Posts Tagged ‘alcohol

So my dad is still in love with this random guy, because Dad talked to the guy and the guy was nice on the phone and apparently my Dad’s a slut, because a few kind words are all it takes to get Dad all lovey-dovey.

Apple doesn’t fall far….

ANYWAY, I had emailed him, per Dad’s behest, the guy emailed me back pretty quickly and then it took a few days for me to write him back. I’m sure he’s nice, but he’s FOB and 40-something and in school for his Bachelors and he’s not at the top of my priority list right now.

So his next email to me, after a few niceties, says this:

I was wondering if i had sent my reply to a wrong email or what?! I suppose you were busy and thats the reason for the 3-4 days for u to reply.

Um…FUCK.YOU.  WHO SAYS THAT? I mean, it hadn’t been like 5 weeks. It was 4 business days! I wrote him first thing on Saturday when I got the chance! Not that I should already have to defend myself – and yes, if I was slightly more interested, I probably would’ve been faster about it, so maybe I deserved that comment.
Then he writes:

Ok then, i will major in Psych & My college time depends on how soon my credits are completed — at least till 2015 i suppose


As my friend, T, pointed out – He’s got this sense of urgency about me emailing him back, yet doesn’t seem to see a need to finish college or get more than a full time job. (I think he’s part time financial planner or something.)

And 2015?!?!?!?! WHAT. THE. FUCK.  He’s not even fast-tracking this shit! Like, maybe, he’ll graduate in 2015, if he decides that’s what he want?

IS HE GOING TO TAKE OUR BABIES TO CLASS WITH HIM? Cause I’m clearly going to have to be the one working and earning money while he’s “finding himself.”

So then, on Saturday, as the whole family is group-skyping, Dad brings up if I’d heard from him – and then he starts giggling and says,

“Do you want to meet him when you come home?”

A little explanation here – in very conservative households, typically the first meeting between a boy and girl is held between the two families, and if things go well between the parents, the children are allowed to go off and “meet” alone – which is really just in a separate room, with a chaperone near by.

I, clearly, have never done this and Dad knows that I won’t – and I think it cracks him up to continually push this FOB on me.

Again, as T said, “He knows his educated well employed daughter is NOT going to marry a loafer!”

I mean, I hope Dad knows this! Partly I think he just gets a kick out of seeing me get SO ANNOYED when he asks about, and partly I think he’s hoping I give up/in and say, “Fine, I’ll meet him.”

AND! ON TOP OF ALL OF THAT!!! What are we gonna do??? Go on a group date? Dad’s retired on social security and FOB is in college. I’LL HAVE TO PAY FOR IT!

AND! ON TOP OF, ON TOP OF ALL THAT!!! FOB doesn’t drink.

This is doomed.






So after deleting out all those numbers in my phone yesterday, I felt figuratively lighter. I’m trying to declutter everything – my closets, my fridge, my phone, my life.

But then me and a friend went out last night, for what was supposed to be just a couple of drinks. Yeah…. we got home at 2 am after 3 shots and multiple drinks with these boys we met. BOYS. WE MET BOYS.

And I really mean boys. They were 24.  MORE THAN 10 YEARS YOUNGER! Both are med students here on rotation  — they were funny and flirty, and actually it was my friend who’d turned around to talk to them at first and I was so annoyed because all I could think was “Why is she talking to them?!”

I didn’t mind so much when I was making out with one of them later that night.

The thing that makes no sense to me, and probably never will, is why boys love a mean girl. I wasn’t all out a bitch to them, but I wasn’t particularly nice either. Although med students, they were young and dumb – the bar was playing 80s music, but then one who claimed to ‘love it’ couldn’t identify any song/band (have you ever heard of the go-go girls?? NO. You have not.)  So I made fun of them, but in their defense, they weren’t even born when half those songs came out.

And… back to feeling old as dirt.

Also, my friend was born in India, so she has a smallpox scar. The one child doctor couldn’t identify it, which I could not believe and flat out asked him:

“Jesus. How can you not know that?!? What kind of doctor are you?!?!!?”

Uh yeah. I think I actually hurt his feelings on that one.

Anyway, we naturally paired off and I was chatting with my little boy and making out a bit (although, when he put his hand on my boob, I swiftly removed it cause I am classy like that) and I asked him:

“Why are you talking to me? Go meet someone your own age.”

And I totally meant it. Why is he talking to me?!?! And he says:

“I like you. I don’t know if it’s your men’s cologne you like to wear, or your personality or how pretty you are but you are so fun. “

I may have rolled my eyes.

You guys! I am a jaded cynical bitch who just deleted 32 numbers of stupid boys who all said some variation of the same bullshit.


So anyway, he continues:

You know, I’ve got other priorities while I’m here in town, but if this goes well, we could make this a priority. We can figure things out. After my rotations are done, I can choose where I want to go, so maybe it’ll be here. We could have beautiful half-white, half-Indian babies.

Ok, at this point, I was flat out laughing.  He then asked the inevitable question of “Why are you single?”

And I told him the truth: “I get bored really easy. I don’t make it past a few dates.”

And it was his turn to laugh: “So, I should always entertain you, huh? I can definitely do that. You won’t get bored with me.”

It is sweet to hear, no doubt. But…. why can’t I hear that from anyone my age!?!? Like “The Bod”?!!? Why does it never come from the person you want it come from? And this kid’s sweet and cute (and he is a cocky fucker who knows both of those things about himself) but he is 24. So sure, he can say all this shit because it doesn’t matter and it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just lines at a bar when everyone’s pretty buzzed.

And as flattering as it was, it did make me sad that I wasn’t hanging out with “The Bod” because I hadn’t gotten bored with him yet. I know I just need to move on, but my feelings are definitely hurt with him not calling or wanting to hang out again, especially since I don’t know what I did wrong. And maybe it wasn’t me, maybe it was his own shit that got in the way, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.

But, all of that said, I took his number (and gave him mine, and told him to call/text after his tests are done this week) and I’m supposed to see Doogie Howser next weekend – let’s see if it really happens. Because 24 can definitely be good for some things 😉

So after a bit of a drought with Match, I had two dates this weekend. And they couldn’t have been any more diverse… Muslim boy on Saturday afternoon, and an Irish guy on Sunday night.

I met the Irish guy last night at a local steak/sports bar, and he’d taken the train over (MARTA is smarta!) which I thought was cool. I never take MARTA anywhere, not even the airport. But it’s such a Euro-thing to do, right? Public transportation is so great, if you actually use it. I do not.

One of the last times I rode MARTA some cracked out old woman was trying to sell us drugs and didn’t have any underwear on. I was scarred for LIFE. Seriously. It’s hard to “just ignore” someone when they’re yelling at you and also displaying goods which may or may not be for purchase. She didn’t say.

Anyway, back to my date! I was not just impressed with his desire to reduce pollution and not drink and drive but also his Irish brogue. So cute!  Physically, not really my type but I figured I could just close my eyes and listen to him talk if it came down to it…

I got there about 5 minutes late, and he was already half a beer down. Sadly, not drinking Guinness as I thought he would be, but Heineken.

Fast forward 4 hours (after discussing work, telework, the Euro, the economic collapse associated with the Euro, maths, liquor, Irish bars, work again, living in the States, living in Ireland, some long pauses with no chatting) and we’re both a few drinks in. Except he can drink 2 for every 1 of mine, so he’s basically put down a 6-pack. Plus the last couple of rum and cokes that I ordered, I couldn’t actually finish because they were all rum and I did have to drive – so he drank them. All the while telling me how rum and cokes are his favorite drink too – I think he was excited about the ‘kismet’ of that, but come on. It’s just that rum and coke is a hard drink for a bartender to fuck up, so it’s the easiest one to have on stand-by.

Basically, he was, as they say in the Emerald Isle, pissed. Or, as we say here, drunk off his ass. (What is, “Irish Stereotypes for $1000”, Alex??)

I ordered some food to help soak up the alcohol, but he wouldn’t have any. Guess it would’ve got in the way of his buzz. And then, as I watched him stumble to the bathroom, I knew I couldn’t leave him to take public transport home – the half-naked, drug-selling women would’ve just taken advantage of him.

So I went to use the restroom myself before we left and came back and he started swaying his way towards me, and I saw that his card was still sitting in the bill-fold (I’d offered to contribute, but he said no) – so I said, “Oh, they haven’t run your card yet?”

And the bartender pulls out his card and his copy of the bill and hands them over. Oh, they’d run it, and he was about to walk out of the bar without his credit card. Honestly, I have no clue if he signed the bill or left a tip. He didn’t even remember his card was still sitting there, in plain sight! I debated going back to see if he’d left a tip, but I honestly couldn’t be arsed. (I am super enjoying Brit slang, if you haven’t noticed).

So I drove him back to his place. And he was very sweet and very thankful about it and had forgotten his gate card for the pedestrian walk-way, so had to call himself from the car gate area and walked through that. Oy. I did totally wait till he was inside his complex before I drove off.  You know, I like to make sure my dates make it back home. I figure it’s the least I can do.

I would totally see him again, in a group setting, where I wasn’t responsible for his health and well-being. He’s fun and appeared to be surprised I was smart and conversant in many topic areas (Who is he meeting off match? Sheesh. I didn’t think anything we talked was that groundbreaking!). By the way – the accidentally (??) back-handed compliments I get from guys are just awesome. The Muslim boy told me: “Yeah, I got married young because I was too much into physical appearances. I don’t want to make that mistake again.”   Ummmmmmmmmmmmm…….. thanks, asshole.  Ok, I don’t even think he meant it the way I took it, but come on! Who says that on a first-date? I’ll just believe it’s because he’s out of practice.

Match Cost and recoup-ment:

After Saturday’s date, I had $54 left to recoup. Last night I had an appetizer and 3 drinks, about an average of $9 each, so that’s $36.

Only $18 left to get back.  Also, just for a disclaimer:  This is just me being tongue-in-cheek. I always offer to contribute and I mean it – I have no problem splitting the cost. I know these guys are in the same boat I am in terms of having paid for Match, and I appreciate it a lot when they treat it like a “real” first date, and not just some internet-assisted meet-up, which is what it is.

When British and I first started our ill-fated adventure in cross-continent relationships, one of the things he would often tell me was “You are so pretty.” And I lapped it up like a little puppy.  Seriously, who doesn’t want to hear that, especially when it’s softly said in an amazing accent??  I sure as fuck did.

But little did I know it’s just the British equivalent of the American frat-boy-ism: “You’re sooooo hot!!!”  Which means nothing, actually. It’s just a segue to “Wanna come back to my place??”   Sigh.

I didn’t realize it till this trip though. The first night we met the British military boys, their commander kept telling me how much he liked my “pretty face.” Sweet, and again, I have no problem receiving attention, so I totally bought into it.

Then the next night, we went to another pub in Leicester Square. I was waiting for my drink and the bartender (tall and cute, just my type!) came over and asked for my ID. Ok, isn’t the drinking age in the UK like 16 or something? There was no way he needed to ID me. But I handed it over, and he looked at my year of birth and this look of utter surprise came over his face and he says: “Wow. You look great!”

Um, thanks!?  I was pretty offended. Can I just get a damn drink? I don’t need to be reminded I’m old as dirt. His take was that I should be flattered he needed to see it. Hmph.

Anyway, he continued to chat, asked what I was doing there, how long I was in town, etc and finally after making my drink (hello, the ONLY thing I wanted) he leaned over and whispered, “You are so very pretty.”

Which then threw me off guard – and it was my turn to look surprised because it was so random, and yes, SUPER sweet, but that’s also when the light bulb went off. Do they even mean it, or is it just a numbers game? Like if they say that to 100 women, 5 will be flattered enough to do something?  I can’t figure out if the boys there actually do think I’m attractive and are being honest and I should move to take advantage of it!?!?!??? OR is it just a line?

(Also, did I get any free drinks out of this? NO. So totally useless as far as I was concerned, even if he did mean it. )

The rest of the night was spent with these Italian guys we met at the bar – they were hilarious! Two spoke English perfectly fine, but the third didn’t. So how is it that he spoke with his hands, on our bodies? It’s like he got away with free grabs just because he was unable to speak the language… not a bad play, actually.

Some highlights from the night:

Me and C: “Hey, look at that Italian place, Bella Italia, would you want to eat there? ”
Them: “No-a! Would you-a eat-a in a place-a called Beautiful USA? Because-a all that meanz-a is Beautiful Italia. It’s-a dumb-a.”

Them (talking about having two taps instead of one in the bathroom sink): “Why are there-a two faucets? You either burn-a your hand-a or you freeze-a your hand-a! It’s-a impossible to get it right-a!!”

Them: “We love-a going to the pubs-and-a-clubs-a!”

Them: “We are staying with a divorcee. He likes to talk-a. He is lonely and tries to talk-a to us-a every day. We try-a to avoid him.”

Them (while we’re eating pizza): “It’s ok-ah. For pizza not in Italy, it will do-a. We don’t-a use ketchup on our pizzas like you do-a.”

Them (after I spilled water on myself at dinner): “That’s-a what you get-a for drinking that poison-a!”

It was a great night overall. I definitely still have a thing for cute boys with accents… just need to figure out how to make that work in my life here. Or you know, marry this guy and have it all (or this guy, both are pretty amazing in their abilities)…

Actually…without the accent, he’d just be American. And wearing a funny hat.


I feel like this picture sums up the night better than I can in words, but I’ll still try. We (my friend (C), who’s giving the ‘thumbs up’ in the pic and I) met the Brits on the tube. We chatted a bit on the train, and quite honestly, they didn’t seem like they wanted to talk to us, but  since they just happened to be alighting at the same stop as us, and we just happened to go to the same bar as them, we ended up spending a LOT of time together that night.

We started at a pub, where we all bought rounds of drinks – they boys were cute and fun to chat with and they were in London as part of the military brought in to help protect the games. So, I’m a sucker for military boys and when they told us they’re not treated as well as the guys (and girls) in the US military, I thought it was our duty to show some American hospitality. Honestly, I would’ve bought all the drinks if they let us!

BUT! Hurray for British chivalry and not letting us do that! (Because, come on, it’s fucking expensive with the conversion. I tried not to think about it the whole time and just pretended that that one £ equals 1 USD. According to my bank statement, it does not.)

Anyway, they ranged across ages and we had almost one fight, because boys will be boys, no matter where in the world they are.  But, I loved them because their crew leader kept telling me how pretty I was and how much he liked my face.  Yeah, I’m a sucker.  Whatever.

We drank at the pub, ate some crappy Chinese food, and then went to the club (where the shots were taken). SO MUCH FUN!! Music was awesome and Team Slovenia was there! They were the freaking tallest girls I’d ever seen. I totally wanted to take pictures, but they were drinking, having fun, hanging out… I didn’t think they’d want some random taking pictures of them like they’re in a zoo.

So we danced the night away. And drank the night away. We didn’t leave the club till 330am and didn’t realize we had no trains left to get home. The two boys who were left with us were super sweet and offered to walk us back to our hotel, which was literally an hour in the wrong direction from where they needed to be – we told them we’d be fine on our own, and they said: “Oh no! You can’t walk alone here! It’s LONDON! It’s not safe! If this was Somerset, you’d be ok.”

Which made me and C both giggle, because clearly they have no idea what it’s like to walk at night in the ATL. Although, honestly, neither do I because I refuse to do it for fear of being shot.

We parted ways in Trafalgar Square, and C and I weeble-wobbled our way home, getting lost and giggling the whole way back to our little room. We finally made it back at 430am. Yeah… we were not up so early the next day, but it was well worth it.

It was a chaste night, nobody made out… hell, actually, nobody made a move. Which is honestly refreshing and a little weird. I”m so used to “Nice tits! Wanna fuck?” that I get totally stunned when that’s not what’s said or what happens.

We kept in touch with them while we were there, and they even tried to get us into the stadium using their credentials. Nope, didn’t work out so well, but it was nice of them to even bother trying.  They even offered to take us site-seeing on Sunday, their day off. We declined because we had plans, but seriously – how nice is that!

It was really a great first night and welcome to London. They did the city proud 🙂


Walking through London at night, with our bodyguards


The quintessential phone booth picture from our 100mile hike back to the hotel. I didn’t realize there was someone in the last booth. Turned out there were two someones, engaged in a make out session, because of course. I stunned them with the flash. Haha!  😉


This title could apply to SO MANY THINGS in my life, but in this case, it’s just a story about my upcoming trip to London.

A few of us went out on Friday night, and somehow, we all ended up fairly drunk. I mean, maybe it was like the 5 drinks each we all had…

In any case, I was chatting with my friend that I’m going to London with – she is a lot fun, really laid back and we were both getting super hyped about everything.

In my drunken state, I said to her: “Our goal for London should be to GET INTO BUCKINGHAM PALACE!!!!!!!  So I can meet my future PRIIIIIIIIIIIIIINCE!!!!!!!!!!!!”

She, in her drunken yet surprisingly realistic state, said: “Um….OK. Let’s lower our goals. We should maybe just be happy if we see the palace for about 30 seconds, on our way to the pub, and we keep walking.”

A few guards, gates and some fencing isn’t really going to stop me…

That was the question some random girl asked us tonight at the bar. And we, my friends and I, are so non drug oriented, we all just looked at her and one of us actually asked: “Did you mean… cola?” He was joking, but she didn’t think so.

Her: “No… coke. It’s cheaper if we all ordered a lot to share.”

Us: “Ummm…. no. Thanks.”

What the fuck were we gonna do? Grab some straws, sit at the table and snort a pile together? Cause there was no way in hell that she was going to come home with any of us. As my friend T said, the logistics of planning all this was enough to give us a headache. Doesn’t this random girl know? We ate dinner at 6. Early bird special. We’re more likely to pass out on the sofa, watching a movie, with a hand in our pants, than bother to deal in illicit activity.

She walked away and the last we saw, she was asking random guys on the street if they wanted to buy some coke with her.




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