Double Blind

Janelle has been talking to a friend of a friend via text. They made plans to meet up last night. I think both Janelle and "Kevin" believed this might be an awkward first meeting, so they each decided to bring a friend. Always ready for an adventure and sans other plans, I excitedly agreed.

How bad could it be after all?

All I knew about the kid was that he was apparently funny and had red hair. We will call him "Doug". Janelle barely knew "Kevin" anyway, and we figured we'd save questions involving work and hobbies for the bar.

We arrived, dressed to the nines (figuring we'd want to look good if we had to escape) at a relatively casual bar. We began with a rather normal introduction. Unfortunately "Doug" was not remotely my type. Janelle lucked out, but neither seemed to be a great catch. We arrived and they'd already had three rounds, "Doug's" choice of drink being Disaronno on the rocks. Seriously? Amaretto?

I tried to think positive.

We ordered our vodka tonics for ourselves and neither guy even offered to pay. We discussed work, and mentioned our administrative jobs at pretty major financial firms. Both guys looked dumb founded and hadn't heard of either. Perplexed, I made my usual witty jokes. Few of which garnered laughs from the Red. He mostly looked confused and seriously didn't know what house music was.

One vodka tonic quickly turned into four. "Kevin" was generous enough to buy a round of shots also.

Finally we left the first bar and moved onto another with more of a party atmosphere. And an incredibly favorable girl:guy ratio.

Janelle and I ordered another drink, and "Doug" ran off to find his man crush.

YES!

Freed of this roundish and fire-colored burden, I looked around and tried to pick out someone more attractive and on my level of normalcy. I chatted it up with a few of the guys, exchanging numbers with one (a cage fighter whose abs felt rock hard through his shirt). I danced around, chugged beers with a new friend, and snapped pics of Janelle and "Kevin" making out at the bar.

At least one of us was getting lucky.

Soon after I forgot about "Doug", the lights went on and the bouncers ushered us out of the bar. I found Janelle and "Kevin" and was then forced to walk back to the car with them and "Doug".

Gag.

I tried to jump into the passengers seat as quickly as I could, but "Doug" pulled me back. He instructed me to give Janelle and "Kevin" some alone time before they left.

Gag.

He then pushed me up against a neighboring SUV and told me to kiss him. WHAT? I refused and tried moving around. He went in for the smooch, and when I pulled away, he tried again.

OHMYGOD.

Never again.

The Leach

Janelle is one of my best friends, and one with whom I usually have successful manhunting adventures. She is much more a relationship person than yours truly, and even refers to some of our Single Friend adventures as "husband hunting". Though neither of us are ready for a sparkly rock, she does bring up a good point in looking for a guy who isn't going to be just a fling.

Well, around New Year's... She found one.

They began with a whirlwind romance. Texting and calling each other regularly, planning their Valentine's Day getaway, and even (prematurely) meeting each other's parents.

Janelle was happy with this situation. She liked him and saw that he had potential. I witnessed some uber-adorable PDA and, though happy for Janelle, was concerned I would be losing one of my few Single Friends.

That is until they had sex.

The guy came to visit her on a Sunday, which they spent having brunch with another couple and wandering around the city. Throughout their day, they (attempted) intercourse FIVE times. And each time, poor Janelle barely got off before it was over. Two minutes. Done and done. So in one day they had sex for a total of ten minutes.

So much for that perfectly (if not too quickly) blossoming relationship. Thank God she took the car for a test drive.

At this point poor Janelle was unbelievably turned off. She wanted to give him the axe. How could this work if the sex was so TERRIBLE?

Belinda and I kind of felt bad for the guy. Janelle has to be the hottest girl he's ever hooked up wth. He was surely nervous and intimidated. And he was great in every other aspect, so why not give him a shot?

I will tell you why. Note that this was +/-3 Weeks into their "relationship" and he was already calling her his girlfriend. To complete strangers. And to Janelle. Problem #2? Yes.

And there was more. When Two Minute Man came to visit Janelle another time, he parked in a garage where he had to give the attendant his keys. Upon returning to his car, he noticed his bag of pot and pool stick were missing. (Pool stick? Appparently he's really into playing pool. Put this on the Cons list as well). A couple days went by and Janelle hadn't really been as warm as fuzzy as before, trying to detach herself slowly and avoid hurt feelings.

A bunch of us were at a bar watching the NFL Playoffs, eating, drinking, and having a great time. Well, Two Minute Man realized he was incredibly angry about his pot getting stolen. Dumbass. So while we're trying to enjoy Sunday Funday, Two Minute Man was NONSTOP texting Janelle, saying he was going drive an hour to beat up the parking garage attendant and asking her to leave the bar. She was giving him the cold shoulder and he wasn't getting it. Trying to calm him down and it wasn't working. Two Minute was turning into a leach.

This continued throughout the entire afternoon. He would call, she would try her best to be nice but firm. But essentially, the Two Minute LEACH was driving her crazy. I was starting to understand her frustration. He was latching on AND bad in bed? No good. Utterly terrible if you ask me.

This nonsense continued for a few more days. The Leach incessantly called, texted, etc. He was even bothering Janelle at work on numerous occassions when she wasn't immediately responding to his texts. Clearly he wasn't getting it. Claiming she was uber busy and couldn't talk at work, she began to "dump him" via text.

After three weeks of not really dating, you aren't technically dumping someone after all.

Once again, the Leach failed to understand that there might be an issue. He proceeded to tell Janelle that she was perfect and everything he was looking for. She became more and more disgusted with his nonsense and had to start getting mean. And he still wasn't getting it. This went on for far too long, until Leach decided to give up with Janelle and call her best friend Lila for a more in depth explanation.

Poor Lila had to try to smooth things over while somehow getting the Leach to understand Janelle was done with him.

Yet even still, he wasn't getting it. Two weeks after she had stopped talking to him, she was home for a party. He was asking if he could come see her after work.

The Leach is either dumb or oblivious, but she gave up on even answering his desperate texts.

Sad, really. Since the Leach had such potential. But it does make me wonder if we girls seem this pathetic when we aren't getting the hint. I mean, she told him straight out she didn't want to do whatever they were doing anymore. But he still wanted to try, try again. Was he genuinely that interested in her or just bothered that he was (harshly) rejected? Either way, things may have moved a bit fast. I just hope I'm never as dumb as the Leach.

Turned Tables?

My best guy friend Porter has a friend, Dirk, who has become a part of our core group over the last couple of years. So we have developed a friendship as well. Nothing out of the ordinary. He's offered career advice and what not, and I'm pretty sure until recently he thought I was an out of control wild child. I've asked him to lunch, not thinking it was anything but platonic.

But then a few times he asked what I was doing and to hang out. Uh oh. Was he crushing on me and thinking my touchy nature meant I was flirting? Or just desperate for a new friend who was chatty and revealed her entire life story on one train ride? Not sure. He often made half-serious self-depreciating remarks and still whined over his ex-girlfriend a year later.

Seraphina tried to encourage me to go out with him. I was completely disturbed by this idea. Not only was he freakishly nerdy, he was very much like my dad. Some say this is a good thing. The similarities were not attractive. Especially since their wardrobes were almost exactly the same despite a thirty year age gap. And when I was bringing up all the reasons why I would NEVER date Dirk, Seraphina said "well, he doesn't like to go out".

DING, DING, DING! If that's not a red flag, then I don't know what is. Granted I'm not trying to date someone as crazy as I am (that would be toxic) but Dirk is the guy who sits in the corner alone! And cries over an ex? Even worse. It's just crazy to me that this one time a guy is maybe interested, and actually knows me for ME...Not the crazy girl at the bar, he's an utter disaster. No self esteem and an emo? No thanks.

Life Lessons

On a whim, I decided to order some dating advice books from Amazon.com. While I frequent the library, I am far too ashamed to check out Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man. I will keep y'all posted as to what tips these genius authors have to offer.

Jekyll & Hyde

So after my blackout hookup (does it qualify as a hook up?) with Cornell and thinking back on past situations that were not dissimilar, I have concluded that I am a drunk slut.

No, but really. Sober I am a good girl who can say no with conviction no matter how badly I'd like to get in a boy's pants. I'm smart, polite and even rather articulate. But drunk me lacks all control and logic, and is more often than not freakishly horny.

Bad? Not for the guys on the recieving end. But for me, the next morning is always a painful puzzle. I am missing sections and piecing together how one thing led to another and why my clothes are on the floor rather than my body. In college, I found this perfectly acceptable. But now, a year and a half after recieving that life-altering diploma, I am starting to lose respect for myself. While these hookups now occur once every few months, when I find an occasion worthy of drinking to forget, I am still bothered by the mere thought of it happening again. But yet, it always does. Sober me freaks out about what a horrible impression I've made and how publicly embarassing I probably acted. Nevermind the whole one-night-standish-thing: the being "easy". Too much liquid courage and all shame is out the door. I'd like to think others involved can separate these two me's from each other, but I know this is not the case. I'm just hoping that perhaps the new year will mean the end of my blackout hookups; that I've learned my lesson and I can start fresh. Unfortunately, there are a few too many guys who experienced me blackout and while I don't remember a thing, I'm sure they always will.

The Aftermath

I have already concluded that I crush too hard. Over the weekend after I texted Cornell (and his responses were normal), I wasn't feeling so full of regret. But now I keep thinking that I screwed it all up. I got drunk and publicly assaulted the kid, and gave most everything up the first time we hung out alone. I figure he won't be calling. I mean, why would he?

Obviously I can't turn back time. And had I not thought he were a decent guy, I wouldn't care. But I tried and then I messed up and I guess now I just have to deal with it. And try not to screw it up again when someone new comes along.

Minor Vindication?

I went out with Seraphina and her ex-but-current boyfriend last night, to the same place where Middlebury, Cornell and I had a snack and a shot. Figuring it couldn't hurt, I asked the waiter if perhaps a black velvet blazer had been left behind a couple nights before?

A moment later he appeared, a vision in an apron, toting my lost jacket.

So obviously I had to text Cornell to inform him.

He responded right away and we kept the convo short. But of course, he was just so damn sweet again. Perhaps I confuse his nice-ness with his liking me, I don't know. But now that my jacket has miraculously appeared (and Cornell acted normal via text), I feel slightly less filled with regret. Obviously, the post cocktail party behavior was not my best. But I am no longer out a hundred bucks, and I didn't have to feel like a pscyho when texting Cornell. Granted, I still hope he calls (he won't). And even if he still has my panties, I declare it his loss.

Cliche of the Day

Sometimes classy girls do unclassy things.

Just had to remind myself.

Oops, I Did It AGAIN

So, I acted as Cornell's plus one at this little cocktail party. Things went well: I looked great, my hair turned out surprisingly perfect, and he gave me a huge hug at the door when I arrived. And he was once again, wonderfully complementry and funny, as I expected. First stop: the bar. Strangely enough, they decided to serve the cocktails in giant glasses. I remained appropriate, calm, and sober for the duration of the party. But my lack of dinner and four enormous cocktails left me feeling pretty good when Cornell, a fellow coworker and I decided to take the party elsewhere.

We went to a restaurant, where Cornell and I split an appetizer. The boys insisted I have another cocktail, which I somewhat reluctantly agreed to. The other guy, Middlebury, decided it would be a great idea to order shots. Not to appear weak, I took mine like the champ I always think I am. The guys paid the bill and we went on to our next location.

This is where things get fuzzy.

All I can really remember is being in the back area of a bar I frequent regularly. Middlebury was floating around, I stood with Cornell. The next thing I remember is pulling him towards me by his tie and essentially raping him at the bar. Well, maybe not rape. I don't recall him protesting. But quite the classy move on my part. I was hoping my days of sloppy public makeouts were over. Wrong per usual.

Next thing I know, I'm naked and in his bed. We didn't have sex, but we (must have) messed around. I do remember him telling me I was hot on at least one occassion. And I think I tried calling him out on being a player, and he told me that was not true. Oh, the lines I fall for.

Eventually we passed out together, me obviously in no shape to drive home.

I awoke the next morning right around dawn, close to Cornell and needing the bathroom. I got up to go but I figured it was too early to leave so after I flushed, I got back in bed. Unfortunately, I couldn't sleep. Cornell turned over and spooned me for a while, but once he moved further away (and I saw the sun was coming up over the buildings outside), I crawled out of bed. I tried to be sneaky and not wake him, hoping to avoid an awkward goodbye.

My plan failed. Surprise!

I looked around and tried to gather my things, but I could not locate the jacket I had worn to the cocktail party over my dress. Speaking of dress, where was that? I spotted it across the room on the floor. My tights were strewn on a chair, and my coat was carelessly thrown on the couch. Shoes were easy to locate. But I still couldn't find that jacket. Cornell woke up and asked me if I was leaving.

Duh.

I told him about my missing jacket and he told me to turn on the lights. I did, but my jacket remained elusive. As did my black lace boyshorts. I told him I just had to go but he told me to take my shit with me. I told him this jacket was not find-able and that perhaps it was at the bar. He reminded me that I was pretty drunk the night before. Ouch? I threw my coat on, said see ya later (there's that awkward good-bye), and let the door slam behind me.

I was traumatized to be missing this jacket, since I had purchased it only a few days before. I prayed all of the next day for a text that it was under his couch or behind his bed, but none came. I called the bar before making a move. No jacket there. Finally, a little more than 24 hours after leaving his apartment, I inquired. No jacket at his place either. Evidently I threw $98 and my dignity away at the bar. Cornell was nice about it, always great at covering up his jerk-dom. I also told him that the other 'thing' I had left (panties), I wasn't concerned about. He'd figured. Thank goodness I at least wore sexy underwear.

So that was that. I did it again. I got blackout drunk and hooked up with a guy. But this one I actually LIKE(D) and would have definitely TRIED to play hard to get with. That is, had I had 5 fewer cocktails. WHYYY do I always do this to myself? Get wasted, aggressive, and he now probably thinks I am a whore. Which for all I know, he thought before anyway. But he just acts like such a sweetheart. He is still a frat guy, I suppose. And he did go MIA for an entire month. At least I have comfort in the fact that I most likely will never see him again, unless he initiates contact. Of course I am hoping he will, forgiving my drunken antics and for some reason wanting to hang out with me (and my apparently hot self) again. I want to think he actually might like me? As a friend? Piece of ass? Even more unlikely, given the whole disappearing act. I guess my worst fear has come true, and he is in fact, just like that guy who dropped off the face of the earth after getting (at least some of) what he wanted.

Second Time Around

Recently, I went to the city to celebrate Karlene's birthday, along with 20 or so of our closest college friends. Among those was a frat boy who I'd once had a fling with. Not exactly a fling. I had one of those weird nerdy-crushes on him and eventually one night we ended up drunk and in my dorm room. Clothes came off and one thing led to another.

Unfortunately this frat boy, let's call him...iBanker, had too much jungle juice and things just weren't happening for him. I tried to do what I could, but whiskey really had his dick. I don't exactly recall how the night ended. He may have slept over or he may have fled from embarassment. But, not surprisingly, he was often rather awkward when we ran into each other around campus.

But anyway, here he was at Karlene's big 2-3. Janelle didn't go to college with us, so she wanted the scoop on the guys in attendance. She commented on iBanker and I informed her that I had been there, done that. I looked around and tried to set my sights elsewhere.

This attempt failed and after a few drinks, I decided that iBanker deserved another shot. My friend Matilda also said rumor was he was well endowed. And I may or may not have been attracted to his shiny watch and well, title as an iBanker. So I put on my game face, and a few minutes later he was buying me a drink at the bar. Shortly after that, we were making out on the dance floor.

Whoops?

Then I was, alwasys easily persuaded, in a cab en route to his apartment, leaving Janelle and Korey to fend for themselves (sorry, girls). We chatted and smooched and I think we may have even held hands. He waved hello to his doorman and up to his apartment we went.

And OhMyGod was the second time better. We moved around, messed around, and I can in fact confirm Matilda's rumor.

I awoke the next morning, confused about my whereabouts until seeing iBanker's fraternity paddle. He wasn't in bed, so I gathered my things from the nightstand (read: earrings, thong, cell phone) and put my FMP's back on, preparing for the walk of shame. When I stood, it felt as though I had pulled a muscle in my hip area. Successful night? I think so.

iBanker was reading in his living room, and I'm sure it was something far beyond my scope of intelligence. He said he didn't want to wake me up and got up to peck me good-bye. I shut the door to the apartment, and slightly limped toward the elevator. Jacketless in November and wearing snakeskin shoes, I reluctanctly said good morning to the doormen (so much for sneaking out). But as I hid my face and walked to get a cab, I couldn't help but be happy it was better the second time around.