A single end game.

2

It shall hereby be known that I am, officially, the worst.

The worst at what? You may ask.

Well, dear readers,  I am officially the worst at the end game.  I can cast a lure, I can get the guy interested, but I can never seem to figure out an end game.  This always leaves the boy confused, me frustrated, and both of us disappointed.

The fact is that most of the time I know my end game is ultimately going to be different from his.

Let’s take Jesse, for example.  Jesse was dancing at the Box when I rolled up last Wednesday looking to dance and drink.  So my friends and I joined Jesse in a few moments of awkward 80’s style dancing (which is the best any of this group could accomplish).  At one point, I walked up and just started to flirt with him, luring him in to the situation.  We danced. We flirted.  We laughed.  We generally had a good time.

Then the Box lights came up and it was time to go home and Jesse looked at me expectantly.

“Want to come check out my room?” He asked.

“I can’t.  I have to be up early.”

“Me too but I can go all night if you’re up for it.” He moved in closer for the kill.

And that’s when it usually hits me.  It’s like a giant, red-flashing sign in my head that reads ABORT telling me to run and run fast.  I mean, I flirted and initiated the entire situation but, when it came down to it, I was afraid to reach that end game.

So instead of jumping in a cab and following Jesse home I simply said, “Maybe next time,” and then left so quickly that there is probably a trail of regret and poor life choices burned into the floor of the Box. I know how unfair that is to poor Jesse.  He put all his chips in, hoping for the best, and I unceremoniously just swiped them off the table and walked away.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Readers, I’m just worried that if I keep this up that this blog will become a barren wasteland of frustration and angst.  I’ve got to get out of this defunct end game.

Any suggestions for me, Kids?

Single Throwback Sunday: A single friend.

3
There is a sixth dimension which is known to all single men and women.  It is a dimension as vast as space and timeless as infinity.  It is the middle ground between loneliness and closeness, between friendship and relationship, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge.  This is the dimension of friendship.
  
It is an area we call the Friend Zone.

I’ve been thinking about the Friend Zone lately.  I’ve been thinking of all the times I’ve been placed there and all the times my friends have had their fates sealed away there as well.

The Friend Zone is a lot like the Island of Misfit Toys.  Those who are almost right for the job but just don’t meet all the standards of a person are sent to the zone.  It’s not that you’re never going to be wanted, after all the Misfit Toys eventually are loved by children everywhere, it’s just that you’re not right for that individual.

But the Friend Zone hurts initially.

“Let’s just be friends.”  Ouch.

After that horrible sentence is uttered then the shock flushes through you: Am I undatable? Is there something wrong with me? Can no one love this water pistol that shoots jelly?

Being in the Friend Zone leaves you totally helpless – you can’t say “no” to the Friend Zone without becoming the jerk. How do you tell someone that you were really only spending all that time with them because you were hoping it would pay off with them in the end?You just can’t do that.But luckily you can have other misfits in the Friend Zone with you.

So, look around.  Maybe you’ll find someone who fits your standards in that discard pile that is the Friend Zone.   Even if they aren’t perfect, even if they are an elephant with pink polka dots, they might be what you’re looking for.  And if they aren’t what you are looking for you can just Friend Zone them yourself and get a little satisfaction that you’re on the other end of things for once.

Welcome to the Friend Zone, friend.

A single past. (An introduction of sorts)

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Rafiki told a young-adult Simba: “The past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it or learn from it.”

Now, as all 90’s babies can attest, I learned all substantial knowledge from Disney movies, the Lion King in particular. So, I took that with a grain of salt.  And, though there were other scenes that said you should learn to leave your past behind or whatever, I’ve found that going through my past and learning from my past mistakes has made me stronger (as long as I don’t dwell back there too long).

And in the next few weeks I’ll investigate my past relationships  in a series of posts.  You’ve only been with me for three years, Internet, you have about 20 years of catching up to do.  I think this will be a mental and emotional cleanse.  And once it’s out of me, I think that I’ll be more at peace with myself and my relationship status (i.e single).   Maybe  I’ll also be more open when a new relationship shows itself.

So this post is simply an introduction to Tommy, Chuckie, Phi, and Spike (all names changed – mainly for me because then I get to use the Rugrats characters in a post- to protect the person’s privacy).  You all know about my latest exploits with Josh so I feel it’s only fair that I air all of my dirty lingerie for the world to see.

Enjoy, Kiddies, it’s about to be story time.

A single push…off a cliff into a sea of embarrassment.

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Remember that guy from the bar? The one that I completely failed to reel in much to the despair of my older sister, Alicia, who thinks he would have been the best catch for me to land and has left me replaying my embarrassing performance in the flirting arena.

You remember who I’m talking about now?

Good.

Well, my co-worker and new friend, Amy, convinced me to send him a Facebook message last night.  It was a push that I needed.  I would never send a message like this one without encouragement:

 

I left him my number at the end of that message, pressed send, and crossed my fingers  took a shot of Fireball.

Then it came to my attention that I never asked the most important question: Was this guy single?

The answer to that question is simple.

It was one word, two hopeless letters:

NO.

Apparently he broke up with his awful girlfriend and is now dating another girl. Shows you the importance of checking facts before trying anything reckless.

Amy is still hopeful and it’s the only thing keeping me treading water, my head barely staying over the sea of embarrassment  I now found myself in.  I don’t know why her hopefulness is rubbing on me but it’s probably better than being completely down on myself.

At the very least I can say that I tried.  I put myself out there.

I’ll update you if he responds to my message ever.

 

A single shot, revisited.

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Man, do I have a headache right now.

Last night’s post should have been titled “A single round of shots, consumed again and again and again.” But, I was too drunk to have done anything super clever for you all last night.

It wasn’t until this morning, when I was checking my email and saw my wordpress notifications that I remembered writing that.  So, no worries, my alter-ego, Drunk Olivia, wrote that post last night.  I am the real Olivia and now I’m standing up and writing a quick clarification to all my loyal readers.

CLARIFICATIONS:

– I did not take a single shot. That is a lie.  I took seven.

– “done” not “gone”

– I have not given up.

There you have it folks! Drunk Olivia is not the most accurate but she’s got a whole lot of heart.

Thanks for all your posts and words of encouragement! As a reward for being so kind and understanding of my drunken ways, I’ve added a link that my sister, Jessie, sent me the other day, I think you will enjoy it as much as we did.

Dating Montage

A single voice.

0

The other night my friend Kelsey (of the famed blog post of yore) and I decided that it was a good night to just go for a drive.  And, with shouts of “Adventure!”, we drove with no particular destination in mind.

But we did have one plan: talk.  And we talked a lot.  It felt good to fully vocalize all my fears and thoughts.  Out there, in the open, with another voice to object to the biased opinions I have of my various situations in life.

And that’s when I realized that I had let my mind’s voice take over for me.

Who knew a single drive would lead me to find a single voice?

Voice is a big deal for writers.  In school they teach us how to develop our voices so we speak effectively to our audience.  We never get a chance to actually speak, personally, to our readers so we spend a lot of time cultivating the one voice they will read.

Spending so much time in my head, creating my writing voice, has allowed me to encounter all those other pesky thoughts (I would say “voices” but then I would be talking about the voices in my head and then I just sound flat-out crazy).  I’m very intimate with my thoughts.  I know them well.  And that’s why I’m unafraid to analyze the shit out of them.

I let that little voice in my head question everything I do.  I let it tear me down.  It analyzes how I speak, how I act, how I behave with a boy.  It makes me uncomfortable in my skin so that when I’m with a guy I’m afraid to let him even touch me.

Frankly, that’s fucked.

So now I’m ready to take control of the voice I created.  My inner-voice.  The voice that has belittled me, mocked me, and told me I couldn’t amount to anything.  The voice that has held me back from doing all the great things I know I can do.  The voice that consumed me only months ago.  I’m fighting back.

Let the adventures begin!

A single friend.

1
There is a sixth dimension which is known to all single men and women.  It is a dimension as vast as space and timeless as infinity.  It is the middle ground between loneliness and closeness, between friendship and relationship, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge.  This is the dimension of friendship.
  
It is an area we call the Friend Zone.

I’ve been thinking about the Friend Zone lately.  I’ve been thinking of all the times I’ve been placed there and all the times my friends have had their fates sealed away there as well.

The Friend Zone is a lot like the Island of Misfit Toys.  Those who are almost right for the job but just don’t meet all the standards of a person are sent to the zone.  It’s not that you’re never going to be wanted, after all the Misfit Toys eventually are loved by children everywhere, it’s just that you’re not right for that individual.

But the Friend Zone hurts initially.

“Let’s just be friends.”  Ouch.

After that horrible sentence is uttered then the shock flushes through you: Am I undatable? Is there something wrong with me? Can no one love this water pistol that shoots jelly?
Being in the Friend Zone leaves you totally helpless – you can’t say “no” to the Friend Zone without becoming the jerk. How do you tell someone that you were really only spending all that time with them because you were hoping it would pay off with them in the end?You just can’t do that.But luckily you can have other misfits in the Friend Zone with you.

So, look around.  Maybe you’ll find someone that fits your standards in the discard pile that is the Friend Zone.   Even if they aren’t perfect, even if they are an elephant with pink polka dots, they might be what you’re looking for.  And if they aren’t what you are looking for you can just Friend Zone them yourself and get a little satisfaction that you’re on the other end of things for once.

Welcome to the Friend Zone, friend.

A single text.

3

Texting is not something I enjoy – I do it because it’s one of the few ways I can communicate with the people in my generation.  I can’t text quickly,  I still don’t understand T9 and don’t expect me to ever text you back if I’m walking somewhere.

That being said,  I sometimes have to text boys that I’ve met online and usually I don’t mind it.  I usually don’t mind it, that is, until I started texting Alex last week.

Alex had a lot of promise online so I gave him my number so that we could talk a little more frequently.  Big mistake on my part.

It was going well until we were having a late night chat and I fell asleep.  I woke up to over 20 texts the next morning.  20? Seriously? And, since he made a fool of himself, I decided to share it with you – his idiocy is your entertainment.

A: So what are you up to tomorrow
A: Do you have class
A: I bet you get bored in class
(On occasion)
A: Are you tired
(Of you? Yes.)
A: Im tired
A: Did you fall asleep

A: Youre not answering 
(You should follow your instincts – Your text before this was a good guess)
A: Did I do something
A: You must of fallen asleep
A: Its pretty late
A: I cant blame you
A: Definitely going to bed soon
(Good, It’s pretty late)
A: Am I hungry right now
A: Just made some nachos 
A: Do you like Mexicans 
(I’m assuming he meant Mexican but I do like both)
A: I do.
A: Mmmm nachos
(Yes, nachos are satisfying.)
A: Youre easy to talk to
A: I feel like I could talk to you all night without getting bored
(I fell asleep – obviously the feelings aren’t mutual)
A: Alright bed
A: Alex out
(Out of what? Do you have something to tell me, sir?)

Alex and I were supposed to go out on Friday – I put an end to that real quick.  
Like I said, I don’t enjoy texting.