Tag Archives: crush

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 swanky 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?


I could really go for some fried chicken

15 Feb

Have you ever thought to yourself, “I could really go for some fried chicken,” and then you talk yourself out of it because it’s not good for you. Instead you focus on your salads, and some other high quality delicious foods – maybe a fancy meal. Yet no matter what you eat all you want is the damned fried chicken? Fried chicken is not good for you, it is not good for your body or your heart. You’ll regret eating the fried chicken because you know the next day you’ll feel like shit and you’ll ask yourself, “self, why did I do that?”

#4 is my fried chicken.

The Tutor and I went out last night. Date #2. We met up at some random bar because he lives in East Jebip (aka Bumble Fuck, or Woop Woop). I turned down the initial suggestion of Ruby Tuesday’s and we ended up at this place. I hadn’t eaten all day and was so excited for carb filled food. I could have gone for some fried chicken. You can imagine my dismay when we walked in and were told the kitchen was closed until 9:30.

Great. Fine. Booze for dinner. Whatever, I’ve done it before. No fried chicken. I get it.

We had fun. Had some drinks. He pulled out 3 pieces of chocolate from his pocket and told me it was my Valentine’s Day gift – wanted to make sure I had something without going over the top. We talked about family. He’s a funny guy. Unsophisticated. Easy. Laughs at all my jokes. Seems respectful, mentally stable, emotionally available. Simple. Essentially the complete opposite of #4. He is a nice guy. Super nice. Like you could probably marry him and raise a family nice. This is the type of guy who I should be going out with. Not some douche bag who has told me flat out a relationship is not going to happen. But being the dumb ass that I am, I like the challenge #4 presents, and The Tutor isn’t going to present one. Of course while I was with The Tutor 1/2 the time my mind was on whether/not #4 had messaged me.

#4 is my current Daniel Cleaver. An incredibly stupid idea.

Anyway, end of the date approached and The Tutor walked me to my car. We were standing by it and I thought, “here we go!” He leaned in and BAM! kiss on the mouth. Closed mouth kiss, a peck. Okay, fine. That goes on for a minute or so. He was being a gentleman. Nice. Then he kissed me again. Another peck. And I thought, “fuck. Is this all that’s happening right now? I haven’t eaten all day long, I’m PMSing, I’ve had three gin and tonics, and this is not going to cut it.”

So I asked him flat out, “are you going to kiss me for real?” Who am I? What has happened to me? Who says that??

The kiss was nice. Respectful. Gentlemanly. It was not a toe curling, steam rising, ovaries beating, chest flushing, swooning kiss on the porch.

I want some fried chicken.

Should I?

28 May

Okay, so on a scale of 1 to creepy how weird would it be if I sent my secret boyfriend with the bedroom green eyes, and the chiseled jaw, and strong hands, and quiet demeanor this video?



Ugh.  I hate myself.

Mending a Broken Heart

27 May

I’m typing this with Flamin’ Hot Cheeto-dusted finger tips.  Life is hard.  Relationships are HARD.  Especially when they’re imaginary relationships with secret boyfriends who are busy dating other people because they don’t realize that they’re in a relationship with you.  Ugh, I freaking swear.  How hard is it to get a little attention from your secret boyfriend??

So as I wrote earlier he’s off on a date – probably with the woman of his dreams – while I’m busy on the couch dissecting EVERY SINGLE interaction we’ve ever had to see if I can determine what it all means??

Last night I may or may not have sent him a message on Facebook.  And then I may or may not have checked Facebook every 15 minutes for like ALL NIGHT waiting for his response.  And did he?  No, he did not.  And did he read it?  Yes, he did, approximately 20 minutes after I sent it.  WTF?  I mean, I know hard to get and all, but seriously?  This is bad, right?  This means we’re breaking up, right?

Listen, living life as a 15 year old angsty insecure teenager in the body of a 34* year old woman is totally getting old.  I think life was just easier when I didn’t have a crush on someone who is young enough to be my son (assuming I got pregnant when I was 11), and was busy catching up on all the “Game of Thrones” seasons (Hodor).  But, no!  I just had to start talking to this hunky dreamboat with green eyes and now I’m torturing myself.

This morning I went running to a friend of mine to tell him EVERYTHING.  He was super ecstatic and informed that this dreamy dreamboat with the green eyes was totally interested in getting in my knickers.  He was, however, playing the LONG game.  Apparently, the reason that he didn’t respond to my Facebook message is that he doesn’t want to seem to eager (bullshit).  And also, apparently, the ball is in his court.

Fuck his ball.

And fuck his court.

But also, I totally hope he stops by tomorrow and tells me how horrible his date was and that he totally wants me and then he touches my boob.  That could happen, right?  Or, you know what’s probably going to happen, because this is what happened the last time I really liked someone?  He’s totally going to hit it off with her, then in 2 years they’ll be engaged, and in 3 they’ll be married, and she’ll be pregnant.

And I’ll still be sitting on this couch eating Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and wondering why I’m still single.

*Or 41, whatever.

Monica Lewinsky isn’t the only one who can rock a blue dress

18 Aug

Six months.  Six blissful months in Australia and now I have returned to ‘Merica.  Yes, I saw kangaroos, and koalas.  No, I did not meet Crocodile Dundee, or make shrimp on the barbie.  Yes, I met someone.  No, it won’t last forever.  Yes, I made out with him outside my hotel.  No, I did not touch his penis.  Yes, I had secret boyfriends.  No, I did not ruin any marriages.

So back to work and back to boring old sex-less life in the USA.

[insert sad trombone music here]

Really the only good thing about being back is I’m reunited with one of my secret boyfriends.  So secret he doesn’t know about it.  And happily married.  Of course he is.  Because every dude I meet is either married, a douche bag, married and a douche bag, or single for some reason other than being a douche bag.  Anyway, so Bow Tie was sitting in my cubicle today and had just finished explaining to me why he doesn’t wear a wedding ring (it’s not because he cheats), when he blurted out, “Where’s Kate Spade?”

Not a question you hear everyday from a straight dude.

“This, Kate Spade?” I asked him while showing him my bag.  “No, the blue dress,” he responded.

Ah, yes.  The blue dress.  The blue dress I purchased last October before heading off to Europe for a month.  The blue Kate Spade dress that I got an excellent deal on.  The blue dress that sucks everything in and makes me look hot.  The one he commented on every time he saw me in it.

“That’s a winter dress.  It’s wool.  I can’t wear it in summer time.”  People, that’s a lie.  It’s not so much that I can’t wear it in summer.  It’s that I can’t wear if I want to zip the thing because I gained (no joke) 20 pounds in Australia and went up 2 dress sizes since I bought it.



I have two months to lose 20 pounds so I can fit back into that damned blue fucking dress.

Bye bye french fries, and chips, and cupcakes, and wine every night, and fried foods, and chocolates, and lollies, and pasta dishes, and 4 lattes a day, and Jesus no wonder I’m so fat.

I missed my chance

20 May

It’s been a full year since I found someone I was interested in being with.  I’ve known him for over a year now, and when I first met him I thought, “no way.”  Here we are a year later and I want to have him for myself.  There’s something about him.  He’s definitely not my type – are they ever?  Maybe it’s that he’s broken.  Maybe it’s that he pays attention to me.  I don’t know.  He flirted with me from the beginning, and perhaps I read into the flirting more than I should have.

We’ve talked about how we’re both so insecure, in different ways.  He’s someone who feels he needs to be with someone because he doesn’t want to feel like a loser.  I’d rather be alone so I don’t get left.  At first I thought, “why would I want to be with someone like that”?  I’d be afraid that if we got involved he’d reach a point where he wanted out but he was too chicken shit to say the words.

He finally broke up with his girlfriend, and about two months ago he invited me to go to Cancun with him.  I couldn’t go because I was locked into plans on one of those days.  But since the invite something changed for me and I started liking him.  I REALLY like him.  Like want him to myself like him.  I kind of thought he liked me that way too.  He kicked it up a notch in the last month, and both times I saw him he was kind of handsy.  He said things to me – and maybe he was joking, I don’t know.

Then there were conversations of what it would have been like if we had gone to Mexico together.  Perhaps I’m reading more into it than I should.  I know he’d sleep with me given a chance, but I want more than that.  I thought with more time something would unfold, but I was wrong.

He’s scheduled to come back from Mexico today, and this morning I found out he took someone else with him.  She was fifth on his list and a last minute thing, but he took her.  And I know based on our conversations he would take someone he wanted to sleep with.  So he has.  And I’m left in the dust.

I hate this feeling.  It’s so rare for me to find someone I want to be with, and I hate when it’s not reciprocated.  It makes me feel so awful about myself.  It’s so lonely.  So I’m sitting in my fucking pajamas on a beautiful day and all I want to do is cry.  Not so much over him as about how worthless I feel in this moment.  I’m royally bummed about wondering what it would have been like, but I’m more sad over how I feel about myself.

Swoony McSwoonerton

18 Aug

Oh, Facebook, how you freaking complete me!  Let’s totally make out!

Technically, I should be working.  Mainly because I have a deadline in less than three hours and haven’t bothered to start the project.  Is it wrong to blame a slipped deadline on a sick brother-in-law?  Because I will totally do that.  BUT fuck all that, I have a story to tell!

It’s about the tall glass of water who I totally lusted after my entire college experience: The Italian Robot.  He was so dreamy.  Tall, dark, handsome, a smile which could disarm anyone (including Ghadafi), blue eyes, and devoid of any personality what so ever.  But let’s be honest here, at 21 who the hell cares about personalities.  All I wanted was to see him with his shirt off (breathless above me).  Dude was SMOKING hot!

Senior year we randomly became friends.  I walked up to him at a party and introduced myself to him saying, “I’m sure you don’t know who I am, but I live around the corner from you.”  He looked straight into my eyes and said, “I know exactly who you are,” and said my name.  Had it been a cool thing to do, I would have peed my pants.  From that night on we’d bump into each other all the time.  There was one drunken occasion when I blurted out to him that I had had a crush on him since sophomore year.  His was response was, “Oh you don’t even know!”  Too which, being the clever (and totally drunk) person I am I yelled, “No you don’t know!” and stormed out of the bar.

Slick move.  I know.  I then proceeded to get even more drunk and make out with his roommate at the bar.

A few days later we were at a party together and I asked him to take a picture with me.  He said he’s love to, and as we were posing I told him I was going to tell everyone he had been my college boyfriend.  “In that case,” he said, “let’s get another one because I wasn’t smiling.”  He then gave a stick of gum, and I told him I was going to save half of it and keep it always.  15 years later and I still have that piece of gum in a photo album.

The night before graduation he and his friends all through a big bash.  I decided this was the night I was going to throw myself at him and make my move.  My liquid courage was ready, all I needed was an opening.  Unfortunately, there was this whore faced girl who wouldn’t leave him alone.  Finally, with three hours to go until graduation I left the house – never having had the chance to climb him.  Sad state of affairs.

We lost touch, not surprising since our “friendship” was based on a series of drunken encounters.  Fast forward to today when I was looking through one of my Facebook friend’s recent photo albums.  There in the first picture in all his shirtless glory was The Italian Robot.

Let’s not talk about how his arm was around the waist of that whore face troll who cock blocked me in college.