I finished work 90 minutes ago.  It was so good.  Bad for sales, but so good.

Let me break it down for you:

My shift started at 5pm.  Hot Boss arrived at 5:15pm while I dealt with some impossible (and foreign) customers.  No sale, but I made an extra effort to be awesome because H.B. was watching. 

Usually, Hot Boss will watch me for about 20 minutes to make sure that I’m selling the wireless products correctly.  Today, though, was very different.  Hot Boss stayed for 2 hours.  He wasn’t watching, either.  He flirted with me the entire time.

All of the reps across the country got a crappy loaner phone to use during our sales promotion (so from November until the end of December).  There wasn’t enough for me, so I said it was totally fine if I didn’t have one.  This occurred three weeks ago, and I haven’t talked about it since because I legitimately didn’t care.

Tonight, Hot Boss was talking to me about some sort of sales tactic, and then he goes, “Oh, and by the way… You know how you didn’t get a loaner phone?  I called the head office and sorted some things out, and I got you a new BlackBerry that you can use until the end of the term.   I know how much you love your BlackBerry, and I thought it would make you really happy, so yeah!”

Not a single sales rep in the country has a BlackBerry loaner.  None.  Except for me now… Because H.B. is so generous.  I didn’t express any disappointment with not having a loaner phone, but he thought of me!

I told him that I was thrilled and thanked him.  He said, “Not a problem.  Are you going to be around tomorrow?  I can come drop it off at your place.”

My place.  Darwin help me.  The boss-employee line has been severely violated.

The rest of the evening consisted of friendly jabs of competition for who could out-sell the other.  Of course, the attempts were essentially obsolete because of the flirting. 

At one point, an elderly man came up to me and went, “You know, I could get in a lot of trouble from my wife for talking to someone as beautiful as you.”  I felt my face light on fire.  The old man then went (to Hot Boss), “Keep an eye on this one.  She’s too pretty for her own good.  Women run the show, you know.”

Hot Boss leaned into me, and flirtaciously said, “So women run the show?  I haven’t figured that one out yet.  Maybe that’s why I’m single.”

 Boss-employee violation, yet again.

A display of DJ Hero was stationed about 20 feet away from me.  I told Hot Boss about how amazing it is.  He then went, “You’re so into DJs, eh?  That’s totally your type.  I can see it.”  Surprised, I went, “Um, yeah I guess they’re cute… I like music and dancing and stuff…”  Hot Boss then replied, “Hmm.  Maybe I should get a DJ Hero for Christmas then.”

Heart x 1000.

Those are some of the key highlights.  Others include a mutual agreement on how lame Christmas music is, Hot Boss expressing his love for children (to which he then asked me what I was like as a kid), and H.B. commenting that every male customer I spoke to seemed to fall in love with me.  Believe me, this last comment is false on all accounts, but it was still a nice thing for him to say.

At the end of our Wal-Mart rendez-vous, Hot Boss told me that I had excellent work ethic.  He said that if I kept it up, he would get me Starbucks (my favourite indulgence in this world besides sex).  After my shift, I texted him saying that I had finished.  He writes, “And do I owe you starbucks?” 

Ugh.  I wish.  Perhaps someday….

I don’t care if he has a small package.  I need to date this man.  There are only three more weekends of employment.  I hope I can hold myself back for that long.

So, Club Jager.  Nice little place.  Still unsure about the name.  I actually was told that night where the name originated and it seemed to make perfect sense to me; however, I was on drink number three so I have no idea what it was.

It was a fun night.  The DJ played 80s music, with the occasional video, most of the night which was a lot of fun.  There is something so fun about a whole crowd of people dancing and singing along to music that holds such memories for us.  I felt like I was back in high school.

There were a lot of cute boys there.  Yea!  Amy and I hung out at the bar for most of the night.  Amy and I both ran into people that we weren’t expecting to see.  For me, it was my hairdresser!  Thank goodness my hair looked awesome.  I haven’t been flat ironing my hair which means it has a lot more body.  I wore a simple headband on this otherwise full head of hair.  I kind of looked like a lioness, or at least, sort of like an Amazon (even though I’m only 5’7”).  I think that some men respond to that look in a very visceral way.  My favorite moment of the night was when a charming young man came up to me and said, “I just had to come up and tell you how incredibly pretty you are.”  I smiled big, said, “Thanks.  I love hearing that.”  Amy just looked at me and mouthed “Wow”.  Had I thought he was cuter I might have grabbed him and kept him next to me.  Maybe it was the stylistic confusion: his clothes read dapper young man, old school coat, nice fedora but his face read surfer dude, scruffy full beard, longish hair.  He was cute just not my style.

Amy had told me earlier in the night that a good friend of hers was likely coming.  She said that we might have met during the 13 years we have known each other but the name didn’t ring a bell.  In fact, I kept wanting to call him Brian all night.  His name sounds just like David Beckham (because Amy kept introducing him by his full name!) so I had to keep saying that so that I could remember, which gets hard when I’m drinking.  When I’d asked what he looked like, she’d said he looked like Hugh Grant.  Okay, why haven’t you introduced me to this guy, I wondered, especially since she seemed to think he was so cool.  Turns out he’s unemployed and has been for almost a year, is likely alcoholic and other issues I can’t quite remember.  Okay, thanks for the heads up.

So, enter David.  Hugh Grant?  No.  The Cure’s Robert Smith? Yes.  Or maybe Johnny Depp’s Sweeney Todd.  He wasn’t bad looking but Hugh Grant, no.  He seemed to be enthralled with me from the first few moments.  I can’t point to any specific reason but a girl just knows, right?  It seemed to grow with the list of things we seemed to have in common.  We both lived in the same part of the city and rather close (within a few miles), we both sing, can rock harmonies in two and three parts, and have been in bands.  He’s actually recorded music and released it apparently.  So he trumps me there.  It’d actually be fun to play some music together with him.  I spent most of my time that night talking with David and Amy.  David just sort of listened to me prattle on all while looking at my with these puppy dog eyes (that had a little bit of a creepy edge to them).  By the time we left I was truly three sheets to the wind.  I’d had four Absolut Mandarin Screwdrivers that night.  And I don’t drink much at all.  All in all, it was a fun night.  We ended up giving David a ride home.  Amy promised him to connect us on Facebook when I come back (thinking of doing that soon!).  There no chance of anything happening between us that doesn’t involve music but I am excited about that prospect.

I came home that night and had a craving for eggs.  I made a scrambled egg….so yummy.  Too bad I left the carton of eggs out all night.  D’oh!.

To successfully flirt online you need to be a sort of online playboy because it is a virtual world where you can neither use body language nor be physical in any other way. Nevertheless the connoisseurs of the love game do it on the Web as confidently as they do it in the real world.

Actually the art of flirting requires confidence everywhere the Internet not being excluded either. Because the same flesh and blood individuals with the same passion populate and drive the online world as well. Just remember not to be pushy, nor be so timid to earn the scorn of that sexy woman whom you are pursuing on the Web with such fervour. So how do you achieve the delicate balance between being pushy and timid by the online dating site girls? Here is how.            

Be playful and have as much fun as you can have while flirting. This is not a serious business for which you are here. With a light heart, approach your woman and be entertaining instead of making your intentions too obvious. Crack an intelligent joke or two to make her see that you appreciate her as a human being and not just a lay for a night. Get to know her intimately by sending her simple messages from time to time but do not show too much of curiosity.

If you want to be a flirt who is in high demand, try to instill optimism and the feel good vibe in your every move and you will soon see yourself being hotly pursued by highly desirable girls. This is no wonder because girls have always been known to fall in love head over heels with self-assured, sanguine men.                 

Be a good reader and listener while she e-mails or chats with you and you will come to know a lot about her. Since knowing is everything, it empowers you to understand beyond what is written or spoken and also to read the white space between the lines. Pay her a compliment or two whenever there is such an opportunity but take care that it sounds not like an outright flattery. Above all be sincere to her because nothing opens the door better than honesty and simplicity. 

Finally please remember to avoid going too fast or using sexual overtones that could shut you out for ever with just a click of the mouse.  Please Visit PureAdultDating

There hasn’t been any “copying and pasting of news” this week – it’s been a busy one with a lot of deadlines. It’ll return come Monday. I also went to the launch on Baker Street last night of Trading Places, a new book by award-winning photographer and all-round good chap Steve Bloom. Also my dad. So that’s why posts have been scant: but it’s Friday, so I thought I’d cheer you all up with a few tips on how to survive the Christmas do…

The Christmas party: that perfect time to let your hair down and throw your reputation to the winds. What other time of year can you mock your boss, flirt with your co-workers and dance in your knickers, all at once?

But as legions of office drones know, that opportunity comes with a priceless hangover.

A good story was told by Adam, of High Street, Cardiff city centre. Things went wrong at his old job when fire fighters got more than they bargained for in a call-out.

Adam said: “My old work, a now-defunct bank, had a Christmas party in the office in 2003. There was a buffet, an awards ceremony for the year’s work, and karaoke machine, with added smoke machine.

“So the party was in full swing, people singing, people dancing and the smoke machine smoking. After about two hours of this, some men dressed in fireman outfits arrived at the office. Some of the female staff – including managers – assumed these were strippers.

“They started, well, gyrating around the men, trying to take off their ‘outfits’. The thing is though, they were actual firemen: the smoke machine had set the alarms off.

“Not surprisingly, that was the last Christmas party we were given in that office.”

So how does the humble worker bee prevent getting into pickles like these? Here are some ideas. Which type are you?

FOR THE NEW GUY

You have got to be extra-careful. For you have just entered a parallel world, in which your every move will be scrutinised to fit with the ‘banter’ of man-all-man employees who’ve been spending longer with each other than their wives for several decades.

So if you’ve been waiting for that perfect time to share your secret love of musicals, discuss French theatre, come out as gay or, worse, as a vegan, your first Christmas party isn’t it.

And beware, because it will seem like a good idea when you’re nine pints down and standing on the table without trousers or dignity.

Instead the best policy is cower in the corner, if possible with other trainees, and talk about ludicrously safe subjects.

Think along the lines of cars, ties (not shoes), bitter (not lager) and possibly politics, but make sure you tow the standard line: “Just how bad is that Gordon Brown?” Or you could stick to the ergonomic management keyboard:

FOR THE NEW GIRL

You’re over here. The punch is over there. In the middle is overweight Gwyn from accounts who always puts himself deliberately between you and the photocopier so you have to squeeze past.

This should be as good a hint as any not to drink anything. You’re young, fresh-faced, intelligent and unknown to you most people in the office are competing to be you, or worse, especially in Gwyn’s case.

So if they get you drunk, you’ll slowly turn into them: following the downward course until spring, when someone even younger and prettier comes in and sure enough, you want to be her.

Or, worse, you’ll canoodle in the corner with lovestruck Gwyn who, come 2010, will make sure he’s not only blocking the photocopier, but also the vending machine, water cooler and door.

But you’ve not got the same option as the New Guy. You can’t lurk in the corner with the fairer sex and a G&T, because unlike office guys, who mumble into their pints and keep eyes on ties, office girls will make sure they’re heard.

So it’s a no-go, especially if they have any gossip on Gwyn. The best bet is to flirt briefly with everything in the room – and walk away with your head held high.

FOR THE SAD HACK IN THE CORNER

You’re the only person older than the boss, so to rub in the fact you didn’t succeed even more you’ll be asked to toast him/her. If you’re sober, this will be an excellent exercise in brown-nosing. If you’re not, it’ll be an exercise in damage limitation.

You will be inclined to make a cruel joke. Do not bend to this temptation. It will probably come out wrong, meaning after 26 years of the same old story at the office do, you’ll be repeating yourself again in the new year. Someone else will get that promotion, and you’ll be stuck counting down the days on your free calendar to the next party.

You’ll also be inclined to do your famous boss-impression. Unfortunately, its fame is probably due to an in-joke among your younger colleagues, and isn’t actually funny. Plus, impressions at office dos are seldom better than that dance Ricky Gervais did in The Office. Often, they’re worse.

So don’t do it. And especially, please, don’t try and impersonate Ricky Gervais. Just no.

FOR THE BOSS

Finally, if you’re the boss and you’ve not been told about the office party, it could be a surprise do for you.

Be prepared to walk through that door after ‘urgent business’ calls you in to be greeted with party poppers and bubbly by the whole staff. By the time they’ve finished stroking your ego you won’t be able to get your head through the door.

But it more likely means you’ve not been invited.

So a word of caution: have a good think about how well-liked you are. Do you bend, bad breath and all, over the hunched shoulders of your well-meaning employees and whine you-could-probably-do-this advice in their ears?

Do you give motivational speeches standing on tables where you use star-charts and words like “self-fulfilment”? Do you keep everyone on past 5.30pm in the name of “building a community spirit”?

If any of these things apply to you, you are probably one of those Hated Bosses you’ve heard so much about. Your best bet would be to stay at home with your kids. They’re too young to realise how irritating you are yet.

I was at a bar last night.  I wasn’t very drunk.  Since I rely on alcohol to have fun, it was fairly boring.  It was one of those rare times where I didn’t know 80% of the people at the bar.  Everyone I tried to make friends with looked at me like I had a skin disease.  Not a good night for socializing.

Unintentional Asshole was there.  I purposely didn’t speak to him, and I felt liberated.  In actuality, he probably didn’t even notice that I was there.

I guess I should give you a little background story on Emoticon Guy…

- – - – -

Emoticon Guy was in my first year business class.  I had a big crush on him all year.  We were the top participators in our class.  Yes, we were those people.

A year ago (Crush 2008), Emoticon Guy was set-up as one of our new girl’s dates for the function.  We ended up talking for awhile, and he got my number.  From there, we branched into the Facebook and instant messaging realms of friendship.

In January, we went on a coffee date.  It was awkward.  I wasn’t interested.  Also, I hate dates.  More on that later.

Emoticon Guy is a winner: varsity swimmer, kind, smart, etc… But there’s a catch.  There always is.  He uses billions of emoticons.  BILLIONS.  It freaks the shit out of me.  I believe in the power of words, and seeing those yellow faces terrifies me.  I most likely have a subconscious association with illiteracy and emoticons, hence why I cringe every time I see them.

An example text:

You’re so adorable!!!

Disgusting.

Emoticon Guy has asked me on weekly dates since  that wretched January night.  Since I have commitment issues, and only seem to be okay with the idea of meaningless one night stands and copious make-outs, you can see why another date wouldn’t be appealing to me.

- – - – -

Last night, Emoticon Guy and I were texting while I was at the bar.  He was at a different one on the same street, and really wanted to see me.  I was sweating up a storm on the dance floor with my friends, and checked my phone.  Emoticon Guy had sent three texts saying that he was waiting outside to see me.

I went out to the patio and he was on the other side of the gates.  The bouncers let me out to talk to him, and it was really nice!  He said that I looked really pretty and kept giving me hugs.  It was cute.

He also asked if I wanted to hang out sometime soon, and I said yes.  I mean, the guy is really good looking.  Emoticons aren’t everything.  I should give him a chance.

Lesson 19 song: Getting Scared by Imogen Heap

Let me note here: The person I had a dream about was the very same person who has been aggressively hitting on me for the past 2 weeks.  I’m not just throwing myself at some random guy and hoping he takes a liking to me, this guy has already told me that it’s GAME ON! between us.  Though if this how he plays, I rather sit in the sandbox alone.

Gah! It’s been a busy day at work and I’ve run out of time to write about last night’s evening out with BFC – and my sister. I want to do it justice so I’m just going to have to leave it til tomorrow, folks. If you want a teaser, though, how about this: things went pretty well – and I’m seeing him again this evening! I’ll tell all in a double bill tomorrow…

She sat him down over twelve shots of whisky.

“Each drink,” she said, “is a new subject.” She smiled, and they took the first shot. “What do you want to talk about?” she asked. He shrugged. “How about jobs?” So they talked about what they did all day, how they hated their boss, how they needed raises and all of the normal conversation. It didn’t last long.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s take another.” They clinked the glasses together and took the second shot down, this one smoother than the first. “That warmed me up,” she said, and told him that summer was her favorite season. He told her his was fall, but summer was nice, too. She spoke about past memories of summer camp. He was a boyscout.

They took the third shot. “You know,” he said, “my parents are divorced.” “You know,” she smiled, “after 35 years, mine are not.” They laughed but she felt terrible, like she made a joke about his life. She touched her hand to his wrist and said she had a very lonely, unhappy childhood. He understood why, though he admitted maybe he did not understand how. She thought hard and told him she always felt alone even if she wasn’t. “This,” he said solemnly, “I understand especially.”

He motioned to the fourth shot, and smiled. They raised the drinks at eachother and tipped their chins back, letting the smooth whisky burn down their throats. “What now?” he asked. “Why are we out here tonight?” she asked him. “Is this a date?” “No,” he said. “But it could be if you want it to be.” She frowned and smiled, then frowned again and looked at her empty drink. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she mumbled. “I didn’t really eat dinner.” “It’s okay,” he said, and this time touched her hand with his: “Do you think this is a date?” She turned to him, squinting. “I’d rather not say.” “Not say,” he asked, “why not say?” “Because I’d rather not know. Not yet anyway.” “Fair enough,” he agreed, “but then we may have completed that subject.”

“Okay,” she agreed and took the next shot and waited as he, surprised, took his a moment later. “Would you mind if I played something on the jukebox?” she asked, andstood up. He sat on his barstool alone and watched as she walked, all hips, to the jukebox across the room. Her ankles seemed to tug at her shoes as she walked, dragging spikey heels across the hardwood planks. She took a few minutes to choose music, and eventually settled on a popular Rolling Stones song. He walked over to her with the last set of glasses, her two hands placed wide-set on the jukebox, her hips swaying softly. “I think that was a subject onto itself.”

They took the last drink down and he brushed hair out of her eyes, his fingers lightly dragging against her cheek like her heels on the floor.

I have cut back on my ‘a.m.’ coffee run on the way to work. Recessionary times and all that… But today I noticed that Dublin’s best barista was back in ‘il Valentino’, a favourite stopping point of mine on the way to work. So I had pop in. I mean, it would haven rude not to. There is a sign up inside proclaiming that they serve the best blend of coffee in Dublin and have the best barista in town. Best blend, maybe. Best barista, definitely. This guy is gas. I get my usual large Americano to take away. And it is good, real good! Really strong, just as I like it.

I have noticed that when ladies order either a latte or a cappuccino, the barista creates a fancy love heart on the top of the froth. He then flirts outrageously with them. It’s so obvious and they love it. It makes their day. The ladies always seem to order milk based coffees here. I wonder why?? So next time, I will order a latte just to see what symbol he decides to create for me – if any. I assume it will be a love heart and he will follow up the obligatory outrageous flirting. As optimistic as ever.

if this life were a dream, how would you interpret it?
-harold klemp, living ECK master (loosely quoted)

x

the only difference between dreams and reality is
the only difference between dreams and reality.
god constructed one and we constructed the other
(and we are all god). 
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxyour blinkers are out and
you’re giving false signals to hapless young men
in bars.  ever notice the coincidence and wonder if
you’re inadvertently flirting in reality’s only dream?

MARRIAGE A LA MODE

Fiction Short Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Dear Reader, I am sure you have heard the saying: Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Now, please read this fiction short story:

At exactly 8 PM her cell-phone rings in her hand. She’s expecting the call – that’s why she’s holding the cell-phone in her hand. She looks at the caller-id, accepts the call, moves the mobile phone near her ear and says, “I love you, darling!”

“I love you, Sugar!” says her husband’s voice from half way around the globe. On his bed beside him, sprawled with arms and legs outstretched like a fallen statue, the woman is still asleep, her breathing untroubled.

It’s a long distance marriage, and the ‘married bachelors’ have been following the same drill for quite some time now – two calls every day at exactly the same time (Eight in the morning she calls him up just before leaving for work and eight in the evening she receives his call from half way across the globe just before he leaves for work. And both of them start their conversation automatically with the words: “I love you, darling! Or, I love you, Sugar!” He’s her ‘darling’ and she’s his ‘Sugar’!)

“How was your day?” the husband asks.

“Hectic. Lot’s of work. Deadlines to meet!” the wife answers. She steals a glance at the handsome young man sitting beside her in the darkened lounge bar.

“It’s terrible here too,” the husband says, “It’s killing – the work. Too much traveling. Sales meets, seminars, conferences. One hotel to another. Living out of a suitcase. I’m feeling exhausted.”

It’s true. The husband is indeed feeling exhausted; a relaxing, satiating kind of exhaustion. He gets up and opens the window and allows the early morning air to cool his body, then turns around and looks at the marvelous body of the woman on his bed. She looks lovelier than ever before, and as he remembers the ferocity of her lovemaking, he feels waves of desire rise within him. Not for a long time has the mere sight of a woman aroused the lion in him to such an extent. He smiles to himself. He feels proud and elated; it was a grand performance. Spontaneous lovemaking at its best; not like the planned and contrived “quality” lovemaking with his wife, full of performance anxiety, each performing for the other’s gratification, putting on an act and both faking pleasure thinking the other would not know.

“Yes, darling. Poor you. I can understand,” the wife says, and sips her potent cocktail. It’s her third. She wonders what it is – the mysterious but deadly intoxicating cocktails her companion is plying her with, and she is feeling gloriously high.

“I’m just waiting for this hectic spell of work to be over so we can meet,” the husband says. He sits on the edge of the bed and looks at the sleeping woman. Mesmerized, marveling. It is difficult to believe that in a few hours from now they would be addressing each other formally again.

“Oh, yes. It’s been three months and I’m dying to meet you. When are we meeting?” the wife asks.

“I’m planning a fantastic vacation. I’ll let you know soon. We’ll go to some exotic place. Just the two of us. Quality Time!” the husband says to his faraway wife and at the same time looks yearningly at the gorgeously sexy woman lying so close to him.

“That’s great! We must spend some Quality Time together,” the wife says to her distant husband while she snuggles close against her strikingly handsome colleague. He presses his knee against hers. She presses hers against his. He moves his hand around her over her soft skin and pulls her gently. She feels an inchoate desire. He gently strokes her hair, and she turns towards him, her mouth partly open as he leans over her.  Fuelled by the alcohol in her veins, she can sense the want churning inside her like fire. And as she looks into his eyes, and feels the intensity of his caresses, she can sense her resistance melting.

“I love you, Sugar!” the husband says.

“I love you, darling!” the wife says.

Their lovey-dovey conversation completed, both the long distance spouses disconnect their cell-phones, focus on their present objects of affection, and, with renewed zeal, carry on the passionate amorous activity presently in hand. After all, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

At the beginning of this story I had quoted a famous saying: Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Now I am temped to say: Absence makes the heart grow fonder – for someone else.

MARRIAGE A LA MODE

Fiction Short Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

vikramkarve@sify.com

The Magnificent 10 Crucial Dating Tips for Men is the top 10 dating tips that every man should know. If you want to be successful with women you need to get this audio book. This will improve any guys success in the dating game.

You will learn:

* Why certain men are really successful in the dating game and what you need to do in order to get more dates

* What is hindering you from having a great sex life and what you need to do to get back on track

* The real reason why women don’t like nice guys, and why you may not be as nice as you think you are

* Why getting a girls number isn’t enough and what you need to do before you get her number to increase your chances of seeing her again

* How to avoid being in the friend zone with every woman you would like to sleep with

* The type of behavior men display that women find awkward and how to avoid being that type of guy

* How to go on a number of dates and spend little to no money

* When to stop calling a woman and increase your chances of getting her to call you back

But wait there’s more…………..

(put this next part in bold or a different color)

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Bowling.  Something I did quite frequently back in Ohio.  In Ohio bowling pretty much goes like this.  Incredibly divey alley with bad lighting and rented bowling shoes your very scared to put your feet in.  There’s usually a sports game on TV and a woman with badly dyed hair womaning the bar.  The beers on tap are all varieties of Budweiser and Miller.  Maybe, if you’re lucky, there will be Heineken-maybe.  The game is about 10 bucks and the shoe rental another dollar or two.  You drink the cheap beer out of plastic cups from a plastic pitcher and after the third, if you’re with a group of friends, things get rowdy, competitive and more likely than not you find yourself smoking with the bartender with the bad dye job at the bar while waiting for your fourth pitcher of Bud Light.

Bowling in Brooklyn at a place called Brooklyn Bowl was nothing like any bowling experience I’ve had before.  The bowling alley is huge-with a separate restaurant and waitress service for your bowling lane.  Instead of hard plastic public transportation-like chairs to sit in we lounged in leather couches that looked as though they were purchased from Restoration Hardware.  The beers on tap were cheap-$5 a pint (is that cheap or have I been in New York for too long) but they were all local beers (go local!)  From the Brooklyn Brewery just ’round the corner.  The food was average pub fair-but with a gourmet touch.  I’m not certain but I wouldn’t be surprised if the kitchen’s chef was on a show like Top Chef or some Food Network show at one time or another.  The two games on two lanes for two hours that we played cost about $200 dollars-split between 16 people it wasn’t that awful but bowling has definitely come along way.  And what an ingenious idea.  The idea of fancy bowling was made better because we were celebrating the birthday of an old friend of mine.  Her wife and best friend organized the event.  Another friend, a sweet young man of 23, was also celebrating his birthday and all-in-all we had a large group of gay girls, straight boys and their girlfriends and their parents taking over the not-too-hipster part of Williamsburg.  The night ended with my third Hip Hop show-Talib Kweli and Friends-including my growing favorite, Jean Grae. 

Mirs didn’t join me for the festivities.  She was especially disappointed when it was announced that Jean Grae would be performing.  Mirs has a mad-crazy crush on Jean Grae.  I believe she’s actually called her the hottest black woman alive.  Admittedly, I was a little insulted by that statement-I mean, I’m her girlfriend I should clearly be the hottest black woman aside.  I’m not really worried about Jean running off with my girl, though.  Last I checked she was pretty straight.

It was good hanging out with the girls, though.  It grew harder as they paired off every once in a while-since everyone we were with were coupled up.  My Friend Crush was pleasantly without her other half for the majority of the day and it gave us the chance to catch up.   She’s in a brand new relationship and very much in that can’t-keep-my-hands-off-of-you-must -have-you-now-sex phase.  Flirting with her is like a get out of jail free card.  It’s harmless because we’re both in relationships; mine is committed, her’s hasn’t been quite defined yet.  Still, flirtation with friends-both gay and straight-is perfectly acceptable, in my opinion.  It allows you to flirt, and Libras are notorious flirters, but without any of the awkward-is she into me? Self-questioning that real flirting brings. 

The main difference from this group of lesbian friends and the group of lesbian friends we’re doing Thanksgayving with is this friend-flirting.  Both groups of girls are close-knit, both are in their late early 30’s (some late 20’s), both groups are, for the most part, coupled up.  In the group I spent time with last night-the flirting among friends is more common place.  It may have something to do with the fact that half of them have slept with each other in their college days.  Flirting, though, is so much fun.  I love to flirt, and it’s even more fun when someone flirts with you back and you both know that nothing is, or will ever, come from it.  It’s innocent, it’s fun, it’s exciting, and it helps you remember that you still have “it”  That ”it” that helped you get your partner and the “it” that keeps them wanting more.

He turned around and said, “HEY!!!” Smile. Hug. He asked me what’s up? I said I came to see his show. He said he performed at 9:30. I knew that. I asked me what I was up to and I said just had dinner with friends. I introduced him to Lou. He introduced me to his friend that he was talking to. He said Hold on and tried to finish his conversation with his friend. I went to the restroom to collect myself and realized this was the 3rd bar I had been in that night, which was 3 over the maximum I could tolerate in one night. I hate the bar scene.

I decided to go home. It was my time of the month anyway. Tapped his shoulder again…
“I’m gonna go.”
“WHAT??!!”
“I just came to see you perform but I came too late.”
“What are you doing next Friday?”
“I dunno.” He invited me to his next gig. Should I go? We’ll see. He gave me another hug and I left. I loved it. He’s so thick, made me want to hug him forever. As we were leaving, Lou said, “I’m glad you finally got your balls together.” :0)

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My nephew Xander may still be a child, but he is already turning into quite the ladies man!  I’m not sure what his father has been teaching him, but I was able to witness his confidence with the women on a Chuck E Cheese outing.  I spotted a cute little girl in a T-shirt from his elementary school and asked if he knew her.  He got a devilish grin on his face and gave me a confident “Not yet…”  What a little flirt!

Decision made. I have pulled myself out of my dangerous slough of despond. I have marshalled my troops, given them a damn good pep talk, and will now proceed to sent them out on two fronts at once. Heaven help the men who find themselves in my way.

My new plan is to double-date. Not in the sense of dragging my unfortunate friends along with me on my man hunt, no. Rather in the sense that I shall tackle two dating sites at once. I’ll return to my most successful online destination – the magical land where BigBear and Woodland Vole live – and I’ll try out another, Christian, site that’s free to join. Yes, she’s back in the game. In, I said. In.

On Wednesday, moreover, I am attending a work event at which Bona Fide Crush will be both present and, more importantly, drinking. He may even manage to relax enough to talk to me. On the other hand, I will have my sister in tow, which will make me an even more intimidating prospect than usual. When GirlGlory and SisterGlory descend on a group together, there’s a certain amount of shock and awe. Imagine a scene of extras in a Roland Emmerich disaster movie: that’s how people normally look when we leave. And often when we arrive.

I can predict two things about this event. One, sushi will be served. (My sister and I were recently at a function where my boss observed it was the kind of event where they would serve mini-hamburgers, he was right, and she was very impressed. I wish to prove I too have the rarely-seen gift of catering-prediction.) Secondly, at the end of the evening – or at a far less appropriate moment, say, when BFC turns round to pick up a piece of sushi and SisterGlory incorrectly assumes he can’t hear – my sister will proclaim, ‘He’s SOOOOO posh!’

SisterGlory thinks everyone’s posh. She thinks I’m posh, and she grew up in the same house as me. I’m about to introduce her to someone whose father has a title, who hangs out with the cultural elite and who speaks as if he’s just come out of an elocution lesson at Eton. Luckily she finds posh people incredibly amusing. Hopefully he’ll just think she’s laughing at his jokes…

Sorry for the late posts.  It’s been a hectic week.  I’ll fill you in…

Monday: I woke up in bed feeling emotional hung over from the dramatic day before.  I lay in bed for about 4 hours crying sporadically about my pathetic life, and then decided to start my day.

I made my way over to the local coffee shop and set up camp.  I had two articles due the next morning for my paper, so I had my voice recorder out and was typing away at my booth with my hideous computer.

Facing a bit of writer’s block, I look up at the line-up of people that have formed in the shop.  I see a beaming smile directed at me.  Hot Boss.  Internally, I prep myself for the brief, but awkward wave that lay ahead.

Well, it turned out that Hot Boss wasn’t into the brief, awkward waves.  He actually sat at my booth for about 15 minutes chatting with me.  He was looking really cute.  Leather jacket, some obscure graphic t-shirt, and a tuque emphasizing his shaggy hair.  Hot Boss is a big smiler, and was very flirty.

I told him how I was writing some articles, and he grabbed my voice recorder and started pretending to speak into it.  He goes (in a complete radio voice), “Hi!  I’m Hot Boss, and I’m with Awkward Sorority Girl right now who is looking pretty awkward in the booth across from me…”  I took advantage of this flirting opportunity and yelped a pathetic, “Stop!” and snatched it away from him.

Note: My flirting skills suck.

Hot Boss then takes my sunglasses on the table (huge, obnoxious and weird ones) and puts them on.  I accuse him of looking like a Backstreet Boy — AJ, to be specific — to which he goes, “Aw man, I was hoping for Howie!”  Such a jokester.

I.  Love.  Him.

Overall, there was a lot of sexual tension between us.  I could feel it.  He was on his way to meet a friend, but ended up staying with me for 15 minutes when I really didn’t invite him to sit at all.  It was just… Beautiful.

Lesson 14 song: Smile Upon Me by Passion Pit

Today, for some reason I can’t begin to explain, I’ve been focusing on HER.  I have a four-letter word reserved for her in my mind. It’s a word I’ve always hated — a word I’ve begun using only when talking and thinking about the woman who’s been an extra in my marriage for five years or more.    I won’t use it here.  It’s a vulgar term, used to describe the female anatomy.  Starts with a “C.” 

So I want to share a little about her.  I want to show the world what a hypocrite she is.  I want her out of my thoughts and onto virtual paper.  For while my husband doesn’t want to think about her anymore, I can’t help thinking about her.  It may be over for him, but it is just the beginning for me.

She’s 37 years old.  My husband and I are both in our early 40s.  She’s Mexican.  My husband and I are both white.  She’s a member of an extremely conservative pentecostal church.  My husband and I aren’t religious at all.  She works for her church, but to make herself sound more sophisticated she tells the world she works as a media director for a “non-profit.”  Sounds better than saying “I work part-time at my church organizing our multi-media programs,” I guess.  What would her pastors think if they found out that she was talking about giving head to my husband while sitting at work in that very church?  And, ironically, posted on her church’s website is a series of videos called the Homewrecker’s series.  Hmmm.  Maybe that’s where she learned her tricks of the trade?!  Maybe she’s too simple to understand the sarcasm in the videos.  Maybe she doesn’t “get” reverse psychology. 

She’s power hungry.  She recently represented herself as a saint among saints, having become a surrogate mother for a couple who couldn’t conceive.  What really happened?  Well…her family was complete.  But she couldn’t imagine herself never being pregnant again.  And since my husband wasn’t going to fuck her, she sought out a couple who wanted a child and were willing to pay good money for womb rental.  More power for her!  She can carry a baby.  That other woman can’t.  And while she was carrying their baby, she was telling my husband how she wanted him to do her from behind; How she wanted to show up at his office wearing only a trench coat (I know, it’s unimaginative) and do him right there on his desk.  She was telling my husband how she wanted to “eat ice cream,” which was her creative term for oral sex.  She was telling him she would swallow his cum…all during her last trimester.  Hmmm.  You can bet he wasn’t picturing her fat belly in his fantasies.  And she wrote about her surrogacy for the whole world to see.  She was so proud of herself.  She was doing such a great service.  Give me a break.

At the job she had before working at her church, she did graphic design.  I’ve seen her work.  It’s mediocre at best.  Somehow, though, she now sees herself as a news writer.  I wonder how good a job she did on the poem she penned for my husband?

She’s a mother of two young boys.  She once asked me for parenting advice.  My only hope now is that those boys grow up to see her as the whore she is.  I hope they learn to hate her.  And her poor husband.  He told me she misses my husband.  And he’s still putting up with that?  She’s pathetic.  He may be more so, if that’s possible.

You can google her picture online.  She’s kind of homely.  She’s not the least bit attractive.  I’d have felt a lot better if my husband had at least managed to have a relationship with someone who is hot.  But then again, the only thing that attracted him to her was that she made so obvious her attraction to him.

I’ll give her this:  she goes for what she wants, even if it belongs to someone else.  She doesn’t let anything — even her own husband, her own children — get in the way of what she wants.  Will she read this?  I doubt it.  But I’m so tempted to tag this post so she’ll see it.