I have so much to tell you I could spit up. Fortunately, I have no real plans to spit up.
So obviously yesterday I felt bad. Bad bad bad. One of my coworkers said to me, "Your face when I first saw you walk in the door? Has haunted me. Do you need to go out and get a big giant drink with me or something?"
I love my coworkers. I really do. I didn't even TELL y'all about going out with them Friday night. But I have too much to tell you to get off on that tangent. (Someone got an espresso martini and it looked DELICIOUS. She was an awake drunk.)
At any rate, there I was, feeling sad about he-who-must-not-be-mentioned, and having a big cloud over me, and thinking dramatic thoughts. Am I the only one who breaks up with someone and gets the dramatic thoughts? "I will NEVER love ANYONE this much AGAIN! I will NEVER find ANYONE like that EVER. This was it. He was the ONNNNNE for meeeeee! Even though he made me miserable! Wooooooaaaahhhh is meeeee!"
Do you? Do you do this too? Please tell me this is not like how I am the only person whose mouth got numb eating grapefruit and I thought it was a universal experience but instead oops! I am allergic to grapefruit.
But guess what. Guess what happened. On Monday? When I told y'all about how things were not gonna work out after all with HWMNBM? I got an email. I mean, I got a lot of emails, from my real-life friends, and from all of y'all, and basically everyone was the bomb.
But this was a special email. It was from a woman who had briefly dated Daniel do-not-mention, and apparently he had told her about my blog. "I only dated him a bit, but I've been reading you ever since," she told me. She went on to tell me all sorts of encouraging things about how I am fabulous and lovely and the smartest, most desireable woman on planet Earth.
Perhaps she did not lay it on that thick. But it was implied. Because all that stuff is a given.
Anyway, I was touched that she wrote me, and we exchanged a few emails back and forth, and she said, "Honestly, I don't know why you don't go for The Fireman. He sounds wonderful."
"The Fireman IS wonderful," I wrote her. "Hey! Would YOU like to meet him?"
And that, folks, is how a woman who dated Daniel Boone got set up with The Fireman. I had corresponded with The Fireman this weekend anyway, so it's not like he didn't kn0w my heart had been shattered, so I told him the whole story about this woman and how he should totally meet her.
"I don't know whether to feel really liked or really rejected," said The Fireman, who has to analyze everything.
"Do not feel rejected," I told him. "Think of it like you are a really fabulous pair of shoes that I have, but unfortunately I am only into painful spikes right now, so I am loaning my fabulous shoes to someone else."
Even though The Fireman is really manly, fortunately you can give him analogies like that and he is cool with them.
I hope it works between them. You know how people say everyone comes into your life for a reason? And you know how everyone who says that is a real asshole? I am hoping that Fireman and this woman fall madly in love, so I can justify these four obsessive painful unrewarding months by saying DB and I met in order to fix those two up. NO PRESSURE, YOU TWO! YOU'RE ONLY GIVING MEANING TO AN OTHEWISE HORRID RELATIONSHIP!
Talk about your blog giveaway! The Fireman. The new inflatable meatloaf.
Okay, so that was good, and then I got home and got the news about Winston being missing, and I can't even think about it because if I do I will cry again and I am SICK OF CRYING and I hate myself and I love Winston so bad. Winnie was always my f-a-v-o-r-i-t-e. Don't tell anyone.
Right after Marvin called to tell me Winston was gone, I had to go on a date.
Last week, after I declared my undying love for DB, which by the way feels like eleven hundred centuries ago, I got a Match message from someone. No one interesting has contacted me in months. I have gone on a few dates and they have all been eh. So literally 10 minutes after DB and I decide to become a thing, this guy contacts me and he was pretty interesting, and I was all, Wouldn't you know it and I closed down my Match account.
On Sunday, when it was evident things were not gonna work with DB, I wrote the guy back. Several funny emails resumed, despite my dark cloud and my tears and my dramatic thoughts.
He proposed we get together. "Have you ever been to Hillsborough? We could meet there."
I paused. Hillsborough is exactly where DB and I had our first date. Of all the gin joints…
"Okay," I said. "Sounds great." Yes. Let's meet there. That is where I met the man I will NEVER EVER GET OVER because I loooooove him and he is terrrrrrrible to me and I will Miss Havisham over him for the rest of tiiiimmmme. Sounds great!
I drove there last night with the news of Winston weighing on me, a migraine threatening, this work thing hanging over my head, and oh! When I turned on my GPS (I turned it on with my smile, just as I turn the world on), and typed in, "Take me to Hillsborough," it asked, "Do you want to go to Daniel Boone Drive?"
"NO! No I do NOT want to go to any Daniel Boone Drive. THANKS!" I snapped at it.
I parked in exactly the same spot I parked when I went on my date with DB, who we all said we weren't gonna mention and yet we still do and why must we obsess, and I walked over to the restaurant.
And there was my date, leaning against a lamppost, and he was so hot I could have melted into the sidewalk.
Hot. Seriously. He was hottie hot hot. Attractive, is what he was. And I liked what he had on. Sort of preppie fashionable. And I could tell he liked me. Because I had on my high-heeled boots that are sexy if one is attracted to Nazis and who isn't.
He does that nervous talking thing as I do. "I know on my profile I said I was a good listener, but really I just think I'm so funny that everyone should be hearing what I have to say. I'm a terrible listener," he said.
"Oh my god I'm exactly the SAME WAY!" I said, not listening.
Our food came, and even though I hadn't eaten in seven hours, I had three bites and was not hungry. Oh my god, I'm twitterpated, I realized. When I'm twiterpated over a boy I do not eat.
What kind of shallow superficial tramp gets twittered over a boy when she is in LOVE with another boy?
This shallow superficial tramp.
Oh we had the best time. Seriously! We laughed, we talked, we tormented the waiter. Finally it was time to go and he walked me to my car. It had started to rain, so we stood under an awning talking. And I am sorry to tell you that old in-love-no-one-will-replace-him June KISSED ON THE FIRST DATE.
"So I'm thinking Sunday," New Boy said. Whose name is Tom, and when I asked what he wanted his name to be on my blog, he said, "How about Tom?"
"Our next date. I'm being bold, here. I'm going out on a limb."
So June has a movie date on Sunday. We are going to a foreign movie to be pretentious.
And even though I am sad and cloud-covered and cannot stand thinking about Winnie in the rain and hope I don't get fired about the work thing?
That was one damn-ass fun date.