Playbook Pages {work crush}

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.

 

This Morning {still at work}

Morning…breakfast and a “squeeze”? 🙂

I look at the text on my phone, hit the button that makes the screen go black (what is that button called?), and put it back on my desk. It’s 8 a.m.  and I’m in the home-stretch of the end of my overnight shift at work. I pick up the phone again and re-read the message. Really, 30-something? I expected more from you.

Not served here...

Since when did it become OK to start blatantly asking me to sleep with you? Unless we are in a bar or you are my fuck-buddy {see playbook pages: business partners coming soon}, you should never directly ask if I want to have sex with you. Because, really, if you have to ask… the answer is probably no.

I thought Out-of-Town-DC-Friend was bad enough–but he’s young and was wasted at the time. 30-something is sober… because it’s freaking 8 in the morning! Which brings me to my next question…

In what world does it seem logical to ask me to “bone” right after I get off of an 8+ hour shift at work? First RealEstate Reginald and now 30-Something? This was even worse considering it’s an overnight shift. Are you TRYING to annoy me–in all of my Sunday morning, post-work, exhausted glory?

WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?

Sorry… I’m actually super tired from work.  I type back.
No worries. Feel better. If anything changes either this morning, or later this evening, am here.

Ha. Yeah. I bet you are.

I Need to Stop Hanging Out with Guys Who Suck in Bed {part deux}

I’ve realized that I only the get the urge to go running on weeks when I’ve had bad sex.

I’m lying in bed after a very bizarre, half-upside-down 69-ish thing with just the 6 {…or maybe the 9?} and about 42-seconds of the kind of slow, boring sex that makes me want to pick up a magazine. All I can think, while listening to his deep, relaxed breathing next to me, is that I wish I had my running shoes.

Every muscle in my body is antsy. I want to run–hard. I want to run until I’m totally out of breath, until every muscle feels tense and on-fire. I want to run until my body feels so pushed to the limit that the only option is to be pulled into a melting puddle of jellied-muscles. Either that, or explode.

But no. I don’t have my running shoes. Instead, I’m lying in bed, wanting to scream or jump up and down or jump through the glass of the panoramic window or scale a building or go to a boxing class. ANYTHING to relieve this aggression.

I really need to stop hanging out with people who suck in bed.

To Do List {Justin Timberlake}

Justin. I have wanted to do you pretty much since before I truly understood what “doing it” was.
That means I wanted to do you when you looked like this…

When you brought “sexy back,” I wanted to do you even more.
{Even with part of your face obscured, I want to do you.}

I didn’t think I could want to do you {or Andy} more than when you did this…

That is, until you did this.
I’ve never wanted you more. {In fact, this kind of made me want to do Mila a little, too.}

All in all, Justin Timberlake, I’d like to do you.

 

playbook pages {fake long-distance boyfriend, part 2}

Today I went golfing with 30-something, and when I got day-drunk all I could think was that I missed HottieFireman. Or at least it was a feeling that felt like missing. But then I started to think… Can I miss someone I haven’t seen or talked to in three years?

Yes. That is correct. I have not seen or talked to HottieFireman (up until about a month ago) in THREE YEARS. So, the fact that he will be standing in my apartment, in all of his 6-foot-6-inch-260-pound glory, in less than a week is a little bit scary. Add in the reasons for our not speaking for so long and the idea seems even scarier.

This is not the first time HF and I have engaged in the long-distance fake boyfriend and girlfriend dance. The first time I moved away from home (at the time, it was for college), he became my go-to phone guy. It started as usual… catching up. Then it was checking in about bigger stuff: How was that presentation? What did your boss end up saying about _______? Then it just felt natural to talk everyday… about everything. Then came the inevitable: fights about not talking, fights about dating people, fights about the fact that we were fighting.

In addition, there were the always-confusing attempts to categorize the feelings–both emotional and sexual. It’s amazing how sexually charged you can get just by hearing someone’s voice. Someone you haven’t kissed in over a year. Someone you’ve never even slept with.

We talked about it for hours… The things we would do if we were actually in the same bed. The things we were going to do when we saw each other. But when the time came and we reunited, it felt…off. We didn’t follow through with our plans, exchanged various heartbroken and confused Myspace {yes, Myspace} messages and stopped talking.

About a year and a half later, it happened again. I was just out of an awful year-long relationship with a robot-man who I almost married, HF was just out of fire school. We went through the same steps. Caught up; got connected; got attached; made a lot of plans; reunited and had a looooong awkward night of not-clicking and no sex. This time though, looking back, I WAS TO BLAME. I had just transferred to a new school and was in the middle-school stage of meeting new friends. HF was a stranger to them. He wasn’t “cool.” They thought he was awkward. And I ate it up.

I should’ve felt terrible for the way I treated him, but I didn’t. This time the messages were on FB. We stopped talking. My heart felt broken, but I knew I had broken it myself.

A year later, I reached out. In response, he told me I couldn’t be trusted. My heart broke a little more, because I knew it was true. That was almost three years ago to the week…

Playbook Pages {the thirty-something bachelor}

Ahhhhh… the 30-something bachelor.
What a fun creature this is. Fun… as long as you keep your head on straight.

The first part of keeping your head on straight is keeping your well-meaning friends and family at bay. Anyone who cares about your love life or wants to see you “settled down and happy” will probably have close to the same thing to say when they hear you’re “hanging out” with a man of this breed: “He’s how old? …  So why isn’t he married?”

Now, if your head is on straight, this question should matter a lot more to them than it does to you. More than likely, here’s the answer: he’s not married because he doesn’t want to be! He has everything the way he likes it: a brand new apartment full of bright white furniture; a party-terrace the size of a yacht; weekends in Miami; catered impromptu get-togethers; and a car that still has the “new car” smell.

This is a REAL apartment.

Think about it. He just BOUGHT a ONE-BEDROOM APARTMENT. That wasn’t bad planning, that was strategic planning–to deliver the message that he is happy on his own.

Now should you decide to “hangout” or “date” or “sleep with” or “hookup” {or whatever you want to call it} with this breed of man, you need to check your lady delusions at the door. Don’t worry. His building has a doorman… he’ll watch them for you.

The mistake that many young women make is looking at a handsome, funny, well-to-do bachelor and saying, Hello, marriage material! OOPS! Looks like one of those delusions followed you on to the elevator! Shoo it away. Say, Get out of here, little guy! I have a penthouse to explore! Because if a guy has all of these things AND a million-dollar bachelor pad, he is not looking to get marriage material.

Oh, sure… he’ll get married someday… when he’s over FORTY! But that event will have nothing to do with you. Let me tell you a few reasons why.

1) You’re not going to wait that long. They don’t give medals, or in this case, honking wedding rings, as prizes for successfully waiting someone out. And if you do know someone who got a ring this way, look at their marriage. Are they happy? Was the wait worth it?

2) He’ll marry someone, but it’s not going to be that girl he met at the bar that one time. Please do NOT confuse what I am saying here: you are not some ho or flirt or slut because you’re confident and can meet people anywhere.  He’ll probably end-up marrying his neighbor from when he was a kid… you know, the one his mom always loved? NOT because you’re not good enough, but because of the same reason your sister married her high school sweetheart and your friend married her dentist. People want to marry people who know them in their daily lives. And don’t get me wrong, people marry people they meet in bars, too! My parents met in a bar–but my dad wasn’t a single-life-loving, 30-something bachelor.

3) You’ll leave him first. You know how people talk about the whole being on a different page thing? Well, as it turns out, that’s actually a real thing and it applies here. You’re on the marriage page; he’s not. But here’s the great news! While you’re killing time and having fun with this 30-something bachelor, you’ll probably end up meeting someone who IS on the marriage page. Someone who wants to put a ring on it and doesn’t need to be told to do so. Then you’ll trade the polite, morning-after kisses on the cheek outside of posh, new construction apartments for real, genuine and loving kisses goodbye. And at that point, a million-dollar terrace may not mean as much as it seems to now.

But in the meantime, have fun with this creature! Accept the dinners on rooftops, weekends at the country club and jet-setting trips to Miami; but only if you can accept that this may be all. Enjoy all that the 30-something bachelor brings to the table, because, someday, you may not have an appetite for it anymore.

this morning {afternoon [opposite of] delight}

It takes a bold woman to walk the streets of NYC in boxers, a t-shirt, and flip-flops from the nail salon. It takes an even bolder one to do it while walking 18 blocks that include Fifth, Park and Madison. And yet an even bolder one to do it at 430 on a Friday afternoon. Sometimes I look back and wish that I felt just a tiny shred of shame for my behavior… sadly, I rarely do. 🙂

Another sad fact is that I basically had to beg for these clothes. Beg. And freaking stick-up-his butt, late twenty-something RealEstate Reginald finally caved–but he was bitter about it till the end.

Now call me crazy, but if I were a boy and I had just delivered a downright terrible sexual performance in what should have been a matinée of Afternoon Delight, I would do everything I could to butter the girl up after. Or at very least, I would do my best not to be a doucher right after for fear the girl would REALLY start to get fed-up. It’s the least I could do since I didn’t bring my A-game. But hey! Maybe that’s because in the world where I am a boy, I am actually some form of a gentleman… Cue the Beyoncé song.

Really though, Reginald. Don’t lure me into your apartment on a lovely Friday afternoon, after I’ve just gotten off of a 9-hour shift at work that started way too early on a way too hungover morning, not deliver on the lunch you promised me {literal} OR the dessert you promised me {figurative}, and expect to get off easily. Not. Going. To. Happen.

The bottom line is this: I don’t need you to buy my dinner if you want to hook up with me; I can buy my own dinner {I like my life too much to waste time on forced conversation}. But if we make a plan to hook-up, AT LEAST deliver on the hooking-up part. I’m a busy woman, and frankly, that  ten minutes in bed today is time I will never get back. Thus, it is time, dear friends, for RealEstate Reginald to go.

playbook pages {fake long-distance boyfriend, part 1}

The fake long-distance boyfriend could manifest itself in a number of possible people. Maybe an old coworker who you always got along with? An ex-boyfriend who you kind of miss and in some world still think you could marry? Someone you’ve always had a thing for but the timing never worked out?

Despite who the person is, the symptoms are usually the same: you guys talk on the phone for hours at a time about everything under the sun; you text each other throughout the day; you send each other dumb emails; you miss them on the days you don’t speak; and then somewhere along the line, in the back of your head, you start to wonder if this guy is “the one,” and your life just sucks because you live far away from each other.

For me, my current fake long-distance boyfriend is sort of an ex and sort of a crush who I’ve always had bad timing with. Hottie fireman and I have a history that started long before he was a hottie fireman; in fact, in the beginning, he was the dorky, gangly pitcher on the summer ball team–I was the statistician. More on that later…

Yes. This is ACTUALLY him.

But for now, we are in the perfect place where we talk every couple of days, text or email almost everyday, talk about anything under the sun and laugh for hours. For me, someone who is happily playing the field in New York City, the situation is kind of perfect. I can date people without feeling badly and still have someone to talk to when I need emotion support from someone who actually knows me. For him, a guy who just got out of a relationship and works crappy 24-hour shifts at the highest of high-stress jobs, he gets someone to worry about him, someone to vent to, and someone for emotional support.

Naturally, especially with our history, I am to the point where I think he’s “the one,” and that I’m in love with him. Normally, in this kind of situation,  I’d be OK with having these feelings… part of the territory as it were.

But hottie fireman is coming to visit in a week and a half and I’m slightly terrified. I’m terrified that he’ll get here and I’ll realize it’s just the usual long-distance illusion that’s making me think I love him. But I’m also terrified that he’ll get here and I’ll realize that I really DO feel that way. This is not the first time we’ve played this long distance game (see part 2), but this is the first time we’ve been this “grown-up,” the first time we’ve already “learned from some mistakes,” the first time we’re reuniting before we’ve gotten to the obsessive fighting point.

It’s also the first time we’ve seen each other in 3 years.

More to come as the countdown to his arrival continues…! (UGH terrified!)

 

 

pressure much?

AHH! Get me out of here!!

I think I may have just gotten myself into an awkward situation (when DON’T I get myself into awkward situations?)…

So, tonight my 30-something bachelor (playbook page to come soon) is having an impromptu house-warming party on his amazing terrace. Being it’s a Thursday night and I’m off tomorrow,  naturally I plan on making a night out of it. Wanting others to experience the amazing terrace with me,  naturally I’m planning on inviting others to make a night of it, as well.

Among this list of select few, who get to eat drink and be merry on one of the most amazing terraces I’ve ever seen, is my old boss. She is a 30-something bachelorette whose desired stats probably match quite well with my 30-something bachelor. I am NOT planning on giving away my bachelor, but I’m pretty sure where there will be one, there will be many. So although it will be fun to see her outside of work in general, I hope she might meet someone who could take her on a date. She works hard and deserves it.

BUT… here comes the possible awkward, right? Awkward scenario #1: There is a Carrie Bradshaw/Candice Bergen moment where at some point during the evening, in a drunken admission, she asks me why I’m stealing men that are in her dating range. Awkward scenario #2: She comes and doesn’t meet anyone she likes. OR even worse… she comes, meets someone she likes but he doesn’t like her. UGH. Cringing at the thought already. Awkward scenario #3: She meets someone, they date for a while, they break-up and then I’m stuck in the awkward Who’s side are you on anyway? convos.

Ok. Probably over thinking this… I’m sure it will all be fine. It doesn’t help that the last time I tried to “hook” people up, it worked too well and now my best friend has been dating my ex-coworker for over a year; I never hear from either one of them anymore. Ugh. Now I’m even more nervous.

So, I may not have advice to offer on this one yet, but I’ll keep you posted.

(Possibly) Awkward night on the terrace… here I come!

Playbook pages {out-of-town friend}

Expectations with the out-of-town friend can be tricky…

As my roommate put it, if a guy is coming into town and he is staying with you, it’s pretty much implied between both parties that you are going to 1) sleep in the same bed at some point and 2) probably hook-up in some capacity.

For these exact reasons I am VERY excited for my friend (who shall be known as hottie fireman) to come stay with me for five days in August. As I told hottie fireman in a text, this trip will be for “getting drunk and making decisions.” Please note I did not include the word “bad” (because really, how bad could the situation be if I’m in it with a hottie fireman??).

What can be even more tricky though is when the out-of-town friend is NOT staying with you.

Now, you may assume, as I did last weekend, that this means the ball is in your court… that things will be easier. Well, if he’s staying at the hotel, I don’t have to clean my room. If he’s staying at the hotel, then I’ll just meet him at the bar and see how I’m feeling. No pressure! This is the mentality I had going into that weekend. And I was excited for him to come to town. I was even excited to meet him and his friends at the bar. Unfortunately when we left the bar and he pulled the, “I don’t know where I’m going to sleep tonight,” I was less than enthused.

me: Why don’t you sleep at your hotel… with x and y?
him: There’s only one bed!
me: Weren’t you the one who booked the hotel?
him: Yeah…
(Awkward silences all around) End Scene.

Clearly, the ball was not in my court. If anything it was stolen away in what I can only deem as a personal foul. The main issue was that I had already drunkenly made-out with him in the bar and made the decision to go back to the hotel room to cuddle (in the awkward safety net of the shared hotel room with his friends).  But, four people in one bed does not make for successful drunk cuddling. I could’ve still just sent him back to his hotel and his shared bed (he made his bed (or in this case, booked it), so he might as well lie in it) but there was the added awkwardness that this was his BIRTHDAY trip.

UGH. He’s left me no choice.
me: Well, I guess you can stay at my place… but I need food.
Whenever I’m forced into doing something that isn’t my idea, I always make someone buy me food. A full-stomach helps soothe the sting.

The food didn’t help. I became even more annoyed when he kept drunkenly asking me if we were going to “smoosh” (hate that term), and even more annoyed when he kept singing some made-up song where the only line was, “I want to get into you.”

By the time we made it home, I was so annoyed that I hooked up with him just to shut him up. It was his birthday, after all, but that doesn’t really make up for the fact that it was bad. The night overall? Epic Fail.

So, my only advice is this: only agree to see out-of-town friends if you want to sleep with them. Or maybe it’s to always ask for a copy of their hotel confirmation. Either way, learn from my mistake… because really, birthday weekend or not, that shit wasn’t cool.