Why I Hate the Math Teacher

WHY I HATE THE MATH TEACHER

GUEST POST BY ANDY WHITE

*@andywhitedc is a DC resident, author and social media manager. His first guest post depicting yet another bad date and entitled "The Layers" can be found here. His second and third posts, also about a bad date (see any patterns here hmm??) "Muted Lights, Small City" and Two's Company, Four's a Bitch can be found here and here. In case it wasn't obvious from the entry's title, Andy doesn't like the new guy I've been dating. It's not serious, I'm completely on the rebound and I don't even treat him well. So I'm not sure why Andy's so against him but here are his thoughts on Mr. H anyhow...

Why 'the teacher' is everything that is wrong with men in today's society:

I recently posted a comment that indicated my dislike for 'the teacher' in succinct and somewhat blunt terms. A 'Heather' responded indicating a desire to see this blown out into something more substantial Heather, this is for you:

The teacher represents a crawling manifestation of everything we seek to avoid as we traipse through the human experience. At first, and in small doses, this man is amenable and sometimes even affable. He is at the outer extremities of your group, the type of rogue with whom you would never hang out 1 one 1, but he's always there, always looking. Angular and awkward in construction, there's a sharp movement in his step, as though always ready to slip his hand somewhere unwanted.

He will go for the weak and the vulnerable. Recently broken up, emotionally damaged, desperate for affirmation of their beauty; that they are thin, that they can get over it, that they do actually like giving head, really, truly. That's his specialty, that's his wheelhouse.

In this particular instance our villain knew of the pain dear MM was going through. This was out in the open and it was clear and it was very true. He sat there, he said the right things, he put a consoling hand on a damaged knee. He saw a girl that was at her very lowest ebb, a girl that needed an arm, a hug, words in her ear to let her know everything will be alright. Really. She was desperate for someone to push $20 into the hand of a cabbie and send her home. She was desperate for someone to care, for someone selfless, for someone who didn't think with his vile wick.

He was none of those things. He was her worst nightmare that night.

Lest we forget the group of friends that were present that evening, and I for one will never forgive, never forget. They saw first-hand his moves, his lines, his darting tongue and thin words. They could have surrounded MM like on the Serengeti and ushered him back to the dark visages of his mind, from where he came and where he will ultimately return. But they didn't. They were complicate. They pushed MM into the waiting clutches of a man designed to suck the life out of those around him because he knows of nothing but pain.

That's probably why I hate 'the teacher' and everything he represents. Scum.

A Date with A Unicorn: Part 15

It's safe to say, dating Mr. Unicorn had been a rollercoaster with very high highs and very low lows, the kind of sudden dips that make your stomach flip flop and the kind of inexplicable twists and turns and warp speed that makes you feel euphorically alive.

After some of the most amazing dates of my life and also after some very honest conversations and necessary growing pains, Mr. U and I were set to have what would be our eighth and final "date."

This date was different than all the others. It was different because I had planned it, I would pay for it. And it had been all my idea.

We started the evening at Bar Pilar. A beautifully haunting bar, with small bites and interesting cocktails. Chandeliers fall brooding from the ceiling, couples flirt with one another across high wooden tables and the ultra hipster bartender chick with the dark eyeliner and checkered bandanna scarf concocts you a drink. As a super literature nerd, I love that this place is intended as an homage to Ernest Hemingway, hence the paintings of toreadors bull fighting, bizarre murals of half-naked mermaids at their best and a large depiction of the ragingly genius alcoholic himself.

I was a little nervous to see Mr. U. After all it had been a bit of a trying week. First with the difficult sleeping arrangements and then with the miscommunications over our relationship's biggest milestone to date. I wanted it all to go so well and as with most things in life, there was no guarantee they would.

He came in looking like he always looked. Bearded and classically, simply dressed, with a quiet confidence, soft glance and sweet smile aimed right at me. He'd been here before he told me, but enjoyed it and thought it was a good choice for a pre-punk concert dinner. We ordered octopus (unexpectedly AMAZING), italian meatballs and potatoes (delicious) and some green vegetable plate or another (which I didn't like but Mr. U did). I drank Dark and Stormy's (a dark rum, ginger beer mixture of some sort) while he drank whiskey.

While we drank and dined I told Mr. U how hard it was planning a date and that I had new respect for all guys everywhere having to do it all the time. "It's a lot of pressure," I admitted. "And as it turns out, I like being wooed a lot more than I like wooing. Go figure." "Don't worry," he assured me, "I'm not done wooing you yet." (Good man. What a good. man.) With that settled, we turned our thoughts to music and got totally pumped for the night's main event.

Mr. U is a HUGE fan of a local DC band whose two shows this weekend at the 930 Club (Saturday and Sunday) and another at the Black Cat (Friday) had been sold out for weeks. Mr. U had casually mentioned his disappointment at being unable to get a ticket to see them on one of our earliest dates. When I had thought to plan and pay for a date to celebrate his birthday, I instantly thought of getting these tickets some way, some how. It turned out to be easier than I would have thought. I called in a favor from a friend who manages a bunch of DC and Baltimore bands and coordinates shows at a variety of DMV venues. And we were all set! Just like that. As it turned out, a large group of my friends were ALSO planning on seeing the show and would be there the same night. I would finally be able to introduce Mr. U to some of my friends.

When I told Mr. U that I had obtained tickets, he hugged me so tight, I had to tell him to let go lest he crush my ribs. But I was thrilled that he was so excited. I had done good. And that felt great - to have hit the jackpot with my planning and efforts.

After Bar Pilar, we hopped in a cab and arrived at the 930 club a few short minutes later. They took our tickets and stamped our hands in heavy black ink. We stepped into the main room and looked around. It was still pretty early and my friends were no where in sight.

"So who all am I going to be meeting?" Mr. U asked as we stood in the back of the room facing each other with his arms around me. "Oh, just my friend J and some other people. They're cool." "I see," he said. "And do they know they are meeting me?" "Probably not actually," I answered back. "J has been out of town for awhile for work and we haven't really had a chance to catch up. And depending on who else shows up, none of them might have heard about you. But, you know, I'll introduce you as my 'friend' so don't worry. No pressure."

"Your 'friend' eh? Is that what I am? I'd say I'm more than a friend after 9 dates," he insisted with a mischievous look on his face. "Oh you know what I mean," I mumbled back. "And it's 8 dates, not 9," I corrected. "Pssh, 7, 8, 9- what difference does it make? You know what I think?" "No," I replied unsure of where he was going with this line of thought. "I think we should stop counting dates." "Okaaaaaay?" I answered still confused. "Which would mean we would no longer be dating." "Okaaaaaay?" I repeated. "I don't understand". "I don't think we should be dating anymore, because I think you should just be my girlfriend already." "Is that okay?"

INSERT GIRLY SQUEAL IN MY INNER THOUGHTS HERE. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!! DID HE JUST DROP THE G-BOMB! EEP! EEP! EEP! EEP! HUZZAH!!! HURRAH!!!! HURRAY!

Now despite the fact that I was internally giddy from head to toe and ear to ear, I am proud to say that I responded to this offer as cool as a frikkin cucumber. Meryl Streep herself couldn't have acted the part as unsuspecting, nonchalant and relaxed as I did. "Um, yeah, I guess we could do that." "Yeah?" he said. "Yes," I said.

Now because my head was about to explode right off of my neck, I had to reinforce these statements with some further validation, just to be sure I had heard correctly. "So...what you are saying is....when I introduce you tonight you want me to introduce you to my friends as my.........boyfriend???" "That's what I'm saying." "Okay," I said. "Okay," he said. EEP!

Shortly thereafter, my friends arrived, "the boyfriend" was introduced for the first time and the bands began to play. Mr. U stood behind me in the darkness with his fingers clinging to my belt loops. The music reverberated throughout our bodies and the concert lights washed over us as we danced and sang along to each familiar melody.

I was completely, utterly, senselessly, impossibly happy. Happy, happy, happy, happy, happy. No one seemed to notice that I couldn't stop smiling. That I was positively beaming. But I was just the same. I looked over my shoulder back at Mr. U and for some reason I thought to say above the noise: "We are going to have soo much fun!" He looked back at me and smiled wide. "You have no idea how much fun," he answered. "Sooooo.....much......fun."

A Date with A Unicorn: Part 12

Does anyone recall Jersey Boy after all this unicorn insanity? Probably not. If you need a refresher you can go back and read my post from back in December here. The gist of it is that Jersey Boy and I are old college friends in a group of super tight old college friends. He and I have been friends, we have been more than friends and we have been just friends but also with some benefits. (I think we are all on the same page). I like him as a person. I enjoy his company. I care about him. I find him attractive. And we have chemistry. I think I can say with all likelihood that he feels the same about me. And its always been uncomplicated and fun and respectful. Our biggest obstacle was always geography and timing and then also the general consensus that we were better off friends than anything more. But I digress...

Now, why am I talking about Jersey Boy in a post about the now infamous Mr. Unicorn? That's because I spent the four days of MLK weekend skiing up north with Jersey Boy and some of our other friends. Did I tell Mr. Unicorn that I was skiing with a former lover? Err, no I did not. We hadn't been dating long enough for this to seem necessary. And to be honest, I didn't feel guilty about this omission at all. At this point in time, it wasn't any of Mr. U's business. On the other hand, there was quite a bit that could have been told...

Back in December, Jersey Boy had recently broken up with his long time girlfriend. And I, hadn't had a successful date or relationship in a very long time. It had been. a very. very. long time. If you know what I mean? (I think we're on the same page again). Jersey Boy had been inviting me up to NYC to see and stay with him with no doubt in either of our minds, what that invitation really meant. The two of us (and not our other friends) planned this ski trip so that we could be together. And then when Mr. U happened, well, things changed. Of course I was still going to ski with my friends. And was still looking forward to seeing Jersey. But since Mr. U and I had had the "we're exclusive" conversation (although we apparently weren't boyfriend and girlfriend yet either) the guidelines of how Jersey and I would interact had become a bit blurry.

At first, I wasn't tempted to ignite old flames. In fact, I spent most of the train ride up thinking of Mr. U and the dates we'd been on and the things he'd said to me during our time together. The song "the Dog Days are Over" murmured from my headphones as I spaced out looking through the window at the snow covered country side and woods entranced in a contented daze. I was happy. I couldn't wait to see my friends. I couldn't wait to ski. I couldn't believe Mr. U was back at home waiting for me.

And the whole weekend was one giant success. You know the kind of time where everyone gets along perfectly and everything goes right. You know the kind of friends that know you? Like really really really you and everything is an inside joke or a reference to a memory. We laughed so hard what seemed like every second of every day. We laughed so hard we cried. We laughed so hard we started to cough. And then as we all were coughing and laughing we laughed so much harder we coughed and then cried again. By the end of the weekend, I had laughed out every infinitesimal amount of stress in every molecule of my being. I felt like a million bucks. No, make that two million bucks. That's how good I felt.

And despite the fact that Mr. U and I had embarked on a whirlwind romance just weeks before, leading up to the the days before my trip, including the fact that I had been overwhelmingly infatuated with this person during most of that time, I didn't think of him much at all. I didn't miss him. I didn't wish I was somewhere else. I was happy with my friends. This began to make me worried. While ultimately I came to the conclusion that this was more a sign that Mr. U and I were developing a healthy relationship (versus an unhealthy codependent, obsessive scenario), at the same time, I began to worry and wonder if my feelings for him were as deep as I had previously thought.

And while distance might make the heart grow fonder for some, for me, its more likely that if you are out of sight you are out of mind. Fair or not. Nice or not. That's the way I've always been.

Combined with this confusing retraction of feelings for Mr. Unicorn, I was feeling the instant reinstatement of my connection with Jersey Boy. He knew me. Like an old friend. Like really really knew me. And we had the old banter and the old repertoire and all those good memories. On the drive up to the mountains we snuggled in the back seat of the car. Partially out of necessity, because the skis and other equipment took up most of the space. It had been a long day for me. I'd gone to work on Friday morning, then walked to the metro to take the metro to Union Station, then got a train and was now in for a long car ride. I put my arm around Jersey and lay my head on his shoulder and fell asleep. The rest of the weekend there were small moments like that one. Where we joked about a time we were together. Where we flirted with the idea of something happening again. We skied down a mountain side by side and we cooked breakfast in the morning together. We talked about his ex-girlfriend and we talked about Mr. U and we also talked about everything else in between. When the gang went out to some townie bars for the night, we danced with one another along with the rest of the group. After the bars, we came home and found ourselves the only ones still awake. We sat by the fire for hours on opposite couches divulging the deepest worries and reservations on our minds. It was so good to be with my friend. It would have been so easy to take his hand and lead him upstairs and find comfort that we'd found before in one another's arms. And I must admit, he looked so. damn. good. Better than I'd ever seen him. He just seems to get handsomer with time.

But I didn't. And he didn't. And we didn't. The thing about falling for someone and being committed to someone - is that it doesn't make you a perfect, human specimen over night. You might still be tempted by the attractiveness or vibrancy or convenience of another. And therefore, I don't blame myself for feeling something for Jersey Boy. But I do commend myself for making the right choice. In another year, with another guy, I might have sabotaged a good potential relationship, by making the wrong choice. For fear of happiness. For fear of happiness and then loss. But not this time. This time, I was strong enough to choose the happiness. And to take the risks that come with it.

Though the mountains have very scarce cell phone reception and even less Internet, I did finally touch base with Mr. U. "So am I going to see you Monday?" he texted hopefully on Sunday afternoon right around the time I started to take off my ski layers at the end of a long day hitting the slopes. Despite our radio silence, and the emotional and physical distance I felt between us, the answer still came instantaneously and without thought. And what Mr. U still doesn't know is that instead of taking the $10 five hour bus ride that would've gotten me home far too late to see him, I bought a $131 train ticket for a 3 and 1/2 hour train ride (just an hour and a half shorter) at the last minute to ensure I got back in time to be with him before the work week began again. "Yes, I'm going to see you," I said when I called him to make our plans. "I'll spend the night too," I added. "Can't wait," he said.

I sort of hate myself for saying what I've said above. On the one hand it makes me feel like I don't deserve my unicorn. That I'd doubt what we might have or risk it or reject it. That I could ungratefully shun this gift that has appeared impossibly from the universe. For me. On the other hand, it makes me feel like I chose my unicorn. That I considered the alternatives. Really considered the alternatives that were readily available to me. What I wanted. How I felt. What was right for me. I didn't like Mr. Unicorn because he treated me like royalty or paid for all our dates. I liked him because he was a good person. Because he was always annoyingly and adorably freezing cold. Because he made me feel like I was home. Because he brought out the best version of myself and made me want that version to be even better. This was the real deal. And I was scared. To cross the point of no return.

I got off the train at Union station and found my way on the metro towards Mr. U's apartment. He met me at the nearest stop and helped me with my luggage. The night was miserably cold and slushy, the sleet pouring down icily on my face. Mr. U held an umbrella over both of us (though in reality it covered much more of me and very little of him). He pointed out every puddle in my path. He wasn't the dream I had envisioned on the train. He was more. So much more. Because he was real.

When we got to his apartment, he had wine and takeout Chinese waiting for us. After a long trip, he couldn't have guessed better, what I needed. We caught up with one another about our activities over the weekend, ate our food, drank our wine and snuggled on the couch.

Later, we climbed into bed and the rest just happened. I had made my decision. And there was no turning back. He had the power to hurt me now. To hurt me to my very core. The way I hadn't let myself be hurt in years. But when you find someone as great as that. Someone you could see yourself falling in love with - you take the risk. You place your bet. And you hope it pays off.

Holding each other close that night, I looked at Mr. U for a long time looking back at me. I could still see the sheen of the unicorn, somewhere beyond his stare and encircling the space around him. But more than a mythical creature, I saw him for what he was. Just a man. Not a perfect person or impossible icon but merely a good man. A good man who saw me for who I was. And was risking his heart and his bets, on a regular girl. And that girl was me.

Over Men Again?

*Sorry it has been so long. But now I’m giving you a very long post. Try to read it all. Thank you to Phnx65, Christie, Sassy Marmalade and WashingtonTina for keeping me honest and pressing me to write. If you like what I have to say check out their blogs linked to their names above for some entertaining reads.*

Last time we left off with this single heroine, (as I like to think of myself), I was pondering whether or not to go on a Blind Date. And then I did indeed schedule my very first ever Blind Date. And because I fear the outcome might disappoint those anticipating the episode, I promise I will get to it, but first…

I’m sitting in my parent’s house bored stiff, waiting for the cable guy. Because nothing technological ever seems to work in my parent’s house and I, of course, because I’m younger and more tech savvy, (what a joke), have to handle it for them. I want to be a good daughter but still – ugh – kill me now. The cable guy should be here ANYTIME NOW, that is to say, between 11am and 2pm. Seriously? How in the eff do people in the service industry STILL get away with this? Can I just say that 3 hour appointment “windows” are Bull. $hit. But I digress…sort of.

I mean I am waiting on a man am I not? Yet again. A man to call. Or text or email or show up at my doorstep. Finally show up in my otherwise complete, fulfilling and happy life, for what? To fix something that’s wrong? Provide a service that I need/want/enjoy? Perhaps. But still- I have to wait for it. And PAY for it. And ask for it. And schedule it. And not know exactly when it’s gonna happen, if it will go smoothly, and even if it does work out whether or not things will work out in the long run. History would suggest that looks may fade, static could occur and total disconnection isn’t impossible and even probable. The question isn’t if the eventually glitches or problems and break downs in service will surface, it is only truly a matter of when. And then, I’ll need another man to appear and revamp the overhauled system. Or woman. (It could happen).

What I’m trying to say, as inarticulately as possible, is that I’m sick of men. Or at least sick of dating them. For awhile. I go through ebbs and flows of dating determination, deflation and defeat. Every few months or so. It’s not like I’m in a drought. On the contrary, I was hit on by several men just last night. I just don’t see the point. And I can’t seem to muster the optimism, gumption and fortitude that other serial single daters like my blog buddy DateMeDC tirelessly appears to do. Ad infinitum. I mean -6 guys in the mix! Sheesh girl! I think I did 5 guys once in the early months of year 2009. But that was almost 2 years ago. And I’m tired. Tired of texting, emailing, dating, drinking, flirting, kissing, facebooking, calling and being called by all the wrong men.

I don’t want you to think I’m being cynical. Or depressed. Or a quitter. The greatest thing I feel right now as I’m writing is this: I. Am. Happy. I mean, really and truly happy. I haven’t felt this great in so long. My family and I are in a really healthy, balanced, loving place. I feel like my mom, dad, big brother and grandmother are all really good friends. And though I haven’t been back in D.C. that long after my return move, I’ve started to develop solid relationships with some really cool, good people to spend free time with. Additionally, I’m in a stable place at work. Of course I’m still a peon attorney on the bottom rung of the ladder, but I sense I’m starting to get noticed and at least my intellectual curiosity is constantly being challenged and sated and the pay check is helping me FINALLY get a hold over my finances for the first time ever. And I love being back in my hometown. Moreover, my recent significant though short-lived health problems have reminded me to enjoy life and not take myself so seriously. Things are good. I am not cynical. I’m just, well…happy.

Every night, I stretch out over the whole of my $1000 (my most expensive possession except for my car and baby grand piano) Queen-sized, extra long, pillow-top mattress, immersed in blankets and plush pillows and I don’t have to share a single square with another. I sleep great. I’m not waiting for someone to call for our next date. I’m not wondering if he’s cheating on me. I’m not excited for when I’m supposed to see him next. I'm not trying to spice up our sex life or goading him to do the dishes or help me fix something or go to some bull shit event with me. I don't have to put up with his video game addiction or his friends who act like they're still pre-pubescent pissants. Instead, I do what I want when I want. I don’t have to check in with anybody. I don’t have to explain that the guy I had lunch with REALLY is JUST AN OLD FRIEND, the thought of whom sleeping with really would be awkward torture. Really. I’m just getting up and living my life and right now it’s enough. More than enough. And while sex is great, don’t get me wrong, and when I’m having it regularly it’s all I want and all I think about, I’ve found that being a long-distance runner, workaholic and alcoholic, that I can go long bouts of time without it and not feel all that deprived. There is also something to be said in the comfort of being a girl, and having the confident knowledge, that if I really really needed to get some, that no doubt I could find a man in less than a day who would help me itch that scratch. Just sayin'...

That said I don’t want to get any more Pollyanna on you. (I am often described as overly enthusiastic and cheerful.) And I’m trying to find a way to wrap up this blog post if I haven’t lost you all already from my nauseatingly passionate banishment of coupledom and ovation for singledom.

So let me tell you what you asked about…Blind Date Guy. Who I never even went out with. Sorry. Fail. I know. Here’s why…

We did make plans to watch NFL Football (a passion we both share) on Sunday afternoon but we didn’t hash out specifics until the morning of. I was actually feeling comfortable and encouraged about him because I hadn’t been feeling well on Saturday, our originally scheduled date time. He had wanted to take me to the Botanical Gardens downtown and then throw a Frisbee or football around on the mall. Sounds fun right? But when I wasn’t feeling well or up to it Saturday, we decided sitting and watching football might be more my speed for this sick stricken weekend. Sunday morning he called, right when he said he would. I asked where he wanted to watch the game and I suggested some of my favorite sports bars. “Fuck that!” he said. “Excuse me?” I said. “Fuck paying overprice for food and beer at a bar, we can go to your place or mine.” “I don’t really feel comfortable with that, since I don’t know you well,” I countered and then suggested several places with very good and cheap beer and food specials during the games. “Come on,” he said. “It’s not like I’m a serial killer. You’ll be fine. Come to my place.” “No,” I said. “In fact, I’m sorry to do this to you so last minute, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to see you at all. I hope you enjoy the games if you still watch them and thank you for your interest in me but I won’t be dating you. Take care.” He was understandably upset. And he may actually be a nice guy. But I don’t think he is. I got a bad, creepy vibe from him. And I trusted my instincts. Besides, I know this make me sounds like a materialistic bitch. But I can’t deal with anyone that cheap. On a date or otherwise. I’m an attorney and I make a comfortable salary. I like to go out and drink and eat. I don’t need to be wined and dined but I like to enjoy the city. How can I be with someone who isn’t able to do that or doesn’t want to? And I’ve found that guys who make considerably less money than me or less period, lose interest or get frustrated with that fact sooner rather than later. And I said to myself, why go hang out with someone that you no longer want to see? That you have doubts about when you’ve never even met him? That makes you feel creeped out and unsure and uncomfortable? I was told it’s a number game, but maybe I don’t want to play. Or maybe I have a good feeling this guy wasn’t my particular jackpot lotto combination. Regardless, I didn’t go out with him. And I never will. And I’m glad I didn’t. It would have been a waste of a perfectly fun Sunday afternoon which was alternatively spent drinking beer margaritas with new friends.

To add to my dating misery, last week I met another guy- a stand-up comic (who also has a day job) at a comedy club where some of my other friends were performing. He came up to me after the show and asked for my contact info. He facebooked me later that night (don’t get me started on facebook) and I began to message back and forth with him. But he never asked me out and stopped writing back. After a few short pleasantries. Typical, typical.

So after all this dating disappointment, I went out last night to Wonderland Ballroom in Columbia Heights to play trivia with my girl and guy friends and I had told myself I was Over Men! (yet again). And set out to enjoy my single self. Which I did-until…

It became very apparent that the entire bar was FILLED to the brim with MY TYPE of men. Extremely tall, thinly-muscular guys, with glasses and oh my god geekiness galore! The kind of smart, clever guys who are interesting and kind and have NO IDEA how incredibly good looking they really are. So when a British babe in spectacles asked for my number…how could I possibly resist? I couldn't. So, will he call? I don’t know. Will I wait by the phone? Certainly not.

But am I, in fact, over men again???

Cheers,

Toddy.

Don't Nobody Else Get Crazy

A new female comedian I'm obsessed with is Angela Johnson a former Raiderette cheerleader who is simultaneously gorgeous while also being unpretentiously girl-next-door cute-as-a button. I would totally hate her if she wasn't so hilarious and seemingly nice. Check out a clip of her doing an impression of a ghetto flight attendant's introductory remarks to her passengers.




Speaking of nobody else getting crazy...Here's an update on 5 men who got a little rude and crazy with me this weekend.

1)Friday night a significantly attractive Marine who hit on me at Front Page Dupont (which I am really starting to not want to go to anymore because of douchebags like this) asked me to dance then asked me to have sex with him to which I replied: "Nah, I didn't really come out tonight to hookup with anyone. Sorry." To which he angrily replied: "Don't come to a 'hookup bar' unless you are here to hookup." Okay.

2)Saturday night drunk dial text at 1:35am from a former guy friend who got me really drunk a couple of weeks ago in order to trick me into having sex with him, which he'd been wanting to do for about 7 months, who won't stop calling me even though I clearly don't want to talk to him ever again. I wonder why?

3) Saturday night group drunk dial phone call and voicemail at 2:54am which said: "I am not dialing drunk. I am not dialing drunk. We are not dialing drunk." From the three guys who hit on me, Scarlett and Jersey at James Hoban (which is definitely a less-douchey, more chill, step up from Front Page). However, the one guy who talked to me for an hour was NOT the one who actually asked me for my number and then called me later, though the other boys were in the background. Did they think I was going to hookup with any of them let alone all three of them? Hmm.

4) My sort-of guy friend who I was having semi-obligatory brunch with this morning cancelled because he was way too hungover from last night. He didn't even remember how he got home. I understand that kind of hangover misery. But I was really looking forward to ACKC and since eHarmony has already established I'm an undateable bitch reject I might as well act like one so I can say for certainty this guy is ugly and awkard and he stood me up which is really saying something.

THE ONLY, AND I MEAN ONLY, THING THAT ANY MAN SAID TO ME THIS WEEKEND THAT MAKES ANY OF THIS ANY BETTER...is that a very very very gay man shouted out his car window last night that he loved my shoes. Fabulously green stilettos. Thank you very much.

So for now, slightly hungover, mildly depressed, full of ennui and wondering whether I should go eat eggs benedict and drink mimosas by myself, I can only advise other men in my wake not to get crazy...because I...WILL...CUT...YOU.