Monthly Archive: May 2010

Getting game

I’m thinking my 10-year-old sister has better game than me, which I’m sure offers some insight into why I’m single.

I mean, first the girl totally called me out on the corny, corny flirting I was doing with the boy working at the mall food court, all, “THEN, Crystal said, ‘uuu, can I ring your bell?,'” and then, she gave me the genius idea of how to give said boy my phone number.

“Oh! I know,” she tells me. “Just go up and say you need a refill on my Mountain Dew and then give him your number.”

Ladies and gentlemen, “My sister — the player.”

But, I was all, “I’m too scared. I mean, what if he says no, and I die? Or what if he has a girlfriend and she’s standing behind me and hears me and then beats me up and I get a concussion and then I die? Or, what if he thinks I’m the ugliest person ever in the world, heck the universe! AND he tells me so and I die? OR, what if I give him my number and he rips it up right in front of me, and as little pieces of sad napkin confetti fall to the floor, I die? OR!!!! What if he’s really an alien, and I give him my number and then he abducts me and I die. On the moon??!!!”

And my little sister was all, “What? Huh? Dude, I really do need a drink refill, so ya.”

So I found a pen, wrote my number on a napkin and tried my best to sound clever while asking if they charge for soda refills. (They don’t.)

And when he tried to be clever back, all, “Ya, $5,” I took it as a sign that he was totally into me and asked if he had a girlfriend. (He doesn’t).

Then I said, “Well, here’s my number if you want to call me sometime or something.”

AND TWO HOURS LATER HE TOTALLY TEXTED ME!!!! (Dear spell check, texted is a real word. Love, me).

And then we ended up watching a movie together.

And I might even see him again.

And I didn’t even die!!

YAY!!!

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I need you to need me.

I was strolling though the Barnes and Noble yesterday at the mall where that girl got stabbed (true story) and I saw this book called, “Why men love b*tches.”

And I was all, “Crap, why DO men love b*tches?” So I picked it up and read it. The entire first two pages. And it had all this stuff in there about how men like a “mental challenge” and women who “know what they want” and I was all, “Frick. I’m too nice.”

Then, I kind of started freaking out in a needy sort of way.

That’s how I roll.

I’m needy, with a capital NEEDY.

Wait. Please don’t go. Stay. Please. PLEASE!

I usually just blame all my screwed-upness on my childhood, because my childhood was very weird. No. No. Weirder than whatever you’re thinking right now. In fact, take whatever you’re thinking, times it by 40 and add dead mice.

To be fair, the dead mice thing mostly was handled by little brother Steve while I was at college (Go Steve!). But still, there were dozens of dead mice. In my house!

So ya. That’s why I’m screwed up.

I have this problem where I constantly worry that whichever boy I’m with will find a hotter girl because there’s no way I’ll ever be THE hottest girl ever and boys only like girls for looks, right? I worry that I’ll call too much. Or that he’ll randomly leave. And now, I worry that I worry too much.

I don’t understand how to date.

I just want a boy to come along, and not suck and embrace all my neediness with a smile and not worry about the fact that when it comes to men I have the confidence of a  cow at a slaughter house (that’s my vegetarian plug of the day). I don’t want to pretend I’m easy going when I’m clearly not. I don’t want to pretend that I don’t like to know plans in advance, when I clearly do. And I don’t want to make you think it’s OK if you’re atheist when it is clearly not.

I don’t want to work on me for you. I want to just be me with you.

And, I’m kind of awesome once you get past the fact that I like to call you six times a day and text 500 times an hour. I’m smart, I have a strong faith and some people call me pretty. Once in a while, I bet I’ll make you laugh, I’ll never judge you for eating Taco Bell, and I’ll talk football with you any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

Oh, and I have a super awesome blog.

And if a guy would just take three seconds to see past my shaking hands, and total lack of confidence, I bet we could totally rock together.

Maybe. Probably. Eventually. Right?

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Getting in the mood

OMG guys, where the heck have I BEEN?

I’ll tell you  where. Social City. That stupid Facebook game is like some sort of social media crack poured on my laptop each day. I obsessively check it as soon as I boot up and then, by the time I clean my factories, build a new car dealership and fire the lifeguard at the city pool, I’m all computerd out and then I don’t blog.

I’m sorry.

I’m joining a support group though. The people seem really nice and they keep saying that I can solve all this with something called Farmville.

Speaking of Facebook, can you people please like me?? I takes less than a second to click my shiny, new, state-of-the art “Like” button at the bottom of my posts and it would make me so very happy.

So please, for me?

Moving on.

It’s SUMMER! (Ish) (Today) (Weather subject to change tomorrow).

It’s finally nice outside and instead of trying to hide my purple finger nails because I’m oddly colder than everyone else around me (true story), I finally get to be the one at a normal temperature while everyone else sweats too much and my company waits to turn on the air conditioner.

YAY!

I’m so happy it’s summer that I wouldn’t even mind a little sunburn right now just to get in the mood.

Speaking of getting in the mood, dating life still sucks here folks.

I really like the 22-year-old, but he keeps being 22, so then I have to get mad because, for real, you can’t even make solid plans once buddy? Once?

Soooo, then I try to date other boys, but well, at the clubs all the cute ones are umm, 22 and that age doesn’t work so well for me. Then, I try to meet boys online, but that means I have to write all these e-mails and it’s so tedious and for all I know the guy on the other end is actually a 290-pound 12-year-old girl who lives in Alaska, so then I question whether it’s worth the effort and ya, I’m home alone tonight. The end.

I’m sure I just haven’t met him yet, as Michael Buble would say. But any day now would work for me God. Any. Day. Now.

In unrelated news, I think I’m going to dye my hair dark brown with honey highlights. This neon blonde is too hard to maintain, and it washes me out like I’m Tide unless I get a spray tan, which I think a lot of people think is weird.

I’m not 100 percent on the dark-brown thing, but assuming the stylist I eventually see when I eventually get money doesn’t think that will eventually make my hair fall out, I’m probably going to get aboard the brunette train for awhile. Do you think I’ll still have fun?

Serious question.

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