Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Why it really is ironic, don't you think? (No, really, it is)

At this year's company holiday party (which I attended alone, dateless, and otherwise all by myself--aren't you proud of me for not chickening out?), I ended up in a long and only somewhat drunken conversation with one of the chef's wives--total girl crush material, and I desperately hoped I was hiding my social retardation enough for her to want to be my new best friend. (We high-fived over our mutually strained relationships with our mothers! "How do you not like your mother?" the guy across the table asked in horror, as she and I exchanged knowing glances.)

And then this happened: "You know who you remind me of?" she said. "Kristen Wiig."

"Um...oh..." I said, no doubt doing something really awful with my face, that caused her to say, "I mean, I hope you take that as a compliment. I really like her, I think she's awesome."

"Um...yeah...That'," I murmured, my face still registering a mixture of shock and disappointment. Luckily we both let it drop at that point, but believe me, it was awkward

Because, are you ready for this? I don't know if you were aware, but this is who Kristen Wiig actually is: 

But this is who I thought she meant:

For the uninitated, that is actually Kristen Schaal, otherwise known as Mel from Flight of the Conchords. Honestly, I don't know why I just assumed that that's who she was talking about. I blame the Kristens-with-double-vowels-in-their-last-names thing. Also, I think I've been a bit edgy about this sort of thing ever since a guy I met at a party told me I looked like Kathy Griffin. You don't get over something like that. 

But, to reiterate, this is Kristen Wiig: 

And this is not Kristen Wiig:

Again, below is the hilarious, talented, and beautiful Kristen Wiig...ok, so this one is not the best example:

Here we go. Much better:

And again, this is who I thought I was being compared to:

I do need to interject here to say that I'm a huge Kristen Schaal fan. I think she's talented and funny and adorable, and I actually had a lot of trouble locating awkward enough pictures of her, since in the majority of the photos I found of her online she is looking pretty and polished. It's just that in that moment, my mind latched on to her Mel persona and couldn't let it go. So this girl basically called me out as the funny-looking funny girl, or so I thought. And right when we were getting along so well!

"Can you believe she said I look like Kristen Wiig?" I griped later to my not-so-secret admirer/new friend, who had been at my elbow all night. 

"Who?" he replied, not so helpfully. I explained. "Um, yeah. So?" he replied.

"Argh!" I replied.

I texted something similar to my sister, who replied, "Nah, she's cute. I liked her in Bridesmaids."

Suddenly the heavens opened and a beam of light shone down on my forehead, which I promptly smacked. Kristen WIIG! Oh my god, of course, Kristen WIIG! Well I love Kristen WIIG! She's beautiful and funny and...oh my god, I must explain this hilarious misunderstanding to my new best friend right away! Except she wasn't there; she had already left. Of course she had, I remembered, which would explain why she had said goodbye and asked for my e-mail address (score!

I explained my life-changing revelation to my not-so-secret admirer/new friend, still at my elbow, who replied, "Um, so?" 

"No, you don't get it!" I exclaimed. "It's like someone telling you you look like Carrot Top, and then you find out that actually they meant Brad Pitt!"

"Why would that matter anyway?" he said. "I've been telling you you look great all night."

"Kristen WIIG!" I exclaimed.

Facebook message sent to new best friend girl I met once and will probably never see again, explaining hilarious misunderstanding: over forty-eight hours and still no response. Not looking so good, folks. Granted, a married mother of three small children might not have been the best candidate for a new friendship. Still though, she lives nearby, and I was super hoping. 

Dates gone on with not-so-secret admirer: one last night, and he has already asked me out again for Friday, and he invited me to a party at his house on Sunday/New Year's Day. (New Year's Eve still looking sad as all get-out, unfortunately. Sidebar--Ok, so I do have an invitation to hang out with a friend of a friend and his friends (got it?), but somehow a pity invite and hanging out with strangers on New Year's Eve just seems sadder than spending the night alone. End sidebar). Not-so-secret admirer is short, chubby, and blond. Also very sweet, and seems super into me. Still though, could I not once be pursued by tall, dark, and handsome? Although, I have already met his friends (date zero, and he already introduced me to his friends!), and we are already Facebook friends. Which, I have the vague feeling may be the two things I specifically mentioned recently as very much lacking in my last "relationship," and why do I have the feeling the universe is laughing at me?

I will give you everything you ever professed to want in a man except, haaa, yeah, you will never, ever in a million years be attracted to him! Mwahahaha...

The universe, she is a devious bitch.                

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Why I guess that's why they call it the blues

In an effort to avoid writing about that again, I was going to basically do a copy-paste of a series of five e-mails sent to me on Plenty of Fish over a 24-hour period from one increasingly agitated dude. His growing exasperation over the fact that I hadn't yet responded to him (gasp! The nerve!) finally reached a breaking point ("STILL no response? Not cool!"), which was followed several minutes later with his final e-mail ("Bye bye"), and did I mention this was all within 24 hours? But then I deleted my PoF account in a fit of disgust, and sadly, those particular e-mails were lost forever, so now you will just have to take my word for it. But seriously, dude was nuts. 

So, you see, I wasn't going to write about that (that) at all, but then someone felt the need to do the Formal Breakup Phone Call, and for once that someone wasn't even me. This delightful conversation was filled with heartwarming gems like, "I just didn't feel like our relationship was going to flourish" (Bam!), and, "I like you, but you can't spend your life with someone just because you like them. You have to love them." (Kapow!) At which point my instinct for self-preservation kicked in. "Hey, you really don't have to explain all this to me," I said. "I mean, I get it. You're not that into me! I've known that for two months now. You really don't have to explain how not into me you are. Just stop." I asked him why he had called me (he didn't want to just leave things the way they were, although he was starting to think perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea), he said he hoped we could be friends (I said, I don't think so, bud), I said good luck, because it's less heartbreaking than "goodbye forever," and he said it too, and if his voice sounded a bit watery at the end, then good. Let the motherfucker cry, I thought. I had held it together this entire conversation, you see (having had weeks to prepare for it), which of course means that as soon as I hung up I burst into bitter, gasping, hopeless tears and spent the remainder of that fine Friday evening on my bed weeping and huddled in the fetal position. But it was ok, because I didn't have plans anyway. Ba dum bum!

So, now I can finally put a lid on this thing once and for all and close with the fucking end.                 

Friday, December 16, 2011

Why I'm glad we're all on the same page here

Dear Schizophrenic Commenters of the Internet*,

I have to admit I was a little confused by some of the comments on my last post. Chiefly because a majority of comments on the post just before that one, seriously, the one right below it, were to the tune of:

"Give that bloke the BOOT!!!!!!"

"It's time to dump his Moroccan ass."

"Definitely drop the boy."

"Yeah, he's done."

"Drop him like a hot potato."

"Do not waste your time."

"Get rid of this guy."

So, message received, loud and clear. And believe me, you weren't telling me anything I didn't already know. Get rid of the guy, I got it! But then, when I did just that (albeit perhaps in a bit more of a passive-aggressive manner than some people seem comfortable with), somehow the general tone of the comments section turned into:

"You came across as very abrupt and off-putting."

"Your text to him was really aggressive."

"Your pattern is aloofness, and defensiveness."

"Poor guy..."

"I imagine he is really confused by what has happened, and probably offended too."

And my personal favorite: "Don't forget that if you're the slightest bit emotionnaly [sic] needy, you will blow things with him, and any other guy."

I mean, I get it, sort of. As a stand alone post, even I would read that and be like, whoa, bitch be crazy. But I've been writing about this guy for a while, now, and I guess I sort of assumed everyone was there with me. But since it appears that wasn't the case, let me clarify: I wasn't sad because he seemed eager to get off the phone with me or because he didn't respond to my provocation at picking a fight. I've been sad for weeks now, because he doesn't want to date me but I want to date him waaahhhh why doesn't he like me??? This is the guy who's kept me at arm's length for the last two months, and let's not kid ourselves--arms length? He's got two arms and a leg in there. So, yes, the sadness and frustration was a cumulative effect reaching last-straw proportions, not because of one phone conversation. I mean, can't you people read my mind? Or failing that, at least my last three blog posts? Jeesh.

Evolutionary Revolutionary suggested sending him an e-mail to clear the air, which, haaa, funny story. After two months of dating hanging out dating sleeping together oh whatthefuckever, I don't actually have his e-mail address. And, as previously mentioned, we aren't acquainted on Facebook, either, so the only way I have of reaching him electronically is through the Plenty of Fish website, and...ehhh, I didn't want to do that. But, after careful consideration, I decided to send him a text. Because goddamn, do you people have a knack for making me second guess myself.

I'm sorry for not answering you, I said. I was afraid of getting hurt, and it just seemed easier.

And then, after checking my phone every five minutes for the next four hours losing myself in my work and completely forgetting I had texted him (haaa!), he finally replied: No problem, I understood your frustration... Hope you had a good time in Philly.

I replied that I did have a good time, and hoped he had a nice weekend as well.

And that, it appears, is that. There's been no further communication, which is as it should be, I suppose. So basically, the same net result as before, only it all feels slightly more civil, now. Still raw, still painful. But civil.

And now is when you all offer up supportive, inspirational, lovely words of encouragement for me, yes? Yes. Or, you know, highlight my most glaring weaknesses, personality flaws, and personal failures. Commenters' choice!

*You know I still love you, right?                      

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Why (I am led to wonder why) I try

It hurts more than it should, considering. Considering it was only two months, considering how little time we actually spent together during those two months, considering that we both knew all along that there was no hope for a future. (Did we? Did we both know that? Or are some of us eternal optimists idiots in that regard?) But goddammit, I liked him. I really, really liked him. And how often does that happen to me? Once, maybe twice a year, I meet someone I actually like, and so when it happens, I cling to it. That feeling that I had lost, that I was afraid I would never find again. And so I let myself get swept away in it, for a little while, until I lose it again. Until it gets taken from me. 

On Friday he called. A rarity (usually he texts), but it happens. Happened. I was waiting for a bus to Philly, off to visit friends for the weekend. I missed his call, just, and called him back. "I left you a message!" he said. Oh? I said. What did you say? "Just wanted to see how your week was and that I hope you have a good time in Philly," he said. Oh, thanks, I said. "So send me a text when you arrive to let me know you got there safe," he said. "Ok? Well I'll talk to you later, bye!"

I blinked at the phone in my hand. A phone call was a rarity, as I said, and this one hardly allowed for time to catch up. Wanted to see how your week was? Talk to you later, bye? I could have said nothing. Before I probably would have said nothing, but this time I didn't.

Why did you call if you didn't actually want to talk to me? I texted.

What? he replied.

But I didn't answer. And neither did he. And that, it seems, is that.

Only, it hurts. It hurts to know that I am not worth the tiniest bit of a chase, even if it would have led straight to a dead end. That he couldn't be bothered. That after two months, this is how it ends. What? 

What, indeed.         

This one's for the lonely
The ones that seek and find
Only to be let down
Time after time

This one's for the torn down
The experts at the fall
Come on friends get up now
You're not alone at all


It comes and goes in waves
I am only led to wonder why
It comes and goes in waves
I am only led to wonder why
Why I try

Monday, December 5, 2011

Why I've been scrooged. Scrooged!

Only one week in and already I'm 0 for 2 in the great "Ask for What You Want" experiment.

Re: Wanting to see the Moroccan more than two or three times a month:

Him: "You will see me exactly the same amount or possibly less, and also, due to our vastly different religious beliefs, there is almost no chance of our having any kind of future together."

Me: "Did I hear an almost? I like the sound of those odds. I accept your generous offer to continue seeing each other casually when your schedule allows for it and 'see where things go.'" (I know, I know. Baby steps.)

The second part didn't even intentionally start out as "Ask For What You Want" (AFWYW), but rather as a casual question at work, namely, "Oh, hey, what days do we get off for Christmas?"

Answer: "What day is Christmas this year? Sunday? So, none, then. None days."

Me: "Um?"

"Oh, and New Year's Day is also a Sunday, huh? Yeah, that's too bad." 

I was tempted to quit right then out of protest, and also spite (so much spite!), for this and numerous other indignities, but, you know. (Homelessness not being on my wish list this year.) And so I stay.

Dear Santa,

All I want for Christmas this year is a better job and a boy who will want to see me as often as two times a week, and maybe introduce me to his friends. But I don't want to ask for too much. I would settle for winning the lottery. 


About to Join the Occupy Wall Street Protesters, or a Convent