Tag Archives: misc

Welcome to the Office Slut Club

With the exception of my steadfast determination to hook up with San Fran Crush (one of my personal favorite tales of singlehood), I have made it a general rule not to hook up with co-workers.

As of last night, so much for that.

On a side note – it has come to my attention that some of my co-workers are also closet RFTL fans. (Hi guys! Yes, I know you’re reading.) As such, I am going to have to omit a certain level of detail for the sake of professionalism. And not having a line form for the office slut now that the rule has been broken.

Keep your inquiries to yourselves, gentlemen. This is not a circus ride.

So last night, I ran into a co-worker at a bar. We have known each other for a while, but never been single at the same time. Until now. He joined my group of friends, and we all had a great time hanging out. We flirted harmlessly, but I never found myself thinking “Gee, I hope I wake up with you tomorrow! That sounds swell.”

At the end of the night, one of my girlfriends got a little too tipsy. And by tipsy, I mean physically tipping while trying to walk. To prevent her from getting date raped, mugged, or carried off by a large bird, I decided to take her back to my place and put her to bed.

As I wrapped my arm around her and limped out of the bar, it was obvious that I needed some help. Enter: co-worker. He helped me get her the two blocks back to my place, and played with my dogs as I moved the trash can next to the bed for her.

Now, let’s be clear: we were both inebriated. Had this not been the case, I doubt he would have made a move. But when I went to sit near him, things escalated quickly. What can I say, I’m a sucker for a man who strokes my arm sweetly. Such behavior deserves reward.

To be clear for the inevitable office rumors I have just inflicted upon myself, we did not have sex. We did, however, go back to his place for some surprisingly great post-bar action. So good that I would be up for it again if the situation presented itself. Which is saying a lot because that’s the highest level of commitment I give.

It was actually really nice to wake up next to someone I knew was not a serial killer or rapist for once. We’re stepping in a positive direction, people. Be proud of me.

I have absolutely no delusions that this will turn into anything more than hooking up. I very much enjoyed it, but I think we are both on the same page with just wanting some action.

I really am every douchebag’s dream right now, aren’t I?

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Shoes Heal The Heart

As you can imagine, the months following my breakup (from my husband…. nbd…) have been full of ups and downs. Between sobbing in the middle of Macy’s and living it up with multiple one-night stands, life has been interesting.

Yesterday, I wondered what life was like for my ex. Usually, I like to picture him eating day-old fried chicken in his boxers and crying into the empty bucket when it’s gone. But for some reason, yesterday’s curiosity couldn’t be satiated by these hypothetical images. So I decided to look on his Google+ Profile.

Normally, his posts relate to very boring technology news and are supplemented by idiotic comments that use improper grammar (I always knew that should have been a red flag). The latest one, however, was a photo album from Austin’s “Carnaval Brasileiro”…which is apparently an excuse for men to look at women who are wearing only body paint.

My ex sported an open shirt, showing off his newly-waxed chest. Oh baby. Why did I ever let you go. He has many pictures with naked women (yay), but the ones that really bothered me were with normal-looking girls. Nice, wonderful girls who should be warned! The last thing on earth I want is for some unsuspecting female, much like myself, to fall for him. I just want to staple this notice to his forehead so badly:


Ladies, if you see this chest, RUN. RUN AWAY SO FAST. And he should be really upset that he no longer has me to tell him how much he looks like a tool in white pants. Disgusting.

Anyway, my day was very much brightened when I cam home to TWO lovely boxes from ShoeDazzle sitting on my porch. I think I’ve got butterflies again 🙂

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The Truth About Men

Men are simple creatures. Frustrating, beguiling, exhausting, simple creatures. If there is one thing I have learned through a five-year relationship, six month marriage, relationship counseling, and affair recovery retreat, it’s that.

I never understood the games men played until I realized a staggering truth: they don’t play any. If a man contacts you, he probably wants to have sex with you. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t. There are no conversations between him and his best friend on how he should “play hard to get if he really likes you.” There are no phone calls to his mother for advice. There is only one thought in his mind, and it’s a yes or no question that he doesn’t need anyone’s help to answer.

Whether or not we want a man to call does not factor into the equation. Men don’t care if you have been waiting for them for weeks or you never want to hear from them again. They contact you when it’s convenient for them, and are as persistent as they feel like being. I had a friend whose creeper extraordinnaire actually used Google Latitude to track her through the bars in San Francisco.

In the world of dating, if a man you are/were seeing contacts you, it’s usually because he wants something. Likely suspects include: sex, potential for future sex, or food. Does it matter what this message says? Absolutely not. “I am in NYC”  “Crazy weather, huh?”  “How bout those egg McMuffins?” – it’s all the same. It’s an in. Once every couple of weeks, I receive a message from my ex-husband akin to this one:

Call me ASAP, it’s important.
-What do you want?
I got the cable bill forwarded to me and I think you can get a better deal by switching plans. We need to talk about it.
-No, we don’t. Goodbye.

Yes, men are simple – they talk to us when they want to and avoid us when they don’t. But as mentioned, I am of the opinion that the act of them reaching out trumps the actual message content. Those who claim that men say exactly what they mean are full of shit. Case in point:

Let’s watch a movie at my place. Let’s have sex.
Let’s make dinner. You can make me dinner, then let’s have the sex.
Want to go to the movies? I’ll pay for your ticket if we can have sex after.

You see, men are simple – but not stupid. They have learned to adapt to us female folk. They can’t say how badly they want to jump us aloud, because then we won’t let them. As a result, when we think they are playing games to “keeping us guessing,” they are in fact just taking the time to try and form “sleep with me?” into a more socially appropriate question.

So now that we’re clear on that, what does it mean when a man doesn’t call? Not interested. Move on. 

And what does it mean when he won’t stop calling? Desperate as fuck. Run.

Recently, I have become an expert in the latter type of man. Now that my ex no longer has my income to fund his wine & dine sessions with white trash girls, he is the aforementioned desperate moron. Last night, he was on my turf with friends and wanted to know if he could come to my place and visit the dogs. Only if I have a hit man waiting for you instead of the dogs, buddy. After he called seven times and sent text messages containing only question marks, I kicked into expert avoidance mode.  I replied with a simple “No, I am not home,” thus defeating the possibility of his visit.

Pleased with myself, I arrived at the bar to meet my friends. Then suddenly, it dawned on me – he could be there. Okay, it wasn’t very likely – there are hundreds of bars in Austin. But I was afraid nonetheless. Logically, I hid in my car until I could get a hold of a friend to make sure I wouldn’t be solo. As I got a hold of my friend and started to walk to the door, I saw that he texted me. He had just left the very same bar – probably less than a hundred feet away from where I was standing.

The Twilight Zone theme song cued up in my head and I tried my hardest to sink into the night with the help of my black jacket. In true avoider fashion, I didn’t dare reply for fear that he would burst back into the bar and start crying (he cries a lot). In the end, the crisis was averted. Ex avoided. Winning all around.

Yes, he was being a stage five clinger- but can I truly blame him for it? The truth about men is they are not bad people. They know what they want, they do their best to go after it, and they try – however poorly – to disguise their intention to deflower you. Men don’t ponder the meaning of your text message, they just choose whether or not they feel like responding. They are not going to sit around and tell their BFF about every detail – they will take action. Single men see the fact that they are not yet sleeping with you much like they see everything you ever complain about to them: as a problem to be solved.

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