Archive | March, 2018

Un-boyfriend unprepared

23 Mar

As I was perusing the face pages earlier this week a memory popped up reminding me that Un-boyfriend and his wife were celebrating 8 years of marriage.  Un-boyfriend and I dated briefly when I was in my early 20’s.  Some people thought we would end up together, he was one of those people.  Our relationship morphed from a romantic one into more of a brother-sister.  Over the years we’ve stayed in touch and will text/email from time to time.  Typically it’s to send loving messages such as:

  • You’re dead to me.
  • Goodbye forever.
  • You’re dead inside.

True friendship.

When the memory popped up in my Facebook feed I immediately sent him a text message to wish him and his wife a happy anniversary.  He immediately fired back with, “Is it today?  Or yesterday? Holy fuck I totally forgot.  Am out of town and haven’t said anything to her yet.”  Of course I wrote back to tell him he was a total asshole and he better call her and send her some god damned flowers.

Guess I shouldn’t be surprised as he’s the same man who I remind every single year for the last 20 to call his mother on her birthday.  I’ve added a reminder to my calendar to remind him when it’s his anniversary.  I’m a good god damned friend.

Nice to know that some things never change.

It might be you

22 Mar

8 days ago: Monsieur le Baguette was overseas last week visiting his friends.  On his first day there he FaceTimed me and introduced me to his friends.  They used the nickname he had given me to greet me.  Adorable.

6 days ago: He text messaged me to see if I could talk.  He called me on the phone from overseas to ask me out on a date for today.  He’s currently on a business trip and wanted to know if he could fly in to Baltimore instead of to DC.  I’d pick him up, we could get dinner together, and he’d stay at a hotel.  Of course I said yes.  Adorable.  Please note this is also the same night I got naked with a 33 year old stranger.  Still, we can agree that Monsieur le Baguette’s actions were absolutely swoon worthy.  Le fucking sigh, y’all.

5 days ago: His flight was delayed out of the Europe on Saturday and he was stuck on the tarmac for 2 hours.  We text messaged the whole time.  He said if he got stuck, he’d take me on a FaceTime walk around the city so I could see how pretty it was.  Adorable.

3 days ago: I had a big old project launch.  He sent me a little video of him singing because he thought it would be funny and keep me from being anxious. He called me after putting his girls to bed.  We were on the phones for three hours.  Adorable.

2 days ago: He flew out to the Midwest for his business trip.  He text messaged me from the plane, then the airport lounge and wrote, “next time you come with me.”  He called me that night from his hotel room.  Adorable.

1 day ago: Yesterday he called the hotel he’s booked for tonight and told them we were celebrating our 5 year wedding anniversary.  A cheese plate and bottle of champagne will be waiting for us in the hotel room. I mean, fucking SWOON!  How about that for romance on a second date??  Fucking A+ adorable.

Our next date is already lined up for the first weekend in April.  A weekend in Washington, DC.  Hotel room is booked for 2 nights.  He’s already planned an entire day, and made dinner reservations.

This is good, right?  This isn’t casual, right?  We can all swoon together, can’t we?  RIGHT?

A letter to all the single ladies

21 Mar

This is for all my single friends out there. I’m going to give you a gift my friend gave to me in December, a kick in the ass.

This is for those of you wondering where your prince/princess charming may be.  Thinking maybe the reason they haven’t turned up has something to do with you.  Saying to yourself, “maybe it’s me.”  Wondering if you’re too boring, unaccomplished, chubby, plain, old.   Perhaps you think you’re not pretty enough, smart enough, strong enough, fun enough, experienced enough, interesting enough.

Maybe it’s something else.  Maybe all of those things you tell yourself are just that – things you tell yourself.  Bullshit stories you’ve made up that you believe, that you put stock in.  They are bad fairy tales without a happy ending.  Fairy tales aren’t true stories.  You see things in yourself, not nice things, others don’t see and you believe those things.  Those things don’t exist.  Those things are lies.  They are meaningless stories you’ve taught yourself to believe.

It’s time to let those things go.

You are more than enough.  You are a gem.  You are a force to be reckoned with.  You are special.

It’s time to get back out there.  Time to go out and meet people, make new friends, have new experiences, open yourself up.  Get the fuck out there.  Build your profile and put it up online.  Choose whatever dating site you want.  Choose two.  Just do it.  Don’t go into it thinking to yourself, “I’m doing this so I can find my soulmate.”  Shift your thinking to, “I’m doing this to meet new people, learn new things, come up with great stories I can share with my friends, have some fun, try new restaurants and bars.”

Don’t be afraid.  There’s nothing to be afraid of.  What’s the worst thing that can happen?  You take your profile down after a year and haven’t met anyone?  Well guess what?  You will have met people.  And you will have had new experiences.  And you will have grown.  And those things, my friend, are so totally worth it.

Dust yourself off, pick yourself up, and go and see who is out there.  Make out with someone at a bar.  Say yes to things you wouldn’t typically say yes to.  All those things that scare you?  Say yes.  The things that make you feel uncomfortable or you think you can’t do?  Say yes.  When the little voice in your head pops up and sings, “You can’t do it.  You’re not good at it. They’re not going to like you,” tune it out and you fire back with, “I’m doing it.”

Get out of your own way and get the fuck back out there.

You can do it.  When you feel shitty and aren’t sure what to do, or you get some random message you don’t know how to respond to, or you don’t know what to wear, or you’re confused then you’re going to email me and we’ll figure it out together.  I’m going to pep talk the shit out of you and you’re going to do it.

I believe in you, even when you don’t believe in yourself.

Catherinette

catherinette.singleton@gmail.com

It’s your move

20 Mar

Well guess who has been awfully chatty over the last few days?  Looks like the Chess Player still has some moves he’s looking to make.

Saturday morning, barely hours since I had left his apartment, he was texting me.  Asking about the weekend, telling me he’d had fun, wanting to know more about me.  Foundation, I assumed, for a future hook up.  He asked a few questions about why I had decided to go home with him.  He joked about having me back in his exceptionally soft sheets.  Of course he was telling me how hot, interesting, smart, charming, and talented I was, and how much fun he had had.

Wouldn’t you know it?  He’s pretty funny.

He’s also, a bit of shock when you factor in the 11 year age difference, genuinely interested.  Or perhaps it’s that he’s intrigued?  He asks about my day.  I had a big launch of a project I had mentioned to him and he asked how it went.  Do booty calls do that?  Because he also called me “amazing”.  And not in a sexual kind of way (he used “talented” for that).  He also wants to know what kinds of shows I like to watch.  Where I want to go on vacation.  What I like about my job.  The books I like to read.  Today he told me he’s a champion snuggler – I can vouch for those skills.

Texts first thing in the morning and last thing at night (for him).  We were in the midst of texting last night when Monsieur le Baguette called me. I stopped texting the Chess Player, because well it was Monsieur le Baguette, I mean come on!  He assumed that I had just fallen asleep (it was kind of late) and he sent me a little kissy winky face goodnight text.

What’s his game here?

Protected: Three’s a crowd

20 Mar

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What’s in a name?

18 Mar

Do you like Catherinette Singleton-le Baguette or Catherinette le Baguette better?

The Chess Player

17 Mar

You know sometimes on a Friday all you want to do is crawl in bed. As you’re settling in for the afternoon thinking about what you’ll do for dinner one of your friends calls and convinces you to go out for a drink.  So you grumble under your breath while you get dressed and do your make up and say yourself, “I’m going to stay out for max two drinks, and I’ll be in my flannel jammies by 8:30.”  You drive downtown because uber is stupid expensive due to peak hours and think that driving will make it easier for you to sneak out early.  And oh look, a princess parking spot in front of the bar!

You’re winning already.

You head upstairs, see your friends and think it’s a good idea to start with a gin and tonic (extra limes) because your friends have been drinking beer since noon and you kinda feel like you should catch up even though you’re going to stay out for max two drinks.  More people start arriving and it turns out they work for your old company and so you start making all of the connections and someone asks you why your drink is empty and you order some water because you’re pacing yourself because you’ll have to drive home later.  And then it’s time to order an orange crush and you are talking to your friend’s boyfriend and he asks what you’re drinking and when you tell him he tells you you’re “crushin it” and you can’t help but lolz.

That’s when he introduces you to the tall drink of water who just moved to the area a few months ago.  He’s 33.  He’s smart.  He’s interesting.  You casually sip your drink while you flirt with him for awhile.  You’re introduced to other people who end up standing between the two of you so you move on and glance over every once in awhile and he keeps looking at you.

You’re finishing your drink and it’s time to go home.  Some of your friends are getting ready to leave for another bar and you’re going to go ahead and go and then the tall drink of water asks, “are you coming?” as he’s being dragged out the door.  Game time decision here.  That’s when you say to your other friends, “let’s go for one drink.”

So you find yourself walking 10 blocks to the next bar and when you get there he’s saved you a seat and asks you if he can buy you a drink.  Meanwhile you’re thinking, “what the fuck is happening and why the hell not?”  Because when was the last time you went out to a bar, met someone who was cute and charming who wanted to buy you a drink and who you wanted to flirt with?  You sit down and order the drink and he sits next to you.  When two more seats become available he holds the seats and your friends try to cock block you and you say, “no, no, you sit here and I’ll move down,” so you can sit next to him.

You sit your ass down on that barstool and you order another drink.  You find yourself talking about travel, and work, and family, and regrets, and basketball, and moving to a new city, and all sorts of stuff while he gazes at you with his blue eyes.  You start talking about chess and find out he’s one of those guys who can read all the moves in advance and you ask him if he can do that in life and he tells you, “usually.”  You wonder if he already knows how this is going to play out and if he’s calculating what moves he’ll make to get the outcome he wants.  You ask yourself, “I wonder if he knows how old I am?”  Obviously you look for an opportunity to drop it into the conversation and when you do he doesn’t blink an eye, he just goes with it.

Your other friends decide they’re going to leave, so only the two of you are left.

The Chess Player keeps gazing at you and he grabs your hands, and he gives you this look, and you ask, “what’s that look?” He responds, “I’m thinking about kissing you,” as he tugs your hands towards him and you lean forward.  That’s when you start making out at the bar.  In the middle of March Madness.  Surrounded by people cheering on UMBC.  It’s just the two of you.  Suddenly it’s 10:30.  You’ve been at the bar over three hours.  Where did the time go?

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” he asks.  You find yourself saying, “yes”.  He picks up the tab and you walk the 10 blocks back to your car to drive to his place.  You’re thinking, “am I really going home with this guy?  Yes, yes I am.”  When was the last time you went home with someone you met at a bar?  Was it college?  Shortly after, at least 10 years ago.  A lifetime ago.  Sure, you had an exceptional romp the night before – thanks to Tinder – but this is the type of chemistry real life has produced.

Why not just go with it?

You’re at his place.  It’s pretty swanky.  Incredible view of the city.  Then you’re on the couch and your top is on the floor, quickly followed by just about everything else and he says, “we can always go in there,” gesturing to his bedroom.  You hop off his lap and lead him into his room and crawl into his bed.  There you proceed to lose every last stitch of clothing and remain for the next couple of hours.

When it’s done, he wraps his arms around you and you lay there and talk about work and whatever and nothing and he says, “you’re hot, you know that.  Right?”  You say, “thank you.” and think to yourself, “maybe I’m kinda decent looking if I’ve made out with four guys in eight days and ended up in various states of undress with each of them.”  You ask him if he had played this out and calculated the moves it would take to get to his bedroom.  He says, “yes.”  He tells you he’d read the signals.  There were only two options, yes or no, and the signals all pointed to yes.

He says, “you can stay.”  You get up and get dressed, he asks for your number.  You walk out.  He texts you before you get to the car.

You think to yourself, “I’m a fucking sex panther.”

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