Spiting the Karma Gods

All About Me

2006-02-15T19:41:00.000-05:00

My boyfriend delivers babies. I have a hard time wrapping my head around that fact sometimes. In part because I've never actually seen him do anything medical.

I have, however, started to subconsciously compete with these pregnant ladies for attention. The other day, I pricked my finger on the roses he bought me for Valentine's Day. I didn't even know that I had hurt it until he pointed out the blood. And suddenly I became all: "Oh my god, I can't look, can you bandage it for me??" It wasn't much deeper than a paper cut. And I work in the healthcare field. But he gamely bandaged me up. And then we stood there looking at each other. It was very anti-climatic. My, uh, hero.

And then I just felt dumb.

What my IT guy knows

2006-02-07T20:37:00.000-05:00

The IT guy at work is super friendly. It makes me wonder if I work for one of those companies that tracks which websites you visit. No one's ever gotten in trouble for anything along those lines but you never know. We recently got an e-mail notifying us that they'll soon begin tracking our IM conversations. (For our OWN GOOD, of course. How many times, no really, how many times has this happened to you: you have a very important IM conversation with a co-worker and wished you'd saved it. Well? It hasn't happened to me once. Not a single time. The only conversations I wish I had are the drunk ones with S.H. so I can do intense damage control.)

If the IT guy at work read my internet history he'd learn:
-I am obsessed with my new birth control pill. I check the WebMD reproductive health message board daily.
-I like to Google airplane to disasters to convince myself it can't happen to me.
-My (boyfriend's) friend posts lots of big breasts on his website. Because I am addicted to my boyfriend, I am addicted to his friend's blog.
-I frequent wine bars, but I can't seem to find a good one in Midtown.
-I am obsessed with myself. (I Google myself almost as often as I Google my pill.)
-I love the Yankees, power pop, and visiting obscure cities in Upstate New York.

I wonder how much of this stuff the IT guy and I have in common ...

This post may or may not be coherent

2006-02-06T21:54:00.000-05:00

My brain doesn't want to work today. That's what happens when you spend the entire weekend drunk and making trouble.

I don't often go out with a big group of girls, but for Super Bowl Sunday I did. (Watching the game with girls masks my utter ignorance of the sport.) Three out of the five of us were blonde and that meant lots of free beer and shots, especially from my buddy "Hey You." (Note: Men go crazy about nicknames. If you give a guy a nickname, he won't leave your side the entire night.)

I decided I absolutely love the Super Bowl, even though I've never once in my life watched it before. Actually, I didn't really watch it this year. But that's besides the point. Drinking on a Sunday afternoon feels like summer again. Who invented this Super Bowl thing anyway? Whoever you are, dude, I love you, almost as much as I love Hey You. (Because it wouldn't have been the total drunken debauchery it was if not for Hey You's generosity.)

There was plenty of other drinking this weekend too, including a very inebriated Restaurant Week dinner with one of my best friends from college. She's crazy about my new boyfriend. We walked to her apartment after dinner practicing shouting "I love you" on Amsterdam Avenue. For some future time she hopes we'll get to. After that, we went to a party at her place, where I tried to undress my ex, and then text messaged a former hook-up.

The funny thing is, I don't want to sleep with anyone but my boyfriend. For me, the drunk text message is not about sex but about flirting. I need to flirt when I'm drunk. It's an addiction.

I'm such a little devil sometimes.

Dirty Talk

2005-10-29T16:14:00.000-04:00

Due to the celibacy countdown, the doctor and I have somehow started talking dirty on instant messenger. Not cyber-sex dirty, just a lot of hinting about what we're going to do to each other the next time we're together. A lot of play-fighting about how we're gearing up for some big "race," and when he wins, he's going to lift me up over his head like some big trophy and then throw me right into bed with him. (And I'll do the same to him, of course, if I win. You know, lift him riiight up there over my head.) That sort of thing.

We only see each once a month. And it shows.

Did I mention I'm in a long distance relationship?

2005-10-28T21:37:00.000-04:00

At happy hour last night, I somehow found myself having a gushy, girly conversation with the chick who's banging my work-crush. Three beers for me, four of something clear (vodka tonics?) for her.

I don't hate her because my work-crush is still a big flirt, and that's all I need him for anyway. But I couldn't help but think this morning: she had sex with a hot thirty-something management-type last night, and I went to sleep with my stuffed frog. So yes, I'm a tad jealous. More than a tad hard-up. Very much more than a tad I-so-want-the-doctor-this-very-minute!!!

And the worst part is I'm totally falling for him. Why does he have to say the cutest things?? Like telling me how pretty and adorable I am. Insisting how badly he wants to get it ON. Promising to kiss my bruises all better (he IS going to be a doctor, after all).

And a damn good one, if you ask me.

Call Me Al

2005-10-22T17:07:00.000-04:00

I have a stalker. A kid from high school, who stopped me on the street in front of my apartment after he recognized me one evening. We had never spoken before that night. He called me by the wrong name.

Then we exchanged phone numbers. You can never have too many friends, right? But I should have known that single guys aren't interested in making friends with girls.

Ever since that fateful evening, I've gotten weekly text messages from him inviting me to do things. At first I wrote back to decline. Then I just started ignoring him. Finally he couldn't take it anymore. He called me last night -- at 11 pm -- to ask me over. I conferred with the doctor (who was on the other line): "There's no way this is platonic, right?"

And of course I knew the answer: no guy is this persistent about making a new friend.

And so it goes.

Chatterboxes

2005-10-16T08:39:00.000-04:00

The phone. I have a friend who claims he doesn't believe in it. Why call a girl when you can just as easily IM and e-mail her?

Call me old fashioned, but I think phone calls are necessary. There’s nothing wrong with IM – in some ways I like it better – but it’s less sincere than a phone call.

Now that I'm transitioning from S.H. to what might actually become something with a soon-to-be doctor, I've realized that it's not so much whether I like talking on the phone but what it symbolizes.

When the doctor and I are actually talking to each other, we might flirt less (maybe that’s why sometimes I like our fun IM conversations) but it definitely feels more like there’s another person on the other end of the line – not just text on a screen. I feel closer to him when I hear his voice. It’s as intimate as we can get 400 miles apart. And we do laugh a lot regardless.

Look Who's Talking

2005-10-04T18:03:00.000-04:00

I put a stop to "baby talk" with my ex. Again. We have to do this every so often. We'll put a stop to it, and then little by little find it creeping up on us. The little animal nicknames we call each other. The special language we use. Being able to say what we mean without even using complete thoughts, let alone sentences.

For the past nine months, the ex and I have been walking the fine line between being friends and wondering why the hell we still talk to each other. The baby talk discussion always seems to end with a chat about "well, where do we stand now?"

Part of me always wants to answer, "Basically the same place, but without the baby talk." But it's never that simple. Because the truth is that the ex and I might just be reallyreally good friends -- yes, totally and completely (perhaps surreally) platonic -- but the fact of the matter is, part of our friendship is still rooted in couple-world. Which is the only way we ever learned to communicate.

So without the baby talk ... we really are starting over. And asking ourselves whether we really have enough in common to continue being friends ... or if, on some level, we're using each other as an emotional crutch.

I suppose there's only one way to find out. Get rid of the emotional crutches and see what happens.

I'm Getting Old

2005-07-30T07:41:00.000-04:00

Sometimes staying home on a Friday night is as much a guilty pleasure as going out. I was not in the mood to relive the same old night -- a couple of my best friends, a dive bar in Hell's Kitchen, portly men in their 40's and girls with bleached blonde hair, cheap beer, and an expensive cab ride home. During the winter (when one said best friend goes back to law school), I miss these nights terribly. But now, after a month of running around to clubs, lounges, dive bars, outdoor bars, mock-tiki bars, Lower East Side bars, after-work bars, Yankees games, Atlantic City, and the beach (twice) -- I just wanted to stay home plopped on my couch.

Then this morning, I got a "call me" e-mail from a kid I went to college with ... someone I worked with on the school newspaper, but who was two years younger. Ah, the young'uns. I miss them.

More Bad Love Karma

2005-07-15T07:19:00.000-04:00

Among the many other things we discussed, my boss also mentioned that there was nothing wrong with making S.H. my "fuck buddy." Apparently there are two types of serial hook-ups: "fuck buddies" and "friends with benefits."

"I think he knows I'm not really the fuck buddy type," I said. "And, anyway, I think he knows how much I like him."

"Yeah," my boss agreed, "you should never like your fuck buddy."

Company-Sponsored Happy Hours

2005-07-14T22:08:00.000-04:00

I swooned when my boss confided in me that he had had childhood leukemia. He wanted to make sure that -- with all the work I was missing -- I was indeed "alright." He kept asking, "Are you alright?" And I kept repeating, "I hope so." It was the best I could do. Cancer would be extremely rare in this case, but I didn't tell him that. I just said, mock-casually, that I was going for an ultrasound and that's all I knew. I probably shouldn't have said anything, the work/personal life divide, but he's so adorable that way. I let him feel sympathy for me, figured I'd worry about it later. Showed him the bruise where the technician had inexpertly drawn blood. He tapped my arm, and confided his own battle with a potentially-fatal illness.

I swooned.

Female Affirmation

2005-07-13T20:12:00.000-04:00

I didn't have to wait two weeks this time for S.H. to contact me. It seems there are in fact two ways to get a guy's attention:

* Ignore him
* Flirt with his friends

I was rather shocked he e-mailed me, since he doesn't often. Still, I believe I should be holding out for a Real Relationship.

I'm angry at men today. They're useless. They used to be good for making money, sex, and handywork, but these days most of them are lucky if they can master one out of three.

Most men, of course, are absolutely fine as individuals. But collectively they have way too much authority.

Sigh.

Melodrama is Addicting

2005-07-11T18:43:00.000-04:00

It can be hard to get rid of a serial hook-up in a mature fashion. After all, since you were never quite "dating," it's not exactly like you can break-up. The simplest solution is probably just to avoid each other. It takes a lot of work, though, and it's easy to slip up.

Sure, the guy clearly doesn't like you as much as you like him. But isn't that the point? Isn't a Saturday afternoon suddenly made much more interesting by an unexpected phone call? How much more fun is it to dress up for a party where you "might" run into a certain someone? Doesn't the work day go by so much quicker when you spend it deciphering a coy e-mail from a hot coworker? And who doesn't love the underwear game (you know, that game where you can't decide if it's bad luck to wear your "get some" panties because you always seem to be propositioned in your granny underwear?)

That's my problem, at least. I'll vow to cut my serial hook-up out of my life forever. For two weeks, I block him on IM, ignore his text messages, and valiantly resist the urge to drunk dial him. Two whole weeks. Two weeks in which he seems not to have missed me at all. And by now I'm wondering why he doesn't miss me. It's not like he's got that much going for him. After all, he's short. And he's arrogant. OK, so he's really cute. Girls like that. Stupid other girls. He'ssocuteandeveryonewantshim. I want him. Why, oh why, has he forgotten me? I'm sooo bored. I NEED the melodrama. What is my life without melodrama????

Then the phone rings.

Meet you in an hour? Your apartment. Sure! I'll see you then.

Why My Love Karma Account Doesn't Balance

2005-07-10T19:21:00.000-04:00

I'm more forgiving of the serial hook-up, but I still don't recommend it.

The reason serial hook-ups are so tempting is because they're "almost" like a relationship. Some girls, I've heard, even get brunch. You know the guy; you feel comfortable with him. You know his body; he knows yours. Sometimes the evening even starts out sort of like a date -- curled up on the couch watching a DVD, or meeting up with friends for drinks.

And eventually it gets all confused. Muddled. There's cuddling, perhaps, or he kisses your forehead before you both drift off to sleep. Sometimes the flirty banter becomes talking -- just talking -- and the talk gets personal. You mention that your dad was in the hospital; he tells you about how he bombed the LSATs.

One of you begins to really like the other.

The operative phrase: one of you.

And sometimes someone gets hurt.

One Night is Not Enough

2005-07-10T12:24:00.000-04:00

So I have a theory about one night stands and the girls who engage in them. They suck. I can't stomach them, and I don't think I should have to. And girls who have one night stands ruin it for the rest of us. The rest of us who want some leverage to push members of the opposite sex into caring, committed relationships.

My problem with one night stands isn't prudish. It's just that nine times out of ten, if I had a choice between a one-night stand and a vibrator, I'd be infinitely better off with the latter.

The way I see it, there are two main reasons why a woman might have a one night stand. One, she's needy. Or two, she reallyreallyreally wants this guy who's she's lusted after for months, perhaps years, and now he's finally paying attention to her, and she mustmustMUST have him right this very minute or she will explode.

Ahem.

Addressing the first issue. Very few times will a one-night-stand ever be satisfying. Most men are just not that good at women. At least not every woman every time. Most men need practice. Coaching. And the ones that don't ... well, it's sketchy. You have to wonder. They're probably contagious. So the only time you might consider a one night stand with some random dude is if a) he's rumored to be an "experience" in bed (like this one frat boy back in college who was supposed to be, er, "larger than life"), or b) practice.

And the second? It's a veryveryveryvery bad idea to hook-up with your crush during a one night stand. Take it from me. It will be WONDERFUL, and then you will inevitably want to slit your wrists. Because most of time, he won't pursue you, and if he does then -- most of the time -- it will be for more hooking up of the one night stand variety. Which is so not cool. What's the point of having a crush like that? Crushes are all about the potential of finding someone new. Take it from me. Only sleep with a crush if he's dying or going to war or something. Or if you're leaving the country and probably won't return for a very, very long time. Then it might be sooo worth it to end things with fond memories. Take it from me.

Prequel

2005-07-10T12:10:00.000-04:00

In the beginning, there was a girl with a website that served her well but ultimately got her into a lot of trouble. It was a silly little website and people laughed. Laughed, even though it was not funny. Not to her.

They laughed at her silly little girl problems and her silly little crushes and her silly little decision to call her best friend a jerk in front of the whole world.

But suddenly she is fatalistic. Because she is tired of hiding in the corner like a mouse. With her silly opinions, and her silly need for a creative outlet, and her silly exhibitionist tendencies. And her silly little case of boredom (how silly, indeed.)

And so she will spite those damn karma gods who give her so much grief. And she will have the last laugh.

OK, she's done ranting. (And talking about herself in the third person.) Moving right along ...