You Only Get One

You only get one office relationship.

That's it.

I've realized that. Altogether, there are four or so guys that I've had my eye on at work, and now it's hitting me that if and/or when an office relationship becomes imminent, I have to pick the one that's going to work out.

Because if I date one and then date another....it's OVER. OVER.

You only get one.

In other news, Giovanni saw me outside the building today, wearing a short skirt, and said, "WOW....where are you going later?"

:-D

Brotherly Love

Saturday night was unofficially THE going out for Halloween night, despite the rainy and windy weather. I was disappointed since I wanted to do something with Samantha in the city, but the parental units insisted that I head back home since the weather would only get worse.

Thus, back home on Saturday afternoon with all but 2 apples and mustard in the fridge, I headed out for an evening of yummy Chinese food with some girls from the business and then we would all head to the Halloween party together. While we were in my friend Jill's apartment perfecting our Halloween costumes and putting on makeup, one of girls got a phone call from Candice, who needed a ride to the party, and Candice’s sister wanted to come too, Jenny. I almost flipped as they explained to me that Candice was McMarried's wife.

I said I didn’t mind picking them up because after all, I got to see where McMarried lived. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), he was out of town with a buddy at some concert so he couldn’t go to the party. Yet, I was worried about meeting his wife and his sister. Would it be awkward? Would I like him more knowing who he was married to? Would I be green with envy of her and would other people pick up on that?

Surprisingly, McMarried’s wife was the kind of person that it is very difficult to hate. She was simple-minded and sweet. I was expecting someone drop-dead gorgeous, intelligent, witty and refined woman, but instead, she was just kind of simple. Brown hair, brown eyes, white teeth, kind of tallish, average build. Nothing extraordinary physically or personality wise either. I was disappointed, since in my opinion, McMarried could do soooo much better.

After picking them up, we arrived at the party in style, and I immediately met Tom who was hosting the party. Right away, I got a creepy vibe from him. Another one of the girls described him as "lecherous" and "an evil guy who just wants to get into girls’ pants." Usually, I can read peoples' characterswell, and he did not seem sincere at all, but just rather creepy.

I ran to the other room to hang out with Candice, Jenny, and the other people there, making sure I got my alcohol in early in the evening so later on I would be sober to drive.

But oh yes, the plot thickens.

Jenny (the wife’s sister) called McMuscle, McMarried’s brother and invited him over. He wasn’t part of the business, but they extended the invitation to come anyway.

"Dayum!" I thought to myself as a tall, muscular man walked in with a wife beater and sweatpants on I couldn’t help but admire his chiseled muscles and what a fine speciman of the male race he was. I also immediately noticed a resemblance to his brother’s eye and voice. He was shorter than his brother, around 6 feet tall, and lacked McMarried’s irresistible dimples, but he was still cute. We did the whole awkward introductions thing and handshakes, and then we all socialized for awhile. I made him wear my wig and then we did a kickline and silly photos.
I also managed to start a dance party with McMarried’s wife’s sister, who was a lot of fun and enjoyed dancing. In fact, I spent much of the night wondering why McMarried didn’t marry the fun and outgoing sister.

I began talking exclusively to McMarried’s brother, let’s call him McMuscle, and we chatted over the musical selection playing and both agreed that the entire crap that filled the CD collection, such as poetry readings, classical musical, and altervative music just wouldn’t cut it. Then, we got more into background information and my friend Bethany came over and interrupted the conversation. I shot her a glare, but I realized it was fine if more people joined the conversation. I could tell he was being fliratious, checking out my costume and having a good case of "wandering eyes syndrome." Finally, after a couple drinks into the evening, I whispered to his ear, "I have to go to the bathroom," winked at him, and ran my hand down his muscular bicep.

I sauntered out of the room and wasn’t surprised to see him right behind me. Since the bathroom was the part of the apartment that was set apart from the living room, kitchen, and other rooms people were in, it was a perfect spot for hooking up. As I started to go into the bathroom, he grabbed my hand, pulled it towards him, and said coyly, "So...wanna make out?" I said, "yes" shyly and pulled him towards me in the bathroom and shut the door. He pushed me up against the countertop and starting kissing me and running his hands through my hair and wrapping them around my back. I wanted to be clear about where this was heading, so I said, "We’re just gonna fool around, not have sex—I’m not like that." He nodded as if he understood, and we continue to make out, only he hoisted me up on the sink so I was sitting with my legs and tried to keep them closed together as he kissed me. I was so glad that his sweatpants and my fishnets hadprotective layer between us, but even between that, I could still feel his rock hard body. It might have even been a little too hard, if you know what I mean....

After another minute or two, I told him I should get back before people suspect anything. I left the bathroom first, and he followed a minute or two later. From then, it was awkward becuase I was paranoid that people suspected something and I didn't want to be known as the business whore.

However, by that time it was getting late, and McMarried’s wife announced that McMarried was back from the concert and would be picking them up (including McChiseled). I began to panic and flirted with McMuscle even more. Would McMarried be coming inside??? I was dying for him to come into the apartment and see me hanging over his brother in his halloween costume.

Alas, that didn’t happen. McMarried’s wife and his clan just left when McMarried called her on the cell. McMuscle and I said goodbye and no numbers were exchanged. I didn't volunteer mine and he didn't ask for it. Maybe a good makeout was all he wanted. Which is too bad beause it might be fun to date him and double with his brother and wife.

I stayed a couple more hours, mostly helping a friend who drank wayyyy too much, but I wanted to book it out of there since Tom (the guy who was hosting) was a creepy dude.

It was nice to get some action, but I would DIE to know what McMuscle told McMarried about the party...

Oh, and PS, I'm going out with Candice (McMarried's wife) and sister probably next week to go dancing. Maybe McMarried will join us this time?

Is this really my life?

I'm going to take a break from the "Homecoming to McRugby" series to recant some hilarious tales of harassment I've endured since returning back from my visit.

Back “home” from visiting my loves, it’s back to the creepy old men who haunt my daily life. Yesterday at work, a married couple and their sketchy brother/in-law came in. He was wearing a Hawaiian print shirt and had greasy slicked back hair. When I greeted the table and asked if I could get anyone anything, he replied, “How about a date?” I shuddered and moved on from the table. At the end of the meal, the woman told me I was terrific and “a keeper” to which creepy guy added, “Yeah… can I keep you?”

Also, three scumbag guys thought they were hilarious by making innuendos about to-go boxes and my vagina. Ha. Ha. You said "box," aren't you a wit? Asking howbig my box is and whether or not they could fit all oftheir food in my box. Man, those guys should becomedians. Or have their asses kicked.Then today, an old man came in to dine alone. And for some reason, men like to mistake waitresses doing their job as some sort of personal interest in them.They actually pay us to be polite and pretend that we give a shit about how happy and comfortable you are. This old man during the meal asked me things such as,“Do you live on your own?” and “What time do you get off today?” As I leaned over the table to refill his coffee, he leered and said, “I bet I’m not the first one to tell you that you have beautiful eyes.”

The best, or should I say WORST part? Neither of these horribly men left me a decent tip. I had to suck it up and endure their creepy and inappropriate sexual harassment and didn’t even make enough to buy a latte from Starbucks. It’s disgusting what I have to endure on a daily basis, and I find myself hating my life more and more each day.

Also to file in the Creepy Man database, is this incident from two days ago: As I was gathering my apron and purse and juggling my keys and cup of water, getting out of my car after an abysmal shift, an old man was slowly shuffling up the sidewalk. He stopped in front of my carport and turned to stare at me. Internally I said, "Oh fucking Christ, what does this goddamn old man want?" This is the weirdness that went down, verbatim:

After a moment of staring at one another, I finally speak.
Carrie: Um. Hi.
Creepy Old Coot: *Uncomfortably long pause* ...Can I talk to you?
C: No. I'm, uh, on my way out.
COC: I live around the corner.
C: Oh.
COC: We have drugs in the neighborhood.
C: Oh.
COC: Don't keep anything illegal in your car. I have undercover cops coming here to look around.
C: Oh.

With that I turned and hurried into my apartment and locked the door behind me. Fucking creepy old man. Was he insinuating I was a druggie? Well, let me insinuate that you are a creepy ass hobbly pedophile who needs to stay the fuck away from me, lest I break your frail oldass kneecaps. Assbag. I've never seen this old man before, and he uses our first interaction toe ssentially accuse me of being a druggie? Fuck you, old man. Talk to me again and I'll call the cops on you for harassment.

Thanks, Carrie!

Carrie, you wished us sexy dreams last night. I would like to thank you profusely for that.

I had a dream about Jesus Iscariot last night. As you may recall, I am not remotely attracted to him -- I only slept with him to fulfill a goal I had had for nearly four years.

But it was a good dream. We were standing up on something really high, and we could see all the way across America -- there was a palace that looked like the Taj Mahal in the midwest, although I thought I was looking at Bruges, Belgium. There were elephants there too, and buffalo up in Wyoming.

And then it turned out that we were filming two action movies together. The plot had to do with giant logs being moved, and we had to hide, and go down a tunnel in a capsule that would immediately transport us to the midwest, and we'd be fighting the bad guys.

At one point we were hiding on what looked like a patio with high walls around it and a staircase, and one of the bad guys came downstairs. I told Jesus that we had to start making out so they would think we were just down there for the sex and weren't their enemies. So we started making out -- he pushed me against the wall REALLY hard, and he himself was really hard against me, and I just instinctively wrapped myself around him.

The bad guys left, but we just kept doing that.

I think we lost interest in the action movie aspect of what we were doing. We walked around, holding hands, kissing every few minutes.

It was great. Dreams like that don't come around too often.

Thanks for getting me to that place, Carrie.

The 30 year old virgin (or 2 girls, a guy, and a martini bar)

Last night I went out with two people from business, Birdman and Betsy. Since we had worked together on a business project, Birdman suggested that we go out to dinner and have drinks as a group to relax/be social. I'm not a particular fan of Birdman outside of the firm, but Betsy is an absolute riot. She's completely extraoverted, warm, welcoming, and is positively hilarious, so I jumped at the chance to hang out with her.

I picked her up and we went to meet Birdman in the city. Since we had about a fifteen minute drive, Betsy cut right to the chase and we dished who was dating in the office; she spilled all about her past dating history and relationships. She completely agreed with me that McMarried was gorgeous, and we both lamented his current taken status. But, since Betsy is naturally very open (i.e. willingly to disclose a lot of information about herself), she confessed something that positively shocked me.

She told me she didn't want to have sex until she was married.

Maybe it wasn't this exact phrase that surprised me. I mean, we hear this ALL THE TIME from friends, acquantences, and even celebrities. But, for A LOT of people, it's just a phrase and they don't actually follow through with this promise. However, for Betsy, I was most amazed/shocked that has followed through (thus far anway).

Betsy is 30, and has dated different types of guys (all races, colors, creeds). She was very upfront about her sexual policy; some men were respectful, while others wanted nothing to do with her. She was tall, blond haired, blue-eyed, and was certainly considered attractive...nowhere near the female version of Steve Carrell in the 40 year old virgin.

Why was I so shocked? I think it was because in our society today, everyone just expects that the time you graduate college, you will have lost your virginity. And Betsy still had her virginity and her Christian morals intact (bad pun, I know). And what was more surprising was that she was proud and open about it. She wasn't afraid or embarrassed that she was 30 and hadn't had sex yet. She embraced it, and I admired her for that.

Her story is not to say that it's only one way. I also admire people who are "sexually free," people like Samantha (from Sex and the city) who have sex whenever they want with whoever is willing, and just don't judge others. That also is an admirable quality.

So there it is. Just putting it out there. You never know who's a virgin...and who isn't. And sometimes, you're pleasantly or refreshingly surprised when you realize people do things that may not mesh with what society dictates.

Homecoming to McRugby, Part II

The entire weekend, I didn’t want to leave McRugby’s side. Being with him just felt right. Not much else mattered to me. When I returned to my school, so manyof my peers whom I had considered to be such goodf riends had changed for the worse. They couldn’t care less that I’d traveled all this way to see them, and I couldn’t care less for their new attitudes. The rugby team, that I had help build from the ground up and put all of my blood, sweat and tears into, had become degraded into a sorority. The primary focus of the team is to party and sleep with the men’s team, and winning games is secondary, as evidenced by their record of 1-3 (and the one win was a fluke, you would have to be a deaf, dumb and blind paraplegic to lose to this team).

It made me sick to my stomach to see everything I had worked for had gone to shit. And it dawned on me thatI had moved beyond this. And even though it had been the most important and consuming part of the past yearof my life, it was over and done with. I looked out at the girls practicing and lamented that rugby had become a thing of the past and then turned to look across the field at McRugby practicing with the guys and smiled towards what appeared to be the only element of this world that seemed to have a place in my future.

And I was completely satisfied with that.

He ran over to me all sweaty after practice and despite the pools of perspiration, he never looked more adorable. We walked off together and he went to shower at a friend’s house. We then went to hang out with the three girls who managed to give a shit that Iwas visiting and had a low-key night of drinking and alittle bit of Beirut. I had always been a bit of a legendary Beirut player, but I was way out of practice. McRugby, who used to be laughable, actually carried the team. We lost, but it didn’t matter. We were going home to have some long-awaited great sex anyway.

The next day we hung around on campus while he went to class and practice and then around dinnertime, we headed into the city to meet up with Miranda and Samantha, who were very eager to meet the mythical McRugby. He had been hesitant to make the effort of going into town, but wanted to do anything he could to make my weekend as enjoyable as possible. He was being as accommodating as possible and ended up having a great time, once he got over griping about driving. Besides, he said jokingly, the exchange of sex, or the sexchange, made any small task worth it.

The ladies and I and McRugby bounced from bar to bar, all of us girls wearing shirts for fellow bar patrons to sign. McRugby’s presence resulted in me having significantly less signatures than Miranda and Samantha, but it was a sacrifice I was more than willing to make. We spent a few hours in town and had to leave early to make our train and get home before McRugby fell asleep at the wheel. I was getting tired anyway, a problem that plagued a majority of my visit, and he ordered me to take a nap on the way home because he wasn’t going to let me pull the “I’m too tired for sex” card, as if I would.

The sex had suddenly become much better. When we dated, it was sort of lackluster and never lasted long, but I didn’t mind because I really cared about him. Of course, following the ugly break-up, this fact about our sex life did not remain a secret. He learned to increase his stamina to last longer than 5 minutes and also purchased certain vibrating accessories to make the sex more interesting. For once, I didn't dread going to bed with him.

Mmmm, younger guys

"Aged eighteen years....just the way I like it."
--Stifler's Mom

We're young. We're just out of college and are making very little money. It would make sense for us to seek out older guys for the obvious reasons. At this time in our lives, just a few years makes a big difference -- it moves you up from that $25,000 starting salary to something that can even double. Getting guys who have attained this makes your life so much easier. Not just the money, but they're established, they probably have a nice place to live, and they're not about drinking Natty Lights on a stained couch on the weekends.

So why am I drawn to younger guys?

Much younger. Eighteen would be the approximate age.

I've been thinking this for a while. It only intensified last night, when I was on a college campus, seeing all the new freshmen.

There are so many things great about them -- most of all, their bodies. They're thin, they're lithe, and they haven't begun to show signs of aging like the beer gut, the wrinkles, and especially the balding. They're perfect. They've got that early smattering of chest hair, that sparse facial hair that hasn't yet grown into a sharp-edged beard, that perfectly smooth skin. Of course, you know my type, and you know that I love the skinniness most of all.

I also think that college freshman boys could be a lot like freshman girls, before they become jaded. They have that hope about them. Combined with your self-confidence, they begin believing that they've got the better end of the deal, and they cling to you. What you decide to do with that is up to you. But since they're guys, they won't follow you around like a puppy dog, the way girls tend to.

Because of this, I think that snagging a freshman guy could be a nice, new form of a booty call. Since we're out of college now, we won't have to deal with the aftermath, and the gossip won't spread. It can be all about the fun. Which is what we're all about.

It's all about being Single and Fabulous.

Homecoming to McRugby, Part I

I finally went home to visit McRugby and my friends. And in a word, the trip was wonderful. McRugby was wonderful, and this trip cemented how much I actually care about him. He picked me up from the airport and the second I saw him standing at the bottom of the escalator, my heart began fluttering as all of my feelings I had for him in the past came rushing back in an instant. It felt so unreal, like something out of the movies. The waves of emotion that came over me were overpowering, seeing him there was probably one of the happiest moments in my life.

We hugged and kissed and held each other and pretty much acted like “those” people you see and loathe in public. Yes, I was guilty of a PDA, but in my defense,I hadn’t seen him in about 6 months. The luggage took forever to come out, but once it finally did we made our way over to the parking lot and his car. By this point, we feel we’d waited an appropriate amount of time and pretty much jumped on each other once in the car. The airport patrons and officials were lucky that we didn’t fuck right then and there in the baggage claim. So we climbed over into the backseat, I’d dressed accordingly in a skirt and crotchless underwear- because hey, a girl’s gotta be prepared.

Now, I don’t know how many of you have attempted vehicular sex, particularly in a small car. But, shit’s tough. I’m not that short, so I pretty much had my head crammed up against the car ceiling. Then, when an airport security guy walked by and peered in, we burst out laughing and decided to hold off until we had a little more privacy.

Save me from McMarried!

You might not remember McMarried, but I wrote about him in my very first post in September (scroll down if need be). He's gorgeous, tall (6'3"), muscular, incredibly kind and intelligent . . . .unfortunately, he's married. And also unfortunately, I've been running into him everywhere---all around the business. I ran into him at the library last week and in the department office. He also saw me in the gym a couple days ago and I was uber-embarrassed. Me, dripping with sweat, and him, just coming in for a run. But on these occasions, as I appear awkward and withdrawn as ever, he is always smiling and ready to say hello. That's what makes me like him even more.

This afternoon, in fact, I was showing my parents the recreational center near my apartment, and I was heading up the stairs, leaving the recreational center, when I glimpsed him coming down. I didn't want to acknowledge him, so I pretended I didn't see him and looked down as he walked by me. I couldn't get away---he playfully swung the sweatshirt he was holding in his hands into me so I was forced to look up into his alluring blue eyes. "Hey Miranda," he said warmly, as I responded, "Hi McMarried, how are you?" as casually as I could muster. He lingered on the stairs, and I could tell he wanted to talk, but I continued to walk faster, not wanting to engage in conversation, and I noticed what had to be his parents coming down the stairs after him. My parents wanted to know IMMEDIATELY who he was. My mom was all over him..."What does he do? Where is he from?" I said matter of factly his business position, and also added, "he's married, he lives with his wife."

This is just the type of girl I am. Because I know he is MARRIED, I am trying NOT to like him. That's why I distance myself from him, not wanting to talk to him that much inside or outside of business. I don't want to like him more than I already do. I don't know if he senses my uncomfortability around him, but regardless, he is still warm and genuine, and that makes me like him even more. Part of me wishes he would be mean or arrogant so I can be turned off.

I mean, is it possible to be friends with him?? I'm just afraid of myself more than him. Afraid of falling for him the more I get to know him. I just don't know.....

Yeah.....

I am a fucking disgrace to this blog. It's been so long (over a week) since my last post that I forgot my username and have been plugging in similar usernames for a good 1/2 hour until I finally caved and asked the blogger net to re-send me the information. That's beside the point.

Anyway, last night was AMAZING and will go down in going out/bar history. Some of my favorite highlights from the night:

Having a police officer sign my shirt.

Having an elderly couple sign my shirt.

Having a great friend like Samantha to turn the "I love cock" some guy from England wrote on my shirt to "I love cocktoberfest!"

Groping a pole.

Running into Norm from Cheers and feeling him up/taking a photo with him.

Meeting McRugby and discovering his mascot is a PIRATE!!!!! Arrrggghhhh, mateys!

Having some guy in Sam's (a restaurant where people make you hats and supposed to treat you like shit) tell me, "here, you're cute, wear my hat," then discovering what was written on his hat was "I have a small dick" (and something else that I can't remember)

Singing Karaoke and fighting the urge to turn "No Scrubs" into an opera number a la Will Ferrell/Molly Shannon style (Old school SNL).

Meeting Giovanni in person, the hot, italian man from Samantha's work with a tremendous sense of style. And I can promise you, he's not gay. He was gorgeous and I asked him to write something in Italian on my shirt. He wrote, "d'ame un bracchi." I knew it was give me something, but I wasn't sure what. I just put it into babel fish and I got "un ame it hounds." Yeah, that's another reason why Babelfish sucks. I don't have my Italian dictionary with me, but I'm thinking it means "give me an arm/hand" or "give me a break." Either way, I was disappointed it wasn't "dame un beso." I concur with Samantha that he is a catch.

Go for it. You can't go wrong with an Italian man--great food and great sex.

So....

First of all, I had the best time with Miranda and Carrie (and McRugby!) last night. What a night! It will surely go down in history.

Secondly, I am THRILLED that we happened to run into Giovanni, my super-Italian coworker that I've written about before. He's the one who is so freaking Italian, who wears the really tight but flared pants with the boat shoes and the tight button-downs and blazers. He's got wavy black hair and he's tall, just looking SOOOOOOOOO Italian!

He also has a tendency to high-five a little too often, as well as being a big fan of the thumbs-up sign at all times.

We've seen him now! You've met him in the flesh! And I want to know -- what did you think?

Takin' Care of Business

Dear Devoted Reader (we assume you are out there in cyberspace somewhere),

We welcome your comments, suggestions, recommendations, baked goods, or cash gifts. But could you please provide an email address or blogger page in which we can respond to your comment or answer your question? Thank you.

Sincerely,
Management

Contrary to popular belief, I do not have herpes

Probably the most important thing I learned this past weekend is that you can develop a pimple on the lower left corner of your lip and it can look strikingly similar to a cold sore. Your so-called friends will then proceed to laugh at your cold sore and shout across a parking lot or crowded restaurant, "You have herpes!" Let's be clear, people. Just because you have a reddish like mark on your lip doesn't mean you have a cold sore. And just because you have a cold sore doesn't mean the diagnosis is immediately herpes.

Now that we've cleared that out of the way, Friday night I was looking forward to an action packed evening at a bar in an upscale, urban area. In order to get to said bar, I needed to take the public, not so quite upscale method of transportation: the subway, home to local drunks, sketchballs of all sorts, those hot 9-5 commuters and sadly, occasional ass gropers/pick-pocketers.

I was sitting down next to my friend Kimmy on the subway when all of a sudden a spray of mist landed right below my eye. I looked up and there was a heavy-set, snickering man in his 30s gulping from a can of Michelob light. He said laughingly, "Ha ha ha, I’m sorry, did I spray ya?"He wasn't the least bit sorry and it was clear he was well on his way to inconsiderate, belligerent drunkdum. Since I was on the phone with Samantha, I uttered a brisque, "not a problem" and shot him a look of death. After I got off my cell phone, the jackass and his middle-aged friends tried to engage us in conversation, talking about the upcoming baseball game and even trying to give us their tickets to the game since it would be a guaranteed "awesome time." I'd rather have a true awesome time a la Will Ferrell in Old School, when he went streaking around the local neighborhood.

Our subway stop couldn't come soon enough. Once the subway doors open, we booked it out of there, and as the doors were closing, I shouted, "C'mon! What man drinks light beer anyways?!" They pounded their hands against the glass and shouted some incoherent words as the subway wooshed their pathetic faces out of sight.

The rest of the evening went much more smoothly. I had a fantastic dinner with my college girlfriends, and we gossiped over the latest engagements, pregnancies, and the classic who got fat/let themselves go. Always a good time.

In the case of singleness, I do enjoy not being tied down to anyone, but it would be nice to date. I was having a discussion with a business mentor, and he was asking me if I had any geographical locations or limitations if our business were to move. I blurted out, "Of course not! I don’t have children, I’m not married, I have no engagements and I’m not tied down." Judging from the surprised look on his face, I think I gave him more information than a simple "yes" or "no" would suffice, but I wondered why I had so much trouble identifying my single status. True, he hadn’t asked me if I was in a relationship, but why hadn’t I readily volunteered that information or hesitated on the single part? Getting married and having children is something we’re all supposed to do in our culture, unless we are nuns or priests of course and are married to God. But when is there a stigma with singleness? Once we reach a certain age, relatives and friends will be perpetually reminding us of our ticking clock and chime in, "I know a great guy I could set you up with..." Are we all predestined to fit neatly in the marriage mold, or is it possible to just have a delictable lov-ah on the side?

Speaking of that, several of my friends and I were talking about how glad we are that we're single RIGHT now, since so much time now (early 20s) is figuring out what WE WANT and how we want to spend our lives. True, I have so much to figure out in terms of my ideal career, and although I may know who I am value-wise, I just don't know where I'll be in five years, geographically and job-wise.

Anyway, back to my night out. After a fantastic and reasonably priced dinner, we headed for a fun Irish bar called Shenanigans, where the liquor wasn’t too expensive for a city ($6) and the drinks were surprisingly strong. As my friends and I ambled up to the bar where a couple of cute guys were sitting, we started over-analyzing how to grab the bartender’s attention, when an older, half-drunk guy overheard us. "She’s definitely gonna ask for your IDs, you guys look so young." We chatted him up while we waited for our drinks, and the bartender (she actuallly called herself "the Nazi ID checker") took our drink orders. The rest of the night we ended up chatting with two older guys that were really funny and good dancers. The place was so packed that we could barely move out on the dance floor. I would have liked to stay longer (we left at 10:30, got there around 8) but I had to go home early since my friend’s shoes were killing her. That’s another thing I don’t get about women, even though I am one. Wear FUCKING comfortable shoes if you’re going to be walking all over a city that is paved in cobblestones!! Jeez.

That was my Friday night in a nutshell. The next day, I headed to my alma mater for the usual drunken festivities, tailgating, and dinner with college friends. The game was enjoyable, but being back at my alma mater was somewhat jarring. Time had moved on and the college had undergone some changes since I graduated. I realized I was a visitor now. I was on the outside, parking my car in the visitor lot, and walking around campus as a visitor, not as a resident. This would no longer be my home, ever again. I couldn't ever have the relationship I had as an undergraduate, and it saddened me, but it oddly felt right. I had moved on too from college.... and I needed to move on, despite my hestitations about my career goals, geographic location, and wanting to remain in the realm of familiarity and comfort.

This is entry is getting too deep even for Miranda. I need to get back to my sarcastic self pronto. And what better way than watching a little Dancing with the Stars and Sex and the City? Ahhh, life is good, my friends.

Holy crap, Google has SO not failed me now!

There are so many guys at work. There's a new one. (And I haven't even mentioned the one I like the most yet! The perfect guy, the one who unfortunately has a girlfriend but who is like my other half -- I'll call him Seamus for future reference.)

This new guy started a few weeks after me, and now sits near me. We didn't talk for awhile, other than a smile or asking an occasional question, but after he and Seamus and I started talking one day, it clicked. And the two of us started randomly emailing each other.

What should I call him? Hmmm, this is tough.

The emails are mostly short, funny things. It's cute because his cubicle is right by mine and we can stand and see each other. All we have to do is talk and we hear each other. The emails are kind of covert, which is nice. And they're flirtatious. Increasingly flirtatious.

He is somewhat my type -- not entirely, though. The first thing I noted about him was that he's the same nationality as Round! He's not skinny, but he's NOWHERE as big as Round was. He's very tall, dark and has the kind of cute face that just makes you smile when you see him.

We have a pretty good amount in common, too. Aside from growing up in the same area and going to similar colleges, we also have one big mutual passion. My absolute favorite thing to do in the world is his as well. (No, not sex!) We have a similar sense of humor. And at the end of the day, we've been leaving and walking back to the subway together -- just the two of us. And it never gets weird or awkward.

So tonight I took the next natural step: I googled him.

And I COULD NOT BELIEVE WHAT I SAW.

I was IMing Carrie when I found out. Her reaction:

shoe gal: whaaaaaaaaaaat?
shoe gal: DO HIM!
shoe gal: MARRY HIM!
shoe gal: GET SOME MONEY!
shoe gal: and share it with me :-P

I hereby christen him GoogleJackpot.

GoogleJackpot is part of a famous family. A very famous family. I can't say anything more than that. As you can see by Carrie's reaction, this means he has access to a lot of money. Fame is in there too, as well as infamy.

He's not directly part of the family; he's related by marriage. But that doesn't matter.

What matters is that if I marry him and it's a slow news week, I could be in People Magazine.

(Is it bad that that's the first thing I thought of? I don't even think marriage is for me!!)

Also, I know that this is definitely him. Several of the sources I saw online matched up details about him that I know are true, like when and where he went to college.

What's weird is that I kind of wish I hadn't found this out. I now have to carry around the burden!! I really want to tell someone at work. But I can't tell anyone that I was obsessive enough to google GoogleJackpot! The only person who has noticed anything between me and GoogleJackpot is Seamus, who sent me an email today saying "Stop office pimpin'!" I hadn't discussed GoogleJackpot with anyone. It's new, and it's at the office.

And I can't tell GoogleJackpot himself. Besides the fact that he would think I was a stalker, I'm sure he wants people to see him for who he is before finding out about his family. It would change too much.

So I guess I should keep quiet for awhile.

I can trust Seamus. Maybe I'll tell him.

Nobody else.

Holy crap, I have to increase the flirtation 3000%. Who knows where this could go?!

Getting McCheesy

“I'm sitting thinking…Would you like to know what I think? I think you are really great. I think you arereally smart, and you are sarcastic in the best way,and you make me feel very happy. I think you are one of the best people I know. And even when I'm sad about you not being around, I'm still happy that I can anticipate having you around. You mean a lot to me. I just like you to know how important you are to me.”

This positively melted my heart. I’m trying to be as stand-offish as I can with him, but the truth is I’m his, completely and totally, if he wants.

When the Ex, now dubbed “McRugby” courtesy of Miranda,first came back into my life, I thought nothing much of it. But now, suddenly, he consumes so much of my time and thoughts. Every day how much I miss him crosses my mind, and coming home from a long day atwork, talking to him always makes me smile.To this day, he still gives me butterflies. Even in a conversation online, he can make my heart flutter withthe sweet things he says.

And I’d never settle for anything less.