The Over-Educated Nympho

Things have gotten a bit dramatic with The Man lately.

[gotta tell you: this post does not make me look good. I’m just asking you to try to see how it was possible to misunderstand his misleading intentions]

After I slept with him he called and text messaged me constantly for about a week. I kept it cool because, well, frankly he’s nobody I’m planning on spending an entire full-feature movie with, let alone the rest of my life. He was safely in the fuck buddy category, at least I thought as much because of the major Playa vibe he puts out. I mean come on. He’s a hip-hop artist whose songs talk about getting blow jobs from groupies and random chicks at bars. He flirts with every girl he meets. He is as arrogant and “I’m The Man” as they come. Which was why I thought he would be the perfect once-a-month fuck buddy.

Apparently, I was wrong. From the increasing anger of his text messages, he thought we were more serious than I thought we were.

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I nailed it. I did much better than I thought I would and said all the right “This is why you should hire me” sort of things at the right time with just the right amount of confidence.

The department head said he’d have to discuss it with the other team members, but I think I weaseled my way in on at least one project, which is all I need to prove myself and get a permanent position.

That’s the way to do it, eh? Wear the super-pointy-toed heels so that you can get your big toe in the door, then body-slam the motherfucking door wide open. Hells yeah.

This evening after work I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up refills for my birth control and anti-depressants. I had twenty-four dollars cash and six dollars in my checking account to last me until pay day. Prescriptions were ten bucks each, I have enough food at home and gas in the car that I can ride out the next couple days without going in the red.

ooooooh but wait. Problem, I realized as I walked around the store waiting for my prescriptions to be filled. I finished off the wine last night! I don’t have any more at home!! OH NO!!! I NEED MY WINE!!!

[Ok. I gotta warn you. It gets embarassing here:]

Assessment: I had twenty four bucks and change in my purse. If I could just find a $3.99 bottle of white something or other wine, I’d be good…

Nope. Cheapest they had was $5.99. BASTARDS.

Well I don’t need the refill of anti-depressants for a few more days, I could just get the birth control, a decent bottle of wine, and come back for the anti-depressants in a couple days after I’ve gotten paid…

Yes, this line of thought actually happened. I walked up and down the sad little aisle of sad wines thinking to myself, wine or pills wine or pills wineorpills…

And let me tell you–I chose wrong.

Tomorrow I’m interviewing with another department in my company and if all goes well I’ll get transferred.Problem? It’s Hot CoWorker’s department. And I would probably even be sitting next to him because that’s where the sole empty cubicle is located.

Yeah. Glad that whole mess never went any where.

So how’s it going with Hot CoWorker? Especially since things at work could completely change soon?

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Due to a few too many run-ins with douchebags, assholes, dumbasses and fuckwits who tell me “oh by the way, I have a girlfriend” it has come to the point where I have to implement a questionnaire for any guy who wants to be a contender for dating.

Questionnaire
Do you have a girlfriend?
Do you have a girlthing who may be categorized as long-distance, on-again/off-again, inconclusive in relationship status, or any other sort of questionable yet NOTEWORTHY situation?
Did you tell the truth in the previous answer?
Are you married?
Have you ever been married?
Are you currently separated?
Do you have children?
Even if you are legitimately single, are you still in love with your ex?
After only three dates are you going to throw out the L- or M-words?

Please sign below that everything you have answered is the truth. If you have lied in even the smallest way to OEN about your dating/single status, she will come after you with a baseball bat. And she’s into all that kinky shit, so guess where the baseball bat would go.

This shit is getting old. The whole “by the way I have a girlfriend” bit from guys. It was bad enough with Apt #5 whom I didn’t especially like, but this shit last night hit me hard because I actually liked Nice Guy #2. A lot. Like, a lot a lot.

But fuck that shit. This morning I was listening to the radio and Don’t Cha by The Pussycat Dolls came on. It was all too fitting. I damn near punched the radio dial.

The song isn’t exactly dead on because I never meet these so-called girlfriends, but the chorus alone sums up my flattering yet frustrating situation. [Go here for the full lyrics, but the chorus below is what is most pertinent:]

Dont cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me
Dont cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me
Dont cha, dont cha
Dont cha wish your girlfriend was raw like me
Dont cha wish your girlfriend was fun like me
Dont cha, dont cha

Not that that is a half-decent excuse to flirt with a girl and then tell her by the way I have a girlfriend.

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As much as getting your period sucks, it’s still a nice monthly reminder that YIPPEE! Congratulations, you’re not pregnant! Way to protect the eggs from unwanted fertilization!

And after that split second of relief begins the week-long trickle of straight-up Aw crap.

I’ve got a crush. A big one, on Nice Guy #2. In other words, things went really really well at the Happy Hour Friday night.

In fact, things went so well Friday night that I think there must have been some serious orchestration going on to ensure as much: at the so-called Happy Hour, no one else showed up. It was just me and Nice Guy alone for two hours.

Nice Guy had told me it would start at six. I showed up about 6:30 and was surprised to be the first one to meet him there, but just figured others would show up over the next hour or so since most of our friends seem to be on the chronically-late side.

He knew the bartender there (he also lives in our complex), which meant we got great service and a fantastically low tab. We ordered lots of sushi, which Nice Guy assured me was the right move for all the “other people showing up.” Yet when the food arrived he ate exactly half without word of anyone else, so I followed suit and ate the other half (mmmmm…. foooooooood).

Meanwhile the conversation flowed as easily as our cocktails and it turned out we had a lot of random interests in common, which started when he told me he has his pilot’s license and my eyes damn near popped out of their sockets because I have always wanted to get mine and buy a stunt plane (yes, I am a total guy when it comes to anything involving adrenaline). The conversation only went uphill from there.

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I’m trying to be nice. I’m trying to get over the assholenss and be cool around Hot CoWorker because I do genuinely enjoy talking to him about career stuff (he’s the only person in town I can talk to about my career vs my writing and which I would rather do for long-term), so when I see him around the office I give him a small smile or a head nod, and once a week or so I talk to him for more than thirty seconds. Which I just did now because I’m so fucking bored I’m one coffee away from challenging someone to a twirl-in-your-chair contest.

I think he’s still scared that I hate him (I never HATED him… he just really pissed me off for being a clit tease… ok maybe I hated him temporarily, but all that is too exhausting so now I simply don’t give a fuck), so whenever I half-smile or even make eye contact he brightens and gives me a big smile back. WTF? For someone who just wants to be friends he’s being the friendliest sucky friend I’ve had.

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I didn’t think it was going well with Nice Guy #2 since I met him two weeks ago. We emailed a couple times, but his were always very professional-sounding and dry. Ok, fine, he’s putting me in the “friends” category. Not a huge deal, although a real shame because he is one seriously hot piece of ass with a dorky-guy-in-high-school complex (mmmmm my favorite).

I ran into him a few days ago when he was hanging out with Mr. Fucking Fabulous. Since my dogs were with me and whining to continue on their walk, I couldn’t stay long. He seemed to be hanging on to every word I said and was giving me some encouraging eyes. Ok, now I’m confused.

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Masturbate-a-thon In London. Why doesn’t this shit ever happen in the States?!

Ooops. Apparently it originated in San Francisco and London is joining in for the first time.
http://www.masturbate-a-thon.co.uk/