Tag Archives: advice

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.

Advertisements

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.

NiceGuy complex…

5 Aug

We all know a genuinely nice guy who has been dumped by a genuinely bitchy girl. But we all probably also know a nice guy who has been dumped by a genuinely nice girl. Either way, the nice guy always claims he was dumped for being “too nice.”

According to the nice guy, he was dumped because he was too much of a gentleman, or because he didn’t want to take advantage of her, or because refused to treat her like an object or she wanted an ass-hole. Having lots of friends who are nice people, these are phrases I’ve heard often. But after hearing these stories enough times, one has to wonder: What if you ARE a genuinely nice guy, but you actually got dumped for sucking at something else in life that was really important to the other person? Nice guys can have flaws too…

For instance, maybe you’re great at holding doors and buying flowers but you suck at fixing leaky pipes or putting up shelves. Well, sure, that’s not everything in the world, but what if the girl’s grandpa was a carpenter so being handy is very important to her? You suck at being handy, so she dumps you. You’re still a very nice guy, but that’s not the reason you got dumped.

For someone like me, being good at a lot of things could be considered turn-ons to me. Fix a pipe or hang some level shelves? Great. Put up a sheet of drywall? Sexy. Writing, playing or singing me music while putting up the drywall? Even better. But some things, to me, are just crucial–I will not compromise. Being good in bed is one of these things.

Now people have given me their various judgments for my having no qualms with this requirement. They’ve called me a slut, or a whore, or a nympho, and some of them have probably really felt that way. But if you ask me, I call it being honest.

If you have a low-sex drive, but you’re the nicest guy in the world, I will dump you. Well, sex isn’t everything to me, you might say in your sweet, genuinely nice guy tone of voice with your sweet, genuinely nice guy smile. Well, darling nice guy, though it’s not everything, it’s still a pretty big something to me. Dumped.

If your sexual style doesn’t match mine, but you’re the nicest guy in the world, I will dump you. I’ll try anything you want! You’ll say in your sweet, genuinely nice guy tone of voice with your sweet, genuinely nice guy smile. Sorry, dearest, but giving someone a play-by-play instruction manual just doesn’t do it for me. Dumped.

So, nice guys… here’s my two-cents: You’ve ridden the PoorNiceGuy Train for a while now. Get off of the train. Please remember that 1) nobody likes a victim and 2) everybody has flaws… and that’s OK. But to some people, there is a lot more to life {and a relationship} than being nice.

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

31 Jul

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}

30 Jul

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}

30 Jul

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.