Best Pickup Line I Ever Got...

As my one year friend-iversary passed with the Bartender this month, I started running back through my memoir notes about how I met him.

Now a lot of my friends have heard this story, because (1) it's awesome (or I like to think so) and (2) It always seems to come up every 3 or 4 months, but if I have a good story I can't keep it to myself.

So here's an excerpt of my unpublished memoir (because it's not finished, not because I haven't pedaled it around)..

...
It was a pretty marvelous night, or it had started that way. A group of my friends and I had gone out for the return of my dear friend N’s return from the land of pharaohs and pyramids, and for the bar we picked a crowd favorite, ten-minutes away from the metro stop. However, when we walked out of the metro rain began to pelt our faces, and our clothes began to cling to our chilled bodies. So instead, we dashed into the one right across the street.

We began with a round of drinks at the bar, some coronas, a few screwdrivers,...

Getting tipsy we head to the dance floor, sans our friend B who had been grabbed by a guy that met her through our school. Once dancing, two ass hole marines insult N and send her out the door packing. When N left, J and I sidled up to the bar and J whispers, can you order me a Buttery Nipple. Now let me describe to you my dear readers exactly how potent and delicious a buttery nipple can be. It’s Baileys and Butterscotch liqueur. This drink I’m pretty sure is the nectar of the gods, and J, and I, and all of our close friends have an affinity for a beautiful BN like no bodies business. To let you know how much we love a good BN, let’s just say we traveled all over DC searching for bottles of Bol’s Butterscotch one day to make these. Heaven.

So I make eye contact with the bartender who gives me a smile and leans in close to hear my order. The cologne or natural smell on this man’s neck literally almost made me swoon, and I can tell what he’s thinking as he leans in laughing, “what can I get ya honey? A cosmo? An apple-tini?” He continues listing off girly expensive ass drinks, so I know that he's (1) flirting and (2) trying to make me happy, because me happy equals bigger tip, and me happy equals happy patron, equals I go to the bar more often, equals more profit for him in the future, but my order catches him off guard.

“ YOU WANT TO WHAT MY NIPPLES?!” he shoots back like a man attacked by a pack of rabid hyenas. His voice loud enough for everyone in a 5 person radius to hear, and they all turn their heads towards my way and thoroughly judge me. He raises his eyebrows in disbelief, and walks away as I stand in shock and shame at the end of the bar trying to figure out how I can regain my composure and confidence, because seriously, everyone is still staring.

He walks towards me and smiles, the drink in his hand; he leans on the bar placing the drink by my elbow.

“You know what?” he croons.
“What?” I ask, still flustered.

He sighs, and takes in a long breath, maintaining eye contact, dropping it only briefly, probably to give him the air of a cute, awkward boy, but with nearly 6 feet of rugged man, it didn’t work that well.

“I want you to have my children,” he says, a tiny corner of his lip twitches with a smile.

I’m not sure if I gagged or laughed at this point in time, but I remember looking at him with shock, surprise, suspense...

He watches all these emotions and then says it again, "No seriously, I want you to have my children."

I’m going to be perfectly honest with you, this “I want you to have my babies” line is all too familiar to me, because I say it about nearly every guy I find appealing. That exact line... I want John Doe to have my babies, I want John Smith to have my babies, etc... There was a St. Patrick's Day when I was in college where I ran through the dorms screaming I want X to have my babies, only to find out he's on the exact floor I'm yelling on. And yes I realize John Doe can't have my babies, but I can dream right?

Well my shock now turns into curiosity, so I engage the conversation and before you know it, his statement turns into “I’m going to kiss you right now,” It was like that kiss in the 1993 Disney, Three Musketeers when Porthos grabs the bar wench (flattering comparison I know) and pulls her into him with passion and authority and a dash of humor.

Caught off guard, because I have been hitting the sauce, He pulls me over the top of the bar, his grip firm, and He kisses me. I stood there a bit flabbergasted afterwards, but as the move left me behind the bar and him still needing to work, he moseyed back to his station and kept pouring drinks.

A few minutes later he’s back in front of me, again, charm and smile included, and he’s pulling me back over the bar and going in for a second round of Kiss de Moi. The barback walks up and asks if I know Bartender, to which I say, "I guess I do now." I have literally been standing here for maybe 15 mins. I’ve talked to this bartender for maybe 5 or 8 of those and he’s already kissed me twice and asked me to bear his children, which I’m willing to bet will be the size of giant watermelons when born. But a man who knows what he wants and has a goal in view. I’m game. No really, I’m totally game to see where this goes.

He asks if he can buy me a drink, but I’m still halfway into a screwdriver bought by the ass hole marine, so I decline.

30 mins elapse, and I return, thirsty for water.
I sidle up to the bar, make eye contact with Bartender, and he leans towards me, practically crawling over the bar; our foreheads hit gently.

“So what’ll it be?”
“I’ll just have some water, I’m ready to sober up.”
“I’m not serving you water.”
“No, really I want water.”
“I’m not serving a gorgeous girl water at my bar when I’ve offered to buy her a drink.”
“Well then, can I have you buy me... a water.”

J whose standing right next to me spouts in, “Well if she doesn’t want the drink, then I’ll take another Buttery Nipple.”
He resorts to a hardy chuckle and makes her the drink, coming back to me, leaning in.

“So you would like a...”
“Water.”

He growls playfully and walks over to the nozzle and pulls out a glass, fills it up with water, and places it in front of me.
I look down, he looks down. I look up. He looks up.

“I would like something a little larger than a shot glass, please.”
“Finish her up! we’re not wasting our high quality DC water tonight.”

I take the shot of water.
He fills her up.
I take another.




After all the shots of water, a nasty cinnamon-y drink, and a snuck in shot of vodka later. I’ve got Bartender's phone number and have already sent him a snarky text. Because, I’m not pretending to be anyone I’m not, and hell if I’m not snarky.
...

And the rest as they say is history. So far a year in, there are no babies, and I don't plan on dating him any time soon, because now I know too much about him, but he's still a good friend and I'm going to keep him around. Because seriously, who doesn't need a large friend willing to fight for you at the drop of a hat in a sea of unsavories?

Where did these come from...?

A few months ago I started swimming again to get ready for scuba diving this summer, which isn't happening due to TMJ. Oh yes, thank you mother for that gem of a medical condition, but I digress...

So anywho, I started swimming at a gym near my work, which means swim bag usually comes with me to work so that I could swim before or after, depending on my mood....

Well on one gem of a Tuesday, I spent the morning visiting my friend the Bartender, helping him declutter his living room and having some lunch; then, I had to go to the courthouse so I parked my car in one of those garages where they take your keys from you and drive your car into the underworld. Since I didn't have time to go swimming that day I left the bag in my car. The next day, I brought my bag to work and went swimming then went home. My bag was in all four places. (Bartender's, Garage, Work, Gym) No more, no less.

At home, as I was emptying my swim bag of wet belongings, towels, flipflops, swimsuit, goggles, I pull out,... wait for it,... wait for it...
.
.
.
.
a pair of men's underwear.

As I stood there holding up a pair of underwear clearly not mine, I was at first a little shocked. Maybe I'm looking at this wrong. Maybe it's a shrug... but when I clearly realized that I do not have any blue cotton shrugs, I debated a few things.

One, should I smell them in that bizarre waft the smell over to you with your hand technique I learned in chemistry (As in are they clean, and no I didn't)?
Two, how did these get here?
Three, to whom do these belong?
Four, where did they come from?
Five, what do I do with them?

I'll let you ponder those questions for a moment.
.
.
.
.
.

So since I wasn't going to take a chance with discovering whether or not the underwear were used, I tossed them into the trashcan and began thinking on the other questions.

Seriously, how did these get here.
I texted Bartender and was like, look I know you like to play jokes, did you put these in my bag? His answer, no. He's pretty forthcoming and honest, and I seriously doubt he could have fit in the size medium. I'm going with, not his.
Then I thought, I was really annoying at the garage, I kept forgetting things for court in my car. So maybe they put them in there, but then WHERE DID THEY COME FROM, I don't think people just have extra pairs of underwear around at work... As I gagged I thought, maybe work!
But that's a twisted sort of prank to play on the new girl, so I'm thinking, not so much, and I'm not about to walk around the office going, excuse me, did you put a pair of your underthings into my bag?
And then I thought well maybe my friend, Mr. SilverGym man was playing a prank on me, but I couldn't figure out how to justify him sneaking into the locker room without women seeing him, and slipping them into my locker.

So the great case of the underwear remains... where did they come from? who knows... to whom do they belong? I'm unsure... how did they get there? Pretty sure someone unzipped my bag and slid them in, but when I dont know...

But I do know one thing, from now on I'm keeping my swim bag locked and one eye to the horizon for men wearing blue jockey briefs.

Adjusting to the Solo life

The title of this post may be misleading. Yes, you might be single, but you have great friends, who stick by you and keep you sane/crazy and keep your life exciting. Time spent mulling over what you had or what you could have will only succeed taking away time from having ragers and shin digs or ragerdigs or shinragers... with your friends.

According to science, the brain takes 3 days to adjust to a new environment.
There was an experiment done where people were given a set of glasses that literally mirror the world to make it appear upside down. For three days they continue to view the world as upside down until their brains adjusted and the world appeared mentally right side up. When they took the glasses off, it appeared to them that the actual world was upside down until their minds adjusted, which took 3 more days.

Essentially what I'm trying to posit from this scenario is that the first few days/weeks of being single after a separation from a significant other can be pretty brutal. Your world which seemed right side up is now, upside down, and until your mind adjusts to that fact, it's going to be slow moving trying to figure out how to "walk again" so to speak.

But once you've adjusted you learn some very valuable skills, which you might have thought you lost.

For example.

(1) Mechanics are actually not that hard to interact with. (or something really girly that most guys don't understand.) I now know that I have a sway bar, who knew. Seriously, it takes 206 bones to make the human body, HOW MANY CAR PARTS ARE THERE... I swear there are more car parts than bones.
(2) Sitting solo at Starbucks/Coffeehouse of choice - great place to meet people. (I recommend sitting at the communal tables not the two seaters.) Adjustment is bringing me out of my shell instead of relying on the partner to introduce me to random people...
(3) Solo movie watching, brilliant. I don't have to wonder whether or not my partner is going to appreciate the intricacies of Woody Allen Dialogue.
(4) Having cake and nachos with your friends at 2 a.m. is totally o.k., because there's no one checking up on you.
(5) I can write a single's blog, and have it be kosher.
(6) Flirting... You can flirt with everyone and not have to look over your shoulder.
(7) Summer in the city might be difficult because of all the couple-y activity taking place, but now you can do them with your friends, good bonding time.
(8) Left overs, I don't know about you, but when I cook for a date there's usually nothing left, and I like left overs. So that's a good adjustment.
(9) One of my best friends always changes her hair after breaking up with boyfriends, which is a personal adjustment, to give you that new shine. So appearance adjustments, which make you feel more vibrant and injects your life with new vigor so to speak.
(10) Increase in hours of sleep, for a more vibrant you in the morning, which will lead you to be more positive, which leads to more human interactions, which will eventually lead to less hours of sleep, if you catch my drift.

Those are the little things I've noticed about adjusting to the single life. If you have any others, please toss 'em out there.

So while it might take you a while to readjust to single life. Adjusting takes time, especially if you've been in a long term relationship and you're unsure of your next step, and it might not take 3 days for you to figure it all out. It could take you weeks or months, but at the end of your reintroduction to single-ness, you'll find a renewed bond with your friends and learn how to get out there... and that may include a plethora of evenings spent in Adams Morgan or Dupont, but hey! Everyone needs a little party time.


Good luck and happy hunting.

Dumped by a Text

A while back I mentioned a "cutie" in my post about drinks being the new coffee. Well since that post we stopped seeing each other and then re-saw each other after the alcohol induced text mess that was my 23rd birthday, Blair and Zoya can confirm. I'm blaming bartender Paul at Rumors, personally, since he decided that on my birthday I should drink things pink and fruity, aka, Adult Jungle Juice. Personal Recommendation of Bartenders Chris, Rob or Joe if you're drinking at Rumors, they will not lead you astray with sweetened fruit concoctions.

Well things were going good or about as good as I could expect. And then after a sudden text exchange about him staying in DC (didn't know you were leaving...) and a line or two about his emotional unavailability (surprise! surprise! welcome to my life). Things. went. down. hill. fast.

What had originally been a two way interaction turned into what felt like my one sided chase. And since I'm not so much on the whole running thing or the chasing men thing. I balked. But I still had a DVD to return.

So the next week went like this.

"What do you want me to do with your DVD?"

*insert his phone call at 10 a.m. here where (1) not answering a personal call at work and (2) leave me a message if the phone call is important or I'm not calling you back.

"What do you want me to do with your DVD?"

*insert bizarre Facebook chat where nothing was mentioned.

"DVD!?"

*insert him asking me to go see a band in Baltimore then canceling less than 24 hours later with potential plans for lunch on Sunday.

"Hi! Lunch?"

*Radio Silence

"Are you ok I didn't hear anything from you?" By this time I'm a little perturbed that he's being rude, so after consulting with my friend in the apartment down stairs I proceed to write a letter and slip it into a FED-EX envelope along with the DVD, which I plan on mailing out...

I got super busy, so it never happened, BUT...

*3 days later: He says, "Lost my phone. I'm seeing someone else. We're done."

BWHAT?!?!

Well that's hunky dory and all that jazz, because after the last time he unnecessarily jumbled my emotions, I decided that since (1) people are flaky (actually a legit study that you should date 5 people at a time, not that I abide by that rule because that's intense. But you should date 5 because 4 will eventually peter off, due to a gamut of factors), and (2) I'm young, single, and in a city full of attractive men, I'm not putting my eggs into one basket unless someone says, "Yo. Me. You. Exclusive." Or some form of that. Because, I'd rather not be heartbroken and try to pick up the pieces when it's not necessary. Because let's be real. He had a history of trampling on my feelings. So I was dating other guys, and enjoying myself. (not 5 at a time, because I have a memory of a goldfish, and as my Bartender so eloquently put it, "Look a Castle.")

But my favorite part was when he blamed the blog. This blog! Because he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he couldn't man up to ask about exclusivity. And in the 21st century as a young adult, that's the first conversation you have if you're serious about someone. So since we never had that little chit chat, and we weren't exclusive. I'm having a difficult time ascertaining exactly what I did wrong. It's not like I'm running around having month-here-and-a-month-there-on-and-off-relationships with everyone and their brother, half the people don't get past date one! Actually make that 90% of people. And it's not like I've dated 30 people since March... more realistically you're looking at.. maybe 2 or 3, due to my serious inability to separate the personalities, childhood stories, likes and dislikes of multiple guys that look alike. I have a type sue me.

So what is the moral of the story kids?
(1) If you're seriously into someone, an exclusivity talk is a nice chit chat to have.
(2) You're dumb if you didn't think that this would be on my blog (no but really...)
(3) Text Message Breakup - Brilliant Video.

But readers, please G*d don't feel sorry for me, because afterwards I had the best freaking home cooked meal done up right by my Bartender. So. I actually got the better end of the stick, because I don't have to deal with any more childish Text Message Breakups. And I got a full day of happiness afterwards (including playing with a puppy, who doesn't love puppies). Win. Win.

AND

It was technically a triple win, because my bffle hadn't seen the DVD still in my possession, and I'm not wasting postage and handling on a dick. So she got a DVD.

Win-Win-Win.

(Clarification Bartender Paul is not my Bartender. My Bartender is an entirely different person)

So what do you do?

Well I'm a financial consultant.
I work for the blah blah non-profit.
Sometimes I moonlight as an independent contractor for the government run company x,y,and z.
Right now I'm just temping, but I was to be on the hill.
I'm on the hill.
Research and Development for the such and such law firm.

All very acceptable answers to the question "so what do you do..." in the District of Columbia.

Dog Walker, Filmmaker, Writer, Painter, Designer, (insert sad low paying job), etc...

Are not acceptable.

As a girl from the country where the simple life rules, having to answer questions about my employment history on a first date/at a bar/online gets very annoying. I'm just going to start responding with, "I'm sorry but I know no one or nothing that can help you advance your career, but what's your favorite color?"

If you've lived in DC for longer than 2.5 seconds it's happened to you. If you're still in college it's usually the same question but directed towards your major or intern history.

So for the next month, I'm just not going to ask people their job titles and instead ask where they grew up, if they know any great places to go, or if they have seen the new exhibit at the Newseum. Because who am I to judge Joe Schmo based on his job, because let's be real... we all do it.

The reason in particular that it occurs more often in the first 30 minutes of meeting someone here, versus say, bumblebutt minnesota, is due to the transient nature of the District as a whole. No one is truly a citizen of the District because by anthropological definition if you were a citizen, you'd call it DC. (LEGIT STUDY I PROMISE). An anthropology professor at American University has been studying the ever changing/rotating population and the ever steady population of the District and those who live here who are not intending to stick it out for the long haul, typically call the district by the full name, Washington, DC or just Washington. But I digress...

So the idea is that because DC is so transient, people are constantly trying to vy for top positions here or figure out a way where they can get top positions elsewhere through constant networking and smarmy politico dealings. And since this new potential knows nothing about you past your yellow shirt and great smile, there's a likelihood that you could assist them in climbing the social ladder through a better job and your close circle of Senator buddies. It's due to this six-degree of separation idea that YOU can now help THEM meet more people and allow them to climb the rungs of prosperity and new contacts.

So as a single lady out there fighting the good fight, I'm going to come out and say it. I'm. So. Over. Networking when trying to meet a potential dating partner. Personally I'd like to be liked for being me, not for knowing Senator Cornyn or being besties with Congressman Poe. Because if that's the case and they're using you solely for your connections, as soon as they get in with the person they want, you'll be dropped faster than an egg into a skillet.

OOOOH VUMBER!

If you are anything like me, which I hope you're not... I like being original. You have probably given out your phone number to a rather less than choice individual, several times.

For example one night I was bebopping at Rumors and made the dumb decision to give the bartender my number, which led to a series of horribly unnecessary interactions and painful dates, followed by at least two months of batting away his phone calls when I very much did not want to be getting them. The majority of them a series of apologies dumping wine on me and then the date where he was still hung over with him puking while we were at some little restaurant in Van Ness. Wholly Unpleasant.

It's all part of life, giving out your number getting a crazy stalker and trying to move past what was and towards what should be, well, as I was watching a story that popped up on my dating feed about dating people in the military, the lady speaking mentioned double checking to make sure people are who they say they are and never giving out your real number, because you never know how annoying this new potential could become. They could text you every 5 mins; they could stalk you using your number and locate your address; they could even wind up being CRAZY after you dump them and never leave you alone.

Well have I got something interesting for all my readers out there.

VUMBER

What is vumber?
It's a brilliant app that allows you to create another phone number using ANY area code in the United States. When someone calls this new number the phone call is sent to your phone and you have a plethora of options once you receive the call. I highly recommend looking into it, because you can get a 2 week free trial and find out what you think!

I'll be trying it out soon so I'll keep all you crazy cats posted!