Posts Tagged 'boys'

G-mail:: saved my blog/nearly killed my relationship.

So a funny/awful thing happened.  And in the end, it means [SPOILER ALERT] I can freely blog again.  Read below for the deets, if you can manage to muddle through my story.

Remember that guy I met in the poker room last Thanksgiving?* That one who was 23 [24 now, thank you very much!]?  The one with whom a relationship was impractical, stupid, crazy, etc.?  Yeah, well.  We are still dating.  He moved here to Los Angeles for the summer [last summer] for work…and so we could spend some time together.   And I kinda, maybe, totally have fallen in love with him.

Boyfriend has since moved back to a certain shit box state that rhymes with Trichigan, finishing his last semester of grad school.  And upon graduation, God/Buddha/L. Ron willing, he will be moving back to Los Angeles.  To be with me [fingers crossed].

Boyfriend doesn’t know about this here blog.  Because why?  Because I didn’t tell him initially –  it seemed unfair that he should know so much about me so easily.  And then I hadn’t told him for so long, it seemed bizarre to just spring it on him.  And then when I could have told him, I didn’t [I fear judgment] – and the opportunity passed.  Plus, my blog is super secret, duh.  My own friends don’t know about it.  [Ok, fine.  A few do.  But most don’t.] Sooooo, I figured [convinced myself] that as long as I don’t keep writing, it was cool, because there was no betrayal [i.e.,  I was not keeping an ongoing secret].

And THEN…there was betrayal.  BUT NOT BY ME!!!  Oh, no!  By Boyfriend.

The betrayal story::

I spent Halloween with my friends at a certain hotel in Hollywood [I was an awesome homemade cupcake, in case you were wondering].  My cellie didn’t fit in my costume, so I left it in the room.  And then I drank.  And then I drank a lot more.  And then I came back and sent some totally incoherent text messages to Boyfriend…at 5 am.  Boyfriend, apparently, was concerned that I was cheating on him? [I don’t know why he thought this.  It doesn’t make much sense because I am totes not, and because I am constantly professing my love for him like every five seconds.  How could I have time to cheat between every five seconds love professions?] When I called Boyfriend the next afternoon to catch up and tell him about my awesome night, he was acting completely strange.  After our conversation, I confusedly sat back on my couch trying to figure out what was going on with Boyfriend.  And then it occurred to me that a few days prior, I had asked Boyfriend to check my Pilates Plus** schedule online [I was without access to the Internets, blah blah].  My Pilates Plus password is [WAS] the same as my gmail password.  Could it be that Boyfriend had checked my gmail?  No fucking way, right?  But maybe.

I logged on to gmail, looked at my account activity, and wham, bam, boom.   Someone [aka Boyfriend] had logged in while I slept.  This someone had an IP address located in Same Town as Boyfriend, Trichigan.***

Why am I telling you this whole long drawn out-story?  Because I have rationalized that since Boyfriend checked my gmail account while I was sleeping, I am permitted to write about him and everything else on my super secret blog.  Eye for an eye, or whatever.  Except in this case, confessed betrayal for possible betrayal [depending how you look at it] that will hopefully be forever undiscovered.
What I am saying is – I am back. [And rusty, I know]

* I kind of love that I spent last Thanksgiving in a poker room.  I don’t know why I love it, as all it really says about me is that I am a total degenerate.

** Holy shit, Pilates Plus is awesome.  I am now, as a result of these classes, with muscle.

*** Boyfriend later voluntarily confessed to his stupid, stupid shenanigans – and we moved on.  I was surprisingly understanding.  Sure, I was shocked and mad – but I kinda also understood the urge.

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He’s just not that into you, except when he is.

Back in 2005, I was four years into a relationship with my boyfriend from the New York Era. He and I both moved to Los Angeles after law school, and while he was a great guy [he really was] our relationship was more or less dead sauce.  As in, we needed to break up – BAD.  And we had tried, believe me.  But after that many years, it is really quite difficult to let go of a relationship, even if you know it is not a good one.

Then one day in September of that year, I attended a surprise birthday party for a family friend. At that party, I met a guy [“Ratatouille” [previously discussed here]] with whom I engaged in a brief conversation.  I left that night not being able to stop thinking about Ratatouille.  He had not made any attempt to ask me out or get my info and I didn’t think I would see him again, but the fact that I thought about him as much and as intensely as I did really served as the catalyst for my break up with Law School Boyfriend [two days later…on my birthday. Brutal]

About a month after my birthday, I received my first of many surprises from Ratatouille.  He had gotten my number from our family friend and called to ask me out. I, very excitedly, accepted. I was pretty sure that it was destiny. That the connection I felt with him – and the fact that meeting him had inspired me to dump my boyfriend – could not have been a fluke.

Several dates later, I was devastated when Ratatouille just stopped calling me. I had thought everything was going wonderfully. He had even brought me flowers on our last date. Surely, this was a sign he was interested. Right?

Not so much, as it turned out. I didn’t hear from Ratatouille… until a few months ago. After consulting with the masses [you], I decided to give Ratatouille a call after our last chance encounter [at his behest, mind you].  Surprisingly, Ratatouille never got back to me.

UNTIL….last week, when Ratatouille surprised me once again with a facebook message proclaiming his excitement over finding me, and expressing his desire to out again.

I pondered for days how to respond. I bombarded my friends with emails pondering the same. Finally, I decided to look back on old emails from the brief Ratatouille Era and came upon this following except from an email, sent to a friend of mine::

“So A**** did not call. I think I need to have a good cry and face the fact that he is just not interested. Fucking brutal. I cried today at work like a jackass. I so hate myself right now.”

My pathetic email made me remember how totally sad and confused I felt when Ratatouille blew me off the last time around. And it made me angry that I am debating, in 2009, whether to go out with a guy who hurt me way the fuck back in 2005!!! This is not forward progress. So anyhow, I am dunzo with Ratatouille – on my own terms this time.

[In the interest of full disclosure, I am kinda maybe sort of head over heels for 23*, which also would preclude my accepting Ratatouille’s invitation]

* which shall be further discussed in a separate blog post.

P.S – I am back, whohoo!

Two parts happy. One part insane.

The Happy::
I am almost afraid to admit it aloud [ablog?], lest my typing out the words will jinx it, but the last few months have been awesome. [am I using lest right?]
I have been receiving numerous compliments from my colleagues about what a splendid job I am doing [which admittedly is causing me to be lazy –  I learned at a young age not to set the bar to high].  I have been spending increasingly more time with my friends, who I didn’t even realize I was missing until now.   My dog is slowly starting to love me as much as she does my father.  I am feeling healthy, which feeling is confirmed by a recent physical in which my doctor declared my blood test to be “perfect.”   I’ve got back to back four day weekends coming up!
So of course, not one to rest of my happy laurels too long, I have decided to infuse some crazy into my life…
The Crazy::
You may recall a few blog posts back, when I shared with you an email from a certain poker room suitor (herein dubbed “23“).
Well, since such email, 23 and I have been carrying on a raging text message/phone/email affair.
Mind you, 23 is 23 and I am sooo not 23. 23 lives in Michigan [still a student, no less] and I in Los Angeles.  The chance of anything ever happening with 23 [including my ever seeing him again] is completely implausible…maybe even impossible.  Yet, I talk to him on the phone for two hours at a time.  And I fucking hate talking on the phone.  We send HUNDREDS of stupid emails and texts a day.  I am growing addicted.
What am I doing?
Being crazy.  That’s what.
And one other thing::
I kind of maybe definitely made out with Shaggy Hair Guy last weekend.  Somewhere between one too many vodka sodas [story of my life] and sucking REALLY badly at Rock Band, I may have attacked his face with my tongue.  Although I don’t think he minded too much cause he called me last night.  I feel pretty whatever about him [though I would admittedly be insulted had he not asked me out], but dating a real life human being beats falling into fake love with a series of text messages, emails and random photos.  Right?  RIGHT?  [I don’t even know]

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.

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.