Archive Page 2

Coolest thing the Internets ever gave me.

[mixwit_mixtape wid=”82e7c79b7b29645a67f348f1ae01c4e0″ pid=”92c6af0eed5e76c9b4cc6b21db224838″ un=”dietcokeandasideoffries” width=”426″ height=”327″ center=”true”]

Advertisements

This blogger needs a spoon.

So you know that little known and seldom quoted poem about that dude who is walking down a path and then he, like, comes to a fork in the road or whatever?
I was at such a fork this past Saturday.  On one side we had Shaggy Haired Boy, who has declared his love for me via his friends, who tell me how much of a crush he has on me.  On the other, new guy who was funny and visiting from London and – unlike Shaggy Hair Boy who mearly looked on from a distance – actually talking to me. 
I went with London.
Thinking back, I made the wrong choice. 
Damn. 

Surviving the Firm Holiday Party

It is once again that time of year where I don my cutest party dresses for some yuletide themed eggnog laden Jesus sanctioned debauchery.
The first major event of the Season:: My Firm’s holiday bash.
This year’s holiday party was a bigger deal than usual, as my boss had decided to stage a fuck-the-recession style blow-out at a super swank newly minted Beverly Hills hotel.  Not only were 70 of my dear co-workers in attendance, but so too were 230 of our most important clients.
A situation such as this, in which music, alcohol, people I like [or strongly dislike] and my nervous energy are combined, generally ends up in sheer disaster for me.  But after a lesson hard learned [see Bitches Talk Shit], I decided to do my damnedest to maintain some semblance of decorum this year.  And while this made the party considerably less climactic, I did succeed [mostly].
Highlights and lessons below.
1:: Two unrelated people told me that I looked like Bridget Bardot, which is completely not true, but still the nicest compliment I think I have ever received.  It is now my mission to avoid seeing any documentation of this event, as surely any photographic or video evidence will only drive home how unlike Bridget Bardot I actually look.
2:: A girl I worked with whom I thought I didn’t like, I actually do like.  In fact, I am just a people liker, I have decided.  I like this about myself.  What I don’t like is that I said some not nice things about her before I decided I liked her.
3:: While I realize that I’d have had more fun had I gotten drunker and stayed out later like many other of my cohorts did, and while I do feel like I missed out some, driving to work on Monday not being mortified about something I said/did was refreshing.
4:: Seeing cell phone video of my friend going an impromptu singing performance on stage really drove home the benefit of non-mortification.
5:: Cell phone video is the death of fun.
All in all, the party was a success, though slighted underwhelmed.  I had fun without having TOO much fun.  And apparently, I looked pretty damn good doing it.
In other news::
I followed my gut [and my readers’ advice] and called Ratatouille.  After all his efforts in attempting to convince me that I ought to give him another chance, he has failed to call me back.  Hope you didn’t get too attached to his tag, readers, because into the graveyard of men he goes.

I dance alone.

I am coming to realize that a good measure of how happy I am is how frequently I close the blinds and dance around the house by myself.

Only when I’m dancing can I feel this free
At night I lock the doors, where no one else can see

Love in the Time of Poker Rooms.

I received the following email today::

<begin email>

Hey [name redacted to preserve Diet Coke’s privacy],

It’s [name redacted to protect cute boy that lives in Colorado I uselessly have a momentary crush on] from the [hotel name redacted for no reason at all] poker room.  It was too bad I didn’t run into you again!  I tremendously enjoyed our conversation and wanted you to have my contact info in case you want to stay in touch, so I looked you up on the Lexis attorney search. 

Did you end up walking back to the Bellagio in the rain??

Keep in touch.

<end email>

Interestingly enough, the above email is not from G-male, but another super cute poker boy [even by mom thought so!] with whom I didn’t even exchange contact info.  Didn’t bother to blog him because figured he was gone for-evs.  Little did I know he would stalk me!  God bless him.
P.S. – yes, I am aware that his email kind of is not funny or awesome or compelling.  But he gets points for boldness, right?
 

Thanksgiving in Las Vegas.

My family, unable to suppress the degenerate gambler gene, decided that an appropriate place to spend the Thanksgiving holiday was in Las Vegas.  Funny that after the countless hugely entertaining trips I have taken to Vegas with my friends – drinking myself into oblivious and doing other things I wouldn’t blog about [yes, there are things I don’t blog about, amazingly] – that this trip with my parents might be the most fun I have had there.  [Although the time I threw a semi-douchbag’s shoe off the top of a hotel’s rooftop bar was pretty awesome…and admittedly unsafe/stupid*]

Upon reaching Vegas, despite the exhaustion I was feeling over the four hour plus drive that commenced at 5am, I made a bee-line for the poker room, where I remained [sans food, rest, or bathroom break] for a solid seven hours.  Unable to stave off my growling stomach any longer, I pried myself away from the table even though I was getting ridiculously good cards all night.  After I filled my belly, sleepiness prevailed and I headed for the comfort of my room.

I had been asleep only a few hours when my mom rushed into the room in an excited frenzy, shouting about my getting out of bed and us going out for Midnight Madness. Midnight Madness [as per the Bellagio blackjack  dealer that had become my mom’s new BFF] turned out to be an early bird sale at the Primm Outlets, some 40 miles south of Las Vegas.  Next thing I know, me, my mom, and a couple dozen Korea ladies [also apparently my mom’s new BFFs from the blackjack tables] were in a hotel shuttle, in route to the madness.

I used to think that people who would rise at the crack of dawn for a sale [for any reason, really] were crazies, but now I totally get it.  Before the sun had come up I had already scored sweet deals on a Versace  dress [seriously, $49.99 for a dress that was $2,600!!!!!], a Marc Jacobs bag,  three Nanette Lepore dresses, and an amazingly heavenly cashmere wrap.  Madness, indeed.

I slept through much of the next day, only to promptly return to the poker room upon arising.  Shortly after I had comfortably posted up at a 3-6 limit table, a gentleman [hereinafter, G-male] arrived.  I call him a gentleman because he truly was – he ordered tea amidst a table full of jack & coke and vodka soda’s, for one thing.  But he also had an exceedingly polite and kind demeanor.  Anyhow, I dug him.  In the real world, he would have scored a seven on my interest scale.  But poker playing guys are hot to me [unless they suck].  And the geek-lover in me really took interest upon learning that he works at Google – devising the algorithm that determines which ads go where.

After several hours (I am talking a LOT of hours) of playing poker beside me, G-male departed to meet up with his friends.  But not before giving me his information and letting me know that if I am ever in San Francisco, I should get in touch with him because he would “love to show me around town.”  I certainly have no expectation of seeing G-male again, but spending the better part of the day playing with him totally made me giddy.

Shortly after G-male left, I too took off [my butt was starting to ache and I was supposed to meet up with my parents for a late dinner].  As I headed back into the main casino, I heard someone call my name.  I turned around to find Shaggy Hair Boy.  I had known that Shaggy Haired Boy was spending the weekend with his roommate’s family who lived in town, but the meeting was totally unexpected and I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the universe was trying to send me a sign.  The sign being, obviously, that I needed to make out with Shaggy Haired Boy.

Having already had a full day and being borderline late for my meeting with my parents, I decided that I would explore this further back in Los Angeles.

* He limped around on one foot all night and managed to be a total trooper about it, hence his only being a semi-douchbag as opposed to a full fledged one.

It’s Raining Men.

For well over a month, I had no news to report in the love life department.  And now?  A relative torrential downpour.
Boy No. 1::  Fake Crush (previously mentioned here)

I got all dolled up Saturday night in anticipation that I would be in the company of Fake Crush at my friend’s birthday party.  Fake Crush was indeed in attendance as expected, but things did not work out as I had planned.  We made a bit of small talk.  He then proceeded to start text messaging some girl he had met at a bar the previous weekend, who then proceeded to come pick him up and whisk him away, proceeding to leave me Fake Crushless.  Upside is, his status as Fake Crush (as opposed to a Real Crush that I don’t want to concede I have) was confirmed when I didn’t mind his departure.

Boy No. 2::  Shaggy Haired Boy

Shaggy Haired Boy swooped in and posted up shortly after Fake Crush’s departure.  I had done some mild flirting with Shaggy Haired Boy a few weeks back at a certain 80’s prom party, but had dismissed him as having any real qualifying potential on account of the fact that he just turned 24.  Not that I am suggesting that it was anything more than the vodka talking – but on Saturday night he all of a sudden seemed highly appealing to me.  Since Saturday, we’ve become fast facebook friends (which I think is how The Youngs express interest) and I have been invited to “hang.”

Boy No. 3::  Ratatouille

Ratatouille has quite a back story.  But the short version is that we met several years ago at a family function, went on a few dates that I thought were awesome but he apparently didn’t because he never asked me out again or called me back.  Then a year or so later he wanted to go out again, but by that time I was like “fuck you, you should have liked me when I liked you,” etc.

Fast forward to now, and another family function, and another chance meeting with Ratatouille.  I didn’t expect him to be there and was very ill prepared for the meeting.  In fact, I am pretty sure I turned beet red when he came up to talk to me.  And when he wanted to talk about that time we dated, my body temperature rose a solid fifteen degrees.  In a very awkward ten minute conversation that seemed to last five lifetimes he explained how he too had thought those dates were awesome but that his father had just passed away at that time and he was in a bad place.
He wanted us to go out again.  I tried to reply with my voice cracking that I understood but that I had really liked him then, which had turned to strong dislike when he ditched me, which had turned to ambivalence that I was not sure that I could turn back into like.  Except that what I really said was more like: “umm, errr I don’t know.  Umm, I have to, umm, think about it.  Maybe.”

The truth is that I do want to go out with him again.  But when I try to imagine what it would be like, I can’t even fantasize that it would be anything other than cringe-inducingly awkward.  So I think I would rather save myself the agony.  Plus the fact that I totally cried over him the last time around, and would feel supremely lame it that were to happen again.