Live.to.the.point.of.tears

Locate your balls and use them.

So I knew when we talked last night that I was sending this guy mixed messages. But today I started to get kinda pissed, like, This is guy is totally crossing a boundary I set. He admits now he has NO friends in San Diego. So I explained that and said it’s not a good idea for him to come down and thanks for understanding. I like “thanks for understanding” because it shuts the door politely but firmly. And he writes back, “I was never assuming I would stay with you.” Oh REALLY? You were planning on catching a cab to Grandma’s at 2 a.m.? Then he wrote that he thinks I misread him and he wasn’t trying to “woo” me and I should call him next time I’m in OC. Hmm. OK, well, so my Saturday night just opened up, who’s in??

"Are there any guys out there who are JUST NORMAL?! HUH?!" ~ Roadtrip

I met this cute guy a few Saturdays ago, we danced, hung out, talked about life, had some beers, and made out. I’m cool with that. Making out is fun once in a while when you’re single. I mean, the dude lives in Orange County, is divorced, and has a kid (1, 2, 3 strikes you’re out …). Well, afterward he’s like, “Can I get your number for when I come down in San Diego,” so I say yes, reluctantly, thinking, Man, it was just a makeout and a little conversation — can’t we just leave it at that and call it a day? And wouldn’t you know, I hear from him on Sunday. And Monday. And Wednesday — which is when he calls me in THE MIDDLE OF MY WORKDAY to offer me this plan: Why don’t I drive up to Orange County Friday night and we’ll go out on a boat and have dinner and wine and go dancing. First of all, who calls it “dancing”? Second: Pump. The. Brakes. I’m not going to come stay at your house, I don’t even know you. Even if I did know you and you did live in San Diego, you’re not exactly my ideal situation. Where did you say you worked again, the BAGGAGE claim? Did I mention his ex-wife is the sister of a girl I know from high school? I went to their house for her graduation party. So he’s on the phone and I’m panicking, stammering, “Uh, well, I think I might have stuff to do … uh, I mean, I have a dog, so that’s tricky.” And he says, “No problem, I have a huge backyard, you can bring her.” AHHH! I finally say I’ll get back to him later, getting off the phone feeling so awkward, OBVIOUSLY HE KNEW I WAS STALLING, except an hour later he texts me: “Just talked to my friends who are getting a cabin in Big Bear on Saturday, there’s tons of room, so you should come with me!” To a snowy cabin, with all his friends and their wives and girlfriends. And me. Makes perfect sense, because WE JUST MET 3 DAYS AGO. At this point I’m picturing getting to Big Bear and oops — all his friends canceled and it’s just us and a romantic fireplace, and did I want to meet his parents? I’m thinking, I am going to have to have the “I think you’re a really cool guy but I’m just not looking for anything” talk with this guy ALREADY. Goodness. I tell him I’ll call him that night, and when I do he launches into “getting to know you” mode, asking me what I do for fun, etc. UGH. I finally say, “Listen, I have to be honest with you, I just got out of a relationship like, a week ago, and I’m really not looking for anything. I think you’re a fun guy and I’d be fine to grab drinks or something if you were in San Diego, but I’m not going to come stay at your house. And if you were to come down, you’d stay with a friend, you know?” Now is when he does the typical backpedaling, “Oh, right, of course, I’m not looking for anything either. Cool well, we’ll just be in touch!” Um. OK. I feel better. And scene …. A month goes by … I start thinking it would be kinda nice to go on a dinner date with someone, and the bat signal must have gone out, because the guy texts me out of the blue. “Hey, it’s going to be a fun weekend up in OC, you should come up.” Wha?? I say, “I can’t, I have a yoga class and a haircut on Saturday.” OK, guys, when a girl says she can’t get together with you because she’s GETTING A HAIRCUT, this is about as blatant as it gets that she’s not interested. But stupid me, I have Chandler Bing syndrome where you can’t stop saying, “Let’s do this again sometime,” and I offer for him to come to San Diego. WHY??? I don’t know. I’m bored. I thought it would be fun to grab dinner and a drink (see what I did there, I said “grab,” which is much more causal than “have”) and he IS a nice, good-looking guy, a little vanilla maybe, but hey, how bad could it be? He’s knows I’m not looking to date him. He KNOWS that, right? I tell my girlfriends he’s coming, and they all immediately ask, Is he staying with you?? And I say, “Nooo, of course not.” See that, that’s foreshadowing! He calls me last night and asks what we’re going to do, and I say, probably just grab dinner and then go out downtown, and does he have any friends he wants to invite along? And he says: “No, I don’t really know anyone down there.” Wait, WHAT? What happened to those buddies you’d be coming to see? I mean, when I met him, he was with a friend from college who lives in San Diego, so I ask about that guy, and SUDDENLY he’s not that good of friends with that dude after all. He says, “Well, we’re not that close of friends. He’s actually more of a mutual friend. Before that one weekend, I hadn’t hung out with him in 6 months.” What. The. Fuck. Now I see what’s happening, he’s trying to stay with me. No, he IS staying with me now. Shady. Then he starts talking about sushi and sake and drinks after dinner and a drink before dinner, and I’m like, “That sounds like a lot of drinking,” and he says, “You’ve been known to have a few drinks.” DUDE, you met me fresh off a breakup, letting loose with some of my best friends, I spotted you from the start and wanted to make out, and we made out. Relax. It didn’t mean anything. Then, here’s the ouch part: He asks, “What else have you been up to? Been traveling at all?” WHAT, traveling? Next, you should ask me how the weather has been, if I have any brothers or sisters. Is this how awkward our dinner is going to be?? He closes the conversation by saying he’ll see me for our date “that isn’t a date.” I don’t know what the fuck that means, but obviously he hasn’t been listening to one thing I’ve said, because I, in no uncertain terms, already explained that we are not going to be together and you are not going to stay at my house. In conclusion, now I have to call this guy AGAIN and give him a heads up that if he plans to stay with me, he is sleeping on the couch, and maybe he’ll say, Nevermind, I’m not coming now, but I doubt it. Because guys like this don’t quit. They think you’re being shy. They think you’re being coy, playing hard to get. They’ll think they’re getting laid up until the last minute when you shut your bedroom with them on the wrong side. They’ll think you’re going to date them until you literally get another boyfriend. You can say you’re not looking for anything, and mean it, but they still hear, “I’m just a scared little kitten, waiting for the right guy to come take care of me.” But you know what, it’s not going to happen. I know what I want, and it’s pretty specific, and it doesn’t involve someone else’s 2 year old and it doesn’t involve trickery or being pushy. But lucky for you, it’s a darn comfy couch.

Update: I texted him to let him know he’d be sleeping on the sofa and he wrote back, “No problem, I can STAY AT MY GRANDMA’S HOUSE if need be.” I just died a little inside.

Foiled!

Did you know that Starbucks Iced Brewed Coffee is “lightly sweetened,” giving it 90 calories for a Grande?!

If you want the 15-calorie drink you thought you’d been ordering this whole time, you have to order the Iced Caffe Americano.

Right, I mean, why didn’t you know that?? Grrr.

Boobs. Read on.

Me: I feel like my boobs are shrinking, they feel small.
F: They are small.
Me: What??
F: You have small boobs.
Me: I do? No I don’t … They’re a C.
F: Ha, no they’re not.
Me: (Cupping them defensively) They are! I wear a size large bikini top! I’ve been measured. (I have not.)
F: They’re not tiny, but they’re definitely small.
Me: No …

You don’t understand. Years (see: three; middle school) of torture, of grief and sadness, of boys taunting, “Do you even need to wear a bra?”, of Gwynn Jarrell telling everyone I wore a padded bra, were supposed to be have been negated by my having big boobs. I was supposed to be laughing in the face of my 7^th grade self, as Mike Malloy and I went underwear shopping in the Calvin Klein section of Macy’s when I was 15, and he was dating Jenny Schultz but went with me anyway, and I tried on a 34 C and fit into it and he was impressed. I was supposed to be silently mocking all those boys from my past as I strode by them with my big boobs; they would regret all the times on the bus when they called me flat as Kansas.

Don’t misunderstand, I never thought of myself as someone with BIG boobs, not like Jessica Simpson or something. But big, bigger than a lot of people, bigger than average. The word small made me gasp.

Now I can’t get this out of my head. I see myself a whole new way now. It’s not that I don’t like little boobs, I do. Nice ones, perky ones. F didn’t even care about boobs; he’s a butt guy. I just feel like 15 years of my life have been a misperception.

I still think they’re nice. People who know them well have told me they’re nice. I just feel like I see myself as a whole different girl. I feel like I’m 15 again.

I'll come to our high school reunion if I can put this on an index card and hand it out to everyone.

Oh hey, how are you? I think the last time I saw you was when I had a MySpace, or maybe it was when we were taking shots at O’Malley’s three Christmases ago. What are you up to? That’s awesome! I have heard that’s a cool place to live. Oh, you’re married? You met on eHarmony? Wow, that’s really great. Me? I’m still in San Diego. Mmm, I do love it. Well, I write books … Um, mostly self-help, relationships, marriage, babies. No, I’m not married and I don’t have kids. Right, I know, it’s ironic. Yes, it is very rewarding. Nope, haven’t published my own book yet … No, I don’t have a Facebook page, sorry. Sure, let’s get a drink.