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PlaybookPages {Tying-up Loose Ends}

3 Nov

Looking back at the last two months, I swear things have happened in my dating/sex life; yet somehow everything has seemed so blah that it hasn’t seemed worth writing about.

I guess this is partially because my “real” life has been fairly hectic as of late: working lots of doubles, trying to advance in the corporate world. I got new roommates and with that, of course, came new trials at home. I got a cat {his name is MJ}, and as you can imagine it’s basically been like having a child. Speaking of children my best friend just had a baby… now, after meeting him in all of his two week-old glory, all I secretly want is to do in life {like tomorrow} is get married and have a baby. But ahh! I digress…

Along with my “real life” complications have come some very interesting {and awkward} moments with people I work with–some with people “below me” on the ladder and even more with people “above me.” I could write pages and pages on how weird I feel that I’ve encountered the inevitable{?} advances by a superior with only my mere career hanging over my head… But I won’t. We all have heard these stories and if there is a lesson to be learned it’s this: only have mentors of the same sex, only meet in groups or for lunch, and most importantly–no matter HOW wonderful free drinks sound–DON’T talk work stuff one-on-one over drinks. Period. It’s the only way to avoid the ones who consider themselves “kind of married.” And nothing is more awkward than convincing your drunk and weaving “kind of married” confidant that they should get in a cab and go home…after you were supposed to have a meeting about interviewing for jobs. Oy.

So, I partially haven’t written because of my life {bleh} and I partially haven’t written because I feel like everyone I’ve met recently has turned into a dead-end {double bleh}. Thus, it’s time to take some of these ends and tie them up.

NonDate: After much anxiety and a couple of whiskey drinks, we ended up hooking up on my couch the night he stayed at my house. The following night, a group of us went to a ridiculously flashy {trendy, somewhat overrated} club in meat-packing, and he and I played pretend bf and gf for a night: made out on the dance floor, danced the night away, held hands and talked to people on the smoking porch. Then he flew home a few drunk hours later. Now we just text from time to time about our pretend, soon-to-be born child. You know, the usual.

HomeGrown: We went to an awesome concert together and had a lovely moment at the end where his arms were around my waist and his head leaning on my head. When we said goodbye though, he didn’t really kiss me. Like he kissed me, but we didn’t make out. Then he went to LA for the Jewish holiday, and when he got back {I presume he got back, that is…} I never heard from him. Then I awkwardly ran into him at another football watch party. And he was wearing jeans and a blazer… AT A FOOTBALL GAME. Yuck. Needless to say I felt a lot better that I hadn’t heard from him.

OK, well that’s only two… So, I guess that’s not that bad. There are two more, but they require a little more explanation. That shall come soon {I promise}.

A few ends tied, a few to go.

Playbook Pages {clearing my mind}

12 Oct

The first time I realized I liked Homegrown was the first time we got drinks. More important than what we did that night, I suppose, is where on the time line of the week our meeting fell.

The day before I hung out with Homegrown for the first time I had hung out with WorkCrush for the first time in weeks. It was the first time we had spent more than a few minutes together since my crazy episode–when I tried to break it off with him, cried like a banshee, talked myself in circles for 4 hours.

Then asked if we could just forget the whole thing had happened; he said no. Then I asked if he could stay the night; he said yes. Then we had crazy animal sex, and the next day he left for Florida for the weekend and then some.

After he got back, we didn’t really talk. I had to get my head back on straight. After I did, I kept getting this urge to make-out with him. One afternoon I acted on it. We met at a Starbucks on his way to work and we ended up making-out under umbrellas in the pouring rain on the corner of 57th and 9th. I liked him again.

Flash forward to the night before I hung out with Homegrown. I met WorkCrush at Union Square, and in usual WorkCrush-fashion we had a talk… a long one. I still don’t understand what it is that makes me spill all of my guts–even ones I don’t think are really mine–to him. We covered the usual: I apologized for being crazy, he said it was fine {it wasn’t}; he said he felt jerked around, I apologized but said I didn’t do it on purpose {I didn’t}; I said I just wanted to stay in the “grey” and see where things went {I did}; he claimed he was fine with that {he wasn’t}. After our “talk” I just felt more confused than anything, but in an effort to put it all in the past and move on, I agreed to go to his house.

When we got there we smoked and a funny thing happened: the higher I got, the clearer my head got. And the clearer my head got, the more he started to annoy me. As he cuddled his body into mine, putting his head on my chest, he looked up at me with his big brown doe eyes and dimpled smile as if to say, “You’re so cute. This is so us!” The whole thing instantly made me want to vom, so I took the route of my only possible defense {that wasn’t screaming at him to get off of me}: I fell into a deep, stoned sleep.

Kind of like this... but more vommy.

When I woke up, my head was still clear. Probably because of my clear head, I also awoke with a sick feeling deep in my stomach. What had I done?!

Convinced meeting up with a random would either A) reignite my feelings for WorkCrush {doubtful} or B) at least distract me from the fact that I felt like a total crazy person {also doubtful}, I agreed to meet up with Homegrown that night.

Homegrown and I had met for literally 5 minutes at a football watch party for our college alma mater. We had exchanged numbers and then a few texts, but with my head still clear it only took another 5 minutes with him to realize that he was the opposite of a doe-eyed cuddler.

He was different from any of the East coast boys I had met out here; he was from the West coast like me. He was homegrown… and I was hooked.

 

Playbook Pages {the NonDate}

16 Sep

Me: “Oh, hi… I’m meeting someone here.”
Hostess: “Oh, okay… Do you want to look at the bar?”
Oh shit. I have no idea what this guy looks like…
Me: “Um I better text him really quick.”
Of course she think I’m on a blind date now…
ARE YOU HERE?
YEP OUTSIDE
WEARING?
PLAID SHIRT
Hmmm plaid shirt…plaid shirt…
Me: “I guess he’s outside. Thanks!”
WITH MY HEAD STUCK IN MY PHONE TALKING TO YOU
Ha! Funny guy huh? Plaid shirt…plaid… Oh! Oh crap. He IS cute in real life.

As a favor to my sister’s boyfriend, I had agreed to let his friend crash on my couch for a night or two while in for an interview. In an effort not to have a stranger stay on my couch, I had agreed to meet this friend for a drink the night “crashing” was to take place.

Now, to be honest, I wasn’t totally caught-off guard by the hotness. In another attempt to make this stranger not a stranger we had become friends on Facebook. I am I VERY thorough FB stalker, so I already thought that he had cute potential.

Ok fine. I had already told my roommate that I wanted to do him… IF he ended up being as cute as his FB implied.

And boy, oh boy, was he ever.

We both ordered drinks and decided to share nachos. We chatted about the city and about our jobs. We talked about Oregon {we’re both from there}: how much I missed it, how much he wouldn’t. We talked about school and living in random cities, making friends, going out. We talked about our families and our backgrounds, about working during college and working after college. We talked about music and raves, drugs and Ken Kesey. And we laughed. We laughed a lot, actually.

his and hers...

At one point we stumbled upon the inevitable couple/dating talk. Somehow we got on the topic of fighting or fighting in public and the conversation went something like this:
me: Yeah, it’s always awkward when there is that couple at the table who is clearly fighting.
Him: something something something something
me: or even worse when YOU are in the couple that is fighting….
Him: yeah and you have to act like nothing is really wrong but when you get home it all comes out.
Me: yeah at least it all comes out eventually.
Him: and then you have crazy hate sex.
Me: {trying to fight the excitement in my voice and keep it from my face} yes!
Him: and then after I want to just watch a movie and love you all night.
Me: {more excitement} Definitely.

Ummm… Did he just describe my perfect date?

Him: Can you imagine how much hate sex Barack and Michelle have?
Me: {laughing uncontrollably}
Him: I’m serious! She’s like, “stop giving me that dumb grin!”
Me: and he’s like, “stop walking away from me woman!”
Him: The Secret Service guys probably have to hear so much of the sex because they are standing outside of the door.
Me: {more uncontrollable laughter}
Him: I’m serious! They should write a book.
End Scene.

By the end of the non-date I was starting to wish it was a real date. If it HAD been a first date, it would’ve been a good one. We hailed cabs and made plans to meet-up the next day so that he could “crash.” But as I rode away with that dopey first-date grin on my face, I couldn’t help but hope that something more would maybe come out of my future time with NonDate.

Playbook Pages {saying goodbye}

12 Sep

Thanks again for inviting me over last night. I’m really happy I got to see you. But I’ve been thinking that maybe we shouldn’t hang out anymore. I just have a lot on my mind right now and don’t really have enough time to dedicate to someone else. It’s just not fair to you. I’m trying to juggle too much, and unfortunately it’s affecting the way I act toward you. Maybe we can pick things up sometime down the road, but for now I think I’m just going through too much. I’m sorry.

I always keep a copy of this text as a draft in the notes section of my phone. You never know when you may have to get rid of someone. This was actually the text I sent to 30-Something a few hours after leaving his immaculate apartment for the last time. When I sent it to 30-something I truly meant everything I had typed. Now I am contemplating sending it to WorkCrush, and as I ponder, I realize the words are more true now than they even were before.

But am I really ready to get rid of WorkCrush? As a general rule, I tend to have the relationship attention span of a butterfly: I see something fun/great/sexy, enjoy myself, get bored and then happily flit away. Unfortunately, because of the reasons listed in the text {I’m busy; I’m tired; my stress-level has been sky-high}, I currently have the attention span of a hornet: I’m still attracted to similar things, but when I get bored instead of flitting away happily I get angry… and sting.

Right now I’m currently on a very bumpy roller-coaster with WorkCrush. One minute I really like him and want to kiss him atop his cute little shaved head, and then next I roll my eyes and want to run away because I find him so obnoxious. And please understand that when I say “one minute and then the next” I’m really talking minute-to-minute here. I feel like a legitimate crazy person because I can’t get my head clear about this. I’m bumbling around my love-life like a confused homeless person. Not cute.

Here’s a little of the inner dialogue for your reading pleasure: He’s a genuinely sweet person, so I should want to be with him, right? But sweet people shouldn’t have to put-up with bitchy, crazy people, right? But I deserve a nice guy too, right? But nice isn’t really worth it if it comes along with extreme annoyances, right? UGH. What to do… what to do… buzz buzz… buzz buzz.

Playbook Pages {workcrush update}

19 Aug

Seeing you makes my day happier… 🙂

As I hit send on my sappy g-chat message, I realize I actually mean it.

My work crush and I had hung out a total of 3 times outside of work, but I was starting to realize that I wanted to see him more often. I first noticed it when I had to sit and interview possible roommates off of Craigslist. I set-up a four hour block of time for strangers to just pop in and out of my life. For both my safety and my sanity, I didn’t want to sit there alone; somehow, when I realized I needed a buddy, the first person I thought of was WorkCrush.

The second time I noticed it was when he had to leave my open-house to go to improv practice {yes, I said improv practice}, and I didn’t want him to go. So, we made plans to go to a movie later that night and it tied me over.

A few nights later, when he slipped away from his department to walk me to the bus stop, I got it again–the same little tug that I didn’t want him to leave. It got worse when I was on the bus and realized that I wished he was coming over after he got off.

And then today, when I snuck into the studio to give him a hug, I realized I wish we got off of work at the same time so I could be around him a little longer.
Could it be that I have an ACTUAL crush on my WorkCrush?


When my chat box starts to blink, I get a little nervous. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent that! But then I read his response…

The feeling is mutual. I was just thinking about that same thing.

Playbook Pages {I just want to be…friends}

16 Aug

I’ll be right back.

It was literally moments after he came, but I was scrambling out of bed and heading to the bathroom feeling as bored and frustrated–exasperated?–as I have every other time we’ve slept together. When I get in the bathroom I have one of those movie moments where I stare at myself in the mirror with one of those super disappointed looks on my face and shake my head. A shudder runs through my body as the last 15 minutes comes back in flashes. How can he enjoy it so much when I hate it so much?

And that’s when it hits me, a different kind of flash–a strong realization: I am such a hypocrite! Here I am going on and on about bad sex and how annoying and frustrating it is… yet I keep having it! Well, hello, Red! Why don’t you heed your own advice: STOP. It takes two to tango, and if you’re unhappy but refuse to change anything then the only person to blame is yourself!

Well crap. Now what do I do? This is usually why I keep my sex and dating separate. The guys I like to date are the not the same ones I want to sleep with; the ones I like to sleep with I would never date.

In college this predicament actually worked in my favor. My schedule was busy enough that the guys who took me on dates never saw me often enough to feel attached or entitled. We were always “just starting to date.” I had a movie guy, a dinner guy, a day-date guy. These guys were basically just friends, but they picked me up at my apartment, paid for everything and usually kissed me goodnight.

Then there were the boys I slept with–my hook-ups and business partners. I had bar hook-ups, fraternity hook-ups and class hook-ups. We’d get drunk, have fun, never make it awkward and NEVER go on an actual date. My business partners were like more organized versions of a “fuck buddy;” we had regular meetings that were never broken. It was always just sex, but we communicated well and respected each other. One time I kept the same business partner for over a year and a half.

So why, may I ask, are things so complicated now? I still have business partners, but it seems like the guys in the dating pool are confused about their place. Apparently so am I. They keep wanting to sleep with me and I keep letting them. I really like 30-Something and feel like he’s a friend, but now that we’ve done it… how do we go back? Is that even possible?

Playbook Pages {work crush}

3 Aug

I really wasn’t sure how the night was going to go. After the exchange of a few very cheesy text messages (not my style), my hopes were not super high. But, with the craving for a margarita creeping up and the possibility of going back to sleep slipping away, I figured I had little to lose. Running my usual 15-minutes late, I walked swiftly down 2nd Ave toward the Mexican restaurant. As a I walked, I continued to talk myself out of caring about the casual meeting. Thus, when the front of the restaurant came into sight, I felt taken aback.

There he was. Leaning up against the construction outside of the restaurant in all of his WorkCrush glory. Big tan arms coming out of his t-shirt sleeves, big man-legs filling his jeans, all propped-up by navy Chucks. Cute cute cute. I instantly got a HUGE smile on my face and that fluttery feeling flooded my stomach. Whoa there. Get a hold of yourself. This is nothing, remember?

Over drinks and food we talked about work and our career paths; we talked about our families and being away from home; we talked about music and playing instruments; we covered some serious topics (he used to be 300 lbs); we laughed about stupid stuff. Overall, it was going well.

Looking at the time I reluctantly reminded him that I needed to get back into bed to sleep before my overnight shift. He offered to walk me home. On the way he pointed out the bubble trolley thing that goes over the East River to Roosevelt Island; he said it was his favorite random thing to do–I admitted I’d never been on it. With the promise of just a 30-minute detour, I agreed to ride it. The view was nice, but when we got off, I didn’t feel like getting right back on. We ventured onto a very deserted Roosevelt Island and sat by the river.

I don’t really know how it happened, but before I knew it we were making out furiously on the grass. My shoes were off, my headband thrown somewhere behind me, my dress being scandalously pushed up my legs. Then he was on top of me, my legs wrapped around his body. Then I was on top of him, both of us sitting-up, while he pulled my hips into his waist. When we finally stopped for air I noticed a few things that somehow hadn’t mattered in the moment: it was raining, I was bleeding, and it was late.

Once settled at my desk and finally feeling calm, I began to notice the toll the night had taken on my appearance: the smudges of dirt on my forearms and legs, the scrapes on the tops of my feet, the grass stains on the back of my dress.

Maybe was just the lasting effect of the tequila, but–as I sat firmly in my office chair–I still felt a little like I was floating.