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Monday, October 31, 2005
Missed Connection with my date on Saturday

I’m not really sure when it all started, but I am sorry you don’t seem to remember much of what happened.  I am not sure that you really want to know exactly what happened, actually.  I’m not sure that your parents would be very proud of you..  Anyway, here is a brief synopsis to help you in piecing together the hours of your life that you have somehow lost:

 

The Beginning

This was before things got too bad. I will assume you remember all of this

 

The Outfit:

After a few vodka redbulls, you told me that I needed to change and fix my hair because my appearance was not acceptable to you.  I argued a little with you and told you that I didn’t take orders from men – frankly, I thought you were trying to be cute or something.  You shoved me against the wall and told me that you were European and that I should do what you say.  You also said, “It’s all about me  – don’t you get it?  As long as I am happy, that is all that matters.”  Frankly, it was a little erotic to me.  Again, I thought you were just trying to be cute/sexy so I fixed my hair and even put on an outfit that you wanted me to wear (even though I didn’t want to wear it).  Then you kept telling me how beautiful I was, “Do you even know how focking beautiful you are?  Has anyone ever told you how focking beautiful you are?  You have no focking clue, do you?” 

 

Late to meet the friends:

So, we were very late to meet the friends.  In fact, we were supposed to meet them at 7:30 and we didn’t really get out until around 11. Several of my friends had already left at this point.  By then you had drunk quite a bit of vodka and red bull.   You ordered two additional double vodka red bulls at McCray’s and every other word out of your mouth was “fock.”  You kept asking me where my friends were and I explained that they left as it was late.  You started making fun of my friends and said insulting things about them for leaving so “soon” even though we were several hours late.  We were sitting at the large table by ourselves, which is a great segue into the next thing that happened…

 

The Middle

Things start to deteriorate here.  I think your memory may be cloudy…

 

The incident at McCray’s:

I am sure you remember calling the waitress at McCray’s “a focking beetch” when she asked us to move.  Sure, she could have been nicer about it, but technically there was an open table behind us and we could have very easily moved.  I have no idea what took place when you went to talk to the girl, but after you came back to the table, the manager came up to us and told us that we either needed to give up the table or leave.  You were pretty belligerent with him so we were basically told that we needed to leave.  I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.  Hopefully, they will not recognize me the next time I try to go in there.  Anyway we left.

 

 

 

Loca Luna:

We went to Loca Luna. You had another double vodka red bull.  We danced for a little bit, but then you started falling all over me.  I was actually pretty sober, and honestly was not having much fun at this point, so we left.  Then you started asking me what was wrong with me.  “You used to be so happy?  What is wrong with you?  Do I make you so unhappy?”  You know, that kind of stuff.  Honestly, I was extremely disappointed. 

 

Getting home:

Next, we went back to my place.  While I was extremely disappointed and was relatively upset with you, I felt that I had a social obligation to try to keep you out of a moving vehicle until you were sober.  You have no GA driver’s license, so I could not put you in a taxi and send you home.  So, yes, I “took one for the team” and let you come back to my place until you sobered up.  This, of course, backfired.  And obviously, I failed.  You drank what little was left of the vodka and red bull and you were completely enraged.

 

The Beginning of the End

Things were clearly getting out of control at this point

 

The “focking beetch” conversation:

Well, this ones’ truly a classic. You kept calling me a “focking beetch.”  Then, when I would ask, “Why do you keep calling me a “fucking bitch?” you would respond by saying, “I never call you a focking beetch.”  Then a minute or so later you would say, “You are such a focking beetch – you ruin everything!!!”  We went around in circles over this one for at least an hour.  How I supposedly ruined everything, I will never know. 

 

The “I bring you flowers and this is how you repay me” conversation:

Another classic.  Somehow I am supposed to repay you?  I am confused by this one.  I told you the flowers were beautiful when I first got them.  And yes, I was truly grateful as only one other man in my life had ever bought me flowers.  Actually, I was touched.  Had I known that you were getting them to me so I could “pay you back” later, I would have never accepted them in the first place. 

 

The “Why don’t you just go the fock home” conversation:

At some point, in between the “you are such a focking beetch” insults, you decided to start telling me, “why don’t you just go the fock home?”  Of course, this made no sense since I already was at home.  So, I responded by stating, “I am home.”  This just pissed you off even more, so you threw in a few more, “You are such a focking beetch – why don’t you just go the fock home?” 

 

The Red Bull Cans:

Obviously, you had a terrible temper at this point.  After finishing the last of the red bull, you decided to start crumpling up the empty cans and you threw them at my walls (and thanks to that, I spent a large part of my Sunday cleaning Red Bull off my walls, floor, and beautiful cream microsuede sofa).  When you displaced all of the Red Bull cans, you started looking for other items to throw.  You threw my microsuede cream pillows (and now one has a black mark across it that won’t come off – thanks).   But I can say I was pretty impressed that you did all of your cussing in English so as to include me.  Thanks.

 

The Toilet Paper:

You went to the bathroom and must have had issues with the toilet paper because you started throwing it EVERYWHERE.  Basically, you toilet papered my house.  ON THE INSIDE.  Again, you were cussing up a storm.  And you tried to flush the cardboard cylinder (aka the center of the role) down my toilet.  Thank GOD I caught that before it clogged up my toilet.

 

The “fat” comment:

You started telling me how fat I am and how much I need to lose weight.  Funny, since I’m 5’2”, 120# and wear a size 6.  Doesn’t sound so fat to me…

 

The driver’s license:

Okay, this one is technically my fault, and I am not perfect.  I honestly thought you had my driver’s license, but it was really in my jacket pocket.  We went through your wallet several times but could not find it.  Both of us were getting really pissed and I called you an asshole.  Then, I found the license in my jacked and I apologized profusely.  So, for that I am sorry.

 

The business cards and Tropicana Winners Club card:

Next, you gave me some Wachovia business card for a woman named Deborah and you told me to call her and tell her everything that happened.  Then I told you I was not going to call some strange girl and tell her anything.  You got mad, ripped her card in half, and threw it at me.  Then you took out the Tropicana Winners Club card and asked me, “Is this what you want?”  I was a bit confused, after all, what would I possibly do with your frequent gambler’s card?  You tried to tear it in half, but given that it’s made from plastic, it would not budge.  After getting aggravated with the card, you bent it in half and threw it at me. 

 

The weird Angela comment:

BTW, who is Angela?  Her name came out of right field.  It was weird.

 

The End

So much for my “happily ever after”

 

The “Why do you have to be such a slut?” conversation:

After throwing red bull cans at my walls, TPing my house, calling me a “focking beetch” and ordering me to “go the fock home,” you decided to start telling me “you are such a focking slut!”  Then, you took money out of your wallet and threw it down on the counter and told me, “Is this what you want from me?”  Of course, I did not want your money and I asked you to please take it back.  You did. 

 

The Grand Finale:

So, I didn’t appreciate the slut comment.   That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  So, I asked you to please leave.  Of course, you couldn’t oblige me with that one request.  Oh no.  You had to live up to your “bad boy” reputation and be a total jerk.  You started asking me what you ever did to make me so unhappy.  I told you that you were drunk.  You got pissed and shoved me up against the wall and again you wrapped your hands around my throat.  You just kept asking me what it was that you had done that had made me so unhappy.  By now, it should be fairly obvious to you why I was not laughing and smiling.    I successfully pushed you away and ordered you to leave, and you did.  Then you came back again (you’d forgotten some of your personal items).  You ended up leaving and coming back about 5 or 6 times.  The last time you came back, you dropped to your knees and asked me what was happening.  You kept asking me why I had to go and ruin everything.  It was such a mess.  You might have even been crying, but I don’t really know because I was crying myself and my vision was blurred. 

 

Anyway, I really just wanted you to go at this point as I was now concerned for my safety.  So, through my tears I told you off.  I told you that you couldn’t pull this shit with me because I am better at it than you could ever dream of, and that it may work with all the other girls you’ve met, but that it would not work on me.  You asked me why all the girls you met always went psycho, so I laid it all down for you as nicely as I could.  I told you that maybe you were the one who was psycho.  I told you that you were acting drunk and crazy, and that if you normally this way then it made sense to me why the women would get so freaked out.  I told you that the girls weren’t the crazy ones, and that you were the one who was crazy. 

 

I told you that while I’m a nice girl and a forgiving person, I am not a pushover.  I told you I was done playing your little game.  I helped you up, walked you to the door, and I told you, “Why don’t you go home little boy, and come back in 5-10 years after you’ve had a chance to grow up a little.”  You finally left.

 

The Aftermath:

So, I figured you’d call me, so I turned off my ringer so as not to be bothered.  And I went to bed.  I have no idea if you ever came back to my door as I fell asleep.  

 

When I awoke the next morning, I surveyed the damage:

 

  • Smashed red bull cans thrown about
  • Red Bull splatter all over my walls (and I mean ALL over)
  • Toiled paper EVERYWHERE
  • Deborah’s ripped apart business card (I am assuming she was your date to the hockey game or something?) and a bent Tropicana Winners Club card
  • Sofa pillows everywhere and one with a black streak across it
  • Two voicemail messages on my phone – one at 4:46 or so.  There was no background noise in that message.  The second message came at 5 AM and I could hear the car in the background, so I knew you were on your way home.  The messages were kind of contradictory.  Basically, you asked me not to call you (no worries, I hadn’t planned on it) as it would be too awkward.
  • The bottle of Absolute was nearly empty.  What does that mean?  Well, that means that you drank almost a liter of vodka at my place ON TOP of the three double vodka red bulls that you had while you were out. 

 

Epilogue

So, what a wild week that turned out to be!  I don’t really know what else to say.  I guess if you’ve made it this far, then you really were interested in knowing what happened.  If not, then my time is wasted in writing this.

 

I can’t express to you the amount of joy that you’d brought into my life, right up until that crucial moment on Saturday when the downward spiral began.  The sweetest thing you ever said in an email was, “I hope my emails aren't inept but you have clouded my mind.  I look forward to your emails, hearing your voice on the phone, and of course seeing you (TOMORROW).  You're so incredible...”  I honestly felt the same way about you.  That is the guy that I will try to remember – not the raving lunatic who TP’d my house and pushed me up against the wall. 

 

I am very sorry that this happened.  It really makes me very sad.  I would have thought I deserved more respect from you, but I guess you and I do not see eye to eye on that.

 


Posted at 09:00 pm by Nibbles72
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Sunday, October 09, 2005
Note to self:
Empty the vacuum cleaner bag BEFORE vacuuming the floor. 

Posted at 11:44 am by Nibbles72
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Friday, September 23, 2005
I am sick and tired of men who are "blower-offers"
This has been a bad week for love.  Seriously.

On Sunday, for example, I was supposed to go on a date with my neighbor, Mr. Mills.  He blew me off (see post below).

On Monday, I spoke with a guy, Sir Lancelot, that I'd met on match.com (even though I deactivated my account, he slipped in at the last minute so I decided maybe it was fate or something).  He asked me out for a date on Friday, and said he'd call later in the week and confirm.

In the meantime, my friend Mars was supposed to meet me at my place this week and help me repair a broken breaker.  He never returned my calls, and therefore never showed up.  I sure hope he isn't lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

So, Thursday came and went, and no call from Sir Lancelot to confirm my date on Friday.  I figured he was, like the others, just another "blower-offer."  I certainly wasn't going to call him to confirm because:
  1. He was the one who invited me out so it was his responsibility
  2. His failure to make a real plan on Monday indicated to me that he was keeping the day open just in case something better came along
  3. My track record with men and commitments to dates wasn't looking so hot for the week

I went to work on Friday morning, fully expecting a call to either cancel or confirm. Did I get a call?  NOOOOOOOOO!  Of course not!

On my way home, I checked my aol account from my phone (I cannot check it from work due to CISCO security agent).  What did I see in my inbox?  An email from Sir Lancelot asking me "Are we still on for tonight?"  HOW FREAKING WEAK!  By then, I had already made alternate plans and was not about to change them.  I was sooooo pissed.  Why the hell would you email when  you specifically state that you will call and confirm?  Besides, I was at freaking work!  I can't check personal email there, and I know a lot of other people who work at large companies who cannot check google, yahoo, aol, etc accounts from work either.  Use some common sense, people!  And say what you mean and mean what you say!

So, after calling a few men (who confirmed for me that it was definitely a dis), I decided to ignore the guy for the night and reply in the AM.  After all, he ruined my night. 

I was so pissed that I decided to take the dog for a nice walk.  BIG MISTAKE.  While walking down Peachtree Street, who do I bump into but Mr. M. Mills, the neighbor who blew me off on Sunday.  He was the last person that I wanted to see at this point.  When he asked me what I was up to, oh, how I wanted to blurt out that I wasn't up to anything NOW since MY DATE BLEW ME OFF. But I decided instead to play it cool and just stated that I was busy with work and that I was maybe hitting a beer festival on Sat.  I hardly said a word and he was sorta squirming.  He said the compulsory, "I'll call you later this week and see what you're up to."  BULLSHIOT!!!!  Mr. Mills, I know you have absofuckinglutely no intention of calling me.  EVER.  Don't make promises you can't keep.  And don't be an ass.

Asnwer me this - why are men such assholes???

 


Posted at 08:02 pm by Nibbles72
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Sunday, September 18, 2005
The Kenny Chesney Controversy
Once of my coworkers, Thumper, has a thing for Kenny Chesney.  When he married Renee, she was seriously devastated and pouted for days.  To cheer her up, my other coworker, Jeffro, and I kept telling her that it didn't matter because he was probably gay anyway. 

So, imagine her surprise when she heard the news that Kenny and Renee were getting a divorce.  And imagine our surprise when she cited "fraud."  Jeffro took this as an opportunity to prove his case - that Chesney was indeed gay.  I played along because it was pretty funny.  Then, while looking up Chesney information, I came across the picture below.  I mean, let's be serious - is there any question whether this guy is gay or not?  Look at the puppy dog wrists!  UGH!  Kenny, just come out already.  We'll still love you!  Really, we will!!!!


Posted at 12:54 pm by Nibbles72
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Saturday, September 10, 2005
This NEVER happens to me!
I was bored at work, so I decided to look myself up on the internet and see if I could be found.  Turns out that I can’t be found!  In fact, the Treasury Department of the State of WI has been trying to find me since 1995 as I have some unclaimed “property” owed to me ($$) from State Farm Insurance Company!!!!!  How cool is that?

Posted at 07:26 pm by Nibbles72
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Friday, September 09, 2005
The Neighbor

I started chatting with one of my neighbors on Match.com over 8 months ago. We had a phone conversation, and I was typically hyperactive and silly, and I swear I skeered him off or something because I didn’t hear from him again.

 

When I got Zoe, I contacted him so I could get some doggie advice for the ‘hood (he has a dog), and admittedly, it was a way for me to “get back in.”  Within weeks, I was out walking Zoe and he spotted me on Cypress Street.  On that particular day, I hadn’t washed my hair, had on no makeup, and nothing I had on really matched.  I looked like shit.  He, of course, looked adorable.  We made plans to meet for a drink the next day, and it just never happened.

 

I figured he’d just changed his mind.  I guess I would have, too.  I looked like HELL.

 

I called him, but he never got back to me, so I let it go. 

 

Then I received an email from him a few weeks ago mentioning that we still needed to go out and meet for a drink.  After comparing schedules, we decided to meet for Sunday brunch, which was a lot of fun.  We both decided that we should definitely meet up again, and we did.  Of course, we both seemed to have a good time, and he even mentioned that he’d like to try to spend more time with me over the weekend.  Then I didn’t hear from him.  I emailed him Tuesday, and he emailed back Wed explaining that he might have guests in town over the weekend, but if not, he’d love to get together on Friday or Saturday.  I replied, but never heard back.  WHAT IS WITH MEN???  C’mon, guys, how hard is it to pick up the phone and say:

 

1.      You’re busy

 or

2.      You’re just not that interested?

 

Seriously, how interested can somebody be in you if they set you up and then never follow up?  Happens ALL the time.

 

Or maybe it’s just me… 


Posted at 08:23 am by Nibbles72
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Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Good thing I don't plan on having children...
...because I fuel with Premium.

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Posted at 08:41 pm by Nibbles72
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Friday, August 26, 2005
A word to "The Grazer"
There is a guy at work who always wanders out of his department over to ours and takes our food.  This has been going on for about a year now.  Everyone in my department complains about him, but nobody ever does anything about it.

Yesterday, I brought cake to the office to celebrate the birthday of a coworker.  After we had cake, I saw him come over, ask coworker Jeff if there was a birthday, then wait until it appeared as though nobody was looking (I saw him look both ways), swoop down, and steal a piece of cake.

This pissed me off!!!!!  I decided to do something about it, so I emailed him:


I am not trying to be horribly rude, but I notice that every time our group (over by ed development) has cake, you end up sneaking over here to snatch a piece of our leftovers.  Here’s the problem: that cake was for members in the birthday club.  See, it cost me $50.00 to feed my birthday club friends (and members) cake today.  The benefit of being “in the club” is that you get to have free cake (or other food items as requested) on other people’s birthdays, and then you buy cake for the person whose birthday happens to follow yours. 

I checked the list of birthday club members, and your name is not on it.

 Please stop eating our snacks and food items.  We pay a lot of money for them. They are intended for our group.

Thank you in advance for your cooperation.  J


Posted at 12:38 pm by Nibbles72
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Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Why I Love Techno Music (I think)
Last night while surfing the net I came across a yahoo! article that Robert Moog died.  If you are unfamiliar with this rather spectacular fellow, then I will enlighten you: he invented the synthesizer.

This man is my hero.

Hearing of his death triggered a childhood memory of a tape that my mom used to have called "Everything You Always Wanted to Hear on the Moog (but were afraid to ask for)."  I found a little sample file of one of the songs, Carmen.  I think this may explain my secret love for techno music - and more recently techno classic.



Andrew Kazdin and Thomas Z. Shepard / Everything You Alwas Wanted to Hear on the Moog*; Columbia M 30383; (c) Coumbia Records / CBS, INC.; Cover Design: John Berg; Cover Art: Tomi Ungerer



Thank you, Robert Moog!  And thank you mom, for loving this cheesy tape so much!

Posted at 03:58 pm by Nibbles72
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Friday, August 19, 2005
My Birthday

This was the first year since 1995 that I didn’t wake up feeling empty and unloved on my birthday.  Pathetic, I know.  See, what I failed to see during those 10 years was that love was really all around me the whole time – it just wasn’t the kind of love that I had been seeking.   

This year, instead of feeling sorry that my parents were dead, that my grandfather will blow off my birthday, and that I really wanted to just forget the day altogether, I reveled in the fact that I had a group of dear friends who were eager to escort me to dinner, and it made all the difference in the world. 

See, I’ve always been the kind of person who dwelled on the past.  The problem, however, is that you cannot live in the past, nor can you go backward and make changes.  So, what was my best birthday gift for year 33?  This little quote:

“Focus on the future – that’s where you’ll be spending the rest of your life!!!!” 
 

Oh, and as an added bonus, I was able to get into a pair of size 28 Seven jeans!  Whooo hoooo!  Running with the doggie RULES!!!!!!


Posted at 08:13 am by Nibbles72
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