Tuxes and Tiaras

I knew I wanted to give Jack an honest chance without the whole New Orleans fiasco the morning after I met him. I was slumped in the passenger seat of his SUV, hungover and not handling it very well. As we emerged from the parking deck I use for my apartment building, I groaned and shaded my eyes from the morning sun with my palm. Jack looked over at me and stifled a smile. He then aimed so only his side of the SUV would go over the speed bumps, and not mine.

Honestly, it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. It was a small gesture, but it was something I never would imagine doing. I always drive so my side misses the speed bumps, it had never even occurred to me that there was another way. He put my comfort in front of his own.

Okay Sarah, you need to give this boy a break. You've given him an awful lot of grief for someone who hasn't actually started dating you yet. Play nice.

Jack was parked in front of my building again at 8 PM that night. When he saw me tug the gate open, he got out of the truck. And he looked great. I looked down at my own sweater and felt embarrassed. He got my door and then ran back to his side, and as soon as he sat down, his fingertips nipped at my elbow and he told me he loved my sweater.

I chose the restaurant. It's my favorite place in Midtown and my stand-by date place. Besides, I had coupons. What I was not counting on, however, was Oscar night. The upstairs was rented out for the AIDS Survivor Oscar Party.

"Omigod," he whispered as we saw men in tuxes and tiaras dancing in front of a projection TV screen.

"That's Midtown for you!" I laughed.

Because the Oscars was playing on every screen, most of our conversation--when we weren't watching--revolved around our taste in movies.

"What do you mean you haven't seen Little Miss Sunshine?!" I hollered.

"I've never saw it. No reason why."

"Well you have to see it. And if you don't love it, then we have much bigger problems."

After dinner we walked back to his truck, clumsily avoiding the crazy homeless man who was trying to sell Jack a flower. I grabbed Jack's hand after the man started screaming obscenities at us and shaking the wilted flower.

"That's Midtown," I repeated and we heard the swell of cheers from the AIDS Survivor Oscar Party.

"What now?"

"Little Miss Sunshine?"

"Okay," he playfully sighed.

Back at my place he admired my books as I slipped the disc in. When I sat down on the couch, he had wrapped himself around me. I don't know how he did it, but it was very crafty. He then pressed his cheek to my temple and smelled my hair.

And he liked Little Miss Sunshine.

I turned off the DVD player, leaned in to kiss Jack, and he extended his cheek to me.

"Don't be a dick," and I grabbed his chin and pulled it towards me. Um, did I just say that? Out loud? So he could hear?

Classy, table for one please.

He made a joke about the line while I sat there, utterly horrified at what just escaped my mouth. He then got up to leave.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit ohshit!

At the door he grabbed me and kissed me again, telling me he'll call. I closed the door, locked it, and turned around and sank down on the cold slate tile.

What is wrong with me? And why am I allowed in public?

Jack's Preamble

I asked around about Friend of Harvey, forever known as Jack, at the lingerie party:

"Oh Sarah, he's so hilarious."

"He is such a great guy. Truly a nice guy."

"He's the most interesting person I've met. And I don't mean interesting in a bad way. He's so smart and genuinely interesting to talk to." (male perspective)

Everyone had such great things to say about him that I became nervous: this nice, intelligent, and funny guy wanted to go out with me. The girl who yaks in bushes. The one who posts pictures of herself with her finger up her nose on the Internet. The one who makes incredibly bad decisions when it comes to men.

What if he didn't like me? What if he saw me and decided he wasn't attracted? I've been in such a rut that I don't know how I would handle that right now. He is my first date this year.

Then during a phone conversation I found out something about him. Three days after asking me out, he went out of town with another girl. He took her to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. I can't be upset with him over something he did before we met, but I just know that I would be really hurt if the boy I'm sleeping with is planning dates with someone else before taking me out of the state. Leaving the state on vacation spells commitment. It was a huge red flag for me to learn this.

He argued that they met mutual friends in New Orleans and that there really was no commitment between them because they only met once before.

What? You mean to tell me you spent seven hours locked in a six by ten-foot box on wheels with someone you met exactly once?

"That's like driving someone to the airport!"

"Is that bad? Because I did that too."

I groaned.

Saturday night I told the story to Harvey, who did not know about the other girl. "I agree," she said. "Going out of town is a big deal. But I honestly think he just didn't know any better. I mean, he's not even on speaking terms with her. But if you don't want to go out with him anymore, I completely understand."

"No, I'll meet him."

I didn't really have a choice; he was on his way to meet up with us. And I was quite drunk.

But a whole lot less nervous.

Dear Daddy,

I know you want me to get out more because you think I'm boring, so when Harvey sent me a text Saturday night that read, "Atkins Park, 9:30," I rolled off the couch and showered. And at 9:30 I was seated firmly on a bar stool. I did it for you, Daddy.

And that martini and those first two gin and tonics, I ordered them because I knew you would want me to have them.

And, well, the pitcher of beer that followed--liquor before beer and you're in the clear, right?

But, honest to God, Daddy, I didn't know they invited Him out too. I know you told me not to get drunk, but it doesn't count when you're shitfaced before he even arrives, does it? By the time I found out, there was nothing I could do, Daddy.

So, to review: not my fault.

And, er, he may haven taken my car keys away when I said I could "color within the lines." And he put up with me long enough for the 30 minute drive back to my place, especially when I turned up the music and sang Alice in Chains for him.

He may have spent the night, but I made him promise up and down to be a good boy. And then I broke into a fit of giggles because boys look really ridiculous wrapped in pink sheets.

And the next morning I was wishing for sweet death, Daddy. All in the name of not being boring. I was able to make it until after he drove off before I got sick in the bushes in front of my car.

When Harvey sent me another text inviting me to a barbeque, I politely declined, Daddy. You can call me boring, but I was desperately in need of a shower, some food, and a nap in that order. Especially when I had a date that night.

Parental Counsel

"Sarah, you're so boring," my father declared. "You're young and you live in the city; you need to get out there and do more things."

I chewed on my lip and adjusted my cell phone to my other cheek. I could tell him about the lingerie party, but decided against it. I could tell him about the baby shower, but that would just put an elephant in the room. I could tell him about Tuesday, but he worries about me going back to school so much to visit old friends instead of making new ones. Well I've tried that and it didn't go so well, which I bet he doesn't want to hear about either.

"So what are you doing this weekend?" he prompts.

Giving my body a break. I'm going to make a nest in the couch and not move until Sunday. I'm going to see how much I can eat without actually cooking. I'm going to nap in between my Blockbuster movies that just arrived in the mail. I'm going to give the dog dirty looks when she wants to go out and pee because that just means I'm going to have to put on pants.

"Um," I stammered. "I'm going out on Sunday."

"Ooh! What are you doing?"

"Um, dinner." The absence of details makes what I'm really doing obvious.

"You have a date?"

"Er, yeah." My parents don't really know me that well -- and they understand me even less -- so I skip out of a lot of details on my life. They know when I buy new shoes or if my truck needs repairing, but that's about it. I actually lived with my father for the very first time for six months about a year ago. We had no idea who each other were as people until then. I think I take after him a lot. That's why he gets even this much information.

"How did you meet this one?"

I dump my head into my free hand. "I haven't met him yet, Daddy. He saw my picture at a mutual friend's and wanted to meet me."

"Well, that's good. Physical attraction is the first step in relationships..."

I wince. I can't believe I just admitted to my father that I have a blind date. I can't believe he's telling me about physical attraction. I can't believe-

"...Just don't drink too much and blow him out of the water. You know, like you did with the speed dating thing."

Oh, maybe he does know me a little better than I thought.

My liver hurts

I am alive, but it is completely possible that I might still be drunk from Fat Tuesday.

Riding the Sin Wagon

Remember when my posts used to employ metaphors, themes, and other literary devices?

Yeah I miss those too.

I've really wanted to get back into that, but my mind is too scatterbrained to actually put intended coherent thoughts back-to-back right now. At this moment, for instance, I am mentally singing Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'."

E sent me a crap apology letter sometime last week. It was only a few sentences and included the phrase "honest mistake." I didn't buy it, but I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt that she didn't actually know why I was so upset, even though I already told her. I sent her a reply articulating why exactly I felt the way I did. I was a big girl about it and removed giant blocks of text that were either off point tangents or personal attacks, but I was very honest with her and let her know that things are not good between us right now.

She never responded. This leads me to believe that our friendship was not as important as I thought it was, and that, god, girls suck.

But in a very special turn of events, Satchel, my platonic lover for life, is back in town and we're celebrating Mardi Gras just like we did when we were in school-- with body shots of well liquor, cheap beer, and the worst hangover of our lives. I've already scheduled Wednesday as a sick day from work.

I'm that dedicated to get all my sinning in tomorrow.

Party People

My mouth feels like something wet and greasy died in it, so that can only mean a 3 AM trip to Waffle House was included in last night's adventures. I also seem to remember an eye test to see if Phil had indeed been kidnapped by Buffalo Bill's uglier sister like I suspected.

Fun was had last night.

I surprised my neighbors when I walked out of my loft, clearly not wearing any pants, with only my pea coat covering me, flasher-style. Then I got into my SUV and drove 15 miles to the lingerie party.

That would be the tip of my coat keeping me from indecent exposure.

I walked in the door and immediately posed like Betty Boop while my coat was yanked off me by Harvey. A beer appeared out of nowhere and was thrust in my hand. There were a couple of girls wearing pants, but not many.

Even guys got into the spirit:




And now, the party pics:






Harvey and her best friend both thanked me over and over for coming to the party and truly getting into the spirit of the theme. It had been a year since I'd seen Harvey last and I didn't expect her to take E's place, although I hoped it wouldn't be another year before we get to see each other again.

However, they had other plans. Actually we all have plans. For Friday. Most of the group hadn't realized that I moved to the city; they thought I still lived back at school. They told me they missed me and we laughed about all our antics in college—nights that predated the men in their lives.

Perhaps the fight and subsequent falling out with E was a good thing. Otherwise I would have gone to E's friend's party in place of seeing Harvey. Now I've reconnected with old friends and my circle has gotten a little wider.

Eat, Drink, and Be... Naked

So it is currently 39°F (4°C) outside, and I have my outfit for tonight hanging next to me in front of my closet:


I messaged Harvey and asked if we were perhaps wearing our lingerie over jeans for her themed lingerie party.

The answer, unfortunately, was no.

Hmph.

I at least plan on wearing fishnets and my knee-high boots, but that won't cover up... my ass actually.

This is new; I bought it just for tonight. I knew if I waited until after Valentine's day that everything red and pink would be on clearance. This piece cost me $5. It's actually the first time I bought lingerie in at least 5 years. Maybe one day I'll get some use out of it other than wearing in in public.

Speaking of, I really hope I don't get pulled over tonight. Or maybe I secretly do: it would make for an excellent blog post.

I'm about to shed my goose-down vest, my sweater, jeans, and my furry boots to put on this little guy. Let's pray I don't experience wardrobe malfunction.

Of course "wardrobe" would imply I was wearing clothes in the first place.

Edit, 8:15 PM. I just called Harvey again:
"What are you wearing?"
"A black negligee. "
"Is your ass hanging out?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
Crap.

Best or Worst? Results

The majority voted worst.

But I tricked you. I actually tried that line twice (with about 5 years in between uses).

I had mixed results, so everybody wins!

The guy I had been infatuated with in high school was transferring to a performance arts targeted school. He was so painfully shy outside of the stage that had we not been in drama club together, I would have never known what his voice sounded like.

And he had the most beautiful hair. He had the butt cut. I was so in love with the butt cut after Newsies. Honestly, I still have a thing for the butt cut. And this kid had the Christian Bale butt cut. I sat diagonally from him in Latin, I think, and I used to imagine myself running my fingers through his hair. Mmmm.

So it was his last day at our school and I thought, I'll never see him again. Who cares if I make an ass out of myself? I told him in front of our entire class that I loved his hair so much, I wanted to strip down and run through it naked. Oh, yes I did.

The Boy Who Never Spoke was mortified. He would have voted worst. He actually moved desks and sat next to another girl from drama to get away from me.

I never thought again about it until a few years later when I got cast in a play. That he wrote. And then we had to spend countless days and nights together. That was a little more than awkward. I think I mumbled an apology when we both ended up behind the curtain backstage together and I spent the rest of the time avoiding the hell out of him.

I revived the line once in college where it was appreciated much more.

And by someone, in retrospect, who probably wasn't gay.

Best or Worst?

We're going to play a game I just invented called Best or Worst. I'll give you something to vote about and you comment with your opinion. Afterwards I'll reveal what actually happened.

Best or worst pickup line...

"I just want to run naked through your hair!"

Vote and I'll let you know how I fared.

Two Steps Back, Three Steps Forward

I had a good chat with Amber last night. She listened while I moaned, then she kicked my ass into submission. Plus getting out of the house and going to work today helped, even though E was there too.

I had been sitting on a few invites from friends in my outer circles for a couple of weeks. I called and RSVPed to a baby shower for a friend I've known since before we could drive and all we did was burn poetry. (It was never the good stuff, just angsty teenage poetry from our boyfriends at the time. I know I have pictures of our burnings somewhere. Now she's procreating!)

I also accepted a party invite for next weekend. It's a lingerie party. Not the kind of party where you sit around and buy lingerie, but where that's the dress code. It's from an old college buddy who has also moved to the city. She used to throw the best theme parties back at school. There was the Beer, Sex, Beer party where you're guaranteed two out of the three. There was the Stoplight party where you wear green in places you liked to be touched and red in places you don't like to be touched. There was the Jammin' with Salmon party that has become legendary after the juggling machetes and the police incident. Then there was the St. Patrick's Day party where my drunken slogan, "Beer me, I'm Irish" got printed on t-shirts. This is actually the second lingerie party.

It's one thing when you're wearing lingerie and the only person who sees it is about to have sex with you, so you kind of automatically look sexy. It's a whole other ballgame when you're wearing lingerie in front of 100+ people who will not be having sex with you. This party has put me on a strict diet and exercise program for the rest of the week. Additionally, to make up for my emo posts all weekend, I will be bringing my camera to the party and I will be posting photos. You're welcome.

Lastly, I have also accepted the set up with Friend of Harvey. Apparently my finger-up-the-nose photo passed with flying colors seeing as how he had photos posted of him giving the thumbs up in front of ladies' butts. I actually introduced Harvey to her husband, so she owes me. He's supposed to call tonight or tomorrow to firm up plans.

So my weekend was booked by Sunday at 10 PM. I was supposed to go out Friday night with E and our coworkers as we do once a month, but I think I'm going to bail out this time. I just don't feel comfortable going out with E feeling like I do. And she did her best to hide from me this morning before she left to go out of town. This has brought out mixed feelings from people because it looks like I'm running from the situation, and maybe I am, but omigod, do they really expect me to sit at the other end of the table from her and pretend I'm not mentally stabbing her with my fork?

I was also supposed to go to a birthday party with her on Saturday night, but I've already replaced that with my lingerie party, which technically I was invited to first. Whatevs, that lingerie party is going to kick some ass.

Meh.

E called me last night. She had found out that I was still upset with her and that I was going out with a friend to help make me feel better. She knew I was out and yet she called me, not to apologize, but to yell at me.

"You knew I was out, did you really call me just to yell at me?"

"I didn't think you'd pick up the phone."

I'm not that kind of friend, I thought. I wouldn't ignore someone. What kind of person does she think I am, her kind?

She wanted me to call her today so we could talk, but that phone call just pushed me over the edge. After last night, I turned my phone off and have yet to turn it back on. I just need a break. I need a break from everything.

To be honest, I haven't thought about her much at all and I'm not quick to make up with her. The more I think about what she did, the angrier I get. I have never had a friend do that to me before in my life. Even my enemies had the courtesy to do that kind of stuff behind my back and not slap me in the face with it. She said she knew it would make me upset and she did it anyway; that makes her actions intentional.

Besides this blog, I am now without any form of support system. My dog was nice to me today, but that may or may not have something to do with the bones I've been feeding her all day. I feel like I'm going through a break-up, except that I missed out on all the good stuff. The chest pains are back. These are inevitably followed by panic attacks. In place of mourning, however, is a severe bout of apathy. I don't care about anything right now.

Except maybe wine. And Uncle Buck on repeat.

Do not be me

Fine. I get it.

Loud and clear.

I am here to ruin the lives of others.

I am the living, breathing version of the anti-christ. Because heaven forbid I have one fucking night out without someone getting pissed at me.

I exist only to serve as a warning to others. Do not do as I do. Do not think as I think. Do not look as I look.

Do not be me.

Point taken.

Loud and clear.

Stab!

For a couple of months E and I were planning a triple date this Saturday with a mutual friend and her new boyfriend's friends. We've actually been talking about it since November and have made and broke the date a few times, but since the new year, it has always been this date.

Until Monday. E decides that she is too tired and just wants to stay home this weekend and not go out. I was disappointed of course. Her actions affect more than just herself, but I just told myself another time. Well this morning she runs into my office and says, "Guess what? I'm having dinner with T tomorrow night!" Oh you mean Saturday night? The night we had all planned on going? And you mean T? The guy they were going to set me up with?

Now I'm not going to fight over someone I have never met, so I let that go. But it absolutely fucking sucks that she broke the plans because she was tired, but now she's going on them. Matter of fact everyone is. But me. I had somehow become excluded.

I have been nothing but a fucking fantastic friend to her. When--

Wow, I just had to put this post down to go cry in the bathroom at work.

She had been on a one date with this guy and then she dumped him because she doesn't have sex and, well, he does. I met him shortly thereafter and he pursued me for 3 straight months and I said kept saying no because she was my friend and, even though she dumped him, she was still hung up on him. And I liked him. I would have dated him, but I didn't because I knew it would hurt her. When her "friend" stood her up, I was the one who provided the entertainment for her to distract her over a guy who couldn't even call her. When she finally met some of my other friends last week, she wanted to bail out early and have the drunkest girl in the bar drive me home when I have been hanging around her other friends from the very beginning.

And now the evening I worked out with the boyfriend is going to be had with everyone but me. When she exclaimed that she had the date tomorrow night, I told her exactly how I felt. That I thought it was shysty maneuvering to cancel the whole evening and then call it back on last night and exclude me. I am not invited because E's original date will not be there. But it's not about the boys; it's about the loyalty. If one of my closest friends disposes of me like she does, what does that say about me? To my feelings she said, "I knew when I said yes to go that it would upset you."

So why do it then?

I went into the bathroom and cried. Then I called N from my cell phone so she could come to the bathroom and talk to me. N overheard the entire conversation. She heard E say that it wasn't her intention to hurt me. She heard me try to articulate my feelings. N agrees that I got the raw deal. Knowing both of us, N pointed out that at 28, E has never even had a relationship. She's never even had more than four dates with one guy and if she has a chance to meet a guy, she's going to take it.

E still believes in movie love. "You know those statements she makes about how life is with love?" asked N.

"Yeah, like how she said sex with someone you love is automatically the best because love is involved?"

N and I both doubled over laughing.

I wet a fresh paper towel and pressed it under my eyes. "I was watching The OC last night," I began to N. "And on it a girlfriend was complaining that her boyfriend wouldn't tell her that he loved her. So she tries to get him drunk to get him vulnerable enough to admit his feelings. Instead she gets tanked and complains to his face that he doesn't love her. So you know what he does?"

"Tells her he loves her?"

"Exactly! Because that's movie love. And you know what I thought when I saw that?"

"What?"

"That if I ever tried to pull a stunt like that, he would a) call me a manipulator for trying to trick him, b) tell me he needs space because I'm suffocating him and then c) dump me."

N laughed. She went on to say that it is much easier for me to meet and date boys because I'm charismatic and outgoing. She wanted me to have a little compassion for E in that regards, because she struggles a lot more than I do.

But it still doesn't change the fact that Saturday night I'm going to be home alone, probably crying again, while she's out.

Return of the Adulterer

Married Work Guy up and quit about a month ago with no notice. He didn't tell anyone he was leaving and just packed a box and walked out. When I found out about 20 minutes later, my first thought was Thank God, maybe I can make it an entire work day without someone asking me for sex. This was immediately followed a flood of guilt. How dare I think that about someone who thought of me kindly.

Late one night about a week ago, my phone vibrated with a text message that read, "It's been awhile, how r u?" I was angry on several levels: a) for being texted in the first place; it's not something I do, b) whoever sent me the message couldn't even use real words, and c) I had no idea who it was from because I didn't have the number stored. I ignored the text because it was late at night and whomever it was, I probably didn't need to be talking to him this late.

The next morning at work I sent back a message, "I'm sorry, I don't recognize the number. Who is this?"

And moments later my phone vibrated again, "MWG."

I never gave MWG my phone number, by the way. He must have grabbed it off the company directory while he still worked here. I chose not to respond to the text. I heard he got a job with his wife and works with her now; I did not feel comfortable having him text me with his wife beside him.

N and I went out to lunch that day. I believe it was the day after this post and she and I were debating what E, Mez, and General Boy thought about being friends with a member of the opposite sex who is in a relationship. I held firmly to my belief until I thought about MWG and me and how uncomfortable I ended up feeling over our interactions.

"That's because he never was your friend, Sarah. Yeah, y'all hung out a few times and had a few lunches together, but he was never your friend. You're friends don't want to sleep with you. That isn't friend behavior."

I stuck a chip in my mouth and chewed on N's reaction, "Yeah... yeah!" and I felt a whole lot better because that didn't interrupt my belief on male/female relationships. MWG was not my friend, therefore I didn't feel bad about not responding to his attempt at contact by any means.

MWG would not be silenced, however. While I was out to dinner on Saturday night, my phone sang with the unsaved number. He was reduced to calling me on a weekend night and leaving messages on my voicemail.

If text messages made me feel dirty, imagine how weekend phone calls made me feel.

Image Filters

I had recently changed my MySpace profile picture from my usual drunken shenanigans to an actual legitimate photo of myself (there is evidence in the form of exactly one photograph that I don't morph into a complete retard in front of a camera lens). It's from the company Christmas party where my hair was perfectly curled and I was in a flattering little black cocktail dress. I wrote about that night, albeit from a very different perspective.

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Friend of Harvey
Date: Feb 4, 2007 11:14 PM
Subject: it's not about what i can do for you...


Harvey, i would think that with all of this free time you would do something to help society and those close to you.

who is this "Sarah" person, and why have you never tried to set me up with her?

i expect you to put together a solid plan. i await your presentation.

-FoH-

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Harvey
Date: Feb 5, 2007 11:40 AM
Subject: FW: it's not about what i can do for you...


Sarah!! My friend thinks you're smokin' hot!

He's 'Friend of Harvey'. Check him out =)

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Sarah
Date: Feb 5, 2007 1:53 PM
Subject: RE: FW: it's not about what i can do for you...


I dunno Harvey, it's a misleading photo of me. I'd hate for him to meet me and then be disappointed. Make sure he sees the other pictures in my profile. If he still wants to meet me after seeing the one with my finger up my nose, then talk to me :)

--Sarah

Once again, I'm setting up filters. If a photo with your finger up your nose while blowing a raspberry isn't one, then I don't know what is.

I did have enough foresight, however, to delete the picture with my finger up someone else's nose. Some pictures can be filters, and others just serve as drunken preoccupations.

I sit here and say that the reason I use filters saves me time in case someone doesn't understand my personality, but I think it's because it saves me rejection. It's been a rough start to a year, and I'd be lying if I wasn't a little skittish about meeting any people right now.

On the (unsuccessful) prowl

Friday night was not a good night with the guys. My girlfriends and I went to a karaoke bar that we had a really good time at before.

It started out okay. I walked up to two guys and turned my songs in. One guy was wearing an I Love Lesbians t-shirt. I handed in my slips of paper, took a long drink, and emphatically explaimed, "I love lesbians too!" and turned and walked away.

I had gotten three steps before both guys started shouting, "Hey wait a minute! Come back and talk to us!"

After I sang my song, I returned to our table. One guy came up to the table and grabbed my song book and alternated flipping through the book and looking at me.

"That'll be 5 dollars to look at the book." He gave me a really strange look. "Oh, was that not cute? I meant that to be cute." He smiled and I helped him pick out a song.

After he sang, he came back to the table and asked to sing a duet with me. We were flipping through the book together when my friend went on stage to sing. My friend who has won thousands of dollars singing karaoke and just returned from New York from her third Rent audition.

He looked at me and said, "Nevermind, I want to sing with her." And he left and stood in front of the stage.

Strike one.

On the prowl to bring a group of guys back to our table, I went out in the bar alone. I was immediately recognized by three guys for my performance and I began talking to them. They were out-of-towners, but they seemed nice.

"So what do you do?" the cutest of the bunch asked me.

"I'm a writer." He began to laugh. Not a "oh how cute" laugh, but an "omigod, you're a freak" laugh. "What? What's wrong with that?"

"You're a writer?"

"Yeah."

"As in you get paid to write?"

"Yup."

He began to laugh again. I still didn't see the humor in it and returned to the safety of my friends, who also do not understand what's so funny about writing.

Strike two.

After shots and pitchers of beer were imbibed, my friends and I left our table and began dancing. Another guy approached me and asked me to dance. It was nice to be asked to dance for a change instead of him just rubbing his junk on me. I'm a good enough dancer that I don't rely on grinding so I accepted and we danced a song. Afterwards I turned back to my friend to which she said,

"You know he's married, right?"

"What?"

"He totally had a wedding ring on."

"Shit, I just danced with a married man in a bar!" I really need to start checking for that wedding ring.

And strike three.

I'm a selfish bitch

Can I get a hell yeah?

This is one of my favorite sites to lurk on. I don't always agree with everything they have to say, but the stances are always well-argued and often funny. Like this one.

And in all fairness, when I did have that intruder a couple of weeks ago, I did wish there was someone there to keep me company afterwards. However, it never crossed my mind once that if I had a man in the apartment, he could have taken charge and scared him off for me.

I absolutely love the argument that women need to get married to clean the house for men so men will live longer. Yup, because that's a daily concern of mine. He says by not marrying men, we are killing them. He just criminalized single women. I am currently committing the crime of murder for not being married. Pfee! He does make men so unappealing that I am sitting here and thinking, Thank god.

What is wrong with the man who invests himself emotionally and buys the ring? Is that not being a man? Is it something to look down upon? If that's the case, then holy god I've started the wrong kind of blog here.

Edit: Vince wrote a response here.