Relationship Girl

The past 6 months have kind of been a blur. Let’s begin with my personal life. You know Rugby Guy… Well he and I have kind of become an item. By kind of, I mean we spend like 4 or 5 nights a week together and do lots of couple stuff. Like lots. Never ever would I think that I would be “Relationship Girl.” Ever.

Even holidays are now together – I spent Thanksgiving with his family. Promptly after arrival, I learned his family likes to drink as much as he and I do. Awesome. Or so I thought…. After I few large glasses of wine and going shot for shot of tequila with his father, I was telling them how much “I loveeee their son” and how they were “The best in-laws everrrrr.” Good job, Holly. Good Job. Even as embarrassing as this was, they still accepted me with open arms the rest of the weekend (which may or may not be the most embarrassing of my life).

Getting back on topic - I am not the girl who sends “I love you” texts in the middle of the day (ew!). I am not the girl who attempts to bake. I don’t grocery shop and get special things for my man. And I am definitely not the girl who wakes up early to make “him” breakfast wayyyy before she has to be at work.

Now, these are all things I do.

Six months ago I was the most independent woman you could find. And now I feel like I have to define myself with a man?

Here is the other thing. He is 28. I am 25. Now that may not sound too different, but in Man Years … 28 makes them think. He has taken off his slutty pants (or put them back on – whatever) and is thinking about settling down. I, on the other hand, am not so sure. He talks about marriage and living together like it’s an imminent possibility. But, let’s be honest … we have not even known each other a full six months yet. I don’t think we need to jump the gun. Oh, and his reason for getting married? “I’m getting old.” (When later questioned he denied this but I am sure as shit not getting dressed in white and putting on some ridiculous show if the reason for said nuptials is advancing age.)

My mom told me not to question motives … I told her to shut up. Anyways, I am Relationship Girl and she is still single … so what does she know??

Plan = More self definition. Playing house can be fun but I need to be me. And go.

Dodging the 'Stache

Saturday was kind of a debacle. I blame myself. It was my idea to get a group of people together to go to the Northern VA beer festival. I was the one who sent out the emails. I was the one who called to make sure that everyone would be ready to go that afternoon. So when things spiraled out of control, I had nobody to blame but myself.

Actually nothing really happened at the actual festival. It was just a precursor to the hijinx which ensued later that evening. Any time that you start drinking dark beers prior to 6 PM, things are not going to end well.

So fast forward to about 11 PM. We are at the local bar next to my friend’s house (which is THANK GOD closing- I have been in protest of this dirty smoky hole for years!). But when you get the right group of people together it can be secretly kind of fun. We meet the rest of our posse and are having a really good time.

Now there is one guy in our group that is really nice. He is in his older than I am, in his thirties and he is smart and nice enough. But the man looks like Jack Black and Hurley from ‘LOST’ had a love child. And he has a mustache. A creepy child molesting gross nasty mustache. I do NOT do mustaches. Who does? In other words, this guy is NOT attractive. But he is really nice. So I assumed my talking to him would not be taken in the wrong way … I mean there is no way he would think I would be attracted to him. We are friends, right?

Fast forward a few more hours. Everyone has dispersed to their respective homes or wherever they landed that evening. I am sleeping at my friend Lynn’s house that evening since it was clearly not going to be a good idea for me to drive. So is Jack Black lookalike. And there is only one extra bed. Fabulous.

Let’s preface with the fact that I sleep in bed with my guy friends all the time and don’t think anything of it. And since my thoughts and feelings about JB as so plutonic of course I don’t care if he shares the bed (again why drinking for over 8 hours is a BAD plan). It’s a king – there is plenty of room. I can share.

That is when it happens … he tries to make out. There is an attempt to touch and then I feel an attempted ‘stache come at me. Gross, gross, gross!! Finally I ward off all mustache attempts and was drunk enough to just go to sleep. But really!? Really?!

Now maybe I am giving off some slutty vibe these days but it was totally inappropriate behavior. There has been no reason whatsoever for this guy to think it would be okay to try to hook up with me. I am SO not like that. And I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I am about 100 times hotter than this guy. No joke. Not even in a bitchy way – but he really was misinformed.

I really have to check the vibe I am giving out these days because this is not the first unprecedented makeout that has happened lately – the weekend prior things went down. When one of your good friend’s boyfriends tries to touch you, that is equally inappropriate. Honestly, what are these guys thinking!!!???

All I have to say is: I am scarred. How could Jack Black on Crack lookalike think that was okay? Actually Jack Black would have been a hottie compared to this guy.

I literally got a little sick while sitting in my cube still contemplating the darting ‘stache in the darkness this afternoon. WHY?

Needless to say, I will now be going on timeout from any social situation JB is possibly going to be in. And I REALLY hope that nobody gives him my phone number. That will not end well.

A Good First Date?

So I did get a date with the Rugby Guy (see – now the theory is totally confirmed!). Friday night we met for drinks near my house. I must have had a good feeling about this guy because I never give up a Friday night for a date. Of course I was running late and had to pregame with some wine prior to leaving my house. But even my last minute venue change and tardy arrival did not seem to throw this guy off. This was a good sign.

Right before I walked out the door, my roommate asked me “What are you going to do if he tries to kiss you?” My response to her was easy: I am a fabulous dodger so I had nothing to be worried about, right? Confident that I could get away from this situation, I headed out the door.

So we meet and things go pretty well. But I have to say – I have never met a guy who talks more than I do …. And I talk A LOT. But he did mention that it was a nervous habit of his to talk a lot and that he is usually quite shy. Shy is definitely not the word that I would use to describe RG but maybe it was just first date jitters (or he is a total narcissist). We were the last people to leave the bar – I consider this to be a good sign as well.

RG offers to walk me to my car as we leave (as a self proclaimed southern gentleman would). I try to make it a rule to drive myself and not be in any situation which could become awkward on a first date. I politely decline and inform him that I am a Big Girl and can handle it but he insists. Off we go! As his car is in another lot, I offer to drive him to his vehicle. Note: Must clean out car prior to first dates in the future in case of entry into car … I mean I don’t think that it is weird that I had a yellow ruler and a furry Santa hat openly sitting out with my tax documents from the past 3 years sprawled across my backseat, but maybe he did?

Anyways – this is when it gets awkward. The end of date dance. What to do? Is he going to try and kiss me? Do I WANT him to kiss me … oh no! So RG leans in for what I am assuming is a kiss and I retaliate with my normal dodge routine. It’s a natural defense! Not only do I dodge, I dodge right into his nose … his nose that he quasi broke in a rugby tournament the week prior and has been healing back to health with black eyes for the entire week. I saw the pain in his face as he reached up to protect his snozz and shrieked “Oh My Nose!” Smoooooothhhhhhh, Holly.

There was another uncomfortable dodge situation and we then end the date.

He did say that he had a great time and would like to go out again.

I wonder which part he liked the most: The part where we talked about him the whole time or the part where I broke his nose.

Two Birds, One Stone

OK fine, I admit it …. I am a little bit of a hypochondriac. Well if you ask my friends, I am a big hypochondriac. But whatever – EVERYTHING causes cancer these days. Seriously.

Since I got a new insurance provider when I changed jobs a few months ago, I figured I should go in for a physical and get prescription refills and such. Oh – and ask about any symptoms that I thought may be cancerous (I never used sunscreen as a child so the repercussions could be costly!).

So I go into this new doctor, referred to me by a friend. I find out that I have what her assistant called “White Coat Syndrome.” I have a fear of doctors. I have already psyched myself up for this visit and have mentally pre-gamed a ridiculous amount. Going to the doctor is a BIG deal for me. You would think as a self-diagnosed hypo, I would love to go to the doctor. But I do not.


I am chatting with the doctor and she asks me when the last time I had been to my lady doctor was. I inform her that it had been about a year but I had full intentions of making that appointment very soon (never!). This is when new doctor springs the news that she moonlights as a gyno as well. Would I like to have my annual exam then? Well, I guess so.
The more I think about this, the more I find it strange. Do I really want the same person who takes my blood pressure and treats me for my flu symptoms to go “down there”? It is just awkward. And how can she know about ALL areas? I guess when I went into the exam room and saw the dreaded stirrup table, I should have been aware.

Whatever women say, it is the most dreaded appointment of the year. It is awkward and there is poking and prodding. And NO, I do not want you to ask me about what my summer vacation plans are while you scrape large Q-tips against my cervix. I do not care that you wish that you had married into a family with a beach house. This is not time to chat. Get in and get out.

I dread making this appointment and will put it off as long as possible. After making it I also obsess the weeks leading up to it about how terrible it is going to be. So maybe it was better that it was a flyby this year. It cut out all of those extra weeks of anxiety.

Afterwards I treated myself to a large deli sandwich and a brownie (so much better than the carb free lifestyle I have been trying to perfect!). I am actually proud of myself right now. It is over. For a whole year. Well, after they mail you your congratulatory post card (Trust me I will compulsively check the mail every day and not answer any numbers I don’t know for fear of bad news). But I feel more accomplished from this trip to the doctors than I do with anything I have done at work this week.

Now that is sad.

I must add, I really do like the new doctor. She has a great bedside manner and seems really straight forward. As Aubrey referred to her – she is a One Stop Shop. It may be a crass way to put things in reference to ones vagina … but she is totally right.

Sneak attack gyno = Two Birds. One Stone.

How to Get a Date?

My friend, Aubrey, has this theory: The only thing that you need to get a date is another date. At first I was very confused by this logic. How could having a date get you another date?

According to Aubrey, men can just sense it. They KNOW that you are a desired commodity. Maybe it’s a competition thing or knowing that you are desired. Maybe it is the confidence that having an impending date gives you. I’m not sure which it is but I am starting to agree with her. Every time I have a date, I seem to find new men. It’s not like I always have dates but it seems like they come in waves (and usually in the summer when I am tan - tans also provide confidence). This past weekend was one to prove again that old Aub was right.

After a day of drinking margaritas, it was time to meet up with my roommate’s fiancé and his rugby team at a bar. Now keeping in mind that I had consumed a large amount of tequila up until this point (6 PM) … it was a perfect opportunity to go into a bar full of meatheads. I am not sure if it was the 4 margaritas already consumed or the low-cut (and braless) sundress I was wearing, but I was the most popular chick at the bar – at least I thought so.

Keep in mind I had agreed to go on a date the upcoming Tuesday with a guy I met online (this date was subsequently cancelled due to the fact that this guy totally freaked me out and he had a country accent on top of it - I don't do country accents). So in my tequila haze I started talking to the rugby players. One in particular found an interest in me and there was an exchange of phone numbers. Let’s keep in mind that after a few Pabst Blue Ribbons (Do NOT judge - they were free) at the bar I would have given my number to a small cat had it asked.

But Rugby Guy seems perfectly nice and smart. He has a good job and we talked at the bar for a while. I don’t know how credible I was at the end of this conversation but he still called on the following Monday. And he called. He did not take the cowards way out and text. We chatted for over a half and hour an it was not even (that) awkward.

So even though nothing will probably come of it and I do not actually HAVE said date, it makes me feel good that he did call! See, I don’t need an online dating service and it has only been a few weeks.

I have game.

This proves the theory – All you need to get a date is another date …. Or possibly a fifth of tequila and a skimpy sundress. Whatever works.

On another note: As the night progressed and we left rugby bar (this was def a good call by us because nobody would have been calling me had I stayed in their presence), I have officially lost one of my Rainbow flip flops … as well as a small chunk of my toe. If anyone has seen those somewhere in the metropolitan area, it would be appreciated. Thank you.

No Fatties, Thank You

So this online dating thing is not exactly panning out as anticipated. I should have gotten the memo on day #1 when the first person to ping me asked me to go to YouTube and watch a video of him. Feeling like this could be inappropriate I was a little taken aback when the results were a small Indian man dancing to “Sexy Back” in his office taken by a co-worker with a cell phone camera.

I thought that “Sexy Back” was possibly a fluke so I politely chatted with him and then signed off. Things had to only go up from there, right? Boy was I wrong …

NO WHERE in my profile does it say “I love fatties and baldies without a college education … bonus if you have been married before. Oh and if you are my height or shorter, you will definitely win my heart.” Unless someone hacked into my account without my knowledge and has tampered with my “About My Date” section, I don’t know why these guys would contact me. Ballsy.

Another note to guys on an online dating site: I don’t want you to call me every day. We barely know each other. And on top of that, noooo I do not want to go on a date with you the first day after we talk. Can’t we email? When did men lose all their game? And flirty text messages = wayyyy too much for talking on the phone only once prior. Oh and when we hang up on the phone … do not simultaneously IM me. I will not respond. (Note to self: DO NOT give out number anymore.) So now I cannot sign on IM and have to screen all my phone calls. I cannot even sign into the online dating site because there is a secret IM service on there.

It’s all a little overwhelming. There are TONS of guys hitting me up … it’s almost impossible to weed them out. Am I missing someone in my haste? It really is a lot to manage. How do you politely say “No, thanks” … I feel so bad.

I should not be insulted; I mean at least SOMEBODY is interested. Maybe I just think that I am more attractive than I am and in reality my soulmate really is someone with the screen name “Top Heavy DJ”- I really hope not. At least I only signed a 3 month contract.

Time for Some Changes

This past weekend I went to visit my friend, Amy, who I used to work with. She has since moved to New York and has a super cute one bedroom on the West Side. The focus of my trip was to 1) Visit Amy 2) Attend the Belmont Stakes and 3) Try Pinkberry – totally worth a 4 hour bus ride btw.

I have not ever been to any of the big horse races but I must say that I totally looked the part. I found a super cute dress at J. Crew and was properly accessorized with the help of a borrowed Louis and some great accessories (my boss is very wealthy and she loves me).

Even with the lack of functioning bathrooms (Note: 1.5 hours to pee = NOT cool) and the fact that Big Brown did not take the Triple Crown and I did not get to witness history (boo!), the races were really fun. We went with Amy’s business school friends and one of the boyfriends had a bunch of friends who went to law school together. I have to say, I have never felt more inadequate with my lowly undergrad degree in my life.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not cocky or anything but I am typically not the dumbest one in the group. This weekend I definitely felt that way. Maybe it was the talk of derivative law and the statutes on immigration in the US, but I definitely had NOTHING to contribute to the conversations at the Korean bar-b-que joint we went to after the races.

So after this weekend of intellectual inadequacies I have made an important decision … it is time that I go back to grad school. I just am kind of scared to give up my salary for 2 years – that is such a commitment. I guess that 27 is the average age that people go back to school so the planning would have to start now. The funding aspect is a little fuzzy as are the requirements but who knows? Maybe I need a big adventure?

On a side note: One of the attorneys was super cute and I think kind of flirty (?) Amy is convinced I should get his address and email him, but I would never be so ballsy … maybe that is why I am always dateless? I am still considering it.

Girls Are Sluts

Girls are sluts. I don’t know how else to put it. Total sluts.

It’s kind of crazy that it took me 25 years to actually come to this conclusion. In fact, all of my close friends in high school ended up being huge undercover hooks. And I cannot say that all of the girls who I associated with in college were totally innocent (read: football groupies).

But even though my entire life has not been surrounded by church going, pearl wearing virgins … I never thought that girls had ulterior motives. Until recently. This is when I started actually listening to my guy friends.

The pinnacle of my decision came this weekend.

Let’s take example #1. One of my good friends, Kenny, was “set up” with this girl about 2 weeks ago. By “set up” I mean that they text a few times and then she came over and slept with him … without a condom. Really? Now maybe I am just being a prude. But you have never met this guy ever and you are just going to come over and SLEEP with him. And if you are doing that with one person, you are probably doing it with other people. So you can at least wrap it up… thank you.

The other example came this past weekend as well. There is a girl that sometimes hangs out with our group. She works with one of my friend’s girlfriends. Now, don’t get me wrong this girl is perfectly nice. But she is a Real. Big. Girl. If I had to guesstimate, I would say that she weighed about 300 pounds. This is no exaggeration.

Now RBG’s (Real Big Girl’s) weight would not impact anything normally but the first time that she hung out, she hooked up with one of the guys in our group, Frat Boy. Again not a big deal but Frat Boy is not exactly known for treating women well. In fact, I have seen him go through a lot of girls in the past who liked him.

So now RBG keeps trying to hang out and is following around Frat Boy – who looks to me for protection when we are out. (OK- we MAY have made out a few times… I told you that is how I roll). But this time it was different. RGB is on a MISSION. She wanted Frat Boy. RBG proceeds to get wasted at the bar.

So let’s fast forward to the late night tip where things get wild. This is when RGB has gone into a rant about her dildo, BP (Brad Pitt) and her BC (Booty Call) - This girl honestly uses more abbreviations than I do - who she met on Plentyoffish.com. The BC who she is not attracted to but sleeps with anyway …. Now let’s keep in mind that this girl is not the best catch in the world. And I am still a virgin?

Her rants continue about how all of her customers are always satisfied (as she looks to Frat Boy for confirmation and he nods in shocked agreement). She continues to go into the fact that sometimes you just need to “get yours.” She even used the “P Word” multiple times. When she looked to me for female agreement, I sat there … mouth agape.

I guess my takeaway from this conversation is that #1: Girls are sluts. #2: I am almost secretly proud of RBG. Even if she is a Real. Big. Girl. At least she can be totally honest about her sexuality … I just don’t ever want to have to hear about her dildo again.

PS- Later that night RBG rolled off of one of our friend’s beds and cried herself to sleep. Not the proudest moment … but at least she still has her BC.

Dating Sucks

Dating is such a challenge. And I must say, I am really not good at it … AT ALL.

It's not like I am supremely unattractive or anything … in fact, most people would call me cute. Blonde and curvy, not too tall, I would like to drop a few pounds (what 25-year-old girl would not?) but I do not think that I am fat by any means. I must add that I am quite successful for my age and I even own my own place.

PS- I have also been told that I have a fabulous sense of humor and a great personality. Just FYI.

Bottom line: People should want to date me.

I am also by no means full of myself.

So why is it so hard to find a date!?

My friends tell me that I can be a little too picky. Yes, I am kind of a judger but I think I have every right to be. There is no reason to settle! It also stems from the fact that I never hang out with new people. EVER. It’s always the same group. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends … but you can really only make out with your single guy friends so many times before it becomes painfully awkward (We can go into detail about this later).

So after a spending blackout at the outlet mall last week (J Crew outlet = best place ever), I made a decision. It was time to try online dating. I blame it on the adrenaline from buying all those madras shorts and sundresses. I don’t know what it was but something spurred me to go home and sign up for an online dating site. OK fine, maybe it was ambiguous feelings for one of my good friends (A mess which I have found myself in since my adolescent years- again more details later). But I have squashed that situation and decided that it was feeling displacement.

I never thought I would be one of those people who actually PAID to find a date. When you put it that way, it sounds really, really pathetic. But it is an idea that I have been toying with for months … so I figured why not?

So here my journey begins …. Online dating. Let’s give it a shot.

BTW, if you tell ANYONE I joined an online dating site … the penalty is death. Do not say I did not warn you.