Let's play 'Hipster or Not?'

So I woke up yesterday morning luxuriating in the thought of having a Sunday off. A Sunday that came after a Saturday off. A Saturday that started off with a cute boy bringing me coffee in bed. Coffee that he made, even. There are worse ways to start a Sundae. Or a Sunday, even.

Of course, it was at this point that I looked over at my laundry pile and realized that it was now taller than me - no mean feat, my friends, as I am a towering 5'3". Towering, I say. I spent a solid 5.3 minutes pondering my choices - go buy new undiepants or actually do the laundry.

Weighing on my decision, of course, was the fact that I'm kinda broke. Also, I'm pretty sure I heard the laundry trying to lure the cat into the pile in the middle of the night. She's kinda plump, you see, and I'm sure would make a tasty tidbit when doused with buffalo sauce and blue cheese. Since I do honestly like my cat, I piled little Pearl (my trusty l'automobile) full with dirty delicates and set off to take care of bidness.

Now, I live in a fairly... eclectic neighbourhood. It's got cafes and restaurants and whatnot, but it borders on a fairly rough, lower class part of town. I wouldn't give it up for anything that didn't include an ocean view, a pool, and a cabana boy. Rawr.

Anyhoo, so I'm busy commandeering washing machines when this fellow walks in sporting a Magnum PI worthy porn 'stache, satiny shortyshorts, a bomber jacket, and a vintage ball cap. Tube socks pulled up, kicks. I ask myself - hipster, caught in an era I'd rather forget, or needs to do the washing worse than I do?


I kept catching myself staring at this fellow and he did bust me more than once. He may have been hoping for a love connection but manohman it was more like a horrific car accident with bodies strewn all over the highway - detached limbs and blood and gore and awful yet FASCINATING at the same time.


I tried to take a few surreptitious photos but couldn't quite do it. Seriously I'm pretty sure there's gonna be a Craigslist Missed Connections any day now, given the quality of creepster staring I was doing.


Ahhh Sundaes.

Days of Grace

So on Friday I was supposed to go to a work party thing at a club in the Gaslamp but when my work-bestie bailed the perils of navigating the San Diego equivalent of every irritating club district on the planet became too great and the smiley internet guy and I decided to stick a little closer to home.

Date three, y'all. Just sayin'.

Anyway, as longtime readers of the blog may know, I'm not the most graceful girl on the planet. I tend to drop things, bump into walls and/or doors, and fall down with a fair amount of regularity. Friday I had 2/3 of a bottle of pinot for dinner and was wearing 3 1/2" heels on some rough sidewalks. Hilarity ensued.

You know, if you define hilarity as watching me fall flat on my ass then be unable to get up because I was laughing so hard. Internet guy promptly laid down on top of me, told me it was too soon to be flat on my back, and hauled me to my feet. He is pretty sweet.

My hands are all scraped & bruised, though. So. Much. Class.

You want a piece of my heart?

It's funny. I find myself more irritated than anything by the attentions paid to me by the internet boys. Well, that's not true - there's one that I kinda keep my eye on. He's not really my type, but he's got this big goofy grin and for some reason it really makes me smile.

I'm getting used to living by myself. I've never done it before, after all - one of the side effects of having a kid at 17. I've just always had someone around.. someone in the house making noise making a mess making me happy sad angry joyful frustrated comfortable. It's not like that right now. Right now it's me & the cat. Some mornings I wake up and the silence is deafening (though, let's not kid, those are the mornings that the couchsurfer's been by and shut off the NPR). Some mornings, though, the sun is shining and I take my coffee outside and look at the boat and the trees and I feel pretty good about life.

Today's not really one of those days. I woke up and it was vancouver weather, so I miss my family. Tomorrow's my wedding anniversary (if you can call it such a thing anymore) and the architect has already told me that he took it out of his calendar won't mark it's passing even with a glass tipped to the stars.

I'm probably gonna have to get drunk with my girls.

I'm such an emotional tool.

xo

Perils and Pitfalls of Internet Dating

 So I've been doing the innerweb dating thing again, if for no other reason than I usually hang out with guys and it's hard to meet guy 2 when you are in the company of guy 1, even if guy 1 is a platonic, friendly guy . If you know what I mean. Guy 3? fuggedaboutit.

Anyhoo I've come really close to deleting my account these past couple of weeks, 'cause I've had a couple of those... shall we say.. experiences that make you question what little faith you have left in humanity.

Experience one was basically a guy trying to bully his way into my apartment so we could "get to know each other better". Luckily the couchsurfer had popped by for a visit so the presence of his car was enough to deter the creepster. Creepster let me know in no uncertain terms that the couchsurfer would have to go because the arrangement "didn't work for him". Riiigggghhhtt...

The second happened a couple of Saturdays ago. Went for dinner with this seemingly normal, if shockingly boring, guy. Not a bad time, but not what I'd consider a good time. I should have known better when I arrived and he was wearing one of those fake ed-hardy style dress shirts. Anyway, we had dinner, I dropped him off at his house (he didn't have a car), and he tried to kiss me goodnight. I declined the chance (again, boring). We made the 'let's do this again' noises - he said the following saturday and I said yeah maybe, let's keep in touch. We never kept in touch, I forgot about it, and that was that.

Well until Friday when he started ringing my mobile. I just didn't pick up - I had a really busy week at work, had already made plans for the weekend and, as I said, was NOT interested.  So Monday rolls around and I was thinking of firing off a note to apologize for not getting back to him and clarifying my lack of interest when into my inbox fires this horribly offensive email from this douche - basically calling me a loser and insulting my appearance and all sorts of other great things. Clearly intended to make me feel crappy. Helloooo Monday. I replied to call him an asshole and praise my luck at dodging a bullet with the crazy then promptly filtered his email to go directly to my trash.

Yesterday I opened my trash to find something and there's a WHACK of emails from this guy. Since I'm not really a glutton for punishment, I didn't open any of them but I did happen to see the preview for the last - the gist was basically how I'd totally missed out because he's got a giant cock.

However will I go on.

Anyway, I didn't delete the account and went on a perfectly lovely date with an interesting apparently sane human being, so while my faith is .. not restored, per se,  I've welcomed it back into the playground. For now, anyway.

abandon ship

Tonight on the way home we hit up my fave tasting room for my fave beer which they have on tap oh-so-very-rarely.... Anyhoo I drank a couple, lamented the fact that my girlbits are broken to my bestie, and came home to take slutty photos. Anyone want one?

On the fritz

So I'm beginning to wonder if there's something wrong with my girlparts. Like, if I met you before and have been attracted to you, it's all good - the bits still sing and dance at your presence. However, and this is a big however, no one I meet lately can get me hot.

Like perfectly attractive people and they want me and kiss me and I'm all "yahwnnn oh hey I'm going to head home drink cheap malbec and watch top chef".

It's as though my body is living in the past and my brain is lying on a beach somewhere drinking mojitos and has forgotten that it's got a responsibility motherfucker to send shockwaves of lust through my body and help get me nekkid.

Plus I'm almost out of past seasons of Top Chef. I mean, it's not the kind of show that you can watch over and over again - there aren't that many nuances. Not like a good Danielle Steele novel, my friends, not in the least. So what's going to happen after the next guy buys me dinner and tries to get me to take my panties off and I don't have any more Top Chef to watch? I won't have Tom Colicchio's sweet smile to console me at my lack of functioning libido. I guess there's always shark week.

Also, I'm really horny.

Mace

This song, I said, makes me want to dance around my apartment in my panties. There are lots of songs that do that, he said. I know, I replied - I hate pants. Pants, he said, are the last thing I think of, when I think of you. Oh? I replied? and what's your first think? Supercute canadian rock n roll goddess, he answered. *heart*