You are currently browsing the monthly archive for September 2007.

OK, so there has been so much shite flying at me from all corners of life over the past few weeks that I am chock full of Blog Substance (BS), but haven’t a spare second to share. Can I hire a blog assistant? That follows me around all day taking notes?

Right, so I had a real, official date with a real, official human male the other night. Can I just ask you how it is possible that two people can wake up the day after a date and have such completely conflicting impressions of how said date went that it actually seems like we were on different dates with two completely different companions?

I was actually quite excited for this outing, which stinks because it is my opinion that the date royally sucked. Or better…he royally sucked. I met him several weeks ago at the end of a night out (First RED FLAG). But, in my and his defense, we had a pretty normal enjoyable conversation and he was very clever and respectful about how he asked for my number. He was by no means a looker, but he was cute enough that he could become super attractive with the right personality.

He called about a week later, left a clever message. I called back. We planned a date. He offered to pick me up. I googled him. I found out he is a laser physicist. All good signs. All good signs.

Here is where things go South. Fast. When he picks me up, I notice he is wearing horrendous jeans. Not a deal breaker, I can totally get past that, but I had to point it out in order to show that there are just NO good qualities here. At this point I am rooting “Come on, Personality!” in my head as I hop into his car. So I ask him what he does, preparing for a spew of scientific terms and cool technology. Instead I get “I invest in things.” When I prod a little further and ask if he plays the stock market or buys real estate, he reveals that these investments are actually his online poker playing habit. He honestly thinks I am going to think it is cool that he makes a living by sitting in his underwear and gambling in his family room day in and day out. Little does he know that I was really attracted to the lasers! Maybe a college student will think it is cool that you can earn some keg money playing card games online, but I am grown up, professional and looking for a man that I finally DO NOT have to take care of.

When we got to the bar he bought us two $1 beers and said “If things go well, I might let ya buy the next round.” He was serious. He sat with his empty beer for 20 minutes and waited for me to finish mine so I could go get our next round. Now, I am not old fashioned. And I always offer to pay for things. But for feck’s sake, we are in our 30s. We have jobs. When a guy asks me out on a date, I think I have every reason to expect him to pay. Especially for two measly freaking $1 beers.

The night went on with him being a total jack ass and stating stupid things and saying mean things in some sort of attempt to flirt. I continued through the evening checking out every other guy in my sight, assuming he was just as miserable as me or at least sensed that I really couldn’t stand to be in the room with him for much longer. Yet he tried to lure me back to his place to look at his new HD DVD player. I like technology as much as the next geek, but seriously?

Yet now I get an email saying how it was such a great night together! Ew? Where is the disconnect? I mean there were honestly several times on this date where I was literally rolling my eyes and making looks of disgust when he wasn’t looking. It was straight out of an episode of Blind Date when there should have been thought bubbles floating beside my head saying “This guy is a total douchebag.”

I came, I saw, I endured… that fishy is getting tossed back into the sea.


5pm Tuesday:
Mr. Tributary says, “Are you missing the rock and roll lifestyle yet?”
I say, “Boooo work”
Mr. Tributary says, “Partying good. Work bad”

So I just spent 5 days partying balls (hence the lack of any decipherable posts). A friend came in town, I took Thursday and Monday off as buffer days and we spent the three days in the middle partaking in activities that are usually reserved for rock stars and super models. The funny part is, I came back to work today guilt ridden and quite sure I had screwed up somewhere along the way, and they gave me a raise! Could it be true? Partying = raise. I will have to test the theory a few more times.

Anyway, you are probably wondering where this Mr. Tributary comes from. Basically, we refer to all the men in my life that have any chance at becoming romantically involved with me as being in my “pipeline”. Sometimes the pipeline is full, sometimes it is excruciatingly empty. Men are in the pipeline in a certain order and they leave the pipeline in a certain order. Some push others out. You get the point. Hell, I’m in Texas, people understand analogies that refer to the oil and gas industry.

Then there are guys that are just friends and acquaintances. They help feed the pipeline, but never actually find themselves part of the pipeline. They are tributaries. Mr. T is our most significant feeder pipe. Anywho, he is a great friend, that I may have slipped up and given a view of the pipeline once, but he continues to just be a good supporter.

We ALL took part in the weekend festivities, as ACL festival was last weekend. We had a huge crew with a very interesting dynamic. My job was to procure a flagpole to hang something distinguishable from so all our friends could find us during the fest. I did in fact acquire a 21 foot “WonderPole” (Yes, that is the true brand name) that worked swimmingly for our crew. Its quite fun watching what people hang from their poles. My favorite this year was a guy who just tore down a giant tree branch and hung some garbage from it that he likely found in the nearest dumpster. Good stuff.

I’ll write more when the fog has lifted, I have cleared the dust off my brain, vital organs are functioning again, and I can actually pee more than once a day. For now, I must go back to recovery mode. (ie eating nachos and drinking a beer on the couch. You can’t just bounce back and quit poisoning your body cold turkey. You need to taper off of weekends like this or the DTs set in…)

BTW. The pipeline is currently excruciatingly empty.

Mr. Fuzzy Balls49 says: “I’ve been trying to get more involved in community events and free things to do around town, but the fact of the matter is, some of that shit is just dumb. I went to the Hot Sauce festival last weekend and it was a bunch of dipshits waiting in line to get one chip to dip in some jack ass’s homeade salsa. And all that does is make your mouth burn. If the community wants to have a ‘Stand Around and Jerk-off Festival’, you will end up hanging out with a bunch of people that like to stand around and jerk-off.”
Well said, Mr. Fuzzy Balls 49… Well said.

So HP has been gone all of this Labor Day weekend helping her parents pack up and move out of their home a few hours away. I’ve been getting random texts and messages about childhood memories she comes across as she cleans out her old closet. I was seriously considering cutting off contact when she brought up bringing back her doll and ceramic Disney character collections and setting them on display in her apartment. (This is sure to cure the dry spell).

But, she recently redeemed herself as she still expressed excitement when she came across a pipe and bud she hid in high school in a shop towel, in a ziplock, in a shoebox full of receipts. Pretty sure the weed might be a bit dry at this point, but I’m thinking the doll collection might be amusing once we are stoned.

We’ve all done it. Moved into a new place, or visited a not so technology advanced friend and fired up the laptop to seek out unsecured wireless networks i.e. “free Internet.” You experience a type of lame excitement as the screen displays all the networks in your area and shout out “yes!” with an arm pump when you discover that at least one of them does not have a padlock icon before it.

For a year and a half, I have been mooching Internet… or does the person you are mooching off of have to know about it in order for it to truly be mooching? I suppose I was stealing Internet off of “Gypsy” and “Belkin G” in my apartment complex. Who knows who they really are or which unit they live in but these are the names they gave to their wireless routers.

What are the chances that they both moved out on the very same day a week ago? They just disappeared into thin air, severely diminishing my blogging window. In desperation I have my laptop do a search every morning. Nothing new.

Anyway, unless “get off my sac” opens up his network to the world, I will be limited until I move into my new place next week.

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