How You Doin’ Blondie?


Number of the Beast
June 10, 2008, 7:38 pm
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , ,

So he says to me, “Give me a call and maybe we can hang out this week, cook some steaks, have a few beers.”

So I called. Got the voicemail.

Of course.

I really get tired of waiting by the phone.

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I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening…
June 7, 2008, 9:57 pm
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, Pain, relationships | Tags: , , , , ,

…but this wasn’t it.

I am sorely tempted to just call Mark and cancel.

My heart is just not that into it.

The truth is, I’m angry.

I’m angry at myself, for the situations I put myself in.

I’m angry at the way I allow myself to be treated.

I’m angry that even cockroaches can have kids, yet I sit here with no children, no mate, my only company an aging, insolent, overweight dog.

I am angry that I always seem to find the greatest joys in my life a day late and a dollar mother fucking short.

I’m just angry.



To The Dogs [Update 8:57 PM Eastern Standard Time]
June 7, 2008, 8:57 pm
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , ,

Well, it wasn’t a phone call, it was a text, but it’ll do.

To be frank, I think he was probably under the assumption I was out of his league. There is a very real possibility he was scared shitless at the thought of calling me.

I can deal with that. As long as I got a date [sort of] out of the deal.

But now I have another problem,

what the fuck am I going to wear?



To The Dogs [Updated 5:10 PM Eastern Standard Time]
June 7, 2008, 5:10 pm
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , ,

 

 

He did not call.

 

 



To The Dogs [Updated 1:34 PM Eastern Standard Time]
June 7, 2008, 1:34 pm
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , ,

Still no call from Mark.

He specifically suggested we get together Saturday afternoon.

Is 1:30 pm not “afternoon”?

Was I supposed to call him, maybe?



To The Dogs
June 7, 2008, 9:45 am
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , ,

I met a guy a couple nights ago, while I was out walking Cody.

Well, actually, I’d met him twice before, but he hadn’t made a “move” until this most recent encounter.

The first time I met him I actually walked away from the experience thinking he must be gay, since I didn’t catch him looking at my tits even once.

Apparently, I was wrong.

A couple nights ago when we ran into each other, he walked me back to my house, asked me for my phone number, and suggested on Saturday we take the dogs over to Freedom Park, a dog run in a neighboring town. He said he’d give me a call to firm up plans.

I had assumed he’d probably call Friday night, but he didn’t. Now it’s Saturday morning, and I’m lying in bed next the phone wondering how this is going to play out.

I’ve given my number to guys before and they’ve never called, but that comes with the territory. Most men just want the number so that later on, when they’re out with their friends, if they can’t point to me and say, “I banged her”, they can at least point and say, “She gave me her number.”

But this guy, Mark, he seems different.

Fuck. I hate feeling like a pathetic loser, waiting by the phone.



Lonely Are The Brave

I was in my car today when I heard the opening chords for the Eagles’ “Desperado” playing on the radio. It’s always been one of my favorite songs, primarily because I so closely identify with the sentiment (even more so, lately).

So I turned up the volume and started to sing along, and by the time I got to the last verse, my eyes were watery and I felt a little bit sick to my stomach (a symptom indicitive of sadness, for me).

Then I looked in my review mirror and saw this chiseled guy with a crew cut, behind the wheel of an F-350, also singing along to a song that he obviously felt perfectly illustrated the complexities of his interpersonal relationships.

And that’s when I realized I must’ve looked pretty fucking gay at the stoplight, staring forlornly off into the distance, mournfully crooning, “Your prison is walking through this world all alone. Oh, Desperado…”

Pre-tty fuc-king gay.

 

They obviously do it better.