Plans, by Doris

We have plans, Jim Berger and I.

To go out in public and do something. Together.

I realize I should probably cut my losses. Get out while I still can. Go out to a bar and hit on bloated frat boys or douchey hipsters.

Every time I realize this, I get another cute email. Have another fun conversation about Henry Darger or living in France. Smile yet again at something funny one of us said. Have two more hours of drunk texts (happened again last night).

The invitation unfolded organically. We were emailing back and forth yesterday: he was at work, I was running around doing errands after dance class.

He mentioned wanting to see a show. I said I was planning on going, which was true, if he wanted to join.

His words: "I'm in."

It's not for three weeks. I fully realize he could flake out on me before then.

Because Jim Berger is kind of a flake. I realize this. I know I shouldn't invest a lot of emotion in something that will likely go nowhere.

However.

He is cute. He is easy to talk to. He is there. He is making difficult workdays easier, just by being himself.

And right now, that is good enough for me.

Drunk Texts Part Deux, by Doris

Went out with Rock and the boys on Sunday night. Weather was gorgeous and because of the holiday everyone was out. It was one of those nights where the conversation en route to bar #1 went like this:

Me: I think I'll just have one drink. Maybe two. I'm kinda tired.
Rock: Yeah, I have stuff to do tomorrow. I'll probably go home around 11:30 or midnight.
Me: If this were a TV show, it would cut to us dancing on tables at 2:30 a.m.

Yup. Out till 3.

At bar #2, a couple drinks and two shots in, I wasn't scrape-me-off-the-floor wasted (that came later), but drunk enough to type this out on my phone:

"Drunk text. Hi."

Guess who was the recipient? I'll give you a hint.

JB was at a winding-down barbecue and was also tanked. We proceeded to text for two hours, through getting a ride home from friends/procuring and eating a sub/watching Meet the Press (him) and imbibing more drinks and shots/dancing to Lady Gaga/stumbling to another bar (me).

All with proper spelling, capitalization and punctuation. Proving to me that at least one other person in this world gets more pretentious when they're wasted.

Here's the kicker:

At one point, JB suggested we grab a drink sometime.

I didn't hear from him yesterday and he's not at work today (as I knew he wouldn't be, because he told me on Friday).

I don't know if I should follow up on the drink invitation.

On the one hand, in vino veritas and all that. On the other hand, to paraphrase The Hangover, we all say dumb shit when we're fucked up. Or at least shit we don't mean.

And it's not like he said this out loud. It's in a text. Meaning he can go back and read our conversation, and pursue that opportunity if he wants to. (I didn't say yes or no at the time. Just proceeded with the texting.)

I think it'll be interesting to see how he acts around me tomorrow, and if he even acknowledges Sunday night. I'm not going to be too hard on him if he doesn't. Drunk happens.

Drunk Text, by Doris

I lied. This is another Jim Berger post (but a short one).

Three emails Friday afternoon and evening.

And then...

I woke up Saturday morning to find this on my phone:

"Drunk text. I do it sometimes too."

Properly spelled and capitalized. AND a callback to a few weeks ago when we exchanged numbers and I said I promised not to drunk text him, as I am wont to do.

A few hours later, I texted: "Coffee. Eggs. Water. Ibuprofen."

Right back at me: "Coffee. V-8. Work. Oy."

And I left it at that.

Don't worry, I'm still strong.

But because I'm all about being honest on the blog I will admit:

It made me smile just a little.

What Is Happening to Me?, by Doris

Before we get into that, here's an update on Straight Anthony Rapp: we'll be going out for a second time next Saturday afternoon (I have dance class early and plans with friends in the evening--it's literally all the time I can give). I don't think there'll be a third date, but you never know.

I consider myself pretty cynical. Not all of it has to do with boys--in fact, I first learned the meaning of the word in sixth grade, when someone said I was cynical, and this was way B.G. (Before Guys).

So why the HELL, when the Russian sent me a random text Friday night, did I start sparking like the Fourth of July?

*blush*

*giggle*

*ughIamjustlikeeveryoneelseandIhateit*

Texts From an (Evil) Ex, by Doris

On Tuesday night, in the midst of texting with my Russian, I receive another message:

"Haven't talked to you in a while. What's up?"

Ex-calibur strikes a-fucking-gain.

Since early November, when I found out from other sources he has a serious girlfriend--this is after I hadn't heard from him in two months and I figured he had a relationship goin' on--Ex-calibur has texted me once before. Right after Thanksgiving, ostensibly to see how my Thanksgiving was.

And now he wants to know "What's up?"

UGH.

Back in November, I texted my Thanksgiving was great and I hoped his went well too. This was after a frantic text to Rock, wondering if I should even respond to this inanity. Rock said yes, because if I ignored the text, it would look like I was mad at him and therefore a bitch. As usual, Rock was right. So I texted Ex-calibur back, he said, "good to know" and that was that.

Back to Tuesday night.

I told him I was fine and went back to texting the Russian.

But Ex-calibur wasn't finished. He wanted to know how work was. Then, how I was doing outside of work.

Seriously?

I texted back polite but short answers, then ended the last text with, "Hope you are well. Have a good night!" At this point, I didn't care about being rude. I just wanted to get off the damn phone (or text?).

He responded, "Good night," so I guess he got the message.

Now, before you write me off as a total bitter bitch who doesn't want to be friends with her ex, please hear me out:

As I said in an early post, Ex-calibur did nothing wrong by getting a girlfriend. We were not in an exclusive relationship, and when I didn't hear from him in a while, I assumed that's what was going on. I wish him well, I really do.

That said, I have no interest in being friends right now.

I'm not saying I want him out of my life permanently. We have a shared history. It might indeed be nice to catch up sometime.

However, he has been in my life one way or the other, FOR FOURTEEN YEARS. I am 30. You do the math.

If this makes me an un-hip chick, so be it, but I need not to talk to Ex-calibur for a while. I need to live my life, date other dudes, acknowledge that he is a part of my past and my past informs my future and I can learn from him and all that, all while not speaking to him. Maybe someday we and our respective significant others can have dinner together and laugh. Maybe Ex-calibur and I can get a sense of closure as Rock did with Evil Ex #5 shortly before he moved.

I need at least six months before I make that decision.

And here's the other thing:

I don't think Ex-calibur texted me just to catch up.

He doesn't do that. Fourteen years with the man taught me that he uses shooting the shit as a warmup for dropping a big ole bomb.

I could have told him to stop beating around the bush and asked what's up.

But quite frankly, I was sick of his coyness and didn't feel like coaxing it out of him.

Maybe he and his girlfriend broke up. Maybe she's knocked up. Maybe they've shacked up. Honestly, a little Facebook investigation could probably provide me with answers.

But what's the point? What's happened has happened.

And obviously, he was too big of a wuss to tell me. Which is his problem and not mine.

Is it so bad if I don't want to know? Not that I'm super-jealous or sad or whatever. But he doesn't owe me an explanation. He's living his life, I'm living mine. If I hear the news from other people, I'll deal.

Complicated, I know.

If he texts me again, he's getting a very polite email saying I wish him well and perhaps we can be friends someday, but please do not contact me again for six months.

A cool girl would be hunky-dory, be there for him, try to coax the news out of him and be a fucking cheerleader.

I ain't a cool girl.

I'm Alive!, by Doris

Thanks to Rock for holding down the fort in my absence. As he stated in his last post, I was on a super-awesome vacation with my fam. I'm at the point in my life where for the most part I get along really well with my parents because, well, we're all adults and they're not trying to tell me what to do anymore. My sibs and I have always been really close. So a good time was had by all.

Mostly.

The bad news is, I was sick for the entire vacation. What I thought was a head cold only got progressively worse as the trip went on, resulted in a doctor's appointment the day after I got back, and still hasn't gone away (though now I have antibiotics and a get out of work free pass, thanks Doc!).

The good news is as follows:
1) Though I didn't stay out as late as my night-owl self would have normally, and I only got drunk once, on the last night of the trip, I managed to pull it together and have a ton of fun. (This also eliminated any chances of making out, because I'm not that mean.)

2) Said drunk last night of the trip was partly due to TWO MEN BUYING ME A DRINK! As in, the cocktail waitress came over and said, "the gentlemen on the right want to know if you'd like anything else." I stared at her openmouthed for about ten seconds before blurting my cocktail of choice. Not to sound naive, but I'm 30 years old and this is the first time anyone's ever wanted to send me a drink. WOOHOO!

I talked to the dudes and they were two very nice non-sleazy guys from Ohio. Coincidentally, my last crush who's now a good friend also hails from the Buckeye State. You go Ohio!

3) Through my coughing and snotty haze, I texted the Russian, who wants to see me again. We're in the midst of scheduling as he most likely has to check with his wife.

4) Straight Anthony Rapp of the annoying voice wants to go out again too! Eh, what the hell? If I'm still turned off after this one, I'm done, but a second date never hurt anyone.

5) While prostrate on the couch last night, I popped in Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, which I received for Christmas. Though it gets a little long toward the end, I was reminded of how much I like the overall concept. You see, even I have more than one evil ex if we're going by Ramona Flowers standards. (Mine are all boys, FYI.)

And it's funny Rock was just talking about evil exes.

Why is that funny?

Stay tuned . . .

How Did This Happen?, by Doris

I went from being a total zero with the menfolk, to having two dates in three days, with two different guys. How did this happen?

Oh, right. I joined OKCupid.

Unlike with the practice date, I'm kind of excited about both guys. They're very appealing, in different ways. They're also both younger than I, one by two years and one by five. I keep telling myself it's not age, it's place in life. Which has been very true in my experience: Rock is almost five years younger and one of the most together people I know, whereas Ex-calibur is a year older and could be the biggest baby alive.

I thought I'd blown it yesterday with the 25-year-old. He gave me his phone number, but I'm not great at talking on the phone. The only person I did it with on a regular basis was Rock while he was away. Also, I call my parents every week. But other than that, I'm a texting and Facebook kinda gal (which Dr. Douchebag totally made fun of me for. Good riddance, asshole).

So I texted this guy on my lunch break just to say hi. He said hi back, but it kind of petered out. Of course I freaked out about that a little and blamed myself--I should have had a conversation in mind or initiated things a little more, but instead I got distracted and started working on some writing. If I wanted a conversation, I should have made time for one.

Yet today he asked me out. So I guess I didn't screw up too bad.

Why do I always stress out so much and then it turns out okay? Ugh.

But on the plus side, yay! I have two dates!

Texts From Last Night: OKCupid Setup, by Doris

The following texts were taken from Rock and Doris' cell phones as they set up OKCupid accounts in their respective apartments.

NOTE: Doris had just come home from burlesque rehearsal, was sore as hell and just wanted to watch The Sing-Off, when she received a text from Rock.

Rock: I'm two beers in with nothing else to do tonight if you wanna make okcupid profiles.

Doris: I'm wearing flannel pajama bottoms and eating mashed potatoes. Sexiest thing EVER.

Rock: Work it girl.

Doris: Christ, I am low on pics. Oh well. Will use an okay one for now.

Rock: I can't even settle on a username.

Doris: You? Come on! You're so creative! And you're tipsy to boot! Just do "Ilikecock" and call it a day.

Rock: Haha I'm sure it's taken.

Doris: I just sent my mom an email asking for cute pics of me. I am blaming you. If she asks, you said I should have more pictures on Facebook.

Rock: I picked a name.

Doris: What was the first thing you noticed about me? (NOTE: this was a reference to one of OkCupid's 5,000,360 questions.)

Rock: That you could give me a ride. (NOTE: Rock was not of driving age when he met Doris.)

Rock: Am I skinny, average, fit or athletic?

Doris: You are fit . . . I think I'm going overboard on the "favorites."

Doris: Six things I could never do without? WTF does that mean?

Rock: That's such a weird question. I think these are all purposely vague.

Doris: If I put I'm looking for casual sex, I'm gonna get a lot of creeps. Damn you, double standards.

Rock: It's true.

Doris: I have no idea if I'm doing this right.

Doris: Am I fit, average, athletic or curvy?

Rock: You have a curvy body type but curvy makes you sound fat which you're not. I could make arguments for fit or average or curvy to be honest. Probably not curvy.

Doris: I have the same reservations about curvy. Athletic? I dunno. I have muscles and big shoulders.

Rock: Athletic makes me think no boobs and six pack.

(NOTE: Doris has boobs and no six pack.)

Doris: Dammit, I wish curvy meant what it is supposed to mean!

Rock: Fit.

Rock: Haha I don't know if anyone is going to be attracted to this profile. I kind of sound like an ass.

Doris: I was just thinking that about mine!!!

Do Rock and Doris, indeed, sound like asses? Will attractive men see through their false bravado and ask them out? Stay tuned . . .

FUN FACT: Rock was once in a commercial about texting while driving.