Remember the Guido? My short, chain-smoking, Gucci loafer (shudder) wearing Guido? Ah yes. Last we spoke, I had accepted a midnight “movie date” offer and was worried about the aftermath of that. Now that we’re up to speed, here’s what has happened since.After a Tuesday spent hanging out, we texted a bit that night, but left the last text unanswered. So on Friday I thought, well… No harm in reaching out. I did get a response, and we tentatively booked in Sunday. Fast forward to Sunday afternoon, and I check in. Turns out, he’s not feeling up to it but offers Monday. I smell a rat and simply say “No problem.” Monday at noon I receive another text saying he has his cousins birthday party that night, and “just found out.” Sensing a massive brush, I again simply reply: “No problem.” Abject apologies roll in, but I do not heed them. At this point, I’m fully convinced I’ve been done dirty. I remove myself from the NYE party he invited me to, and resign myself to yet another short-lived affair gone wrong from the get. This is Tuesday night. Thursday afternoon. Ding! Text. By now I’ve calmed down and decide to be less dramatic, but I’m not asking homie to do a damn thing. We talk about boobs (long story, but not mine…) and it fades out sans any plans. Thursday night I frock up big time and hit up the suit scene in Sydney’s business district. Two good prospects later, my ego is re-inflated and I’m feelin’ good… Cue Friday afternoon text from Guido asking me to go wake boarding on Saturday… I swear to God, is there some sort of radar device out there?!? Beep beep, she’s out and other dudes are interested! I’m even boring myself at this point, so I’ll cut to the chase: He picks me up at 11 for where I’m finishing up dinner with friends, takes me home to get my things, and back to his for our 7:00 am wake-up. Two bottles of wine and advice from my girlfriend is what gets me to take this route; she thinks the mad effort to come get me, to invite me, etc., is indicative of legitimate interest. I am more skeptical… And then, there we are, laying in bed (sigh, I’m a whore) and he looks over and says: “Hey so I’m not sleeping with other people, and I hope you aren’t either, but you can do whatever you want…” Now, by no means is this a home run statement. I’m trying very hard to take it at face value, but it has thrown a bit of a wrench in my approach, and I hate that. Today we went wake-boarding. But first, another damn breakfast in bed, coffee on the road… Stop it! The crew is a couple and a spare. And me and Guido, of course. He makes some comments which I take are intended to let his friends know he’s hittin’ it, which I guess is a form of bragging but is without a doubt embarrassing. I brush it off. I don’t know these people, don’t really care what they think. Let’s leave it at this: 5 days ago I wrote this off; now I’m pledging physical fidelity of a certain sort! WTF am I doing and what is going on?!? Trying not to over-think (lol, good try!) but… And what am I supposed to do about New Years?!? Even if this is strictly physical, what happens when Friend No. 1 (my original date) is there? Are the Guido and I in hiding? What if Friend 1 tries to make a play?!? Also worth noting is a baby conversation we had on the ride home whereby his original request to “keep this between us” puts me between a rock and a hard place as it’s increasingly difficult to explain my day-adventures without saying who I’m with… And he says “Well go ahead and tell her!” Wait, so… secret or not secret? I don’t even know where I stand on that, since if it’s nothing anywhere no need to involve the lady friends, but if suddenly I’m the NYE date etc., I’ll have some ‘splaining to do… Lame, overwrought drama. Thank you for bearing with me and/or skipping past this rambling shit post.
As pictured below, I just scored a massive win on a dress I’ve been longing for for a good while now. I actually feel giddy.
Now I’m going to bring myself back to earth and remind myself that I have absolutely nowhere to wear it to. Long hair don’t care! Wait, no. I do care.
New Years? Ah, the OTHER NYE dress I already bought is giving me closet side eye… Oops. Oh, and the party I really wanted to go to? Well, I couldn’t keep the dudes attention long enough and out of respect for the ol’ fade out I had to decline an invite that couldn’t be withdrawn. Fark, as they say here.
So I have absolutely no plans. For NYE or for that gorgeous concoction, which I hope looks banging but I realistically think will look like shit. Silver lining? I’ll be back to my original NYE dress, which is also quite lovely. And I’ll be $90 richer. Did I mention how cheap this dress is/was?!? Sigh. Mourning my loss before the chicken has even been impregnated or whatever chickens do before laying an egg…
Say what you will about that dress, but I’m in love and I can’t be talked out of it. Unless it doesn’t fit and even then….
I’m becoming quite prolific in the last few days, posting and what not!
But, perhaps there is an explanation: my period.
Lovely, right? Well, long story short, it’s back after about a 5 year hiatus due to being on Depo. And when it comes, nobody knows!
I had one every two weeks or so for about 1.5 months, and after 5 (glorious, so glorious) years sans my monthly visitor, frankly I’ve forgotten how to tell she’s on her way.
Case in point, today. I had an informal interview at Google and was asked to formally apply. Waayyyy too early to get excited, but foot’s officially in the door. I left that feeling on top of the world, and I treated myself to a little summer Cami at Topshop. Yay! But little summer cami reminded me that my strapless bra was in dire need of replacement, so off I traipsed into the nearby department store.
Haven’t been bra shopping in ages, this could be fun! So we start at our usual size: 34C. Hmm. Well, my boobs are under my chin, this one may have a bit too much padding. And this one. And that one. And this one. 5 bras later I desperately call out for help from a “fitting expert,” as she was called. She brings me a size up; we’re now in 34D territory. I hate this. Make them (as in my boobs) go away.
Here, try these 4 more. Joy.
Oh! Oh, wait, no. Still too “small” (read: boobs under chin and exploding out of bra). I tell her that I absolutely will not try on the 34DD. Fast forward to a wilting flower in a bra so big it could also function as a motorcycle helmet cover…. Guess what fits?
No. I am not a 34DD. I leave bra less, but apparently not boob less, and deflated after my Google high.
I go home and make an impromptu Skype call to my best friend in Texas. She answers and we shoot the shit, and order is restored to the world. Back to my happy place, enormous bosoms and all. Then, a run. And then an ice cream, because duh.
But then. Salad for dinner. Still on track. Then a carrot. Then two carrots. Then a boiled egg. Then almonds. Granted, all of this is “healthy” but the quantities I proceeded to consume cannot be. Then tea, then cheese RIGHT OUT OF THE BAG.
I somehow manage to pull myself away from the fridge/pantry area…
To try on my new summer cami. That was supposed to be so fun?!? Oh, nope! There’s a tear in the universe and said cami looks absolutely freakin’ terrible in my mirror. I feel sad about that, so I proceed to contemplate my imminent death alone. Naturally, this will come about because of this possibly ill-fitting cami.
I bemoan that I have not heard from either of my so-called suitors for the VAST period of 12 hours or so, and proceed to google “dating advice” for 30 minute. Fine, 60.
In this sinkhole of Internet searching, I become convinced even further that any future males in my life will be of the feline variety, and only that.
Is this PMS? This wild Tarzaning of emotions? I am a hot mess. No physical symptoms, just this veritable minefield of feelings. I can’t remember! If this is pre-period hormone levels spiking, fuck the degenerative effects of depo on my bones, I’d rather be brittle than psycho!
Obviously, I will keep you all posted on the verdict. I believe this is what is referred to as a “cliffhanger.” A really fucking terrible one.
Or I’m crazy, and maybe the scariest part of all of this is the odds are really 50/50…. Do you think there’s enough fabric in this summer cami to function as a straight jacket?!?
Because I like to collect stories (read: traumatic dating experiences), last night I went on a first date where I… are you ready? This one’s a doozy…
Met his parents.
Not in a casual flyby way, oh no. Full on family dinner with this guy, his sister, her husband and two kids, and good old mom and pop.
And it was lovely. I had an awesome time. Can’t tell you one thing about the dude, but his parents are amazing! Adopt me!
To be fair, I knew this was happening. He’s been making jokes about it, but one day last week after not being able to get our schedules in order for the 4th week in a row, he offered this opportunity up, and like many of my dating decisions, I laughed out loud and to myself and thought - this is too unreal NOT to do.
So I told a few people my last known whereabouts, hopped on the train and had an epic time feeling like part of the family of a guy I’d never physically met before.
Side note/ bonus: He’s like an online dating unicorn - he is MORE attractive in person than in photos. Does anyone else hear that angel chorus?!?
After dinner and wine and talking about aggressive salt water crocodiles and how they kill you, I got Season 4 of Breaking Bad to binge watch, a ride home, and a kiss on the cheek.
I can’t tell you how I feel about him because basically I was too busy platonically flirting with his family, but I’d kick it one-on-one in the future…
(And for those of you keeping track, yes, this was later in the same day as breakfast in bed with the Guido *nickname alert* but when it rains it pours and I am WORKING that whole whore/Madonna angle 😳. Pray for me…)