Folly Gets Serious

At first, I was convinced I was Depressed.  The feeling's been going on for a few weeks now and I even put calling my doctor on my list of Things To Do But Will Procrastinate In Doing, but there was something off about it.  Something not so...sad.  Now, I'm generally a Depressive person, and I know what Depression feels like for me.  This was off.  So then I decided I must be suffering from Anxiety.  Again, something I know about.  In high school, I used to suffer Panic Attacks and Vertigo just at the thought of raising my hand to answer a question.

Despite my love of Alfred Hitchcock, I can't stand this movie.

I decided against the Anxiety when I realized I wasn't actually anxious about anything.  So I went back to Depression.

I'm still not positive that's what it is, since it seems different than what I've experienced before, but I'm certainly feeling something.  I have a lot of reasons to feel run-down, depressed, stressed-out, or more.  Mom is still unemployed, has been for 19 months, and it's really taking a toll on her.  She's very depressed, lacking confidence, and, as it happens with unemployment, money is tight.  She's also admitted that it's taking a toll on her and my father's relationship.

I'm not seriously worried about them, but I don't like to hear those things.

In addition, I spent the last four weeks training for my first ever 5k race, held on The Fourth.  I didn't run the 3.1 miles straight through, but I did my darndest and I achieved all of my goals for the event:
A.   Finish in under 45 minutes
B.   Don't be the last to finish
C.   Just Finish. Alive.

That other time is the "chip time", whatever that is.

I finished the race in 37:43.83, well under my 45 minute goal. YAY ME! Unfortunately, the training and the race left me completely spent.  I'll be honest - I did not take as good of care of myself as I should have with the training and the running.  I didn't drink enough water, I didn't eat enough protein - lesson learned, for sure.

So, what do we have so far? We have mom's stressors, which are a domino effect for the rest of the family.  We have physical stressors, from the running and the training.  We have the already existing stressors from trying to figure out a career path and dealing with Trevor the Terrible Large Intestine.

My feet are covered with 'skeeter bites (apparently wearing flip-flops, after running, on a summer night = bugs descend like crazy).  Oh, my computer keeps going berserk-o on me and I have no idea why!

Basically, it all adds up to be not being in a good head space.  Then, of course, there's WNG.  WNG is working a lot, and he was gone on the holiday weekend, and so I haven't seen him in over two weeks.  I haven't spoken to him on the phone in almost as long.  We've conversed ever-so-briefly via text messages in the last two days, but we haven't made any plans to see each other.

This upsets me.

But I can't tell if it upsets me because there's actually a root issue, or if it upsets me because I have so much going on right now that I can't deal with a boy at the moment.

I've tried to listen to my Gut, and determine if it's a Gut Issue or a Dragon Issue, but I have no feeling about it.  No Gut feelings.  No Dragon feelings.  Just unclear, upset feelings.

I don't really know where I'm going with this rant.  I started writing all these things down for myself and felt the need to share them with others.  Perhaps I'm just tired and just need some sleep.  Perhaps I somehow managed to fuck things up with this great guy and ended up with a crash-n-burn relationship to show for it.  Or, perhaps I'm just overthinking things with WNG because of other things going on right now. 

I don't know.  I just really don't know what's going on with any part of my life right now.  When I go back and preview the post, I feel so stupid about even complaining about the WNG issues.  I read what I've written and think, logically, this is No. Big. Deal.  But it doesn't feel like it's no big deal.

Geez, what am I, 17 again?

Effff.....

The Date with the Noisy Lawyer

I look back on this date and laugh.  It was a good date.  No one else really agrees with me, and it certainly makes for a great story, but I really had no idea how...interesting...it was until I noticed other people's reactions as I told the story.

He called me directly instead of meeting me for drinks with the friend who set us up.  She said he'd rather contact me directly - fine with me.  So he called.  Red Flag one was the little mix-up in our activities for the evening.  I'd told our mutual friend, after seeing some of his photos on Facebook, that I had a thing for golfers.  Somehow that got back to him in a different form, and when he called he suggested we go hit some balls after dinner.

I don't play golf.

I can barely swing a club.

I attempted, and attempted is really the key word here, to explain the mix-up without fully giving away what I'd told our friend.  I glossed over my own skills or lack thereof at the sport and explained that I liked golf but I wasn't all that interested in playing.  His response was:

"You just need to practice more.  If you practice more, you'll like it."

Naturally.  I brushed aside his suggestion, or insistence, that I simply needed to practice the sport more to enjoy playing it (I'm perfectly content to caddy for my parents at the moment thankyouverymuch).

I'll caddy for you anytime, Rory McIlroy

As I walked up to the restaurant, I felt exactly like those people you see on the Match.com commercials, walking into their first date.  I felt all clammy and nervous, expecting that familiar jingle to start playing as I headed to the door in my jeans, tee, and pointy heels.

We went to a Vietnamese place and made our own spring rolls - super fun.  (Is it wrong that I now want to take WNG there for the same thing?)  We also had Vietnamese coffee, which was very tasty - also, very caffeinated.  I no longer drink soda, tea, or other caffeinated beverages past about 1pm, so I did not sleep a WINK that night.  Unfortunately, things went downhill not long after arriving. You see, I was told he was "only 5'9"."  This is not an issue, as I am short and even in 4-inch heels I don't break 5'7".  I quickly discovered that Lawyer was SO NOT the 5'9" I was told he was.  I practically towered over him.  This was weird - I'm never taller than anyone!

A personal annoyance of mine is someone who flashes their ability to pay for something at me.  Lawyer insisted I could order anything I wanted off the menu because he was paying.

Um, yes, yes you are paying, I wanted to say.  YOU are the one who called ME! That's my rule - barring any sort of long-term relationship mumbo-jumbo, or really expensive things like concerts or amusement parks, whoever does the asking does the paying.

I must give him credit, he seemed like a really nice, genuine guy, though he could have kept the volume down a bit when telling me about his recent cases.  He's very loud and talkative, and maybe the table behind us didn't need to hear about how one client had his penis out, in his hands, masturbating while women walked passed his car.  Or the details from the sexual assault by the guy who's now in court for the third time on such a charge.

Oh, yeah, side note: I cut my hair super short!!

I could feel my face going red as he spoke, and I tried to shrink as far down in my booth as possible.  At about this point, the table behind us got up to leave after they finished dinner, and as they left they stopped at our table and the lady said, "It was nice getting to know the two of you."

OH NO THEY DI'IN'T (oh yes they did)

WHO DOES THAT????  ANYONE reading our body language could tell that we don't really know each other, and we're likely on a first date.  You can usually tell which couples those are in a restaurant, and dear heavens to Betsy I would NEVER in a million years walk up to a couple that appeared to be on a first date and make such an asinine comment.

I wouldn't make such a comment to any couple, but especially not one that appeared to be on a first date.

Any-hoo...

Lawyer was kind of a showoff - telling me how he can do whatever he puts his mind to doing, no matter how hard.  Like skiing.  If he wants to go down a Double Diamond hill, then by golly he's going to make it down that Double Diamond hill no matter what.  Because he can.  He kept inviting me to go to Yoga with him the following night (his friend owns the place so he could probably get me a discount).  In fact, he invited me no less than three times to join him at Yoga.

His wallet was made of Argentinean leather, which, you know, is like, super rare and special.  He told me all about a European trip he took with an ex-girlfriend after high school, when they were already exes (don't ever do that, by the way, go on vacation with an ex. So he tells me...).  Really? I don't care if that was 10 years ago -- please don't mention any exes.

Despite his glowing qualities, we had nothing in common.  Different music tastes, movies, book subjects, height, volume levels...he just couldn't compare to WNG, who I'd seen only three days before (and was seeing again the next night, hence why I couldn't accept the ever-present Yoga invitation).

At the end of the date, he took out his phone and showed me pictures of his friend's dog - who had chewed up part of his Argentinean leather wallet - and his parents' two dogs.

After that date, I realized WNG really was the catch I thought he was (and still think he is!).  Also, I started to rethink these set-ups I never had an issue with before.   I MEAN REALLY!!

The Hyannis Port Update

My hiatus isn't helping.  I've been thinking on it, long and hard, and I've decided to let the follies help me out.

You see, I'm in a pickle.  A big, giant, green, kosher, dill pickle about the whole bloggy-blog world and where it fits with me.  I like it.  I love it.  I want some more of it - except for when I post some drunken posts. (But hey - those can be edited or deleted!)

Now - the pickle.  The real pickle.  The pickle that may not be a pickle at all (so, it's a cucumber?).  As you may (or, rather, SHOULD) know, I've been seeing this great guy I call WNG. Pronounced as "wing".  WNG is awesome.  WNG is nice.  WNG is someone with whom I can have a conversation about Tea Party politics, Dumb and Dumber and why we both don't like it, and our most embarrassing drunken incidents all in one night.  While missing out on the event we're attending.  That we paid to attend.

In short, he's great, I've met his sister, and at this point I don't want to fuck this up.  Hence the pickle (or cucumber).  Because while I don't think something as silly as a personal blog could possibly break up a couple (and if it could, maybe the couple shouldn't have been together anyway), I also don't think it's something worth coming between a great couple.  What if he doesn't want me to write about him at all?  What if he's uncomfortable with the fact that I had 4 dates within 9 days with 3 different guys, and he was one of the guys (and two of the dates)?

Most importantly and speculatively, what if he's uncomfortable with all The Bandleader posts?

Because you see follies, WNG is a friend of The Bandleader.

I always tend to speculate and postulate and other-lates and this could clearly not be a big issue.  He may not even be a good or great or best friend.  But I want to make sure I'm upfront and honest about everything, no keeping unnecessary secrets here, because a) Again, I don't want to fuck this up and b) We've been so honest up until now that there's no point in hiding a silly little blog.  But I also bring this up because I want to add to the blog a few small details that add up to one very significant change: My name and face.

I don't write solely about dates anymore.  In fact, I'm thinking I won't be writing about future dates at all, save for one very important doozy of a post to come soon (don't worry Josie, it's the post about the date with the overly-talkative Lawyer - it needs comics!!).

But adding my face and name makes it a little more real.  A little more personable.  And a little less creepy and stalkery.  It also makes me way easier to find online, hence the up-til-now delay in attaching names and faces and whatnot.

I mean, someone could Google me and then I'd pop up!  What then?

I'm rambling, I know, but perhaps you see where I'm coming from.  Attaching a name and a face to a currently-anonymous blog is a big step digitally, and it could have a ripple effect elsewhere in my life.  That was the point of the hiatus - to determine any ripples.

I haven't found them, but I'm sure they're there.

I like my blog, and I don't find anything about it overly embarrassing, but I'm scared to sort of open it up and let it out onto the world.  I'm a digital hypochondriac of sorts - I figure anything that could happen because of a blog will happen to me (I'll be fired, I'll get nasty messages from family, my friends will hate me, any and all future boyfriends will leave me...

Geez, why did I start a blog in the first place?

Anyhoo, I'll probably have a few more posts about my anxiety about the blog as I give myself a heart attack over the non-issues at hand, so you should probably get ready to roll your eyes at poor Folly.  In the mean time, here's a pretty photo (because I'm bad at writing conclusions):

I did actually take that photo in Hell, Cayman Islands. Awesome, yeah?

Men Be Actin' Crazy Up In Here

Monday morning, I saw Mr. Andy Griffith.  I see him often, as I grab my early-morning coffee, but Monday morning was different.  He asked me to have a seat with him for a while.  I sat to chat, but I felt mildly uncomfortable.  This changed up my whole morning.  Usually, I get into work about 20 minutes early, with the office to myself, and eat breakfast and drink coffee.  I get time alone to wake up, destress from the morning commute, and prep for the day.  But instead I was with Mr. Andy Griffith who, as it turns out, is rather talkative in the morning.

And Monday morning, he talked an awful lot - mostly about his son.  Who is a firefighter.  And who just happened to be coming to meet his dad for coffee on Wednesday morning.

Which, naturally, meant I should be sure to show my face at my coffee place on Wednesday morning.

So I did.  I figured it couldn't be a bad idea, right? I wasn't changing my routine for anyone, and why should I consciously pass up the opportunity to meet a single firefighter? This morning I waltzed into the coffee shop for my coffee, a smile on my face, eyes bright -- no small feat after being out all night at a concert.  (I'm an old lady, I just can't do that on a work night anymore!)

I purchased my coffee cup.

I filled my cup with coffee.

I turned to Mr. Andy Griffith. There was no Firefighter.  He asked me to sit with him, and I did, but I was clear that I could only stay for a few minutes.  He told me how much he had missed me when I didn't get my coffee yesterday.  Even before I met Mr. Andy Griffith, I did not visit the shop every day.  I can't afford to buy coffee every day.  But now, if I don't go in every morning, he tells me in an old, creepy way how much he misses me.

We chatted for a bit.  He talked about politics (not an okay topic, when he doesn't know me) and I politely excused myself after a few minutes so I could get to work on time.  He took my hand in both of his to say goodbye - a slightly old-fashioned but not necessarily inappropriate gesture - and held it tightly. Very tightly.  And he wouldn't let go. 

And Folly's stomach got that feeling, you know, the Gut, if you will, that maybe I don't like Mr. Andy Griffith so much anymore.  I wasn't sure how to feel about him the past week, when he started talking to me more and more, but sometimes Folly can be a mean little bitch, and he seemed like such a nice old man.

Well, Folly no longer cares if she's a mean little bitch because The Gut is raring in full force, and Mr. Andy Griffith is giving me the willies.  Follies, if you have some advice on how to excise the talkative Mr. Andy Griffith from my morning coffee run, please let me know.  I don't want to give up my coffee place, but I dread the thought of telling an old man that he's crossed a creepy-line, when he may or may not even know it.  I don't know, Follies, I don't know.  I just know my Gut is really fired up about this guy.


____


In other news, Coworker talked to me today about The Bandleader.  Turns out he's been pining over a girl for over a YEAR now, and they started dating at about the time Coworker introduced us, but she didn't know about the girl until recently.  So.  I was correct in trusting my gut and not contacting him.  He sounds like a repeat of D, and I don't need that!

Matchmaker Matchmaker Make Me a Match

I wanted to draw you, my follies, a wonderful comic of the scene I'm about to portray for you.  I haven't had a comic on here for a while and I think you deserve one.  You really do. 

But you won't be getting one.  Because, well, Folly's a little busy right now.  And this post needs to go up today or it will lose it's appeal.  So enjoy, and I promise future comics of Folly's follies.

There is something to be said for professional matchmakers.  I've already pointed out how open I am to being set up with friends, friends of friends, etc. I'm comfortable with blind dates, I don't mind, but I do have an expectation that people who decide to set me up with guys they know have experience in amateur matchmaking and can make appropriate comments to encourage interest in either party.

I've already covered the slightly-botched matchmaking involved with The Bandleader.  Now let's cover the initial matchmaking attempt that happened last night.

Picture it: A bookclub meeting, 2011 (I'm channeling my inner Sophia Petrillo).  I sat on the comfy couch at my bookclub meeting next to a fellow bookclubber I haven't seen in a while.  As we chatted, The Bookclubber came up and sat next to me on the other side.  The following conversation ensued:

Bookclubber: "Sooooooo Folly, there's this guy at my work who's really cute."

Me: "Uh-huh..."

Bookclubber: "And he's asked me out, but I have a boyfriend, obviously, but he's really cute and I think you guys would get along!"

Me: "...Uh-huh..."

Bookclubber: "So yeah, I work with him--"

Other person: "Ooooo so he's really smart!" (bookclubber is in a science-y field. So -- she's got smarts)

Bookclubber: "Yeah! He's in Sales."

Me: "Okay."

Bookclubber: "He's really into his job."

"He's really into his job." <--what???  Is this good?  Does he have a social life?  Is he just ambitious?  Is he just a workaholic?  In the words of Double-rainbow Guy, "What does it mean?

Then,

Bookclubber: "He's Hispanic."

Me: "...okay."

Bookclubber: "Second generation.  He was born here."

Me: "Okay."

Bookclubber: "He's 26."
Me: "That's a good age for me."

Bookclubber: "Yeah!"

Aaaaaaaaand that was it.  I don't know if she was trying to determine my stance on immigration, or see if I have issues with dating outside my race, but it all just come off as....odd.  I mean listen, I've set my stance before that I am super okay and cool with setups, but I feel like she's overselling him to me.  I'm confused.  I don't get it.  I don't even know what, if anything, is going to happen.

All I know is that I have a chance at a free dinner here (and I never thought I'd be that girl who says that!).  And even if everything goes array, I'll have a great blog post eh? EH?

Eh.

Love Bites on the Menu

Follies, let's talk about schmoopey PDA.

Last night at dinner, I sat near a couple in a booth whose displays of affection were a little, erm, over the top.

The guy had thought ahead.  There was a gorgeous bouquet of roses and baby's breath already waiting on the table for them.  He was wearing a dress shirt, slacks, and a tie.  She was in a banded black dress so short she was walking with her hand in front of her crotch I KID YOU NOT.  

She noticed the flowers and turned to him, and they started making out.  Like, really going at it.  Then they sat.  He seemed really fidgety, and got up from his seat across from her and sat next to her, café-style.

He fed her little bites in between kisses.

She fed him little bites in between kisses.

It was nauseating and fascinating to watch.  The entire crew of wait staff was watching them as intently as I was.  They had a camera and took cutesy food pictures of each other.  He still seemed nervous.  If they didn't seem so comfortable with each other, I'd almost suspect them of being on a first date.  He kept twitching.  I waited – for a ring.  I thought for sure he was proposing. 

My waiter passed me a note when he brought me the dessert menu. "That just makes me want to, I don't know – throw up?"

Best note from a waiter ever. 

But they kept feeding each other little bites of spring rolls.  They kept tasting each others martinis.  And they kept making out – SERIOUSLY making out – in their booth.   I started to get a little disgusted.  I mean sure, it was like a train wreck – I couldn't look away – but the booths weren't very private.  And as the night got later, the restaurant filled up a little more and the privacy they may have had vanished.  I was bordering on voyeurism as I kept watching.

He never proposed.

He should have proposed.  That would have excused the schmoopey-ness of their date.  We could have all cheered them on.  But they didn't get engaged.  He didn't propose.  Instead, they just ate each other for dinner while we all watched.  Their PDA was, in my not so humble opinion, completely inexcusable (but also pretty damn entertaining).  

The takeaway message here – You should probably save that stuff for the bedroom ;)

Updates, Andy Griffith, and a Picture of My Feet

Folly gets angry when she sets up expectations for men and they neglect to reach them.  Even if those expectations are normal expectations for a 30-year-old like being a man, having some cajones, and asking for her number, Folly still gets angry.

And an angry Folly leads to an angry blog post, so I apologize, dear follies, that my last post regarding The Bandleader not asking for my number came off a little...angry.

Don't try to tell me it didn't, or that I was justified.  It was an angry post.  I could tell.  And for the most part that anger was unintentional.

I just don't understand why a thirty-year old man is too much of a pansy-chicken to ask for my number.  Sure, I could ignore his body language and say he's not interested.  That's no biggie.  Sometime setups just don't work out.  Fine.  But I don't think that's the case.  The Negative Nancy inside me thinks he's a bit of a playboy - not an unrealistic assumption for the leader of a rock band, yeah?  The Positive Polly thinks he's just being a pansy-chicken.  Nancy and Polly don't always get along.

But I post this because a) I apologize if I seemed mildly psychotic about having a crush on a boy (I swear I'm not 16 and Crazy - although that could be a fun show...MTV call me!) and b) because something happened yesterday morning that made me smile and needs to be shared.

Every morning, or nearly every morning, I stop by the Panera next to my office for coffee.  There is often an older man who resembles Andy Griffith sitting in a window seat, eating his breakfast.  Yesterday morning, as I filled my cup with a delicious dark roast and listened to Arcade Fire in my headphones (GENIUS album, btw), Mr. Andy Griffith approached the coffee and, while filling his cup greeted me with a sweet smile.  He commented that he sees me every morning and has wanted to wave or say hello for some time, then asked me where I work.  I told him, and we chatted for a bit.  Then he told me to have a good day, and he went back to his seat.

I left in a great mood, and thought to myself that men today could take a lesson in etiquette and talking to girls from that man.  He was polite, he was kind, and I doubt he had any expectations of getting a date with me.  That didn't stop him from talking to a pretty girl.

I don't encounter this often with men today.  Sure, you could say that Mr. Andy Griffith here had a different motive than any other guy I may encounter, but honestly, why should that matter? The point here is that Mr. Griffith was polite and complimentary.  When a guy who is actually polite does approach me (see here: Bandleader, The), they stop just short of being complimentary (unless calling me "Out of this world" on the fly counts??) and chicken out. 

Maybe Mr. Andy Griffith has had enough life experience to be so forward.  Maybe he's just of a different generation.  But he didn't have to have a conversation with me while we both filled up our coffee cups.  He could have simply nodded hello and gone back to his seat.  Instead, he spent a few extra moments talking to me about the day, my job, and how he's noticed me before.

I don't think it's too much to ask that men today take a lesson from previous generations and just be open to having a conversation with a girl.  MAN UP! Take a chance.  Talk.  And SMILE!

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Mom asked me this past weekend if I'd consider online dating, and that perhaps I should consider online dating.  I explained that I just don't have the money right now to use a site that I trust.  It's aggravating because I'd like to get into online dating (or, rather, I feel like I need to be open to online dating) but the timing just doesn't seem to be working out right now.  I know I want to be in a relationship and dating someone and whatnot, but I just can't justify another monthly expenditure with my budget and work issues right now. ARGH.

In related news, I'm always open for blind dates and setups, so if you've got a guy who's looking for a lady... ;)

----------------------------

Also, I apologize for subjecting you to my ugly, unpedicured feet in the Saturday night post.  Here's a pic where I've pedicured them, sans fake bruise.

Does this pose make my feet look fat?

--------------------------

Last update!  I've received some mixed messages from fellow friends on how to proceed with The Bandleader.  The responses were overwhelmingly for me contacting him and asking him out, which is, as we've been over, not really a me thing to do.  Then today I spoke with another coworker about The Bandleader.  She heard the story and said, "Hm, sounds like he's trouble." Then I sent her a pic of The Bandleader (it was a slow afternoon) and she said, "Yeah, Folly, he totally looks like trouble". 

I've decided I'm just gonna go with my gut on this one.  My boss told me I read too many articles on dating and flirting (which I try to avoid doing at work, oops!) and that I'd be perfectly fine on my own, without the advice.  So, maybe I should try it.  Maybe I should just try listening to myself and doing what I think is best, not what other people, or articles, or "experts" think is best.

So Follies - will I be contacting The Bandleader? Will I be inviting him to have some coffee with me, away from a concert?  Ahhhhh.....


No :)

I have seen The Couch and it was brown

Okay Follies, I’ll be honest.  I started this post after downing three glasses four glasses a bottle of wine and while watching crazy Melissa Leo stoned James Franco the Academy Awards, so I’ll attempt to make sense of what my drunk self was saying.

First, a little background on why I went over to D’s.

I know that earlier this month I saw D and had A Super Bowl of a Realization.  It was freeing to realize that I really was ready and free to move on, and I felt great if a bit conflicted about the whole thing.  But there’s no denying that my relationship with D was healthy, and real, and if he wanted to talk about us, our future, or the breakup, I didn’t want to turn that down.  Once he called, I knew there was a possibility that he wanted to get back together, and if the appropriate changes had taken place then I was open to discussing that with him.

So, I went over to his house to see The Couch.  And truth be told, it’s a very nice couch.  Really is. I mean, I have some nice couches, but I’m a little jealous of his couch.

I'm a couch!

BUT.

For the first hour of being over there that’s all he could talk about.  The Couch.  Then we watched some NCAA.  He’d watch the game, then talk to me.  Then watch the game, then talk to me.  It was a thrilling hour, let me tell you.  But something happened during that first hour.  Remember how I felt when I was last there? Yeah, that came back, and I realized I just didn’t want to get back together with him.  No matter what he had to say – changes or no – I just wasn’t interested anymore.  I knew that the conversation we’d have later would be that much more awkward, as I’d be basically walking away from him for a second time, and I started to get The Nerves.

Then he played the guitar for me.  He played the song “You’re Beautiful” by James Blunt and I swear to you I almost started CRYING.   

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you.

The lyrics, The Nerves, it was just too much.   I couldn’t figure out if he was playing the songs just to play them, or if he was trying to be all sweet and lovey about getting back with me.  But like I said, that wasn’t going to happen. I mean, when your ex-boyfriend plays the guitar for you and all you can think about is, “The Bandleader plays guitar so much better…” then you probably shouldn’t get back together, amirite?

We’re about two hours into the visit now, and neither of us has yet to bring up the real reason I’m there.  Since I felt like he was being a little chicken about talking to me, I decided to have a little fun see how long it’d take him to man up.  I mean, I didn’t have anything to do until the Oscars telecast so why not?

Yes, I’m playing games.  I know it’s bitchy.  Can you blame me, though?

At some point, he and I were sitting next to each other, both of us having something to say.

Okay pause.  Yes, I did come out and say that to him.  It needed to be said, and clearly he wasn’t going to bring it up.  Let’s continue.

Poor guy looked so dejected, but honestly – what relationship was he in for the past YEAR that he thought that was a viable option?  And I’m sure it hurts to have a girl put you into the “Friend Category” like that, but I needed to make things clear.  If we end up being friends that’s fine, but there will be no benefits to this friendship.  That’s not how Folly rolls.

I felt almost euphoric after the meeting, because I felt like I had really and truly moved on.  Plus, I’m excited to see where things go with The Bandleader, and with any other prospective guys out there.  I feel great!

So, in the end, D-Day ended up being totally fine.  In celebration, I may have enjoyed too much wine last night.  And by may, I mean did.  And boy did I regret it this morning.  Although it did make the Oscars that much more enjoyable. And let's be honest, that Oscars telecast needed something.  For me, that something was, apparently, Red Red Wine.

Lyrics by James Blunt, song "You're Beautiful"

!!! Hell Week !!!

Follies, this has been a very stressful week.  I never had a Hell Week in school, despite being a sorority girl. We didn’t do stuff like that (I know, you don’t believe me. But you should. Because we were straight up AWESOME.)  This week, at work and in life, was the closest I’ve ever been to experiencing a true Hell Week.  I work in a job where I rarely have to take work home with me – the last time I did that, it was over Super Bowl weekend 2009 and I only had to spend an hour on the document.  So we’re not talking about hard stuff, and that’s part of the issue I’ve had with my job lately.  I’m not challenged.  I’ve been here more than two years and I’ve reached the point where I (mostly) know what I’m doing.

So this week a project came up at work that sort of terrified me and sort of intrigued me: Writing a legal memo.  I won’t go into too many details, but suffice it to say that this project I took on? Usually done by LAWYERS.  Lawyers with LAW DEGREES.  Law degrees that I DON’T HAVE.*

It was exhilarating! It was challenging! It was the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done at work! Two nights this week I brought home research and documents, spending hours each night making sure that I had all the appropriate documents (I didn’t), I’d self-edited and made sure it was formatted correctly (I mostly did), and I did not have an inappropriate TONE within the document (Follies, I always have a tone).

The director of my office was well aware of my involvement in this project, so I knew it had to be good.  And the director is not my boss – he’s the boss of the ENTIRE OFFICE.

Angry Folly can double as Stressed Folly

You guys, this was hard.  Super hard.  I’m pretty sure I wasn’t eating this week, and Trevor didn’t know whether to be more pissed at the stress or the lack of food in him, and then Follies, THEN –

D decides to pick this week to come back around and invite me over.

What the FUCK.  If Trevor wasn’t fucking pissed before, he was straight up livid at me now. (I’m sorry, Trevor, I couldn’t help it. You’d think my stomach would understand these things.)  I’m surprised I got any work done Tuesday after D called (oh, wait, I didn’t. Nevermind.)

Remember, on V-day, when D said to be, on the bus, that he’d give me a call sometime? Well, he gave me a call.  D wants me to come over and see his new couch.  He bought a new couch.  He wants me to see it.  And do you know how badly I wanted that to be a euphemism?  A euphemism would make more sense.  It would be, I dunno, borderline expected.  But it’s not.  He actually invited me to come over and see a new piece of furniture.

*sigh*

Somehow, and gee golly, I don’t know where this is coming from, I get the feeling that he doesn’t JUST want me to see the couch.  </sarcasm>

Anyhoo, despite it possibly being a really bad idea…I’m going over tomorrow to “see” the “Couch”.  I’m trying not to have too many expectations around what may or may not happen on Sunday, but I’m going to go over, see the couch, and we’ll go from there. 

I’ve overthought, rethought, thought, analyzed, reanalyzed, and overanalyzed just about every angle of the situation, and I’ve decided this is an okay thing to do. 

But I do feel like, in addition to having a Hell Week, my life has become a SitCom.  Guys chicken out in asking for numbers (let’s all be The Count now: Two! Two guys!); past guys come out of the woodwork to show me their actual, real, honest-to-honest furniture; and OH, my job got cray-cray.

*another sigh*

Today, I had planned on cleaning.  Just staying home, cleaning up, and taking care of myself after this week.  But no.

Eff. That.

I’m going shoe shopping, and I’m going to find a Blockbuster that’s going out of business, and maybe even a Borders too, and then I’m stopping by the liquor store for WINE. 

WINE!!!!

Because Follies, I think that, after a week of abstaining from the fermented grape juice, I DESERVE some wine.

Cheers!

*Just to reassure everyone, the subject matter of the legal memo was within the realm of my job and I had an attorney mentor for the project.  And our director is an attorney.  I am not an attorney and cannot provide legal advice.  The memos in our office are just usually written by attorneys.   And my attorney mentor made a big deal about the person who requested the memo, hence added stress. Please don’t accuse me of breaking the law.  I am the law.

A Super Bowl of a realization

Yesterday, while running errands and finishing prep-work for my "Big Game" party today, I had to make a very important trip.

I went over to D's.

He still had a few of my things that I had completely forgotten about, and I wanted to go ahead and pick those up while I was thinking of them.  So this week I called, we set up a time for me to come over, and I went over there. And he's such a sweet guy. Genuinely nice, and maybe one day we can actually be friends instead of just being friendly when we see each other. But something happened while I was there. I looked into his eyes while we were talking, and I realized:

I no longer have feelings for him.  I couldn't see myself going back to him, I couldn't see us together, and I just kept thinking about all the guys I've met in the last two weeks. I realized, at this point, that the breakup really was for the best.  Really felt like it was the right decision instead of just telling myself that.

I think this is a huge step. I'm so beyond happy to have finally reached this point that, way back at the beginning of the breakup, I felt would never really happen.

So bring on the dates...and the FOOTBALL!

 

I'd love to see the Packers win, but if I were a betting woman (and I'm not) my money would be on the Steelers by 10 points.

I can haz flirting?

I'm going to start off this post with a little background about me: I can't flirt.  I'm much more "Little-miss-nice-and-polite-with-smiles-and-the-occasional-arm-touch" than I am "Get-my-flirt-on-WORD-UP-Y'ALL".  In addition to this, I generally have a hard time reading into whether or not a guy is, in turn, flirting with me.

Now, more than two months after breaking up with D, I'm finally reaching the "Acceptance" phase of the breakup, and in the last week alone I've met two young men. This = me feeling AWESOME.

But there's a problem.

...*cricket*...

I'm having a really hard time remembering how to flirt, what to say, what to do. And I'm having an even harder time figuring out if a guy is Flirting-Flirting with me or just Politely-Flirting with me.

What a hard life I lead, right?

Anyhoo, with the first young gentleman I'm rather positive that he was Flirting-Flirting with me. Mr. Policy, as we'll call him, was incredibly talkative and even tripped down the stairs while talking to me.  I teased him about missing the step, and he seemed to take that well (a good sign that he has a sense of humor, yes?).  Only issue with Mr. Policy is that he works in the same building I do, which at my office is basically akin to dating a coworker.

Then Saturday night I met The Bandleader.  The Bandleader is incredibly tall (I was wearing flats and was literally craning my neck to speak with him) and cute.  He is a teacher, and I was introduced to him by a coworker after his band played at a nearby dive bar.  My coworkers and I missed the show since we were coming from a previous event. Basically the night was him running around doing band stuff, the coworker trying to bring him over to me, and then us talking at the very end of the night. We made eye contact a lot, he randomly tapped me on the arm with his water bottle, and there was much smiling.

I haven't had a chance to speak to the coworker since then, but I'm having a really hard time reading into it. On the one hand, he made physical contact (albeit with a water bottle) and eye contact, which are both good signs. On the other hand, maybe he was just being polite since his buddy's wife wanted to introduce us?

Neither guy asked for my number, by the way.

I feel like part of the problem is coming out of a LTR and having to figure out my way around men again. I mean, last year I was just coming out of a self-imposed dating hiatus and really taking notice of the men around me and their actions. But for nearly all of 2010 I was involved in a serious relationship with D.  Flirting with others became something that was flattering, but not something I paid much mind.

Now I feel all, "uhhhhhh doi, was that a Flirt?"

Anyone else felt that way after a breakup? I'm sure it'll come back to me, but I'm feeling rather disoriented about it all at the moment.

At any rate, I'm positively pleased that this week has given me not one but two encounters with cute men flirting in some way, shape, or form with me. Sometimes that's all it takes to really accelerate the Acceptance of a breakup!