Back that Hyundai up...

Dammit to hell I hate women drivers! I was in my underground parking lot, just trying to get upstairs to bed because I'm sick and being stubborn about taking drugs. Perhaps if I had been properly medicated, my reaction time would have been faster and I would have been able to throw my car into reverse when the woman in front of me decided to back up without checking to see who was behind her.

She slammed into me pretty hard. Not a glance behind her at all. She was young and driving her daddy's car. She was profusely apologetic but I got her insurance information anyway. I think I'm fine - I'm shaking and in pain but that could be because I'm sick - and I don't really see any damage to the car. But it's going on a train across the country in less than a month so I don't want to take any chances.

I really need a hug. Enough to let Jesus come over with dinner and hold my hand while I drink my neo-citran. Actually, he did that the last two nights so clearly it has more to do with me being a big sucky baby when I'm sick than getting slammed in the front end. It turns out that the things I find most annoying when I'm fine are the things I find most comforting when I'm sick. I didn't ask him to hold my hand. He just did it. And for a while, I kept moving my hand away and then he would reach for it again later. He has been very attentive. Which is nice, for now. Until my glands are no longer swollen.

I know I'm a terrible person for taking advantage - and how bitchy am I when I'm not sick that those things annoy the hell out of me? - but I'm sure that he's just waiting until I'm well and truly dosed up on decongestant and antihistamines and ibuprofen to take advantage of me!

Life lessons

I had the lovely lady grad students over for fondue tonight and now I'm too tired to do anything except mention that it was a nice evening. I have a vat of chocolate fondue leftover though so I suspect fondue redux will ensue.

I learned a life lesson earlier this week and I would like to share it. I'm paraphrasing from Criminal Minds.

it does get easier and, one day, you remember and it doesn't hurt anymore... and you're happy.

Of all places, I realized that in Superstore when I walked by the Cadbury creme egg display.

Several years ago, at Easter, I set up a little Easter Egg hunt for X. He loved those little creme eggs and I must have hidden a dozen of them around our apartment. He found most of them immediately but some he didn't find until summer. It was nice for me that he was so excited at the time, and continued to find nice little surprises months after we had both forgotten about creme eggs.

When I walked past the display, I smiled and laughed a little. I texted him to ask if he remembered. I didn't hear back but that's okay. It was nice to have an unexpected, happy NSA memory of a past relationship.

Oops, I did it again

Holy comments Batman! Okay fine, I will spill the beans.

Rain had it right in his comment on my last entry. So.SO.RIGHT. What do you know? I mixed beer and liquor. In the same glass. Three times.

Jesus and I went to the Bier Market and I love their take on my old standby, the Kir Royale. At the Bier Markt, naturally it's called a Bier Royale. We started out by having a good time but then a heinous combination of sequences occurred. I was drunk. He was drunk. Too drunk to drive, in fact. Which was not cool. He was clingy and gropey and condescending. Actually, he was that guy in the club who is being a complete jackass jerk to his date and you wonder why she's there with him because clearly she's cute and can do better. Okay fine, that's what the cute boy (Paul? Or was it Sean?) said to me. "Why are you with him? You obviously don't want to be. And you're cute. You can do better". Uh, hi Paul, YOU are a cutey-patootie. Can I put you in my pocket and take you home? Sorry, I digress...

I was irritable and cranky (okay perhaps this has nothing to do with booze!) and totally a complete bitch to him because I was tired of him constantly grabbing me and crowding me while we were dancing. Not to mention the completely condescending random comments about trivial meaningless crap. Ugh, gropey and condescending. How is this a turn on? Play hard to get dammit, but don't be a jerk. Ugh. Listen gentlemen, when we're out in public and I repeatedly take your hand off my waist, don't keep grabbing it! AUGH.

Anyway, when cutey pie Paul ended up with butchy she-male in a wife-beater, Jesus noticed me noticing them and said, "are you jealous?" "No, but I didn't think he'd end up with her". "True, he can do better." "Well, that's what he said about me."

Collective blog gasp.

Yes, it was a totally bitchy thing to say but, by that time, I had had enough of his condescending bullshit and gropey wandering hands and should have left on my own terms. But he had my coat check ticket (house keys were in the coat) and my leftover pizza in his car and he was too drunk to drive anywhere. I kept telling myself that here a nice guy and I should be more forgiving and less of a complete raving beyotch. Just goes to show that my judgment where men are concerned is completely, totally, utterly worthless.

So, I walked home drunk by myself and he followed for a bit. I don't know when I lost him, maybe about half way, which is when I phoned MFV. And, though he was drunk himself, he was smart enough to realize that I was not okay. He insisted that I text when I got home and then phoned me later to make sure I was actually alive. I was fast asleep and have no recollection of the conversation. He does want to know what happened but I can't bring myself to tell him. Yet. Maybe next weekend. Or next month. Or never.

I'm too ashamed of myself. I should not have let myself get into that predicament with a strange man, even if His name is Jesus! A girlfriend pointed out on Saturday that he's actually only just doing the minimum to try and get me in bed before I leave. He's not meeting my friends or having dinner but he has no problem taking me to bar and getting me drunk. Thank God I didn't have sex with him. I confess though, I did think about it. I mean, maybe if he hadn't been a total jerk and we both hadn't been disgusto drunk... Ugh.

So, I'm over Jesus and this really is the epilogue in my dating memoirs. I guess I should change the title of this blog again. Suggestions? "How about Catatonia and catnaps: the chronicles of a catless cat lady".

I almost ruined everything

And I prefer not to think about it, nor discuss it. Ever. Again.

I need a date

I need a date the evening of Friday February 6 at around 6 pm.

You will:

1. Drive
2. Be polite
3. Be witty
4. Be well-dressed
5. Behave
6. Be fed (your dinner and half of mine)
7. Be entertained (mildly)
8. Bemused, when I explain I found you on dial-a-date. Well, come on, I can't tell my coworkers I have a blog!
9. Berated when you dunk your head in the chocolate fountain

I will look fabulous.

First come, first served. Actually no, convince me. Okay, GO!

Okay, in all seriousness, I asked MFV and he originally said yes but has since changed his mind about coming to Toronto. I can't ask Jesus because my coworker (the one who introduced us) had invited him and has since uninvited him. How awkward would it be if *I* showed up with him?