Saturday, January 31, 2009

Begging Your Pardon...

These past two weeks have been hell...I've been trying to wrangle up money for med school. I haven't finished my FAFSA, and I just got my W2 form from work to do my taxes. Unfortunately being the spoiled dependent that I am, I don't even know what a tax form looks like, or are there multiple forms? Gah, it scares me how green I am. Not to mention first exams coming up in classes soon, and I'm building my mother's clinic's website with my dad. I am trying to come up with posts, but I haven't had the time. I think after the Superbowl I should be good, but I do want to thank the people who still check here and have asked me if I'm MIA...again. I swear I'm not. I'll be back to my random, sporadic postings by Monday.

By the way: I noticed that this is the third time I've done this. I'm horribly unorganized with this whole thing.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

The Hell Date Has Tentacles...

And they are reaching out to me through the phone and Facebook. I must be the the first date queen because Shaggy has called and texted me for over a week, despite my ignoring him. Just when I thought it was over, I get this lovely message in my inbox:

"I don't know what happened between me & you but oh well thanks. Life is still great for me."

What kind of fuckery is this? You must think I'm a cold-hearted witch for posting this but it's all totally anonymous. No one I know knows him or anything. We are no longer Facebook friends (that even sounds childish in typing). So, what I'm thinking is, that he searched my name just to write me this message. Why? Why? Why? Doesn't everything I'm doing or not doing say that I don't like him? Nothing since the date could be taken as the contrary. Man, he's dense.

What is he thanking me for? Putting up with his inconsiderate, David-Banner-beard-having, Kanye-plus-Neyo-minus-any-attractiveness-sized-ego-carrying self?

Life is great for me? What does that even mean? Did he think I was assuming I rocked his world, and he'd fallen in love? He's acting like I broke his heart, and he's trying to be strong and prove he's over it.

Congrats that life is great for you, really. But, I don't give a crap. I'm not lamenting on how you're doing. It was a first date, for crying out loud! Sometimes they work out, and sometimes, especially this time, they just don't. This dude is 80% cornball, and as for the other 20%, well he may want to check his boxers (or briefs?) because he is a straight up p*ssy. I'm trying to avoid the vulgarity, because I said much worse when I first read it, but this guy is just...ugh. I'm hoping this is the end of it.

Is this all Mississippi has to offer? I need to know because I have 4 years of medical school ahead of me, and I might just have to spend my summer going on a nationwide one-night-stand fest to last me throughout the drought. What's worse is today I received a scholarship that may pay for medical school (at least partially) with the exception that I must practice in MS for 5 years after. That's my whole twenties, spent in this God-forsaken state! I'm beginning to think MS is like the mafia. Just when you think you're out, they pull you back in. I need the money, but I might freak the hell out if I have to stay here for that long. I'm talking Mariah-Carey-handing-out-ice-cream-in-a-tshirt-on-TRL or Amy-Winehouse-visiting-her-husband-in-jail kind of breakdown.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

So Was I on BET This Weekend?

It's quite possible I was. In fact, I'm still waiting for one of the vertically challenged devils to pop out at any choice moment (my shower, my morning stretch, etc.) and tell me I was on that God-awful BET show Hell Date. (Not that I watch it or anything...)

Jacked from The Urban Spin

I've had plenty of dates, but I guess I'll say I've been spoiled. I always have had the luck of choosing to share my time with guys who, despite their character outside the context of the date, have always managed to show me a relatively good time. I can't think of any that made me want to call it a day on single life and wrap my lips around a gun, at least.

But this one...whooo man, this one was, for me, the worst. The Best of the Worst, and yes, it deserved capitalization.

I've toyed all week with the thought of putting this up. I mean, he might visit my blog; it was on my facebook page, and he was ALL into my facebook page. But then I remember that: 1) I don't get that many visitors and 2) I don't really give a shit. Maybe he'll learn something...?

I understand that this is completely passive aggressive, and I probably should have just gotten up and walked out on the date. I think in some sick way, I wanted to go ahead and have the experience. Besides, no matter how hard I try to leave my "nice girl" past in the dust, that heifer creeps up on me now and again. And, damn it all, she was really showing out Saturday night. Or, holding it all in, whatever is appropo.

Silver lining:
I learned to i.d. an asshole almost immediately. Any kind: big ones, small ones, some the size of your head...I just have to stick to my gut instead of listening to my mother's "don't judge a book because the glass is half full when a stitch in time saves a penny" lecture. Come to think of it, I don't think I own an ugly, but intriguing book. They're all directly proportionate.

Like any woman might, I have to give you back-story.

I had been talking to, let's call him Shaggy, on the phone for about a week (i.e. about 3 phone calls of varying lengths). I'd say about 50% was genuinely interesting while the other 50% was primal chest beating and ego-stroking.

I've never, ever had a guy ask: Don't you remember what I was wearing?* How many times (not partners) have you had sex? Are you as excited about our date as me?
Talk about his best friend (who is a girl) incessantly. (Not ok, by the way. There's a difference between funny anecdotes and just flat out sounding obsessed/in love.)

*As far as the "what I was wearing" thing...I didn't remember, because I had been either drunk or almost there when we met (Strike 1, right?), and he sounded genuinely hurt. He said he'd been wearing a blazer, a button-down shirt, and some jeans. Uh, want a gold star? That's the quintessential 20-something guy party uniform.

It was like talking to a stereotypical girl, and in some ways, it made me feel sorry for a lot of men. Sitting through all that chatter and insecurity for a little sex? Sheesh. I spent the better part of our conversations "mm-hmm'ing" and "mmm-mmm'ing" while trying to improve my sniper rifle skills on Left 4 Dead. Not the norm for me.

Understandably I was apprehensive about our date. I was completely on the fence. Our conversations were good but bespattered with awkward moments of just saying the absolute wrong thing (usually him). Forgive my shallowness, but he didn't even have attractiveness on his side to tip the scales. (Sorry, I can't deny that physical attraction is as big deal to me as intelligence and communication and all the rest. Not a big fan of the "grow to love"/"learn to like" thing. Hey, I'm young, I may grow out of this...or gain some desperation?)

I talked to my friends about it. I even talked to my mom, and I try to leave her out of my dating anything: if she knows, my dad knows. And that leads to "talks". *shudder* Essentially, I got the "you're too picky" speech from everyone (minus the one friend who actually saw him and advised me to run screaming in the other direction - Strike 2?), and decided to be positive and hope for the best.

My Saturday culminated into the perfect storm of events all occurring at once:

1) My bffff was having her first post-partum outing, with me, to the mall.
2) My childhood besty was having a pre-birthday meetup, with me, at the mall to pick out a present for her.
3)She was also having a sleepover (it's kitschy!) that night.
4) My cousin was in intensive care at the hospital, which I found out just before the mall outing and had to postpone a few hours.
5) My parents went out of town and my brother was at a friend's so I had to find someone to babysit my sister while on my date/at the sleepover.

Shaggy called me at the mall to choose the movie (it was too cold for anything else fun), a conversation during which I relayed all above info to him. He wanted to see Not Easily Broken, a movie easily deciphered (heh) from the previews as a Tyler Perry knockoff/Church of Latter Day Saints commercial with black people. I wanted to see something - oh, I don't know - not stupid. Essentially, he decided we were going to see this movie, the star of which has been the star of about 90% of every black movie of the past ten years, Morris Chestnut. Things were sucking before the date began.

The movie was at 7:45 and I had only just arrived to drop off my friend at home at 7:35. He called and asked should he get tickets. Duh? I asked my friend to watch my sister for the two hours I'd be gone, then after the date I'd have time to take her home to get her stuff, then across town to our aunt's house. I relayed this info to my date when I called to inform him I was on my way. He said nothing out of the way of agreement.

I get there, and he makes me stand in the cold (in my day gear, I never had time to change into warmer clothes) to meet him. Then, he proceeds to tell me that the 7:45 was sold out and he bought tickets for the 10:15 showing. Where in the hell was the disconnect about all of the obligations I'd told him about? Luckily (?), my parents called to say they'd changed their minds and would pick my sister up for me, sparing my poor friend with the newborn infant from having to stay up all night watching an overly energetic 4th grader. I had to tell one of my friends, who recently totaled her car in an accident that I couldn't be her ride to the sleepover, seeing as how I wouldn't arrive until after midnight. All he said was, "Aww, now I feel bad..." as he continued talking.

Alright, so this could drag on forever, so here are the highlights:
He took me to Pizza Hut to kill the 2 whole damn hours we had before the movie started. This is what he says as we enter:
"I have to apologize in advance if a lot of people are running up to me like they know me. I used to work here."
Unbeknownst to me, I was on a date with the Pepperoni Pimp. Anyway, no one even acknowledges Shaggy when we go inside. And then, all country-like, he yells a greeting to the guy behind the counter, who halfheartedly waves before returning to his job. Shaggy then apprehends an elderly employee he knows and asks if there's anyone in the back working that he knows. The elderly man mentions someone, and Shaggy requests that he send her out. The elderly man says, "I think she's busy [i.e., doing her job, assclown], but I'll tell her you're here." She never comes out, by the way.

His iPhone is the 3rd party of our date, on which he shows me pictures of his gorgeous best friend who his parents adore for some reason (uh, because she's your best friend?) and likes him because he doesn't give her attention like other guys do (um, what), and checks game scores. Constantly. Which I hate. You can't see the action, so why not just get the final score and record the game or watch the highlights?

I no longer get relaxers, and warned him in advance I wasn't pressing my hair for the date. He touches my hair and says, "It's not that bad." Hetouchesmyhairandsaysitsnotthatbad. Hetouchesmyhairandsaysitsnotthatbad. Hetouchesmyhairandsaysitsnotthatbad.

He complains that he's such a shopaholic, as he's always in JC Penney's.

He brags about his blazer, which he got from Sears during a clearance. While there's nothing wrong with sales, here's the kicker: he still has that outer label sewn on the sleeve, the one you're supposed to remove. And, it says Dockers. Labels aren't everything, but the stain-resistant khaki people? C'mon. I didn't even know they'd branched out to blazers.

There's just two hours of him babbling about everything and nothing, and then he says "Wow, that sure went by fast." I mean, really dude...if you're gonna talk that damn much, get a blog. Between the cold, the crowd (yes, crowd, for a frickin' movie by Tyler D. Jakes-Perry), and the "conversation" (a word I'll use loosely), I just wanted to rip open my shirt and take off down the dark road, all devil-may-care-like.

To top it off, who should sit next to him in the theater, but this incredibly cute guy with the sexiest profile I've ever seen in real life who came to the movies by himself like I sometimes do and was wearing totally offbeat plaid Converse much like I might. While I was on a date. With Completely-Undeserved-Arrogance Guy. I spent the movie alternating between stealthily staring at this guy like he was my soulmate and gawking at Taraji Henson's terrifying wig.

The date ends with him telling me two things.
1) " On our next date maybe we can see that movie you wanted to see." That tells me he heard me loud and clear when I said I didn't want to watch the crap he picked. Everyone knows the one who is invited on the date picks the restaurant/movie/venue.

2)"I think our date was a success with a capital S." What what what? Who fucking says that?

To counteract any kissing action he might've taken, I went in for a hug, just to keep my face out of reach.

Then later I saw he had updated his facebook status on our date, and a friend commented, asking if he was "oiling" which for some dumb ass reason means having sex at his college.
I was squicked out beyond measure, and immediately deleted him. I have an irrational anger for people who constantly update their status, and the thought of having sex with him made my shmagina want to pucker, curl into itself, and die.

I don't ever want another date like this. I just don't get it. I'm a freaking catch, and I don't even want a boyfriend! Just a cute, funny, smart, single, healthy guy to have fun with. But, that's another post. Heaven knows this one has dragged on, much like my date did.

Monday, January 12, 2009

I Sometimes Wish I Knew NPH

So I could just bask in his awesome. Not awesomeness. NPH does not require 'ness'.

Monday, January 5, 2009

NYE outfit

I know Herve Leger has been done to death by the celeb crowd throughout 2007 & 8, but look at it this way: this isn't actually HL, it's BCBG. Plus, I could care less. Leggings have been shot, stabbed, burned, drowned, and run into the ground, but you still see people running around in them. Uggs, too. Besides, bandage dresses, unlike some other zombified (Just. Won't. Die!) trends, look fab, especially when you've got the body. And, pardon my ego, but I do! Lol.

I only tried on two dresses, because I already had the look in my head. The second was hot and very 90s, but I loved the first one's color, so I stuck with it.
You can't really tell in the iPhone pic, but my hair looked like this, only longer. I love Kelis!

Oh, and I just found out the guy I'd hated (translation: secretly was in love with) since I was about 8 has a kid and is getting married in July. :( That sure sucks. Not for him, obviously. But I'd always hoped I'd see him again/get together with him if I ever ended up back in my hometown, where I'll clearly be the next four years. Oh well...crumbling cookies and all that.