Posts Tagged 'bad decision'

Turns out, women are the enemy.

I recently wrote about the evils of The Mens. Turns out though, that I should have been watching out for the women instead, as they are the ones who’s special brand of evil cuts the deepest.

This part Friday, Fancy Shoes and I were dining at an Ethiopian restaurant somewhere in the middle of Los Angeles when he asked about whether I had encountered any person who knew him. The world being small, and the world of lawyers being even smaller, it seemed a reasonable question. While I had not, turned out that he knew not one but TWO people who “knew” me.

The first was a gal who had worked at my ex’s [not an ex mentioned on this here blog] previous firm. The second was a girl who had heard about me from a girl who had heard about me from a girl that I work with. Don’t follow? Well, let me break it down.

A girl that I work with told someone that I do not a know a series of unflattering half-truths about me. This person then told ANOTHER person that I don’t know these things. The second person that I don’t know then shared these things with Fancy Shoes.

When I first heard these things, I was a little shaken up, but I decided that I would brush them off. I know from my own experience, that when I speak negatively of people, unless they have done something TO me, my disparaging words typically stem from my own insecurity or envy. Since I know that I have done nothing to any person at work, I chalked up their unkindness to the same.

But as I sat picking at a giant plate of I don’t know what with my fingers, I began to get increasingly more distressed. The things the person were saying were beyond the typical “I don’t like Diet Coke” type jargon. They were statements that were very damaging, malicious and worst of all, mostly false [or at a minimum very misleading]. Whats more, the person that I believe is propagating the nonsense is someone that I lik[ed], that I am constantly standing up for, and with whom I thought I had a trusting relationship and friendship.

I don’t know what possessed the person to say what she did, but frankly, there is no excuse for it. Aside from the fact that the comments she made me seem like a seriously problematic person/employee, the words were not spoken to a trusted confidant of the original speaker. They were told to some asshat who then decided that without even knowing me one lick, she was going to go ahead and propagate the gossip even further. That is downright ugly.

While I don’t think that Fancy Shoes gave much credence to the things he heard [or at least that is what I hope], the fact is that he, or someone else hearing them, could have. And could have made their judgment about me based on what they heard.

Not sure how I am going to handle this come Monday. But I think there is a 90% chance tears will be involved.

The two things that did come out of this that were good were 1) another person from work that I consider my friend [but whom I briefly doubted] being hugely supportive, and 2) Fancy Shoes being terribly sweet despite my unrelenting tears.

My Ride.

Last night we had an office party. As with most office parties had by my office, booze were involved. In this instance, a particularly fine champagne selection was on hand. And after Diet Coke, Champagne is very much my favorite liquid to consume [well, that an milk shake]. Which is bad. Especially since at some point last night I knew I would have to get home and somehow also be able to get back to the office bright and early the next morning.

At around 8:30 [maybe?] I called Fancy Shoes (formerly “Creepy Sleeper”)* and asked if he’d pick me up in an hour [not wanting to be the first to leave the party]. He said he was too tired and rejected my proposal.

Not wanting to take a taxi [because Taxi’s are depressing], I replied to a friend** who had texted me earlier to see what he was up to. The friend who has earlier texted enthusiastically agreed to by My Ride. Perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

My Ride arrived to scoop me at around 9:15 [I think]. My Ride INSISTED, [seriously, I was pretty much held hostage] that since I was already in a drink-ie mood, we should stay out. Usually, I would be okay with such a proposal as drinking tends to make me want to drink more. But last night, I was tired, my head was a little achy from all the bubbly, I really wanted my bed and I was feeling a little down. But again My Ride kept pushing, until finally I gave in.

I thought a good compromise would be to go to a bar close to my house [Three Clubs] because that way, once I had my obligatory drink, I could ask that we leave easy/fast style. So at the bar, My Ride keeps prodding me about why I was down. I explained that I was not really down DOWN, but just maybe in a little bit of a pouty mood. At which point I guess My Ride thought a good way to make me feel better was to try to molest me at the bar.

Well, he didn’t molest me. But he did go in for a kiss. At which time I cried out, “what are you doing!!!???” Quickly he apologized and I thought that was the end of that. THEN, like ten minutes later he tried to put his hand up my dress. I promptly removed his hand and placed back on his knee. I guess he thought I was being coy because then he went in for ANOTHER kiss. At this point, I told him I wanted to go home. And he replied that if I wanted to go home, I could mossy on out. Alone.

So I did – and ended up walking home. It wasn’t that far [about a mile], but it really sucked. And I am/was really mad. And I cried. And I fully expected an apology by the morning, but alas, I have gotten none.

So the lessons I have learned from this experience are::

1:: Don’t drink too much champagne at an office party.

2:: If you do, be careful who you call.

3:: [Some] people kind of suck.

4:: Always pack a pair of flip flops because you never know when you will be walking home.

* Creepy Sleeper does not like to be called Creepy Sleeper. So as a courtesy to Creepy Sleeper, I am going to refer to him as Fancy Shoes instead. It was either that or Transformer (because of an alleged impending transformation) or just pain old D. I suspect that Fancy Shoes won’t like Fancy Shoes or Transformer or D. – but one must be chosen. I just want to be clear, Fancy Shoes is not intended to be insulting – it merely relates to the fact that he has lots of Fancy Shoes. Which is not a bad thing.

** This “friend” I speak of is a friend of one of my other friends who I met about a year ago at a party my original friend’s girlfriend was hosting. Once several months ago we got drunk and kissed, but not before or after such time has there been anything physical between us. So I get that maybe he thought that I was drunk dialing him to hook up [which I have never done before so I don’t know why he’d think that], but once it was clear that was not the case, why did he have to go on and be an asshole?

Oh god, and now it is the next afternoon and one of my favorite co-workers maybe just quit over a disagreement with another employee. [UPDATE:: The employee to whom I was referring to almost quiting is Work Troll!! Note, how I called her my “favorite” then.]

I want to go home and burrow.

I feel dirty.

Just last night, I was complaining to this person I know who is mostly charming and uncreepy, but has this very bizarre sleeping ritual which requires socks, a long sleeve shirt and what can only be described as a rapist mask (hereafter, “Creepy Sleeper”) about how my abstention from writing about dating is impeding my blogging. [BTW readers, I don’t think I can keep it up for much longer]. Surely you can write about something else, Creepy Sleeper replied. Well, no. Not really. Except of course, Evil Troll, whose time – with the end of my New Roommates affair with Evil Troll’s Evil Boyfriend – I believed had passed.

Right? RIGHT?

No. Very, very, loud, thumping, resounding NO.

At 3:06, I turned on my phone to find the following text awaiting me:: “Hi [Diet Coke], its [Evil Troll’s Evil Boyfriend]. Are you still part of the anti-[Evil Troll] fan club?

Not able to contain my curiously, I replied with:: “?”

To which I got the following replies::

3:35:: Sorry its nothing. I have calmed down since my last text and hopefully have become much more civilized. Sorry about that.

3:37:: I was in an angry, spiteful mood and I let it get the better of me.

3:42:: How are you doing?

Infinity + 1 * so = how tempted I was to reply. For those of you that are mathtards, that is sosososososososososossoosososo fucking temping. Initially, I was intending to take the high road. You know, bygones are bygones, let dead dogs lie of whatever they say.

But I often as mature as an eight year old [an immature one at that]. Plus, I am only an aluminum can – only so much can be expected of me.

I texted back.

6:00:: Don’t let the [Evil Troll] grind you down.

I was so very NOT prepared for what was to come.

I get the following at 6:03:: “You and I should totally start to hang out. That would be karmic justice. It would be a lot of fun for me! Do you still have those knee-high socks?

That, dear readers, is a thinly veiled proposition via text. Infinity + 2 * so = how grossed out I am by that. [Again, for the mathtards – More grossed out by proposition than temptation]

I must go bathe in Clorox now. If you don’t hear from me again, it is because I drowned in shame and horror. Godsped.

Also, I am slightly afraid for my life, but mostly for my car. Once Evil Troll gets a load of this, I am certain to kiss my dusty but scratch free car exterior goodbye.

Rules of Engagement.

People in glass houses should not throw stones. That I know. I also know that I am pretty much Captain Google Stalker. I mean, I am a freakin black belt jedi master at it. You tell me two digits of a person’s social security number and their shoe size and I will tell you every web site they visited and/or thought about since 1997. [Don’t get scared. I am not internet stalking YOU of course].

But everyone knows there are RULES when it comes to internet stalking. Actually, just one rule.

Rule::
We all do it, but it is not to be discussed. Like, almost ever. Seriously. Bad idea.

I bring this up because of a guy I dated a month or so ago (the “Producer”). We went on around five dates. Producer was nice. Producer was cute. Producer was also horribly boring. I mean, not funny. At all! I can’t have that. So anyhow, I used the “fade out” on him. You know, where you slowly make yourself unavailable, become slightly less agreeable, take longer to return msgs, etc. I have not heard from him for about two weeks, making me believe that my master plan had worked. UNTIL…I get a myspace message from Producer on Friday.

“You still around?” it reads.

I do not reply because 1) what the hell kind of stupid question is that [where might I have gone?], 2) why is this joker sending me myspace messages when he can call/text/email, and 3) because I don’t like him. Mostly because I don’t like him. Ok, 100% because I don’t like him.

Then yesterday, Producer sends me an email to tell me that he KNOWS I read his message and he wants to know why I didn’t reply. And then reason he KNOWS that I read his message is because myspace tells you when someone reads your message.

Sending me a myspace message to see if I will read and reply so that you can settle once and for one whether I still want to see you or not is a little lame, but somewhat understandable. However, bringing it up is creepy. Worse yet, he has sent me a third message, that I am afraid to even check.

A total violation the e-stalkers code. Also probably a sign that I need to bid my myspace account farewell.

Hickeygate 2008

So begins another cycle of the Diet Coke Dating Horror Show.

This time around, I was/am re-dating a person [henceforth “Gameboy” – because he designs video games] that I previously dated, but then stopped dating because I got semi-serious with someone else instead [the guy I picked over Gameboy turned out to be a total whacko, but then I maybe should have deduced that early on given his die hard obsession with Proust and Morrisey]. I was going through my emails the other day and came upon exchanges with Gameboy, and was reminded of how he was both cute and sweet. Plus he called me almost immediately after our first date, which is the type of early dating behavior I tend to favor.

Sure, several months had passed, but what was the harm in emailing him to see if he wanted to grab a drink? So I did just that. And much to my amazement he emailed back, and not just to tell me to shove off. We ended up getting together last weekend [Friday night] for dinner at a vegan place called Cru in Silverlake. After dinner we headed to 4100 Bar – a cool bar where good dates go to die [or maybe just my dates]. And by “some drinks”, I mean he had one scotch to my three Kettle/soda’s.

At 4100 Bar, things got a little strange. He didn’t want to order another drink, which made me think he was over the date. As we were walking out, I was fully prepared to say goodbye. Instead he suggested that we walk over to a coffee shop we had seen earlier. The coffee place was closed, so we continued walking around for a bit looking for places to go until it was decided that we’d go back to my place [Very clever tactic, Gameboy. Very clever indeed.]

Back at my place, Gameboy drank tea, which concerned me greatly. Diet Coke likes alcohol on a Friday night, not tea. My fears were quelled when he insisted that I drink whatever I please. And I think he meant it. Or at least I hope so. Anyhow, we hung out for a long while, chatted, joked, laughed, blah blah. I ended up having a lot of fun and decided that I liked Gameboy [which of course, means that Gameboy cannot like me].

Saturday was stressful, because being crazy as I am, I expected that Gameboy would call/text/email me. He did not. Not being able to contain myself, and knowing full well that I would have been better served by doing nothing, I texted him anyhow. This of course led to additional hours of agony as Gameboy did not respond. Or at least not until Sunday, when he asked if I wanted to see a movie at his place. I of course, despite knowing that I should have pretended to have better things to do, accepted his offer. [Clearly, I could use some of those horrible “Rules” in my life]

All was going well until, as I got ready to leave, I glanced at his neck and realized the he had a hickey, junior high style. As I imagined the thirty two year old man standing before me going to work with a giant red mark on his neck, naturally, I laughed out loud. Two seconds later, completely in jest [I swear it], I uttered five tiny words.

“You are a marked man.”

His whole expression changed. As if I had some how branded him on purpose so all the ladies of the world knew that he was mine, mine, mine. When in fact, I think he probably just has sensitive skin.

Anyhow, I left. No word from Gameboy since. Sad, because I could have totally dug him.

But then again, if he can’t handle a hickey and a harmless remark, it was doomed anyhow.

And finally, I am clearly doing something wrong when it comes to this whole “dating” gig.

Protected: I may have a drinking problem.

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A world of pain.

Examples of a good idea:: ice cream, pool side frolicking, pancakes, vacations, backyard BBQs, baseball games, massages, cupcakes, swimming pools, bubble bath, diet carbonated beverages, photographs.

Examples of a bad idea::
waking up at 5a (in the morning people!!!) to engage in the most hellish workout ever after not having worked out in half a decade.

Wanting to fit in with the early morning worker outter contingent at my work place, I signed up to join my clearly masochistic cohorts today at Burn 60. The class was way the hell over in Brentwood and started at 6a. I have not woken up that early since my burglar alarm went off a couple months ago, and even then, I considered staying in bed. And the name Burn 60? Accurate in part, as their is in fact burning. However, not merely for the 60 minutes the name implies. I am 9.5 hours post workout and I am in PAIN. I can’t walk, I can’t bend down, it is a wonder I can even type.

I also went to see Dr. Kerendian, marking our one month anniversary. Between the lipotropics and the ass kicking workout, I better see some results. And I mean soon!