Twos

The last two days have been filled with pairs. At first, I didn't even notice it. And then, it started to become a little more obvious. Allow me to explain:

Number of exes that have professed their desire to get back together: 2.
Number of exes that I believe are completely full of it when it comes to trying again: 2.
Number of times I've been approached about going on a date with someone from Facebook: 2.
Number of times I said I'd do it if for no other reason than for the story: 2.
Number of guys in or around my office who have a crush on me: 2.
And so, you see the theme.

I've always suspected that the Titan hangs around as an insurance policy. I think he's got me as a back up plan -- in the event he doesn't find something better, he knows that I'll make a good to decent wife (his words). Yesterday was the first time he finally admitted to wanting to try again. But, wait for it. Did he ask me out at that point? Nope. He said he wanted to try it again, and I quote: "down the line." To quote SiQ's sister, what in the fresh hell is that?! Is there no honor in dating anymore? Isn't that one of those things you keep inside your head? Perhaps it would have been more effective if he just said to me "hey, if we're both still single in 5 years, let's get married, k?" Ohhh wait, he has said that to me. Look man, you're really good at helping me with my fantasy team and all, but kick rocks. We are so not going to get back together.

Side note? He came out of left field, showing signs of intelligence again. I said to him: "hey, what would we talk about if we never talked about football?" And he says, "lots of things. Like, how about Obama withdrawing the troops out of the Middle East. What do you think about that? I think it's about time." Zwrrrrrrrr. Say what? Who are you?!

Anyway, when I was working at my first job, I learned a valuable lesson about going out with people who work places where you frequent. After a brief interaction with 'bux (this guy), I became intimately familiar with the awkwardness that happens when it doesn't work out. (Remember this?) The lesson is, if you go there often, do NOT go out on a date with these people, unless you're prepared to change your routine in its entirety if things go south. This rule is particularly important at your local Starbucks, the gym, your office, and anywhere else you're bound to be at least once a week. Sadly, the only two people on the planet who have a crush on me are stationed at my local Starbucks and my office building. The Starbucks guy has been professing his crush for almost as long as I've been at this job. Fortunately, he's bought the excuse that I've got a boyfriend for most of that time. (It helps that he was there when Astro went to get me a chai -- back when he was doing an effective job of courting me). This Starbucks guy also has a kid and is still in school. Furthermore, I'm just not interested in seeing him naked. Like, ever. So...pass on that. It would for sure end, it would be awkward, and then I'd have to re-route my 'bux habit. Nobody wants that.

The other guy, is the doorman in my office building. It took a minute for him to build up to actually expressing his crush. In fact, he hasn't actually claimed it, yet. But it's officially the worst kept secret. He gives me a hard time, which is fun. He always holds the elevator door open for me, and walks across the lobby with me to the backdoor. It's pretty endearing. But, it would be even more awkward when it didn't work out!* He works at the door of the building for heaven's sake. There is no getting around seeing him after a breakup. We'll just have to maintain our relationship at the lobby flirting level :).

Meanwhile, the date with Mr. Smiling Irish Eyes did not happen on Monday (much to the chagrin of friends everywhere). There is a possibility that it could happen tomorrow, because the plans which were made were tentative. We'll see. I promise an update if it happens!

Hmm, maybe all these twos have a lot to do with the weather. I always say, when it gets cold out, the snow bunnies start looking for someone to pair up with. All we need now is for one of these snow bunnies to be my kind of snow bunny.


*For the record, I'm making a lot of assumptions here. It's not that I think I'm hot stuff. By the way, my proof came today when he told me that since we were fighting, he thought we should kiss and make up. I giggled -- it was kinda funny.

So worth it!

As we learned in the last post, a good story is always worth the hassle. Well, I tested this theory again earlier this week.

On Tuesday, Astro called me (out of the blue)* and asked me to go with him to a political fundraiser (aka networking event). Given my desire to raise my status as a super connector, I agreed to go.

When we got there, it quickly became apparent that I was going to have to make an adjustment to my strategy. Back when Astro was a "current" rather than an "ex" boyfriend, I'd often be more of a Jackie O rather than a Michelle O**. But, as an ex, I'm no longer obligated to fulfill that role. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, just a matter of course. So, we separate, and he goes off to meet his next investor, and I go off to meet my next sucker, er, client.

As I'm speaking to a woman, there is a guy who is standing a few yards away. He is oh, maybe just under 6 feet tall, has slicked back dark hair; a gray gimlet patterned suit, with a shiny blue tie; a shiny and obvious watch, and a tan. Basically, if someone were to play him in a movie, it'd be Robert De Niro (before he went gray). Oh, except Italian, he was Irish. (We'll get to how I know that in a minute.) So, I'm talking to this lady, and smiling Irish eyes says "wait a second...did she (meaning me) just say she's married?!" Ok. Entertaining, sure. I did like the boldness, that was cool. But, whatevs. The lady and I continue our conversation. Shortly thereafter, smiling Irish eyes says "hey Mrs. Irish Eyes, what would you like to drink?" (Ok, stop. Before you get all excited, we were at an event with an open bar.) The lady I'd been talking to was getting ready to leave, on her way out she says "this is the type of event where you could end up getting married. (sly smile)."

Well, Mr. smiling Irish eyes gets my white wine and hands it to me. I thank him for it, and he pulls me to the bar, and offers me a seat. He says "you're too beautiful to be standing." (Yes really, I'm so not making this up.) We chat for 3 minutes, he tells me he's Irish, and a friend of his walks over. The friend of SIE ask me who I came with and what he does. So I say I came with a friend who is a venture capitalist. Mr. SIE says "my friend and I are venture capitalists. We just put an in-flux of money into the economy whenever we go shopping. I always buy women's clothes and jewelry but I have nothing to do with it."***

Now, this guy is laying it on pretty thick, to the point of being comical. Except, he's being totally serious. Anyway, he goes on to say that if I want to get married, his friend is a rabbi so the friend can marry us upstairs.**** I politely decline the marriage proposal. So, it's time for them to go. Mr. SIE asks for my card, which I hand over. (Like I said, there may be a legit business prospect there, but I can't remember what he said he did. Mainly because I wasn't listening closely enough to retain anything he said). He then reaches in his pocket to hand me his card. And....it's his Amex Platinum. Yes, dear readers. He actually hands me his Amex. Now, we've just taken the evening to a whole new level. I don't even know what the appropriate reaction is at this point.

So, I'm telling this story to my co-workers, and they're all equally horrified. And so I say, well I'll let you know how the date goes. One of the girls says, "wait, what? You're actually going out with this guy?!" So, I look at her dead in the eye: "hell yeah! Either way, I get paid...either a nice dinner OR actual business because the dude has money. Either way it works out for me. And anyway, when a chance like this comes, you always ALWAYS go all in just for the story!"

So, here's hoping the sequel is just as good as the first story. Oh smiling Irish eyes, what else could you possibly bring?



*Side note? You know what really puts a bee in my bonnet? People who don't return messages -- voice OR texts! And, frankly, I'm tired of hearing that he's "busy." As near as I can tell, he just dix around all day on the computer and goes to "meetings" (most assuredly those meetings are with his dealer. If you ask me). Anyway, I don't care how damn busy a person is, unless your last name is preceded by "President of the United States" you are NOT THAT DAMN BUSY. PICK UP YOUR PHONE!!!! Ok, side bar over.

**In other words, a Jackie O is a pretty girl that is seen and not heard (and likely running ish in the background). A Michelle O is ahead of her game, and doin' her own thang (and STILL running ish in the background).

***Yes, really. I'm not making this up!

****Nearly forgot the best part. The event was held at the set of the recently cancelled "Playboy Club." Yup. Just adds a layer of shenanigans, doesn't it?

The Story that Almost Was

This weekend I travelled to Seattle to lay some smack down on Conference First Timers. The flight out west is sooooo far. (It's halfway to London for heaven's sake!!)

Anyway, I managed to get myself a window seat on the plane, and in a row where the middle seat was empty. Score! So, after making polite small talk, the guy on the aisle fell silent...leaving me the opportunity to engage in a power nap. Well, when I woke up a short while later (deep, satisfying sleep turned out to be elusive), I discovered that the once vacant middle seat had been occupied. Boo Hiss Boo!! The guy that sat there was a guy who apparently was a comedian. He was travelling to Seattle for a show, but he wasn't famous (seriously -- the guy in the aisle actually asked him that!).

Turns out, he moved to our section because he was going to go crazy. He'd been sitting next to a guy that apparently believed showering was optional. And, behind him, the kid that had been disturbing all of us with his cries of "no! No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" had also been kicking the back of his seat. He said it was so bad that he gave up the window seat to move into a middle seat. He feared that if he hadn't, he would've been the subject of every passenger's conversation: "OMG! Did you see that black guy who....". And so, I ended up with a new seatmate.

For the first hour of the 4 hour tour, he and I didn't really chat. It wasn't until snack time came around that we really started chatting. The comedian was living in NYC, but originally from Philly. He graduated with a degree in engineering, but decided to try pursuing comedy instead. He would be in Seattle for 2 days, and performing 2 shows. We discussed everything from television to seafood. We even stuck together for the walk from the airplane to the baggage claim. He asked for my card, and promised to get in touch later.

Now, I know you're all dying to know. Did I find him attractive? Could I see myself moving to NYC for him? Would I DO him?!!?! The answer is no. He just wasn't necessarily my type. (And by not necessarily, I mean not at all). But, I was really amped up about the whole scene because I have NEVER been hit on while I was on a plane. I'm just not the type of girl that gets looked at twice on a plane. Nor do I have the type of luck that involves a man giving me a second look when alcohol is not involved.* So, I was extra excited about having airplane comedian get in contact with me. (And for the record, I was exercising my right not to wear makeup that day).

Turns out, he did shoot me an email. And, we made tentative plans. I was totally in it, just for the story. Why? Because I love you, dear readers. I was going to endure what could turn out to be a disaster date just for y'all. Well, I met him at the comedy club where he was doing his show...and DL Hugley showed up! After that, he was free to head out, so he did a quick change and took me out for cocktails and dessert. Believe it or not, he had flowers waiting backstage for me! They were gorgeous!! (Admittedly, my first thought was: "how the eff am I going to get these back home on the plane?"). He took me to a great little bistro that....just kidding. None of that ever happened. Sadly, it never happened. Our schedules just didn't match up. But, just knowing that I almost got a date with a guy from the plane is bound to make a girl feel good!


*Or, when he isn't a homeless guy on the street. Or, a guy that just wants a hug. (eyeroll).

What would you do?

I'm reading a great book called The $64 Dollar Tomato. It's a memoir of one man's quest for the perfect garden. Naturally, hilarity ensues. There is a moment where the author begins to wonder whether the gardening has lost it's magic, and it's no longer worth the effort. He quotes a great philosopher (I'm too lazy to get up and find the quote, but I think it's Sartre), asking "if you had to live the same life over and over again, would you pick the one you have now?

I think I can answer that question without much thought. My response? Is HELLLLLL NAWWWWW. But to know that you don't want to repeat your life as is isn't really going far enough. You have to figure out what you want. In a moment of introspection, I've been trying to figure that out. And you know what I've figured out? I want to be a Real Housewife of OC.

As I've contemplated my options, I can't say that when I'm fantasizing about the perfect life I'm picturing anything that involves going to work everyday. And I can say without hesitation that I don't dream of owning my own business. You know what I dream about? I dream about going to the gym for a couple hours a day, putting together fabulous meals, and throwing lavish parties. And let us not forget the hours spent in a huge closet (and shopping to fill that closet). The moments I do have miniature fantasies about work, they tend to center around big board meetings, in which everyone in the room is scared of ticking me off. (AKA being on the Board of a charitable organization).

Although the shopping and the lavish decorations are part of the fantasy, the part I usually concentrate on is spending time with my significant other and good friends. I think about owning a house with a great big porch or patio or some kickass outdoor area. Sometimes I dream of having a pretty flower garden. (Oddly, I never picture myself gardening). Oh, and I also dream about getting it on with my significant other on a very regular basis...just sayin'.

All this introspection leads me to believe that I truly do aspire to be an OC housewife! I wonder if that means I'm destined to be a reality TV star too? Hmm...methinks a career change is in order. I'm ready for my contract, BravoTV. ;)

What the...?!?!

So, I started writing a post that was all kinds of introspective. But the St. Christopher gerwertztraminer kinda snuck up on me. So, instead, I am posting a reader submission. (One should never drink and blog.) Please see below.

My cousin sent this to me as a submission for the hot daggone mess portion chapter of the book. Can I just say, I'm traumatized? Possibly for life. Bad fashion is one thing. But this goes beyond bad fashion to straight out assault and battery on my eyes. To quote a recent commenter...what in the sam damn hell?! *shudder*