific, and I don't care if you're miserable with that psycho whore.

You appeared very certain she was a better choice when you demolished whatever sense of worth, dignity, and value I had as a lover and partner. 

She's three types of crazy all wrapped into one b*tch? Awesome. Good catch, old boy!

Why not go the full Monty, man up, and marry the broad? (But, oh for the love of all that is sacred, please don't procreate with the succubus. No world, no matter how chaotic and disjointed it may be, deserves more than one of her in existence.)   

And when you wake up confused in the ER surrounded by family members and loved ones, as you lay in that hospital bed with the stab wound to your side because she saw you looking at that other chick early today and won't fall for that "she's my younger sister?! I met you through her!" excuse again, I will only be there to say "I told you so" and console your mother because, let's face it, she loves me more than you sometimes.


-Cheers

Your boyfriend sucks.

Your boyfriend sucks.

No, this isn't to anyone specific. I just figured if any one of you out there was waiting on someone to tell you something you already knew so you would have an excuse/see the light/ have an impetus to make a move and ditch the f@cker, well, here you go. On the house:

Your boyfriend, that dead weight you're carrying? Yea, he sucks.

You're welcome.

-Cheers.

The Pretty Ones Always Are

[Scene: I am filling my tires with air at a local gas station; an older, polite man addresses me while waiting his turn]

Older gentleman kindly asks: "You are very pretty girl, did you know that?"

Me, in a polite and frank tone: "Thank you, sir."

Older gentleman continues: "Are you married? The nice ones are always married."

Me, in a polite and defensive tone: "No, sir, but I have a boyfriend [sort of...not really...at all]."

Older gentleman, not hearing my "boyfriend excuse", concludes: "I figured you were married. The pretty ones are always married."

[Because of years of taunting-for-courtship, I have no idea how to take a simple, genuine compliment and so I scurry into my car and drive off.]


Fin.

Missing you...a little less....everytime you open your mouth.

Men, what not to say when a woman says she misses you: (via text)

Me:  How long are you gone for? I miss you [sad face].

Him: I'm back in five days.

Me: Ok. That's survivable I guess.

Him: Well, I would hope so!

Me:...you know, on second thought, take your time getting back here. Or don't come
      back [shrugs] see if I care...