Don’t Even Bother

A couple weeks ago, Grace Kelle and I were out as usual. And we met these 2 guys. The one I ended up talking to was funny and nice and cute so I gave him my number.

At the end of the night he (of course) invited me home with him. Promising all kinds of “fun.” I immediately regretted giving him my #, but what’s done was done. When we parted, he said he wasn’t sure he was gonna call.
Which is a weird thing to say to a girl whose pants you want to get into. When I got home, this is the text that awaited…
“I’m still deciding…”

Yuk!!! After receiving that I wrote back,
“If you have to think about it then you can go ahead and forget my number.”

And my question is… why even bother? Don’t take my number. If all you want is sex and I clearly am not giving into that, then why show any interest beyond that?
Just move on to the next pair of breats and save me the trouble of deleting you… you idiot!!

The “Married” Guy

[Disclaimer: this is not a story for grandmas, moms, dads, brothers or the faint of heart. Shocking language is involved.]

Went out with wingman… wingwoman… wingperson extraordinaire, Grace Kelle the other night.

While shopping for a few good men (for me.) We stumbled upon a group of 4 guys. Two of them were brothers and the other two they had known since the first grade, or something.

They were nice and we started chatting with them. About what we do, what they do, etc. Upon hearing that we were wedding planners one of the guys, we’ll call him Allen, told us that he’d recently gotten married and that his wedding planner was not so great.

To which we responded ‘what a shame’ ‘too bad you didn’t know us’ etc.

About 20 mins later this same ‘married’ guy comes over and sits next to me. And proceeds to hit on me… hard.
I was appalled thinking the schlep was married. Come to find out he made it up to start up conversation with us.

This is apparently a way to meet women in his mind. I say ‘in his mind’ because I want to assure all you men out there that this is, in fact, NOT a proper way to strike up a conversation with a lady.

The entire rest of the night as he tried to hit on me and reassure me that he was free, I still considered him married.

Here’s when it got really good. He offered to take me home so we could have sex. To which I answered that I wasn’t that kinda girl. He asked if I’d ever done it. I was honest… ‘nope.’
His eyes got really big. Like Indiana Jones when he finds that gold monkey head thing. The treasure he’d been seeking.
And then he drops this one on me…
‘The things I could do to your vagina.’

At this point my brain flat lines because I’ve just heard the word vagina whispered into my ear at 11pm on a friday night in the middle of a crowded bar. And ps… the word vagina is not sexy when spoken aloud much less so when whispered in my ear by a douchey stranger.

And so the search for an upstanding citizen of the male persuasion continues. Yet my faith in the gender continues to dwindle. What is a nerd in this city supposed to do?

Color Me Confused

First up is Smiley. I met Smiley at our favorite karaoke haunt, Gabby O’Hara’s one Tuesday night. He wore a suit, bought me a drink and played a mean bongo drum. We started talking and eventually exchanged numbers. A story as old as time. Or as old as bars.

He even came out with me and all my friends that very Friday night. He was so nice and really took the time to talk to them and made himself the pseudo protector of our merry little band. Excited at the prospect of a new flirt, I went home thinking ‘He’s a good one.’ And all my friends went home thinking, ‘The girl finally found someone to date.’

WRONG!!!

I’m gonna go ahead and bullet point this portion cause it gets weird:

– I invite him to church

– He accepts and comes that Sunday

– We exit church together

– No dinner invitation is extended

– Instead he says “I’m gonna go grab a drink and head back to work”

– I scratch my head in confusion and go home to eat alone

–  While on the train (not 20 mins later) I receive a text that says “What are you doing?”

– My inner monologue: “What do you think I’m doing, dumb ass? I’m going home to eat alone because you couldn’t muster the balls to ask me out in person”

– Actual reply: “Going home to wash dishes and eat dinner”

– Smiley: “I love washing dishes, I’ll come over”

– My inner monologue: “Oh you will, will you? We just met less that a week ago, home slice. So… no, I don’t think you will be coming over to ‘wash my dishes!'”

– Actual reply: “I live far away and have no air conditioning so it’s really hot here. Rain check?”

– Smiley: “I don’t care how far away you live and I can fan myself with the clothes I take off. Hahaha. LOL.”

-Inner monologue and actual reply collide into: “Huh? @%&((!**??????”

AND SCENE!!

I told him he should’ve asked me out when he was standing not 2 feet from me and that maybe I’d see him at karaoke sometime.    He hasn’t been to karaoke since and I promptly deleted his phone number. Color Me Confused!!!