Written by A. R. R. Tolkien
The Hobble follows the epic quest of the cane-bearing Blainebo Baggins.
"In a bar in Brooklyn there drank a hobble. Not a nasty, dirty, wet bar, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy bar with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobble-bar, and that means drunk bitches."
It had a perfectly stocked bar like you would imagine in any bar in Brooklyn. The Hobble had a plan for the night. I plan that would go down in history as the best pick-up technique ever seen by Man and Hobble alike.
We begin our story with two Women imbibing at The Sackett-shire bar just a few jaunts away from the Hobble-bar (also known to shire-folk as Union Hall). The two Women met up past the hour of midnight for they both had quests to fulfill prior to their rendez-vous. They laughed and drank ales until the quiet setting was to calm for their liking.
They sauntered up the trail to Union Hall so they might enjoy a livelier crowd for the evening, as this night was turning out to be quite a fun adventure for both of them. These Women are seasoned veterans when talking to Men, so they decided to use their skills for the good of Man- and Womankind.
Union Hall was disappointingly not as bustling as they had hoped, but they made the most of the night and positioned themselves by some attractive hat-bearing Men. To which, the Women quickly decided to leave for there was a dance party in the basement. Classic rock music played as the gyrated on the dance floor getting their "groove thing on" as some folk might say.
The dance party died down from a musical folly by the Disc Jockey, so the Women took their places by the hat-bearing Men.
I must tell you at this time, these Women, nor any folk in the bar for that matter, realized that this was, in fact, a Hobble-bar.
The Women began to converse with the hat-bearing Men and they learned that these Men were born of the country to the North and were at Union Hall on an adventure from their land. One of the Women also hails from the North country, so she was pleased to speak with her fellow countrymen.
The glasses-bearing Woman was particularly fond of the stripe-bearing Man for he had a smile that lit the room and eyes that pierced her hardened soul. He was also interested in this Woman for he had left the other Women with which he was playing a friendly game of bocce ball to join the glasses-bearing Woman for an ale. His friend begged him to join them for the remainder of the game for it was obvious that he was interested in the young Women bearing little clothes on this frigid evening.
The Men left these Women to finish their ales on their own, and this is the part of the story where the Hobble enters. The Women were laughing and enjoying each other's company when out of nowhere the cane-bearing Hobble questioned them.
"Are you making fun of my disability?"
The Women did not even see him walk towards them so they were quite shocked at his question. Their faces blanched, for they were loving Women and cared for all creatures in the Earth - except for cats. The Northern Woman earlier had conjectured that cats were "weird creatures" and she wished them all dead. The glasses-bearing Woman had a cat for a pet, but found no offense to her statement as she knew the Northern Woman had finally admitted what she had known to be her feelings all along.
So, the Women with faces blanched hastily denied that they were laughing at his disability and were worried they had offended the Hobble. The Hobble then laughed and the Women realized something. The Woman from the North spoke first.
"Is that your line?? If that's your line, I will have sex with you tonight."
The Hobble admitted that he was indeed using a line on the Women and they all had a merry laugh about it. What fun! What fun was had for the remainder of the evening. The Hobble told the Women they he had just hurt his knee the day before and did not have a disability, rather an injury. This Hobble certainly knew how to entertain, which is true of most Hobbles. They are a jolly folk indeed.
The Women were then joined by the Hobble's friends who turned out to be Men. The glasses-bearing Woman played wing-man for the Northern Woman as she laughed the evening away with her new Hobble love interest. A good time was had by all. They drank ale and told stories until the wee hours of the morning when the Hobble-bar started closing down the metal gates.
The glasses-bearing Woman glanced towards the bar where she saw the stripe-bearing Man she had spoken with earlier in the evening. They waved at one another and knew, just knew, that they would never see each other again. It was a sad moment for the glasses-bearing Woman as she had thought this Man was quite nice and very attractive. They shared one final goodbye wave and the stripe-bearing Man left into the cold of the night without another word spoken.
The Women left the bar with the Hobble and his jolly friends and they all went their separate ways. Little did they know that the Hobble and the Northern Woman arranged a secret rendez-vous at her living quarters. The Hobble and the Woman were enjoying each other's company when the Woman questioned him.
"Am I hurting your knee? Wait. You're not even injured are you?"
The Hobble admitted, "Nope. I'm not." And he got up and walked to the restroom. When he returned he told her that he found the cane on the street on the way to the bar to meet his friends. His friends were also unaware of his false injury, which made the Woman laugh even harder than she already was for this was the most amazing story she had ever heard. The Woman pleaded to the Hobble that they must be friends even if being romantic didn't work out for them. She found him to be interesting for he was a Master. A Master pick-up artist with skills unseen by her before. She was known as the Guru in some circles, but she realized quickly that the Hobble had surpassed her skills.
The Hobble left her living quarters the next morning and limped into the sunlight knowing that he had accomplished a magnificent feat. He had accomplished what he set out for the evening. The sun shone down on him as he walked off into the distance...
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
2010: Year of Men
I spent New Year’s eve up in Vermont for the second year in a row. I don’t think I’ll do New Year’s any other way. I go up with some friends to my Uncles’ very welcoming, very gay home. So the combination of family and gay meant there would be no hooking up for me, but that made no difference to me, as it is always a great time. We eat way too much food, drink way too much, and watch the Twilight Zone marathon.
I actually learn lots of lessons from the women in the Twilight Zone: always fall while running, know how to “wrestle up” some coffee, react very dramatically with your face when something crazy happens, but not too crazy as to make you look unattractive, be in abusive relationships, be extremely attractive or have been extremely attractive once in your life, BE AWESOME. The list could go on, but I will stop. You can always add some in the comments, if you so choose!
SO, we dubbed 2010 the Year of Men. I usually go up to VT with some of my amazing single lady friends and we decided that this year, we are going to be extremely slutty. NO, we decided that it will be a more confident year for us and we will go forward through the seas of men and come up victorious! FREEDOM!
I decided that in honor of the Year of Men, I was going to make a list of pseudo resolutions – more like a list of goals for myself in this all exciting and testosterone-filled year.
1. Stop being so damn stand-offish. It’s easy for me to dismiss a guy at a bar who is simply trying to make conversation. I have a very small tolerance threshold for bullshit, and an even smaller tolerance threshold for idiots. There are a lot of idiots out there. Though, I do realize that I need to give people more of a chance, so I’ll like… totally work on that.2. This has nothing to do with dating, but I need to stop spending so much money! I have a tendency to just go with the flow and spend way outside my budget. I get really wrapped up in fun and end up staying out late and spending away like money doesn’t matter, as you can tell by some of my posts. So, I guess finding more budget friendly social events should be my goal… Easy enough! <-- I’ll be regretting writing that. I should just make dudes buy more drinks for me. That will help me save some money.
Happy 2010!
I actually learn lots of lessons from the women in the Twilight Zone: always fall while running, know how to “wrestle up” some coffee, react very dramatically with your face when something crazy happens, but not too crazy as to make you look unattractive, be in abusive relationships, be extremely attractive or have been extremely attractive once in your life, BE AWESOME. The list could go on, but I will stop. You can always add some in the comments, if you so choose!
SO, we dubbed 2010 the Year of Men. I usually go up to VT with some of my amazing single lady friends and we decided that this year, we are going to be extremely slutty. NO, we decided that it will be a more confident year for us and we will go forward through the seas of men and come up victorious! FREEDOM!
I decided that in honor of the Year of Men, I was going to make a list of pseudo resolutions – more like a list of goals for myself in this all exciting and testosterone-filled year.
1. Stop being so damn stand-offish. It’s easy for me to dismiss a guy at a bar who is simply trying to make conversation. I have a very small tolerance threshold for bullshit, and an even smaller tolerance threshold for idiots. There are a lot of idiots out there. Though, I do realize that I need to give people more of a chance, so I’ll like… totally work on that.2. This has nothing to do with dating, but I need to stop spending so much money! I have a tendency to just go with the flow and spend way outside my budget. I get really wrapped up in fun and end up staying out late and spending away like money doesn’t matter, as you can tell by some of my posts. So, I guess finding more budget friendly social events should be my goal… Easy enough! <-- I’ll be regretting writing that. I should just make dudes buy more drinks for me. That will help me save some money.
Happy 2010!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Meat Up: Extra Beef
I am a professional facebook stalker. It's a really bad habit, but I figure that most people do it too... I mean, right!? People check other people's status updates constantly? Trying to think of something witty yet insightful to say? Right? Right!?!? Right.
So, I noticed that one of my friends posted something about a "meat up" on his facebook page and that he would be bartending at said meat up. I did a little investigation and it turned out that this whole fancy pantsy hook-up event was taking place at a bar in my hood. Naturally, I screamed loudly at work with glee and desperation. Happening in my neighborhood! A singles event! The gods are certainly shining on me today. Thank you very much! My coworker happened to walk by as I screamed and she just rolled her eyes. Someone's jealous!
I immediately emailed a few friends to see if they were interested in going with me, and my friend LP wrote me back saying that she would mos def like to be my "date" to the meat market. We hadn't hung out for awhile, so this was going to be a night! A night in which we mostly talked to ourselves, because these events tend to be slightly creepy and uncomfortable. Forced mingling. Ick.
I coach a local Brooklyn swim team on the night that the event was happening so I had to sneak out a little early to get my flirt on. Awwww yeaaaahhhh. Watch out boys! I'm coming and I'm gonna make you feel extremely uncomfortable. Yes!
With my newly applied chlorine perfume on, I made my way to meet up with LP. As we walked into the bar, we noticed that they had a hot dog stand set up at the entrance. Great idea! Why not give potential hook-ups some hot dogs... with onions... and saurkraut... and mustard. That will certainly make everyone MUCH more attractive... with sweet breath... and absolutely no bowel issues what-so-ever. Classy.
They were also giving out name tags when we walked in, and my stomach just dropped. I was thinking how many times I was going to get some dude talking to me while checking out my name tag which also happens to be very very close to my boobs. Fab. To top it off, they were asking what you wanted your porn name to be. Really? Really? LP and I turned down the offer for a name tag, and the guy in line behind us for the coat check wittily said, "Oh, you don't want to talk to anyone tonight?" To which I replied, "This is a couples event, right!?" To which he said, "You two have fun tonight." I really know how the hook the fellas in!
Let me just say, the night was a bit awkward - big surprise! Everyone was there because they were single or supporting a single friend, so it took the cool factor out of just hanging out at a bar, which is usually my m.o. I'm cool! I'm hip! LP and I noticed right away that it was going to be one of those nights, where we will have tons of fun, but we probably won't be meeting the man of our respective dreams! There were actually quite a few fellas at the event, but most of them were already talking to girls. Big surprise yet again!
LP and I had a great time and got a free drink out of it and some laughs shared at the expense of other people. Always a great way to lift the spirits. As we were heading out of the most unsuccessful pick-up night of the century, I saw a few of my dude friends walking in. I decided quickly that I, too, wanted to stay and said goodbye to my dear LP. I'm a horrible friend. I was like, oh guys I know are here... LATER. They were with a girl I didn't know, but we became fast friends. This chick was on the prowl. Much more aggressive than I am, so it was fun.
OF COURSE as soon as I walk in with the guys, they immediately start talking to girls. How does that happen? Sometimes, I think I'm pretty cool, but stuff like that never happens to me. I have to at least have a few beers in me to talk to a guy. I am really judgmental, so if I start talking to a guy before having a drink, I will openly roll my eyes at him and his lame attempts to make jokes and compliment me. Yup. I'm an asshole.
At one point, some guys come to talk to me and my new friend. I know his friend is just talking to me because his friend is talking to my new friend for life and ever and ever... and ever. He's a bit of a douchebag. When I told him I worked for a nonprofit, he asked, ever so delicately and respectfully, "What? You don't like money?" Yeah, that's right. I don't like money. In fact, I hate it. I give all of the money I make to the charity I work for. I don't have a home. The clothes that I'm wearing? Oh, I picked them up at a Salvation Army. Oh, and this beer? I stole it.
Then he said, "Well, I work for-profit, so you probably hate me. I work on Wall Street." Nope, I don't hate you because you work on Wall Street, but I don't really think you are that sharp and are a bit of a tactless d'bag. Then, he asked my most dreaded and hated question. This question makes me want to vomit all over the person asking it. Then it makes me want to go eat a hot dog from the front of the bar and vomit again. "What do you do for fun?" I read Steinbeck and knit clothes for the future children I want to have... with you... do you want kids? Want to see my knittings? I always carry them with me... just in case...
Interview questions within the first minute of talking to someone is never a good sign. I never know how to answer them. I don't want to answer them. I want to have a conversation and find out if I get along with you, not talk about what I do or what colors me pink. Or whatever that expression might be.
I told him I was a comedian, because I didn't know what else to say. He told me to tell him a joke, and I said, "No. I don't tell jokes... I need to go to the bathroom." So hot. GOD, I'm so hot. He wasn't hanging around when I came back, and I felt fine about that.
I stumbled home that night in the freezing cold slightly disappointed, but not too much. I had a great time and I didn't make too much of an ass of myself. All-in-all a good night! Except for the fact that NO pizza places were open on my stumble home. I was so pissed. Even the bodega was closed near my apartment. Ramen it is!
What do you do for fun???
BLARGH.
So, I noticed that one of my friends posted something about a "meat up" on his facebook page and that he would be bartending at said meat up. I did a little investigation and it turned out that this whole fancy pantsy hook-up event was taking place at a bar in my hood. Naturally, I screamed loudly at work with glee and desperation. Happening in my neighborhood! A singles event! The gods are certainly shining on me today. Thank you very much! My coworker happened to walk by as I screamed and she just rolled her eyes. Someone's jealous!
I immediately emailed a few friends to see if they were interested in going with me, and my friend LP wrote me back saying that she would mos def like to be my "date" to the meat market. We hadn't hung out for awhile, so this was going to be a night! A night in which we mostly talked to ourselves, because these events tend to be slightly creepy and uncomfortable. Forced mingling. Ick.
I coach a local Brooklyn swim team on the night that the event was happening so I had to sneak out a little early to get my flirt on. Awwww yeaaaahhhh. Watch out boys! I'm coming and I'm gonna make you feel extremely uncomfortable. Yes!
With my newly applied chlorine perfume on, I made my way to meet up with LP. As we walked into the bar, we noticed that they had a hot dog stand set up at the entrance. Great idea! Why not give potential hook-ups some hot dogs... with onions... and saurkraut... and mustard. That will certainly make everyone MUCH more attractive... with sweet breath... and absolutely no bowel issues what-so-ever. Classy.
They were also giving out name tags when we walked in, and my stomach just dropped. I was thinking how many times I was going to get some dude talking to me while checking out my name tag which also happens to be very very close to my boobs. Fab. To top it off, they were asking what you wanted your porn name to be. Really? Really? LP and I turned down the offer for a name tag, and the guy in line behind us for the coat check wittily said, "Oh, you don't want to talk to anyone tonight?" To which I replied, "This is a couples event, right!?" To which he said, "You two have fun tonight." I really know how the hook the fellas in!
Let me just say, the night was a bit awkward - big surprise! Everyone was there because they were single or supporting a single friend, so it took the cool factor out of just hanging out at a bar, which is usually my m.o. I'm cool! I'm hip! LP and I noticed right away that it was going to be one of those nights, where we will have tons of fun, but we probably won't be meeting the man of our respective dreams! There were actually quite a few fellas at the event, but most of them were already talking to girls. Big surprise yet again!
LP and I had a great time and got a free drink out of it and some laughs shared at the expense of other people. Always a great way to lift the spirits. As we were heading out of the most unsuccessful pick-up night of the century, I saw a few of my dude friends walking in. I decided quickly that I, too, wanted to stay and said goodbye to my dear LP. I'm a horrible friend. I was like, oh guys I know are here... LATER. They were with a girl I didn't know, but we became fast friends. This chick was on the prowl. Much more aggressive than I am, so it was fun.
OF COURSE as soon as I walk in with the guys, they immediately start talking to girls. How does that happen? Sometimes, I think I'm pretty cool, but stuff like that never happens to me. I have to at least have a few beers in me to talk to a guy. I am really judgmental, so if I start talking to a guy before having a drink, I will openly roll my eyes at him and his lame attempts to make jokes and compliment me. Yup. I'm an asshole.
At one point, some guys come to talk to me and my new friend. I know his friend is just talking to me because his friend is talking to my new friend for life and ever and ever... and ever. He's a bit of a douchebag. When I told him I worked for a nonprofit, he asked, ever so delicately and respectfully, "What? You don't like money?" Yeah, that's right. I don't like money. In fact, I hate it. I give all of the money I make to the charity I work for. I don't have a home. The clothes that I'm wearing? Oh, I picked them up at a Salvation Army. Oh, and this beer? I stole it.
Then he said, "Well, I work for-profit, so you probably hate me. I work on Wall Street." Nope, I don't hate you because you work on Wall Street, but I don't really think you are that sharp and are a bit of a tactless d'bag. Then, he asked my most dreaded and hated question. This question makes me want to vomit all over the person asking it. Then it makes me want to go eat a hot dog from the front of the bar and vomit again. "What do you do for fun?" I read Steinbeck and knit clothes for the future children I want to have... with you... do you want kids? Want to see my knittings? I always carry them with me... just in case...
Interview questions within the first minute of talking to someone is never a good sign. I never know how to answer them. I don't want to answer them. I want to have a conversation and find out if I get along with you, not talk about what I do or what colors me pink. Or whatever that expression might be.
I told him I was a comedian, because I didn't know what else to say. He told me to tell him a joke, and I said, "No. I don't tell jokes... I need to go to the bathroom." So hot. GOD, I'm so hot. He wasn't hanging around when I came back, and I felt fine about that.
I stumbled home that night in the freezing cold slightly disappointed, but not too much. I had a great time and I didn't make too much of an ass of myself. All-in-all a good night! Except for the fact that NO pizza places were open on my stumble home. I was so pissed. Even the bodega was closed near my apartment. Ramen it is!
What do you do for fun???
BLARGH.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Allergy Hilarity
Today I had to take a good ole trip to the allergist. You see, I haven't been able to breath out of my nose for the past two weeks - SEXY - so I decided it was time to see an expert of the nose. I can't be hitting on dudes while mouth breathing, it's just, um, not ok. I would have to "come up for air" while making out. So not cute.
The allergist is an adorable little Jewish Brooklyn man. He won my heart over within five minutes of our consultation; I believe it was right after he told me he did some stand-up comedy. What!? A comedian allergist! Hilarious!
So, I had to get some tests done by the PA before meeting again with my little comedic demon of a doctor. He pricked me with about 50 needles on my forearms. Just to add to the hotness of having allergies, I was now marked as one with allergies. The world is doomed! She who is marked as allergic liiiiivvveess!!! AAaaarrrggh!!
I also had to get an asthma test at the same time. We have to cover every 13 year old's fear during this visit. Next I thought they were going to tell me I had to get braces and that Johnny didn't want to go out with me. Sad.
The following conversation happened:
PA: Ok, so we are going to do an asthma test.
Me: Alright.
PA: Stand here and hold this (hands me a tube). Now, you are going to hold this at your waist and when I tell you, put it in your mouth and blow.
Me: Ok.
PA: Put it in your mouth.
Me: (blows)
PA: Ok, we are going to do this again. This time, I want you to put it further in your mouth past your teeth. When I say, put it in your mouth... blow.
Me: (trying not to laugh) Ok.
PA: Put it in your mouth.
Me: (blows)
It took a lot, a lot, for me not to laugh in his face. He was very forceful telling me to put it in my mouth... over and over again. I was like, dude, chill. At least take me on a date first! For reals.
Meanwhile back with the comedian allergist... Apparently he had gotten a few negative comments on City Search and was really self-conscious about the remarks. So self-conscious that he took it upon himself to explain the reason for one of the negative comments. He then asked me to endorse his listing on Yelp. He said that he was trying to develop his profile there. I took it upon myself to throw a little comedy into the mix.
Me: Oh, so you are trying to de-yelp-op it?
Comedy Doc: (blank stare)
Me: De-yel-op it?
Comedy Doc: (blank stare... blinks)
Me: Get it??? De-yelpop ... de-yelp ... (trails off)
Comedy Doc: Uh, huh. Well, here are some nose sprays...
He obviously knows nothing about comedy.
The allergist is an adorable little Jewish Brooklyn man. He won my heart over within five minutes of our consultation; I believe it was right after he told me he did some stand-up comedy. What!? A comedian allergist! Hilarious!
So, I had to get some tests done by the PA before meeting again with my little comedic demon of a doctor. He pricked me with about 50 needles on my forearms. Just to add to the hotness of having allergies, I was now marked as one with allergies. The world is doomed! She who is marked as allergic liiiiivvveess!!! AAaaarrrggh!!
I also had to get an asthma test at the same time. We have to cover every 13 year old's fear during this visit. Next I thought they were going to tell me I had to get braces and that Johnny didn't want to go out with me. Sad.
The following conversation happened:
PA: Ok, so we are going to do an asthma test.
Me: Alright.
PA: Stand here and hold this (hands me a tube). Now, you are going to hold this at your waist and when I tell you, put it in your mouth and blow.
Me: Ok.
PA: Put it in your mouth.
Me: (blows)
PA: Ok, we are going to do this again. This time, I want you to put it further in your mouth past your teeth. When I say, put it in your mouth... blow.
Me: (trying not to laugh) Ok.
PA: Put it in your mouth.
Me: (blows)
It took a lot, a lot, for me not to laugh in his face. He was very forceful telling me to put it in my mouth... over and over again. I was like, dude, chill. At least take me on a date first! For reals.
Meanwhile back with the comedian allergist... Apparently he had gotten a few negative comments on City Search and was really self-conscious about the remarks. So self-conscious that he took it upon himself to explain the reason for one of the negative comments. He then asked me to endorse his listing on Yelp. He said that he was trying to develop his profile there. I took it upon myself to throw a little comedy into the mix.
Me: Oh, so you are trying to de-yelp-op it?
Comedy Doc: (blank stare)
Me: De-yel-op it?
Comedy Doc: (blank stare... blinks)
Me: Get it??? De-yelpop ... de-yelp ... (trails off)
Comedy Doc: Uh, huh. Well, here are some nose sprays...
He obviously knows nothing about comedy.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Twitter Twatter
Today I decided it was time that I get with it and join the latest social networking craze about two years late. I'm SO on top of the times. I just bought a snap bracelet! I hope they are still cool (UPDATE: They are! And I have the wrist bruises to prove it). So, I joined Twitter. So, I left Twitter. All in one day! I've been quite productive. If I do nothing else for the rest of the day, I will feel like I accomplished something! Cocktail time!
My friend, the minx, kept telling me that I needed to join Twitter to get my blog out to the public and to "share the Annie love!" Aww, so sweet! She likes me, she really likes me! The minx, as you can deduce from her code name, is quite one sexy bitch and I just had to listen to her. So, I finally broke down and decided to join this whole status updatey thing that everyone has been telling me about. I mean, what could go wrong! Everything apparently.
I didn't realize that I should probably set up a separate email account and not use my real name, because, you know, I talk about actual people on this blog and that's a big no no in the world of the Internet. I would actually feel bad if someone read something about themselves on here (which actually did happen once, but that is for another entry!).
So, I signed up and at the same time, since I was feeling soooo productive, I set up a fan page on Facebook for the blog and I linked the two. Ah, man. What am I doing? All the while I'm thinking, how I'm really getting shit done today - SO PRODUCTIVE. Meanwhile, this is not a good idea. This is really not a good idea. Twitter prompts you to "follow" people right when you sign up, so of course I select all these wonderful people that I know, but that wasn't the point of me signing up for Twitter. The point was to be anonymous with the blog and let people I don't know read it.
It all just started snowballing. My name was "AwkwardDating," so that I could just write stupid updates about how weird and awkward I am. (Side note: I deleted the Facebook page like 5 min after creating it, but not before invited a ton of people to become a fan. SIGH. I should not be allowed on the Internet.) So, immediately people start following me and sending messages to me. It was complete overload. And a lot of the people sending me messages had never read the blog, but thankfully I didn't actually link to the blog yet. This little fact did not stop me from freaking out for my entire brunch.
I left my apartment a few minutes after changing my social networking life forever only to feel a deep, deep regret. I was meeting up with friends who I haven't seen in a long time, but I could only think about the fact that I now have a Twitter account and people might find out about the blog... people I write about. Gah! What have I done!? The world is doomed! Twitter has outed me as an Internet bitch! GAH!!!!! BOOM EXPLOSION FIREWORKS PEE. All that happened in my head (and pants).
My brain could not stop thinking about the account. "What if they all find my blog?" "Will anyone ever speak to me again?" "Is it really that bad?" "What is vegan bacon?" Then, I left three extremely awkward messages for three of my friends. SUUUUPER awkward. "Hi, um, it's Anne. You are on Twitter. Um, I just set up an account and I'm freaking out. Twitter question. Call me. Ah, yeah. Uuuumm. Ha ha. Yeah, please call. I think I messed up. TWITTER!" But you should know, there were many pauses and dead air during my messages. In one of the messages, I didn't start speaking until 15 seconds after the beep, because I was almost getting hit by a car. Twitter almost killed me. Twitter almost KILLED me. Deal with that one.
Right when I walked through my door, I turned on my computer and deleted my account. All in all, I wasn't a big deal, but I still freaked out. And now, all the world is at peace and I can stop crying. Wait, no I can't. I just can't! I don't have it in me! Tears of joy and allergies!
Moral of the story: I should never attempt to pretend to be productive before 10am on a Sunday before drinking coffee. AND I realized that the Internet scares me. Someone hold me!
My friend, the minx, kept telling me that I needed to join Twitter to get my blog out to the public and to "share the Annie love!" Aww, so sweet! She likes me, she really likes me! The minx, as you can deduce from her code name, is quite one sexy bitch and I just had to listen to her. So, I finally broke down and decided to join this whole status updatey thing that everyone has been telling me about. I mean, what could go wrong! Everything apparently.
I didn't realize that I should probably set up a separate email account and not use my real name, because, you know, I talk about actual people on this blog and that's a big no no in the world of the Internet. I would actually feel bad if someone read something about themselves on here (which actually did happen once, but that is for another entry!).
So, I signed up and at the same time, since I was feeling soooo productive, I set up a fan page on Facebook for the blog and I linked the two. Ah, man. What am I doing? All the while I'm thinking, how I'm really getting shit done today - SO PRODUCTIVE. Meanwhile, this is not a good idea. This is really not a good idea. Twitter prompts you to "follow" people right when you sign up, so of course I select all these wonderful people that I know, but that wasn't the point of me signing up for Twitter. The point was to be anonymous with the blog and let people I don't know read it.
It all just started snowballing. My name was "AwkwardDating," so that I could just write stupid updates about how weird and awkward I am. (Side note: I deleted the Facebook page like 5 min after creating it, but not before invited a ton of people to become a fan. SIGH. I should not be allowed on the Internet.) So, immediately people start following me and sending messages to me. It was complete overload. And a lot of the people sending me messages had never read the blog, but thankfully I didn't actually link to the blog yet. This little fact did not stop me from freaking out for my entire brunch.
I left my apartment a few minutes after changing my social networking life forever only to feel a deep, deep regret. I was meeting up with friends who I haven't seen in a long time, but I could only think about the fact that I now have a Twitter account and people might find out about the blog... people I write about. Gah! What have I done!? The world is doomed! Twitter has outed me as an Internet bitch! GAH!!!!! BOOM EXPLOSION FIREWORKS PEE. All that happened in my head (and pants).
My brain could not stop thinking about the account. "What if they all find my blog?" "Will anyone ever speak to me again?" "Is it really that bad?" "What is vegan bacon?" Then, I left three extremely awkward messages for three of my friends. SUUUUPER awkward. "Hi, um, it's Anne. You are on Twitter. Um, I just set up an account and I'm freaking out. Twitter question. Call me. Ah, yeah. Uuuumm. Ha ha. Yeah, please call. I think I messed up. TWITTER!" But you should know, there were many pauses and dead air during my messages. In one of the messages, I didn't start speaking until 15 seconds after the beep, because I was almost getting hit by a car. Twitter almost killed me. Twitter almost KILLED me. Deal with that one.
Right when I walked through my door, I turned on my computer and deleted my account. All in all, I wasn't a big deal, but I still freaked out. And now, all the world is at peace and I can stop crying. Wait, no I can't. I just can't! I don't have it in me! Tears of joy and allergies!
Moral of the story: I should never attempt to pretend to be productive before 10am on a Sunday before drinking coffee. AND I realized that the Internet scares me. Someone hold me!
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Voulez-vous do me?
Foreign guys love me. I don't know what it is. It may be the language barrier. Hmmmm, it's most likely the language barrier. I am really good at looking cute while not understanding what someone is telling me.
There is this one guy who is a regular at the French restaurant that me and the guru frequent. I think he is gorgeous, but the guru is on the fence. He's got that preppy, French businessman look to him, which I find to be super hot. And it's strange because I normally go for guys who wear jeans and crappy tee-shirts. You know, the "I probably don't have a job" look. Sessy.
So, Frenchy French is putting on the heavy flirt with me one night. Telling me how cute my jeans make me look, which obviously means that he's been checking out my ass. My ass is stellar. Out of this world. Interplanetary. Cosmic! PLANETS! SOLAR SYSTEM!!! Anne's ass.
Frenchy French got my number that night, and at 4am I got a call from him. Score! 4am booty call! It's been awhile since that's happened, so I was actually really excited and quite flattered. I was in bed asleep. I pooped out at midnight that night. Like I've said many times before, I'm awesome and not geriatric.
I haven't seen or heard from Frenchy French since then. I had an inkling to call him the next day, but I fought against it. Instead, I picked up my remote control and vat of ice cream and had a date with myself and "CSI". Heaven!
UPDATE!
My friend emailed me and asked if I fell asleep after the 4am booty call, to which I replied, "I totally woke up, looked at my phone, smiled to myself, then promptly went right back to sleep. I'm such a dork!" It's official, I'm a dork.
There is this one guy who is a regular at the French restaurant that me and the guru frequent. I think he is gorgeous, but the guru is on the fence. He's got that preppy, French businessman look to him, which I find to be super hot. And it's strange because I normally go for guys who wear jeans and crappy tee-shirts. You know, the "I probably don't have a job" look. Sessy.
So, Frenchy French is putting on the heavy flirt with me one night. Telling me how cute my jeans make me look, which obviously means that he's been checking out my ass. My ass is stellar. Out of this world. Interplanetary. Cosmic! PLANETS! SOLAR SYSTEM!!! Anne's ass.
Frenchy French got my number that night, and at 4am I got a call from him. Score! 4am booty call! It's been awhile since that's happened, so I was actually really excited and quite flattered. I was in bed asleep. I pooped out at midnight that night. Like I've said many times before, I'm awesome and not geriatric.
I haven't seen or heard from Frenchy French since then. I had an inkling to call him the next day, but I fought against it. Instead, I picked up my remote control and vat of ice cream and had a date with myself and "CSI". Heaven!
UPDATE!
My friend emailed me and asked if I fell asleep after the 4am booty call, to which I replied, "I totally woke up, looked at my phone, smiled to myself, then promptly went right back to sleep. I'm such a dork!" It's official, I'm a dork.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
I Got You on my Sprain
Sometimes, I really amaze myself. I do awesome things all the time. Awesome things that result in me having a sprained ankle. Last Sunday, I was out in the hood with the guru and our good friend. After a lovely dinner at al di la (seriously, it's amazing - I missed dinner, but caught dessert and wine with them), we decided to take the party out in the slope. Woo! Sunday night! My drinking on school nights is getting a little out of hand, but I can never say no to these two. They are simply adorable, and I'm easily persuaded to do almost anything. Within reason, of course!
After a few bars, we decided to go for one more, our nightcap, because, you know, it was only 2am. Fuck, work is going to suck in the a.m. En route, I thought that it would be so fucking cool if I did some freestyle walking. Google that on the internet if you don't know what it is. It's ridiculous. So, after a sweet jump, I fell and twisted my ankle. Me = idiot. It looked RAD though, or so I was told. I have to keep telling myself that, just so I can justify doing something really stupid with the fact that it looked cool. I just need validation! I just need someone to love me! Why won't you love me!? Tear.
Anyway, the ankle wasn't feeling much better after a couple of days, so I decided that it was time to go see a doctor. My boss gave me the name of her ankle specialist. That's right, a specialist. I told her that I twisted my ankle stepping the wrong way off of a curb, leaving out the fact that I had been drinking and was doing a dumb ass stunt. She told me she did the exact same thing. I imagined her freestyle walking and it made me laugh. When she asked what I was laughing about, I just stared at her, then turned the other way. Awkward.
So, I made my way to the doctor's office, and it's official, waiting rooms are strange. Sick people are normal for a waiting room, so is being a fucking weirdo. This waiting room in particular was filled with weirdos. People not knowing how to fill out their form. People coughing. People all in my space. Listen, lady, my bag is sitting there. OK? You can take any of the 10 other seats open. MmmmKthanks.
The nurse calls me into the patient room off of the waiting room. I never understand this part of being in a doctor's office. I usually have to wait 10 more minutes in that little room, but in this case the doctor comes in right away which is a nice little treat. It's also a nice little treat that he's HOT. H-O-T-T hot. He actually looks surprised at my appearance. I'm normal looking. I deduced that he was surprised that I wasn't a weirdo, like all of the weirdos in the waiting room. Already off to a good start! I asked him to marry me right then and there. The end.
OH snap! Fooled you! I totes didn't do that, but it would have been pretty ballsy (and awweesome).
So, he takes a look at my ankle, and asks me if I've been wrapping it. I told him that I was using my high top Chucks to brace my ankle. I'm inventive and creative with healing techniques! I will surely impress him with my medical knowledge! As I'm showing him my ankle, like, angling it so he can see the bruising, he says, "Oh, can you just turn a little bit?" So I angle more, propping myself completely onto my side while sitting in a chair. I was thinking, "This is such an awkward position, why does he want me to turn like this?" He says, "No, could you just sit normally?" Nice. Real, nice, Anne. "Oh, ha. Of course. So stupid of me!" He is really charming though and jokes around with me a bit about my ankle, so I'm not being too awkward. ...Yet.
He then took me to get an X-ray and as he is putting that heavy X-ray blanket thing on me, he says, "So, I have to ask this... Are you pregnant?" My response: "NO. Ha ha. NO. Definitely not pregnant. Definitely not." Uh oh. Jesus, stop talking! Stop yourself from saying anything more! I can feel myself wanting to joke around and say something really stupid. It's building up and I know I'm going to make an ass out of myself in front of this handsome and charming doctor. He says, "Well, you know, I never ask the guys that! Ha ha." Me: "Yeah, I guess not. I was going say um ha ha did you uh say think I was ff fff fat. Ha ha."
Mmmm. There it is. There you go. The awkward has been revealed like I knew it would. He laughed a small uncomfortable laugh as he silently judged me, then said, "OK, so look to your left and you will see the X-ray."
Yup. I'm back, people!
After a few bars, we decided to go for one more, our nightcap, because, you know, it was only 2am. Fuck, work is going to suck in the a.m. En route, I thought that it would be so fucking cool if I did some freestyle walking. Google that on the internet if you don't know what it is. It's ridiculous. So, after a sweet jump, I fell and twisted my ankle. Me = idiot. It looked RAD though, or so I was told. I have to keep telling myself that, just so I can justify doing something really stupid with the fact that it looked cool. I just need validation! I just need someone to love me! Why won't you love me!? Tear.
Anyway, the ankle wasn't feeling much better after a couple of days, so I decided that it was time to go see a doctor. My boss gave me the name of her ankle specialist. That's right, a specialist. I told her that I twisted my ankle stepping the wrong way off of a curb, leaving out the fact that I had been drinking and was doing a dumb ass stunt. She told me she did the exact same thing. I imagined her freestyle walking and it made me laugh. When she asked what I was laughing about, I just stared at her, then turned the other way. Awkward.
So, I made my way to the doctor's office, and it's official, waiting rooms are strange. Sick people are normal for a waiting room, so is being a fucking weirdo. This waiting room in particular was filled with weirdos. People not knowing how to fill out their form. People coughing. People all in my space. Listen, lady, my bag is sitting there. OK? You can take any of the 10 other seats open. MmmmKthanks.
The nurse calls me into the patient room off of the waiting room. I never understand this part of being in a doctor's office. I usually have to wait 10 more minutes in that little room, but in this case the doctor comes in right away which is a nice little treat. It's also a nice little treat that he's HOT. H-O-T-T hot. He actually looks surprised at my appearance. I'm normal looking. I deduced that he was surprised that I wasn't a weirdo, like all of the weirdos in the waiting room. Already off to a good start! I asked him to marry me right then and there. The end.
OH snap! Fooled you! I totes didn't do that, but it would have been pretty ballsy (and awweesome).
So, he takes a look at my ankle, and asks me if I've been wrapping it. I told him that I was using my high top Chucks to brace my ankle. I'm inventive and creative with healing techniques! I will surely impress him with my medical knowledge! As I'm showing him my ankle, like, angling it so he can see the bruising, he says, "Oh, can you just turn a little bit?" So I angle more, propping myself completely onto my side while sitting in a chair. I was thinking, "This is such an awkward position, why does he want me to turn like this?" He says, "No, could you just sit normally?" Nice. Real, nice, Anne. "Oh, ha. Of course. So stupid of me!" He is really charming though and jokes around with me a bit about my ankle, so I'm not being too awkward. ...Yet.
He then took me to get an X-ray and as he is putting that heavy X-ray blanket thing on me, he says, "So, I have to ask this... Are you pregnant?" My response: "NO. Ha ha. NO. Definitely not pregnant. Definitely not." Uh oh. Jesus, stop talking! Stop yourself from saying anything more! I can feel myself wanting to joke around and say something really stupid. It's building up and I know I'm going to make an ass out of myself in front of this handsome and charming doctor. He says, "Well, you know, I never ask the guys that! Ha ha." Me: "Yeah, I guess not. I was going say um ha ha did you uh say think I was ff fff fat. Ha ha."
Mmmm. There it is. There you go. The awkward has been revealed like I knew it would. He laughed a small uncomfortable laugh as he silently judged me, then said, "OK, so look to your left and you will see the X-ray."
Yup. I'm back, people!
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