A Story About A Girl Who Is Growing

Ch. 1 On Getting Old

I had a milestone birthday. In fact, I am so old I am surprised AARP isn't knocking on my door yet. Honestly, it does bother me. Mostly because of the way people behave about age. Like I have this friend who just turned 33 but still tells everyone that he is 32. He even lied on his Match profile so that his age reflects 32. I wonder what he thinks about me being two years older? However, perhaps something will transpire to make me accept my age more gracefully. [Hint: That is the author's lazy attempt at foreshadowing...might there be an important plot development to come?]

So I thought it best to avoid AARP if they came a'knockin' so I celebrated for five days straight. Y'all I clearly was on a bender. It started with me taking the Flirt out on Wednesday. Yes, you heard me correctly, I took HIM out. Let's not talk about that yet. If at all. Not really sure at this point if he is going to make this book. [Might this appear in Chapter 3? Oooh, the plot development is hair-raising.] Then I third-wheeled it on Thursday with Mav and Count Chocula while we took in some wine at the wine bar and the "other" band at the ballroom. Swing dancing indeed. But there were big fat folded ponytails bopping around in my face and girls that can't dance and lots of short people. Then Friday was the best happy hour in my honor where people kept buying me champagne, martinis, shots, and the ubiquitous beer. How did I get home even? Then Saturday - I really can't remember anything after the 5 shots I did in the early evening. Again, how did I get home?

Turning 21 is so fun! I get to go to bars!

Ch. 2 On Growing Up

Title sarcasm? No. From the looks of Chapter 1, one might assume that I am not growing up by any means. But you would be wrong. Because in the midst of my 5-day birthday bender I just made the biggest transition to adulthood ever.

I bought a sweet little condo. Home ownership. This kid is growing up. Instead I'll be the one telling the "kids" at the party, "I got a big day tomorrow going to Home Depot maybe looking at countertops. Maybe Bed Bath & Beyond to get some pillows. World Market for an elephant. And Target for some shabby chic."

So this next month is jam-packed with all kinds of activities not to mention all the money poured into the home purchase right now so I am officially broke. I thought I was living paycheck to paycheck before. I am literally paycheck to paycheck for the next month and I am going to have to turn down all kinds of social invitations because I can't afford to pay for myself, let alone all my dates that love mooching off me. [That is some genuine plot development.]

Ch. 3 On Giving It Up

Double entendre. I gave it up and now I am giving it (him) up.

I am giving up dating for now. Flirt - finis. Too much going on to let even one disappointing, flakey, boundary-setting guy in the picture. Because who needs that?

I don't have time to think about how much the Flirt hurt my feelings on my birthday. I can't even think about the conversation with Yukkell and all the ways I still care for him. I don't even want to email all the potentials who are emailing me because all I can only think about are my Tiffany blue couch and coordinating funky chair I designed that will arrive at my doorstep in 2 whole months because I had to be all picky and not be happy with what the store had on hand. I am thinking about my glass crystal and wrought iron chandelier I am going to hang over the dining area. (And also wondering what handyman I know who can hang it for me.) I am thinking about the new faucets and glass door knobs and little accessories for my sweet little pad that will be all mine.

So my character development - what I have learned at the end of the day - is that my own place to call home is going to give me so much more than the average cheap and immature DC guy will.

And the moral of the story? I found out that what I have been looking for - which has always been a soft place to land at the end of the day - isn't going to be found in a man right now. It' s in what I can give myself. A place to call my own.

A Wee Senstitive Little Girl

I am uber-sensitive. Especially in my relationships. That is why I like a guy who takes the lead and takes me along for the ride. I can grab hold of coat tails with a mean grip. If you are nice, hot, and funny enough I will probably fall for you. What I can't be is the Head. I'm a Behind kind of girl. When I have to call even a few shots, I question whether he "is just that into me." It is a big deal - or rather, it takes a lot for me to ask a guy to "go with me..."

....like, to dinner.

Because when it happens - my showing some initiative and plunging into "I'm the girl with a plan" mode - and then he agrees. Well, then I get confident! I ask again! And he goes again! Then I take that "yes" ball and run with it tucked under my arm. I never expect the yes ball to deflate. To flat NO. It's then when I feel chubby, gross, and fugly. Because the minute he does turn one of my invitations down, I take it personally.

"He's just not that into me" is what it always boils down to in my book because why would he ever have something more important to do than see me? And what I am is just disappointed.

So in the interest of weepy Senstive Me, I will look into everything for the "he's not into you, ya dumb bitch" result that inevitably will come up. Recently, this is what has me stirring:

When we are having a conversation about architectural styles and I say I prefer older over contemporary and then give one of my dorky references: "I'm more Flintstone than Jetson, ya'know?" And he responds, "I know you are doll." I look into that.

When I ask him to go see a band he loves and has seen with me before but he turns me down because he has to clean his apartment because his mom is coming in town the next day? I look into that.

When he says he is going to look into housing for jazz fest for me and my friend at his own provocation and then never follows through with it. I look into that.

When he invites me over on Saturday night for dinner and a personal concert and I have to decline because I have a previous engagement but invite him to come along and he turns that down? I look into that.

When I text him because I am in his neighborhood - actually in his building - and he calls me four hours later because he was at happy hour in the neighborhood when I texted - yet didn't invite me over when he received the message? I look into that.

Sure he's there. He sends me "good morning" messages. He serenades me. He vents about his frustrations to me. He talks to me on a daily basis. He meets me for lunch. He has me help him shop for clothes. We go out one night a week. He waits until 8 on Friday night to see what I am doing (no, I don't answer unless I'm on a bad date). He makes me laugh.

Yet he never asks me out, takes me out, or winds me up for that matter.

And then it hit me: Duh, we are friends. Harry and Sally kind of friends. He is just not that into me LIKE THAT.

OK, I'll be sure to remember this next time he kisses me and pats my lovely behind.

Stupid Is As Stupid Does

It's not enough that Johnny Jerkface essentially broke my heart with the coming on strong courtship morphing into the Disappearing Freak. A patented act of the average 12-year old. ("Done with the new girl, what else is out there? If I ignore her, maybe she will go away.")

It is also not enough that he had to put on the whole Making Out With Bimbo Show for my own personal viewing pleasure in a bar that one night he was supposed to be thinking about our relationship because he didn't want to lose me or something like that.

But NOW he has lurked on over into Mav's world. Because, HE HIT ON MY FRIEND by way of an online wink - a friend HE HAS MET BEFORE and not to mention I am actually IN ONE OF HER PICTURES. Am I that distant of a memory that he couldn't even recognize me?

I think it is that he is just that into himself that he probably looked at a few of her pictures saw "fun" thrown around her profile and thought, "This chick will love me."

Um, he would be wrong.

And so I wonder what he thought when she responded with, "Are you f-ing kidding me?!" Did he put two and two together or did he just get his ego slapped down a peg as in "do you really think I would ever go out with someone like you?" Either way, embarrassment or blatant rejection -well - he walked right into that one. Smug and cocky as he is.

Mars Needs Guitars

What is sexy to me?

When a sweet boy calls me at 11 just to play/serenade a song for me that he just taught himself to play on guitar. It is all the more cool when that song has the word "dirtbag" running rampant. And he wanted me to hear it first.

I likey.

All guys should be armed with guitars.

The Princess And The Very Bad Date

Apparently I have wee-bit princess tendencies because it may appear I am so demanding of my dates. Apparently. So since I have declared myself princess, these are things that will irk a princess off when you are courting her. All courtesy of some Friday night date with a Phil Collins impersonator. This princess is no "easy lover."

Do not ask the princess out on a date and then leave the actual planning of the date to the princess.

Our subject was off to a fine start when he asked the princess to attend a lovely Friday evening baseball game. This particular princess just so happens to be on the Nationals bandwagon and kind of likes the scruffiness of RFK - it is the dive bar of all baseball stadiums. It's vintage. It's very apple pie and not commercially-endorsed. Yet. So you are not asking your date to go to the Krispy Kreme Stadium. It's the 'hood. And it's named after a Kennedy.

And the subject rode that high horse of one good thought and thought his work done. Because he sends the princess an email late Friday morning asking her what the plan was for the evening. When he responded to the princess' deference to the male lead, he shrugged his shoulders. So the princess took the reins and galloped to her own tune. See, the princess has a very busy dance card as it is, so she met the fair-haired pregnant Princess Snow for a little afternoon siesta at a local watering hole. (The baby is already developed so stop your judging ways. And she didn't actually drink.) Then the princess agreed to meet the suitor afterward at a bar that she knew that the very popular Princess Mav was going to be on her own special courtship. It could be a match double date! (And this princess wasn't the one with the prince or the court jester.)

The suitor agreed to the princess' plans because he didn't have an original thought in his head anymore. He was all thought out. But he did insist on meeting at the metro so as to "find the bar together." Whatever. He needs his hands held. "Fine," the princess thought.

Then dark clouds starting stirring overhead....

Do not leave a princess waiting at the Eastern Market metro for 25 minutes.

A princess will stick out like a sore thumb. And she is not in her element. She will get hit on. She has had bad run-ins with sketchy crazy people in the past. But, most importantly, don't leave somebody waiting that long. Period. And if you do, it is totally redeemable - by way of apology. Simple. This princess is very forgiving. But I guess she was already annoyed with the suitor who takes the lazy approach to courting. Especially when....

If you are meeting a princess, dress the part.

Which simply means, do not wear the same exact thing you wore on your first date with the princess. Never wear sweat pants. Never wear all black. And, please, burn the Tevas. And, the hat with the bird on this particular Friday night, no. Princess says, no.

Do not let the princess open her wallet. Yet. Certainly not for the first round of drinks.

When drinks are ordered at the bar AKA the pre-party with Princess Mav and her suitor, Duke Red, step up, shift your cahones and treat the little lady to her miller lites. The proper thing to do is slapping your credit card down and opening up a tab. A running tab so the princess can quench her thirst without having to rummage through her purse for those dollar bills, y'all.

And the clouds are still forming, rumbling is heard in the background....

This just goes back to the planning of the date (recurring theme), but do not ask the princess how you are going to get to the stadium.

Again, shift those cahones, call on a calvary, brigade, Tonto - the princess does not want to worry her pretty little head with logistics. Thank god, we had Duke Red in our party. The man with the guts to declare, "We will cab!" But this peasant felt it would be economically-suitable to metro. Whatever. This princess only metros for work purposes. And so a cab was called....

Um, make sure the princess is safely in the cab (i.e., not one leg in, one on the street) before you are safely in and before the cab driver starts to take off.

It is just gentlemanly to not jump into the cab before the princess can gather her frock around her waist and saddle in all her layers of taffeta. Because you know what happens? The cab driver will take off and this princess will have to yelp a "what about me?" skinned-knee and all. Just see the princess in.

Do not try to be something you are not, which is generous and forth-coming with money.

When the cab driver took the little party on a tour of the seedier parts of DC where no man - let alone princess - should even go. We saw gangs. Guns. Word. Because the cab driver - get this - had never heard of RFK Stadium. Seriously? And so the 30 minute tour of what should have been a 10 minute cab ride took us over a bridge over a bridge over a bridge and over a bridge. Y'all it was the same bridge back and forth. But the three who had tongues made the most of it, blabbing and joking as princesses and Dukes do. But the lowly suitor in the front seat kept his trap shut the whole time never a peep until we got out of the cab and Duke Red passed his second edict of the night, "I will not give that idiot money!" And this princess is kind of bleeding heart and feels for the man making an honest living and, seemingly, honest directional mistakes. Or he was on crack. One can't be sure (especially a princess). But this princess voiced her concern and compassion for the man (even though she was fearful of her life while in his hands and lord knows her suitor didn't have the cahones to defend her.) But the suitor told her not to worry her pretty little head because he took care of it. See, it seems he slipped the guy a $10. Nobody witnessed that. One can't be sure but it's doubtful. (Given that later in the evening on the way back from the game, he didn't offer up any money for the cab driver. Duke Red had the cashroll. This princess was just tired of taking in and out of her wallet what with opening and shutting it and counting the ones and fives, etc. It was too much for a Friday night.) Yet, the suitor, I fear, was still trying to charm the increasingly-annoyed princess. (Who by the way, openingly displays "I'm annoyed" on her sleeve. Very bitchy-like, she is capable.) And so....

Do not guilt the princess out of eating and make her go home hungry.

Alright suitor is it that you are just a cheapskate? By complaining about not having enough money at the hot dog stand, the princess feigned satiety. She was embarrassed when she looked over at Princess Mav and Duke Red admiringly as they were ordering "the works!" so she opted out of buying her own hot dog because, frankly, she was saving her cash for beer at this point. She didn't know how much it was going to take to get through the remainder of the evening nor how much she was going to have to provide for the cheapskate. Her stomach did not thank her at all, yet, understood a little, and so kept its growling to a minimum. The princess even made up some story about motion sickness, cab ride, blah-di-blah, to mask the angry stomach and lack of sausage.

Now the black clouds are raining because isn't that what always happens when you have to pee, the water rushes in uncomfortably, therefore....

Try to subject the princess to as little lines as possible because her little princess bladder doesn't like that.

So while Princess Mav and Duke Red whisked their way into the stadium with ne'er a soul to brush up against because Duke Red is a season ticket holder and was already in possession of tickets, this little princess and her suitor had to wait in cattle call. (OK, the only thing I am giving him tonight, not entirely his fault. However, if we go back to the "planning the date" issue he could have planned for a Will Call line and suggested, hey, how about we get to the game before it starts - anticipating a crowd. So, yes, actually, his fault. Point made. And theme retained!)

Once inside the stadium, the lines never stopped coming because, remember, the no cash laments? Right. Well, the Unplanned Suitor needed an ATM just to keep the princess in diamonds, I am sure he thought. But the princess had no patience for the non-alcoholic boredom that had ensued since Princess Mav and Duke Red, AKA the only fun in the house that evening, had left. So the princess opened up her change purse to buy another round of the expensive ballpark drafts. Wait. Who's courting who?

And then on top of that, a gentlemen would have suggested the princess sit her little tush down comfortably in their seats (remember little miss muffett down on her tuffett, eating...not happening for this princess tonight) while he attended to his business of cash-wrangling. Instead he made her suffer yet another line.

Then when you FINALLY get settled in your seat about half way through the game at this point....

DO NOT spend the whole game texting your friends on the status of the game.

First of all, can we say, um, pre-season game? It doesn't matter!! Also, it is not an inter-league game, right? And it is just baseball! Isn't there like a game every day? And they pretty much all go the same. Somebody scores. Lots of time nobody scores. Boys run around. A ball sails through the air. Pitchers get booed. Basically, text me when the dugout is emptied and there is a rumble on the field. Otherwise, I'll read about it in the paper. This isn't the World Series.

But, most importantly, while on a date, it is rude!! Probably the rudest part of the evening and so the princess saw no problem in responding to one of her own texts at this point. A text from her beloved, Duke Flirt. So she spent an inning or so carrying on her own little text relations and she even firmed up a date for the next evening. And then, thank god, Princess Mav asked us low-lifes to rejoin the fun party. Dorks optional. Because this princess needed to kiss her tiara and dead weight goodbye and and have some fun at this point....

And so, most importantly, never ever ever talk smack about any of the princess' friends.

It is not appropriate to question the princess on her friends. Do not ask, "Geee. Is she always like this?" "Gee, Duke Red sure does talk a lot. Does he ever shut up?" "How long has she been drinking?" These are all along the lines of judge-wudgy was a bear / Phil Collins has no hair.

And so the princess takes to her little snapping turtle mode (and she can have a nasty snap) turns her back on the ill-fated suitor for good. And so, is it any wonder, at this point....

Just go home!

This princess is fine being a third wheel on the Mav and Red outing. But the suitor was still trying to make nice with the princess by trying to entice her with his tight-ass ways, dangling the (literal) carrot in front of the hungry princess.

Mav and Red: Let's go to a bar!
Phil Collins: Want to go to that mexican restaurant? We can eat queso and cheese quesadillas.
This princess: Not a selling point! I hate cheese! Want bar!

Yet the suitor followed and the princess was getting increasingly-disgusted by his company. And so in the piano bar with the albino Stevie Wonder as Princess Mav is twirling around the room, Duke Red is buying drinks, the Ugly Suitor turns down a beer (probably because he didn't want to reciprocate the buying and his frequent buyer card was probably pointing to "my turn") - this princess turns her back on the ugly suitor one last time. Because why even try to be sacharine sweet to a sourpuss at this point?

And so he did. And everybody in the party was like, "Thank god." He was like Debbie Downer. That bad.

Oh, it's not over because.....

After all this, it is really not necessary to send a "follow-up" email letting the princess down.

But if you feel the need because "I don't think we are the best match," is music to the ears of a princess who has suffered the misery of one Friday night in your company. A princess doesn't like breaking the hearts of the insufferable.

P.S. Please stop stalking the princess online.

It is not necessary to keep looking at the princess' profile everyday. It creeps her out.