The Four Horsemen of the Dating Apocalypse

I’ve had so many dating fiascos, it should be illegal. With numerous relationships gone awry, I have even contemplated giving up The Dating and joining a convent. Then I remember that the whole “religion” thing would get in the way.

Also, no more drunken mistakes sex.

I digress.

However, despite being unlucky in love, and at the risk of sounding arrogant, this does not mean I am not a desired woman. I’ve had several men pursue me recently, and it has reached levels of effing retardedness I can’t even track.

First of all, I have a sort of, Mini-Stalker, if you will.

Saying “if you will” makes me feel smart.

I say “mini” because he’s not to the level of saving my bubblegum wrappers and making a shrine to me out of strands of my hair. He’s only marginally creepy.

A student at the college at which I work, he habitually drops by my office to chat, and I habitually stare straight ahead at my laptop, typing away while giving “yes” or “no” answers to his queries, and hoping he will take the hint and go away.

Okay, that makes me sound like a turbo-bitch. But this guy just won’t get it. I’ve tried being nice, but that just fuels his desire to follow me around. While I can’t be straight up rude to him, because that’s just not something I am capable of doing to someone who hasn’t been rude to me first, I can’t lead him on. He seems a little slow in the head and honestly, he won’t get it unless I act like he’s not there.

If he sees me at a bar, which has happened a couple times, he practically surgically attaches himself to my hip and follows me around. Meh. Such is the stigma of being seven different kinds of awesome. What can you do?

Incidentally, on one of these bar nights, I managed to duck outside for a smoke (I’m trying to quit . . . yay?) and escape the little bugger for long enough to strike up a conversation with a (male) friend of Claire’s. Our paths cross sometimes but for some reason I have never really been as close to him as I am with some of his friends. I was talking to him and his bandmate about one of their upcoming gigs (these two are in a popular local band) and all of a sudden he was asking me when we were going to go on a date, and his bandmate was totally going along with it.

I wasn’t really sure how to react to the situation, so I just kind of laughed it off, but I thought, “Would it really be so bad to date him? He’s funny and cute, but I just don’t know . . .”

So I asked Claire what his deal was, and she admitted that he’d asked her before to hook us up, but she, too, just laughed it off. I think maybe that was his way of putting himself out there, asking me when we were going to go out, and effectively putting the ball in my court.

Whatevs. It is what it is.

My third pursuer, whom I will call The Lawyer because The Guy Who Has Already Passed The Bar In Another State But Had To Take It Again In Our State Because I Guess That’s How Lawyers Do It Even Though He’s Not Technically A Lawyer But He Will Find Out In May If He Passed The Bar Then I Guess He Will Be A Lawyer is a bit cumbersome. Sandra (again, of having a brother who shat on the porch because he got so drunk at her wedding reception fame) is trying to set us up because she works with him, and he seems to be a very nice, funny guy. He also lives on the water, which, OMGBONUS (am I a terrible person for possibly exploiting him for his waterfront property and boat access?) Sandra, her husband, and I went to his house Saturday night for us to “get to know each other” and I had some of the best ribs I have ever tasted. The man can cook.

He’s supposed to call me tomorrow and we’re going to go to trivia night at a local bar. I hope it’s with a group of people though, because 1) trivia’s always better with a group and 2) PRESSURE!!!!!!!! NO PRESSURE PLEASE! I always feel “forced” to like someone if I’m being “set up,” and well, I just don’t like feeling that way. I like to ease into things.

Except when I’m falling head over heels for someone who will inevitably hurt me.

But again, I digress.

And last but not least, I got a text message from Glen. Oh, how we love Glen. First, his crazy girlfriend called me a skank in a bar, then shortly afterward I received a Hea-VY text from him about how he wanted to be with me instead of her. So imagine my surprise when I received a text from him at NINE FREAKING THIRTY IN THE MORNING on Sunday with this gem of a pickup line:

I want to lick u from head to toe

Lord, have mercy.

When I told Claire about this unfortunate beginning to my Sunday, she painted me a hilarious mental picture.

Glen’s girlfriend, Amy, lives in a semi-heavily trafficked part of town. So as Claire was driving by Amy’s apartment the other day, she saw Amy standing on the porch, arms flailing about and screaming at Glen, who was playing with a golf club in the yard, paying her abso-fucking-lutely NO attention.

God, sometimes I love this town.

So this leads me to believe that Glen is having “girl trouble” and wants to rekindle an old flame in a weak moment.

NOT MY PROBLEM.

I realize this post is getting extremely lengthy, and for that, I apologize. But stay tuned for some vom-worthy Murray news in the upcoming week.

LRC Makes Bad Decisions, Vol. 17

I’m going to attempt a lighthearted approach at this post, because 1) it’s FRIDAY! and 2) mi vida es muy loca lately and I need to start turning the negatives into positives. Or something.

Or, after speaking all that Spanish, maybe I just need a margarita.

Whatevs.

So, I effed up. But this time, I don’t think it was so detrimental that I don’t want to show my face in public ever again. I didn’t call my boss drunk or anything. I just gave in to a moment of weakness.

I mentioned that New York wanted to be friends, right? Well, what I did not mention was the manner in which this information was revealed to me.

In response to that well-thought-out, heartfelt, compassionate letter, I received a three-sentence text message.

“I got your letter. Twas very nice. Thanksfriend.”

Huh.

While all the friends I’ve told this to think this is an outrage because, honestly, is that the response I got? After writing perhaps one of the most perfect letters of all time?  It’s been hard for me to feel anything but numbness and/or complete depression about it. I haven’t been able to feel anger toward him yet because I’m still so enamored with the kid. I can’t just turn my feelings off like a light switch. It doesn’t work that way. I need time to get over him, and I haven’t allowed myself that time yet.

So we tried the friend thing for about a week. He texted me to make sure my animals were inside when there was a tornado warning. I texted him telling him we should have a moustache growing contest (idea totally stolen from My Boys) with the loser earning a free milkshake and the winner getting a creepy moustache. Insert miscellaneous friend chatter here.

But last night? I got drunk.

Like, Let’s Make Bad Decisions drunk.

So I called NY. And much to my surprise? He answered!

And he was happy to hear from me!

And he wanted me to come over!

Like right now!

EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!, right?

No.

NOT “EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”.

Bad LRC.

So I went over there, and he eagerly greeted me at the door. We hugged big time because we hadn’t seen each other in about a month. Then we went and plopped down on the couch with his arm around me and my head nuzzled against his neck, like old times.

We started talking for a few minutes. Mostly small talk and chit chat. Catching up and whatnot.

And then we started making out. Big time.

Clothes started coming off.

When things started to progress toward The Sexy Time, I could feel him pulling back. So I asked him a question I had always been too afraid to ask him, for whatever reason.

“Don’t you want to have sex?”

(Note [possibly TMI]: I have already given him a BJ at this point, which was met with great approval.)

“No. [insert random excuse here].”

Pause.

Blink.

“Why not?”

“I don’t like to have sex unless I’m in an intense relationship. With the possibility of my leaving and everything . . .”

And then I just stared at him for a few seconds.

“You’re telling me this . . . after we’ve . . . already had sex?”

(This is about the extent of my ability to take up for myself when I’m drunk. At least, with a guy I’m head over heels for. If I didn’t give a shit about him, I would have let him have it.)

So I just gave up on the conversation at that point. I don’t remember what his response was (I’m HAMMERED, remember?). I just fell back into his arms and he held me close. I cried silently, but I don’t think he noticed.

And then I realized, you know what? I don’t need this shit. I’m just letting him treat me however the fuck he wants. He’s handing out misery, and I’m the first in line.

I wordlessly got up, put my sweatshirt back on, picked up my purse, and walked toward the door. He came after me, but I just kept going. Walked out the door, got in my car, and left.

And cried. And cried. And cried. And cried.

And then. AND THEN? I sent him a drunk text. “I wish I wouldn’t have taken so long to ask you that.”

(Please ignore the bad grammar. Remember, I’m wasted. And yes, I should not have driven. I know this. Save the preachin’ for your Sunday School class.)

I don’t know what I thought that drunk text would solve. Hell, that’s the point of a drunk text. Saying things you probably shouldn’t have but seem like a GREAT idea at the time.

Then I realized, you know what? There I go placing all the blame on myself again. He should have been honest with me from the get-go. If he never saw this going anywhere, he never should have invited me to that James Bond movie. And, at the very least, he never should have made out with me afterward.

So I texted him again.

UGH.

“Then again i dont think it is my fault”

FUHHHHHHHHHH I wish there was a CTRL+Z for text messages. But you know what? He needs to realize what he did was wrong. He led me on, and wasn’t honest with me from the start. And I got all bajiggity about him because he rocks my world. And then he curb stomped my heart.

So yeah.

I guess that settles that. I can’t be makin’ out with boys who are just gonna inevitably hurt me over and over again.

It sucks. But I’ll move on.

Speaking of moving on, I mentioned joining an online dating site in my last post. I was very reluctant at first, but my mom, seeing my unhappy state, basically forced me into it. I think it’s a bit too soon to start dating because I’m still batshit insane enamored with NY even though it’s never going to happen. But I don’t think it will hurt to make some new friends and have a boy take me out on an actual DATE. One in which we go to a restaurant that’s not Quizno’s and doesn’t end with Jager Bomb shots and a massive sense of regret the next morning.

I’ve been in contact with two guys, one of which seems really fun and has a lot in common with me, but, to be brutally honest, he’s not someone I see myself being attracted to. He seems more like the big brother type. He’s not model hot like NY, BE, and Adam (but then again, “model hot” never seemed to work in my favor). However, he has a lot of friends and has a lot of fun things going on in his life, and that could be the breath of fresh air I need. I will probably have to explain to him that if we do date, things have to go reeeeeally slowly. I’m damaged goods here, and I don’t want to play any games.

There’s also another guy I’ve been talking to less frequently, but holy hell is he hot. And he’s an athletic trainer. HOT. BODY. Hold me. I didn’t think he was that into me at first, but after the second time we “talked” (we used the lame IM thing on the dating site), he asked if I wanted to do something next week. I said yes, but I think we’re definitely going to keep it casual. He’s new to the area and is looking for new friends. At the very least, maybe I’ll have a new hang out buddy.

I’ll keep you all posted for sure. I’ve got my sights set on dinner, drinks, and tomfoolery with the girls tonight, and from now on when I’m faced with a tough decision, I’m going to ask myself, “Is this necessary for my happiness?” and if it is, I’ll do it. And if it’s not, vice versa.

Happy weekend, lovelies.

Outta my way, I’ve got a life to live

This New York shit has me so irritated I’m ready to throw in the towel.

Let me draw up a little scenario for you.

He left last week on another road trip. This time, to see some concerts and go back to the big apple for a day or two.

I am leaving for vacation tomorrow, and I won’t return until Wednesday. I will be visiting a friend and her fiance. I invited NY to come (of course the friend and the fiance know about this and are cool with it) before he left on his road trip. I didn’t demand an answer from him immediately, but I told him to think on it while he was gone.

He has hardly been keeping me up to date on his whereabouts, and starting around Tuesday or Wednesday, he stopped answering my calls altogether. And his texts? Have only been “good night” or “good morning.” Nice try, but no.

Something’s different. I am not cool with this.

Since he won’t answer my calls, I texted him last night.

“Alive?”

Because honestly? I want to know he is safe. He got in a fucking wreck last time he was on the road (albeit a minor one, but a wreck nonetheless).

And I also want him to WAKE THE EFF UP AND CALL ME.

I got the “mornin” text at 6:45 this a.m., and that was it.

I had to find out what state he was in by reading his twitter.

TWITTER, PEOPLE.

Another characteristic to add to LRC’s Repertoire of The Crazy?

I secretly read the tweets from his band.

Ssshhhh, don’t tell.

So, given his location as of 15 hours ago, I can assume with some confidence that he will be making his way home today. The day before I am to leave for my vacation, presumably solo. Because the boy has forgotten how to work the mouthpiece on his phone.

I’m past the point of being hurt. I’m to the point now where I’m just irritated. I hate being jerked around or taken advantage of. My life does not revolve around him, and if I’m going to have someone to answer to? He better answer back. He’s gotten so lazy with this shit that I don’t even have time for his shenanigans. He needs to tell me he’s just not that into me, and let me give him back his house keys and move the fuck on.

My time? Is being wasted. And that? Is not cool with me.

On a lighter note, VACATION! I am so in need of time away from work it’s not even funny. Boss Lady is trying to get secretary fired, and I just can’t handle the tension in the office.

Oh wait, I tried to take this post in a more positive direction and failed miserably.

Let’s try this again.

*clears throat*

BEACH.

I think nothing more needs to be said.

I’d love to see my Google Analytics after this one

Topics of discussion on gchat with Andy today:

• Steve Jobs
• The Dark Knight
• Blue balls vs. pooping in terms of importance (not as in, which should I take care of first—no, no. We discussed which was more newsworthy)
• Trans fats
• Jennifer Aniston
• Naked teens
• Robot sex
• Throwing away Christmas gifts from relatives
• PMS/Bloating
• Wagering on someone’s death (Andy’s co-workers actually do this)
• The abstract nature of happiness and love and how our perspective distorts our hopes for both
• Pooping in the river
• Purses made out of cat fur
• Medicaid reimbursement rates for rural hospitals
• E-Penis
• Dog farts
• Analog to digital conversion
• What does Edward do when Bella is on the rag (Related topic: Oxygen content of period blood)
• Actual topics of relevancy

OK, that last one was a lie.

We clearly have too much time on our hands. Although, we did manage to cover a myriad of topics in a relatively short period of time. You know what that means—we got SKILLS.

Either that, or we’re slightly retarded.

I know you’re jealous of my ultra-classy lifestyle

Last Friday night found me with an invitation to dinner from NY and and invitation to a party from my engaged friend, Lori.

Dinner with NY was enjoyable, filled with our usual outbursts of inappropriately loud laughter and discussions of a flyer I designed for his band (which he loved, by the way. I had been worried for nothing). During our dinner, I started getting texts from my drunk cousins (who NY knows from high school—they are the ones I was with the night I drunkenly gave him my phone number) asking me questions to the nature of, “Have you licked his balls yet?”

Maturity. They has it.

I couldn’t hold back my reaction of pure amused horror (Is that possible? To be amused and horrified at the same time? Apparently it is.) from NY, so he asked what was up, and I explained that my wasted cousins were harassing me with sexual text messages. He then requested the phone number of one of them (because neither of them would recognize his number) and texted her, “Ball parade. Your chin.”

Needless to say, this became a fun game for the rest of the night, even after NY and I parted ways after dinner, with her trying to guess who he was, and him coming up with funny stuff to reply with, using me as an accomplice via text message.

Anyhoodster, after dinner I drove to “the river” (what people around these parts call a nearby body of water that rednecks and rich folks alike call home) to meet my friend Lori at the aforementioned party.

Y’all. This was a Redneck River Party if I ever done seen one.

There was at least one Camaro in the yard.

Songs about riding dirt roads permeated the stereo speakers alongside gangsta rap and Linkin Park.

The keg was floated by 10pm.

Store-bought Jello shots were passed around.

Beer funneling ensued.

(Side note: Lori, what prompted you to funnel five beers? Are you 19? Is this spring break? Methinks not.)

It was quite the sight to behold.

At one point, I was approached by a guy whose name was, honest to God, Clem. I could NOT make this shit up if I tried. What made it even better? He asked me, “I’m sorry, I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?”

I think the laughter that followed was a bit excessive, but what can I say? It was funneh.

There was also another guy who would NOT leave me alone. Let’s call him, Eager Beaver. He was a bit pushy and I, in an attempt to be nice, just smiled and nodded, attempting to balance politeness and uninterestedness.

He wasn’t getting it.

As NY and I were texting back and forth, Eager Beaver (EB) commenced to repeatedly snap my phone shut.

Um. Dude. Not cool. And totally not your business.

I was highly annoyed.

At one point, EB asked me about my “fiance or husband,” and I told him I wasn’t married or engaged, but that I was dating someone. He chose to ignore that last part, because later on after I left, he asked Lori if I was dating someone and she told him, “yes.” He then said, “That’s not what she told me!”

Ugh.

Anyhoodster. So he asked Lori if I’d said anything about him to her. Lori said, “She said you got on her nerves.”

Lori. I heart you.

EB still Facebook friended me the next night, however. Maybe he’s a masochist?

Before I left the party, though? I got to experience a girl fight. It was awesome and terrible all at the same time. I was seated on the couch, which was positioned in the middle of the living room, and I was RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE of the crossfire. Thankfully, people were holding them back and it never came to blows over my fragile little body.

One of the girls’ boyfriends was crying. There was screaming. “Whore” and “bitch” were thrown about mercilessly.

And I dipped the fuck out of there.

I always flee when people fight. Even if they’re not, like, physically fighting. Because there’s always the possibility that it will come to blows. I guess fighting just makes me uncomfortable, and there’s always a possibility that the cops will come. I remember one time my (then) boyfriend had to chase me down the sidewalk because I saw a guy throw a punch at another guy and I just TOOK OFF down the road without saying anything to anyone.

You would think small towns would be boring, right?

You, my friend, would be wrong.

—–

On a side note, I want to say thank you to everyone who voted me for Best Relationships/Sex Blog for the 20 Something Bloggers Bootleg Awards. I am so humbled and grateful. All of the nominees deserve a shout out, so go check ‘em out. Lots of deserving bloggers on there. I wish everyone could win, but alas, that is not how “awards” work. Psh.

In all seriousness, though. Thanks a lot. I got the warm fuzzies. Heart.