Shallow and Very, Very Single

"A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked."

Labels: B, dating, G, I love my girls, idiotic behavior, my sister is hot, trainwreck, ugh

I do a lot of charming things when hammered. I fall a lot and pick fights and overreact and jump on people and fall some more and scream/screech/squeal and kick people for fun and throw things. All very charming. However, one of the most charming things I do when very drunk is steal.

Now, we're not talking anything of actual legitimate value. For instance, in college, my friend K-dog and I would steal bar equipment. I have no idea why. It would be last call and I would turn around and she would be frantically rolling up the bar mat and stuffing it into her purse. Or once, we drunkenly stole silverware from Chevy's. Or one other time, I woke up horribly hungover with four salt and pepper shakers in my purse (which was a ridiculous mess, as you can imagine).

Enter last Saturday night. We had drinks at the new boy's neighbors' apartment (who I am friends with, that is how I met the new boy) with A and A's fiance and a couple visiting from Australia. After a few glasses of Bitch wine, we all crammed on Muni to the inner Sunset to try San Tung (A and I tend to hit up the neighboring Yummy Yummy for Vietnamese and there is always a ridiculous line outside San Tung....and let's just say it is AMAZING and definitely worth the wait, espesh if you drink in the street whilst waiting like we did).

After drinking at the pre-party and then drinking while waiting in line for our table and then drinking during dinner (we decided to all double fist red wine and beer, brilliant), I was feeling a little saucy (read: hamskied).

And during a quick trip to the restroom, I saw a GIANT bag of fortune cookies. Probably not the best thing to leave out in the eye line of a drunk, chunkler klepto. Now, normal people might think, "Wow, look at that mountain of fortune cookies, whatever." Whereas my pickled, always-hungry brain grunted, "FREE. SNACKS." then wheezed, coughed and sang "I Will Survive" in the bathroom for no apparent reason.

So, upon exiting the women's restroom, I squeezed my little hobbit hand through a hole in the bag and stole fortune cookies. Like fifteen of them. And crunched them into my purse for some unknown reason and thought that was HILARIOUS and told the new boy, who I am pretty sure is convinced that I am completely insane.

Later on, once we were all at a bar and I slugged down a vodka martini, I cracked open one of my contraband cookies to find the following fortune:

"Stop looking so hard for happiness. It is right beside you."

I promptly ordered another martini. Terrifying stuff, those fortunes.

Labels: B, drunk rampages, idiotic behavior, mama juice, SF

So while the new boy and I continue this ridiculous, dialed-back version of whatever we're doing, which is really not dialed-back at all but we're trying, you start to see all the little, random things that you have gotten used to single.

For instance. Last night, after a fundraiser in the Marina and a bit too much wine with dinner, I went to his house to drink more wine and watch TV (Top Gun, which is quite possibly the most homoerotic flick of the 80's...and that's saying a lot). After which, we retired to the bedroom.

Where I was smothered within an inch of my life.

Now. Single for almost three years, minus one bout of consistent dating/sleep-overs during Summer 2008 with that idiot C, means that I have become used to sleeping alone. In fact, I ADORE sleeping alone. I can spread out and as my dear friend SO@24 calls it 'starfish' around. Legs akimbo, I watch TV while I fall asleep and smoosh up all the blankets and roll around like a lunatic and throw the sheets off and do whatever I want.

And yes, there have been times when all I want is to spoon (in fact, there was a bout last Spring when I so desperately wanted to spoon I may or may not have forced A to sleep with me on the couch so that we could spoon. I love my girlfriends). But really, that tends to be a fleeting desire, and when it comes down to it, I hate being suffocated and hot while I sleep, so back off.

Enter last night. I woke up at 4am spooned aggressively. And it was very sweet and very cute and we were holding hands while we slept (barf) and all of that, but seriously all I could think about was how the fuck I was going to get this 6'2" guy off of me. I am a teeny, tiny person. I was completely overwhelmed snuggle-wise.

I began by extracting our hands, and wiggling around a bit, hoping to jostle him awake just enough to not disturb him, but get him over to his godforsaken side of the bed. That was a no-go. So then I tried to huff a bit and move my hair and wiggle a little more aggressively and even got a little rolly. Nope. Nada.

After trying for ten unsuccessful minutes to get over myself and fall asleep with him literally suctioned cupped to my hip, I became desperate. Practically hyperventilating, I kicked his leg off of me, sat up, mumbled something about being hot, fanned myself theatrically and plopped over on my stomach, thinking that was the least cuddle-prone position. Plus at that point, due to my neurotic spooning induced anxiety attack, I was wheezing asthmatically.

When I woke up again about an hour later, I discovered that was wrong. And so while I tried to relax and calm down and fucking sleep because I was exhausted, I instead started to impulsively fidget. My body was so pissed off by the cuddling, it shut down and just made my life a living, fidgety hell. This continued for the better part of a half hour until I think it pissed him off enough to push him over to his side of the torture chamber, uh, bed, and I finally breathed easy and stopped sweating and actually slept for an hour before leaving to go to work.

As a result of this aggressive snuggle attack, I have spent the day today miserably tired and cranky. Does one EVER get used to this cuddling behavior? I think it is what normal couples do, but has anyone gone from anti-cuddle to actually finding it acceptable or dare I say, enjoyable?! Help.

Labels: B, dating, idiotic behavior, ugh, vom.com

After last week's insane hissy fit, things have by been relatively calm. Work is going incredibly well and I had last weekend's Halloween celebrations to look forward to, on top of a date last Friday evening with Boy 1, who has resurfaced.

Things couldn't really have been any better, and while they still are, the new boy and I have reached some sort of a standstill.

First, a little background.

When you begin to date someone (if that's what we're doing), and you like them and you know they like you and you haven't really liked someone like this in a long time, and there are a lot of great, foundational aspects that are clicking, you tend to get a little ahead of yourself. This tends to be the case in particular when you have both been in long term relationships before that heartbreakingly ended, scarring you and leaving you a little bit broken.

You have fun and get ahead of yourselves because to a certain degree, this is sort of what you have been looking for. To click with someone and be optimistic again at the idea that there are other people in the world that you can find potential in. Until you freak yourself out. Especially if, like him and I, you have become quite used to the idea of being alone. And are intensely indepedent at this point.

So, things come to a screeching halt, mostly because I overestimated where things were headed. And while we aren't kaput, nowhere near that actually, we are dialing back. In fact, after a somewhat disastrous Halloween (although I had a fucking fantastic time with my friends, which included crashing a random house party on Frederick and then one on Haight), with him and introducing him to my full circle of friends far too soon, and scaring the shit out of him because of that, we went on a walk on a surprisingly warm evening in the Panhandle last Sunday and discussed our next steps.

Which are to slow down. Considerably.

I am trying to not take it personally or be disappointed, to be honest, if he wasn't into slowing down and wanted to nail me down immediately, I would panic and push him away as I am wont to do. So, really, it is a healthy and good thing to slam the brakes. And I am thinking positively and am resolving to stay on the prowl and behave like a normal 28 year old young woman. We shall see where this goes.

In conclusion, to all of you afraid that this blog was going to change or be any less offensive or become boring and couple-oriented? You are in luck.

Events that promise to bring many a post in which I will potentially embarrass myself and make bad life decisions:

- The weekend of Nov. 13th: My dad's 52nd bday, BFF in town from Seattle.
- The weekend of Nov. 21st: my sister's wild birthday celebration. G's birthday.
- Thanksgiving weekend: always the time of the year when I do inappropriate things.
- December 5-20th: AUSTRALIA!!!
- NYE 2009/2010: renting out a bar in North Beach with the posse.

See? There is plenty on the way.

Afterall, I am still single. And quite shallow. Duh.

Labels: boys, dating, G, travel, ugh

Today is one of those days where I wake up not having slept well at all, cranky, hungover from one glass of wine (wtf), fingers burned from a glue gun crafting mishap last night, legs sore from a run, feeling crappy about my dating situation, working my ass off to be optimistic, with a new pimple that I keep talking to (it's that big), without time to really get ready, wet hair out the door, horrible road rage and no fucking goddamn parking.

I want to throw things and whine and cry and stomp and throw one of those three-year-old-in-a-mall-tired-and-hangry* screaming fits.

Why is it that if we did that as adults, we would appear as though we have completely lost it? And the thing is, adulthood is the perfect time to throw a royal fit. I'm fucking tired and pissed off and upset and single and confused and frustrated and overworked and just want my life to come together. Why is it that everyone else seemingly has their lives together and I don't? Why is this so easy for some people and not for me?

In order to overcompensate, I am working my ass off, wearing my highest heels, too much lipgloss and am trying to smile a lot and say that everything is 'great!' when people ask me. I want to slam my head repeatedly against my keyboard and go home and get into bed and not come out.

Ugh.

*hungry + angry = hangry. duh.

**Update: I kept feeling something itchy/hurty on the front of my leg. So I reached inside there (at my desk, natch) to find that I had forgotten to remove the hang tag with the extra buttons ON THE INSIDE OF MY PANTS. While wearing them. For at least two wears.

And I looked like I had a teeny, tiny penis. Pretty.

Labels: I'm sad and disappointed...in myself, idiotic behavior, PBD, ugh

Floating on a sea of happiness (which consists of glitter, unicorns and teeny tiny kittens in case you were wondering) is a really fantastic experience. Until you realize you are me and it won't last because life is out to screw you at every godforsaken opportunity.

When you are me, a young woman with a very liberal stance on morals and horrible luck, you encounter the following experience.

I have spent the past two days really looking forward to the next time I would see this boy, mostly because he was going to come to my place and I am extremely lazy and like encounters with the opposite sex that require minimal (if any) effort on my part. Also, I had worked it out in my mind that this was the third date (including the first time we hooked up while I was blacked out and forcing myself on him at a dive bar juke box) and that meant that I will put out.

Those points aside, I am also excited to see him again in person, of course and to talk, blah blah blah. Really, I had planned to seduce him with cheap pinot noir and my bed. And I have spent the past two days in anticipation, prepping for this (overkill, I know, but I am a planner with OCD, what did you expect?!).

Enter this morning. When I woke up ready to tackle another day smiling like a lunatic...to find that I have swine flu.

Now, it's probs not like the swine flu, I'm sure I have a strain of some sort. Or just a common head cold, but still. I'm fucking miserable. I can't breathe. I have a sore throat. In one short day, I am back to wanting to kill myself.

And while I am sure I am VERY sexy in all my snot spewing, hacking, asthmatic splendor, I'm not so sure that he wants to deal with that brand of sexy. In other news, part of my preparation plan was to lose ten pounds by tomorrow. And now that is shot to hell because I can't run or work out with swine flu and I am one of those people who gets sick and wants to eat everything in sight. I think I gained seven pounds alone from this morning's aggressive inhalation of everything in my kitchen.

Secondly, I don't know what his stance is on germs. Like some people don't care (me), but some people are freaks about being around sick people. Do I notify him ahead of time that I am dying of the plague and offer him an out in the event he is one of those germaphobe freaks? Am I over thinking this?

You tell me. I am going to sit here and snot all over myself in the meantime, whilst cursing my immune system to hell for crapping out on me.

UPDATE!! He has a cold too! I don't think I have ever been this excited to have a sick date before. Game on!

Labels: B, chinging, ugh

Saturday: went to the Contemporary Jewish Museum to see the Maurice Sendak exhibit. Ended up giggling at the Jews on Vinyl exhibit. Favorite Jew on Vinyl? Irving Fields' Bagels and Bongos, of course.

Saw Where the Wild Things Are at the Kabuki Theater. Where you can drink. Participated in a two-martini movie extravaganza. Snuggled. Hand held. (want to vom yet? no? you will, promise)

Inhaled sushi. Made out on a bench IN PUBLIC in Japantown. Probably did the following:

1. terrified Japanese tourists
2. confirmed (in their minds anyway) that American chicks are easy

Hoped into a cab and smiled like a lunatic the entire time. Attended a birthday party at Shine, so giddy I annoyed myself.

Met back up with the young man in question. More snuggling. No chinging (I know, I'm such a prude!).

Sunday: He made me breakfast.

And walked me to get a cab. And held my hand. And I am seeing him again on Wednesday. When he is coming over. And if he finds emo hipster rock, cheap wine and a blond chunkler in Costco sweats sexy? Then he is in for a treat!

Today: Drank too much wine at E-Double's house last night, had to park SO far away this morning at work and walk in the rain without an umbrella, but even my hangover and drowned rat-like hair won't ruin my fantastic mood. I've gone over to the dark side, readers. To that evil, horrible place.

I am one of those happy people I hate.

Sketch.

Labels: B, dating, mama juice, SF, vom.com

I have had a banner couple of weeks.

Begin with a dash of alcoholism, a breakdown in front of my mother (after which she begged, yes, begged me to get help...fantastic), round things out with a wedding, some minor weight gain, add some ritalin, some minor weight loss, two black outs and SF Fleet Week. Stir and fucking repeat.

Let's start with the wedding weekend. I have already described my behavior in detail, embarrassing, I know. What I didn't really go into then was a conversation I had on Saturday night after the wedding, after I had taken myself home at midnight, after I had inhaled room service, after I talked my roomie's ear off, after I had called A and was laying in the hallway of the hotel in my dress.

At around 1:30am that evening, while I was rolling around having a blacked out convo with A (she was wasted too, friendshiiiippp!), the boys came up from the bar, which had closed down. And one boy in particular, an acquaintance I grew up with, came over and sat down with me and we ended up talking in the hallway until almost 3:30am (at which point his not very pleased girlfriend called him, understandably confused as to where he was). ANYWAY. The conversation was enlightening, even for my pickled brain.

We were talking about relationships and how he met his girlfriend. He asked why I was still single.* And I literally had to answer that I had no fucking idea, but that I did want to meet someone and find that person and that I just suck at dating.

And this was when he said something that was eye opening. He first told me to stop looking for it. To which I replied that I wasn't necessarily 'looking', but was more just keeping my eyes open. And he said, and I quote, "Well, you can tell that you are looking for it. You can just tell when a girl is looking for a relationship." Uh. Hold on, was he saying I look desperate? Was my desperation really THAT obvious? According to him, yes. Yes it was.

I wanted to scream "I'M NOT THAT DESPERATE!" but that is sort of like being the girl that wails "I'M NOT CRAZY!" It sort of means that yes, you most certainly are, you lunatic.

The more I thought about it over the past week, the more I had to agree with his observation. I have been pretty desperate to be swept off my feet lately. And all that desperation is counter-intuitive, because the nights when I have been out and have met someone were the nights when I really couldn't care less about meeting someone. Those nights were spent dancing with my friends and having fun on my own. It is definitely more attractive to be the person clearly enjoying themselves as opposed to glaring at every guy at the bar to see if they are dating material and then making embarrassing eye contact with them, after which you spill your drink all over yourself and are carried home by your awesome friends. Pretty.

However, I do have to say that the scope out is definitely a necessity in a single gal's life. You are single, you walk into a bar or an event or a wedding or whatever it may be and you do the single girl scan. Look at the bar, look at the tables, look at the guests lined up, anyone? Bueller? No? Move the fuck on.

I know this may seem a little nuts to those of you who are in relationships or haven't been single for a long time, but unfortunately it is an activity that comes naturally at this point. It is quite difficult for me to enter a social situation without doing the single girl scan. It's nearly impossible not to.

Thoughts? Psycho?

This past weekend, I tried my hardest to not scan. I had a blast with my friends, celebrating the foggiest, stupidest Fleet Week ever (the Blue Angles could only do one fly over, it was that foggy). I drank a lot of wine at a friend's house in the Marina and forced everyone to have a Kylie dance party. I inhaled a burrito, took Fernet shots I immediately wanted to vom up, picked up my credit card which was STILL at the bar I left it at the weekend before (I know, responsible), I fell HARD out of a cab on Haight Street (like SO hard, my elbows and knees are significantly bruised), drank more and took myself home and then back out and then to bed.

I met a boy.

Stay tuned.

*one would think that my being hammered and still in my dress in a hallway practically crying on the phone would be a pretty clean cut indication.

Labels: boys, dating, drunk rampages, FLEET WEEK, KYLIE, mama juice, SF

It is a national holiday this coming weekend in San Francisco, something I blog about with anticipation, longing, excitement, excessive drooling, you catch my drift.

Blue Angels are practicing overhead, the sun is shining, it's pretty fucking cold outside, all the makings for a fantastic Fleet Week celebration tomorrow.

Are you excited? I'm sorry I can't hear you private, ARE YOU EXCITED!? Because I am more than ready to run amok all over San Francisco and amuse/flirt with/offend/terrify some sailors, stat.

Ah, to be my friends and I this weekend, just some gals out on the town, ready for some trouble of the maritime assortment. Wish me luck.

P.S. I tried to find the most ridiculous assortment of pics I could. Mission? Accomplished.

P.P.S. A shameless cleave shot for the 2.67 men that read this blog. Also, look at how themed I am at work today! Anchor necklace! Yes!

Labels: actual important news, drunk rampages, FLEET WEEK, oh it is war, SAILORS, SF