Let's get engaged
Yeah. There is a story I could tell you know about the guy that I met on Plenty of Fish that knew who Wes Anderson and Fred Herzog was and who greatly appreciated music by van Morrison. A guy who had perfect spelling and punctuation, enjoyed scrabble and used the word “eschew” in one of his emails to me. But, strangely, I am too saddened by the end result of that story to share it with you. Apparently I can only regale you with stories that end up with me having egg on my face, or (are the proverbial equivalent of) sitting ass down in a muddy puddle. The sad stories are just sad, and this is a humorous and sardonic blog where we all get to point and laugh at the relationship-challenged idiot.
I will continue with my story of the drummer, because it was definitely left unresolved, and gets significantly better. I checked my email periodically throughout the day, sure that my friend from the Head had received and eagerly responded to my email, but my inbox remained empty (on so many levels). After several failed attempts to become engrossed in my most recent Vanity Fair I decided that I deserved some kind of closure. Either he had received my email, looked the pic that I had attached and thought I looked like the cabbage-faced, dimpled moron that I am, or he hadn’t received my email at all. I decided to call the number that my cell phone had captured when he called me at 12:38am on that fateful Saturday morning. The phone rang and he said “Hi T-”. I thought it was a very warm greeting and was kind of surprised that he greeted me by name (I don’t know why, but it feels very strangely intimate when people call me by my first name – though what exactly do I think they are going to refer to me as?). He asked me how I was doing and I said fine and asked him what he was up to and then I heard a beep and the call dropped. I waited a few minutes and my cell didn’t ring, so I called the number again to hear that it was out of service. I contemplated that he had hung up on me. Given my tragic, earlier rejection from my kindred spirit on POF who is probably boffing a size 2 supermodel with 36D boobs right now, I was kind of wounded. It’s a lot of rejection for one girl in a day. Oh, did I mention I spent the afternoon with Michael too? Yeah, lot of strands in old Duder’s head. I decided that nothing makes it all better like leftover pizza, more wine and watching “Trust the Man”. About an hour later my phone rings again and it is my friend! He apologizes for the call dropping earlier and said that his battery had died so he had to wait to get home and plug it in. Okay, that’s fair. Then he says that it’s not the drummer, it’s the lead singer. I guess the drummer had borrowed the lead singer’s cell phone to call me (you’ll find out why in scant moments), so that was the number that I had called earlier. I was a little surprised obviously. He then told me that he had not yet forwarded my email to the drummer, but would definitely do it if I wanted him to. Uh yeah, that was what I had confirmed that I wanted him to do on SATURDAY MORNING. Thanks buddy! He then told me that he though I might like to know that the drummer was engaged. Wow. Awesome. I said that I didn’t know that. And the singer said how could I have known? Stellar. So this would be why the call was made from the singer’s phone. And the urgency for me to return to the bar at 12:30am. Surely the drummer wished to have an urgent conversation with me about the importance of the income tax credit available to people who buy monthly bus passes and the positive economic and environmental consequences therein. Naked.
So, thus concludes my weekend. The really great thing is that I spent more time talking to and emailing the singer than I did the drummer. Plus, the singer has my pic. JupiterGirl floated the idea that perhaps the singer said the drummer is engaged because “he wants me to himself”. You know what? After the fucking day I have had I am going to take that and run with it.
Not a groupie!
I will continue with my story of the drummer, because it was definitely left unresolved, and gets significantly better. I checked my email periodically throughout the day, sure that my friend from the Head had received and eagerly responded to my email, but my inbox remained empty (on so many levels). After several failed attempts to become engrossed in my most recent Vanity Fair I decided that I deserved some kind of closure. Either he had received my email, looked the pic that I had attached and thought I looked like the cabbage-faced, dimpled moron that I am, or he hadn’t received my email at all. I decided to call the number that my cell phone had captured when he called me at 12:38am on that fateful Saturday morning. The phone rang and he said “Hi T-”. I thought it was a very warm greeting and was kind of surprised that he greeted me by name (I don’t know why, but it feels very strangely intimate when people call me by my first name – though what exactly do I think they are going to refer to me as?). He asked me how I was doing and I said fine and asked him what he was up to and then I heard a beep and the call dropped. I waited a few minutes and my cell didn’t ring, so I called the number again to hear that it was out of service. I contemplated that he had hung up on me. Given my tragic, earlier rejection from my kindred spirit on POF who is probably boffing a size 2 supermodel with 36D boobs right now, I was kind of wounded. It’s a lot of rejection for one girl in a day. Oh, did I mention I spent the afternoon with Michael too? Yeah, lot of strands in old Duder’s head. I decided that nothing makes it all better like leftover pizza, more wine and watching “Trust the Man”. About an hour later my phone rings again and it is my friend! He apologizes for the call dropping earlier and said that his battery had died so he had to wait to get home and plug it in. Okay, that’s fair. Then he says that it’s not the drummer, it’s the lead singer. I guess the drummer had borrowed the lead singer’s cell phone to call me (you’ll find out why in scant moments), so that was the number that I had called earlier. I was a little surprised obviously. He then told me that he had not yet forwarded my email to the drummer, but would definitely do it if I wanted him to. Uh yeah, that was what I had confirmed that I wanted him to do on SATURDAY MORNING. Thanks buddy! He then told me that he though I might like to know that the drummer was engaged. Wow. Awesome. I said that I didn’t know that. And the singer said how could I have known? Stellar. So this would be why the call was made from the singer’s phone. And the urgency for me to return to the bar at 12:30am. Surely the drummer wished to have an urgent conversation with me about the importance of the income tax credit available to people who buy monthly bus passes and the positive economic and environmental consequences therein. Naked.
So, thus concludes my weekend. The really great thing is that I spent more time talking to and emailing the singer than I did the drummer. Plus, the singer has my pic. JupiterGirl floated the idea that perhaps the singer said the drummer is engaged because “he wants me to himself”. You know what? After the fucking day I have had I am going to take that and run with it.
Not a groupie!
posted by Duder at 11:41 PM
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