Why Men Love Bitches (Part Deux)

Circa 2006, I started this story and it’s a story that deserves to be finished.
After a day of being an irresistible bitchvia text and rendering all of his attempts at flirting unsuccessful on his part, the Professor proceeded to keep in contact that evening. I was out with friends and was having a good enough time though nothing was distracting me quite enough to keep me from occasionally glancing at my phone. Not wishing to seem impolite I had, of course, invited him to the ever dimly lit, smoke filled and badly serviced Biddy Mulligans of yesteryear for an opportunity to socialize with my friends, buy me a drink and perhaps attempt to seduce me in a real world setting. 

However, harboring hopes for nothing beyond purely physical, up against a wall, talking optional sexual encounters for the evening, as all commitment phobic assholes worthy of bitch-like treatment do, he rebuffed the idea of all such communal interaction invitation and instead gallantly offered to come pick me up and take me back to his place for a night cap.
 
I was growing rather bored with the exchange already, but when it became clear that he wasn’t even going to make the effort to come out and persuade me in person to come home with him, I went from bored to mildly offended. This man clearly had no interest in conversation or any interaction involving a greater amount mental or emotional exhaustion than one might have with a chocolate éclair. 

Knowing that I was uncategorically worthy of seduction more mentally strenuous and than text message regardless of how attractive or tenured the man might be, I grew ever more resolutely obstinate, irritated and hostile with every click of the send button until I just decided to ignore him completely. 

Guess who ate it up with a spoon and couldn’t get enough?

That guy.

Why followed next is perhaps the greatest “why men love bitches” exchange of all time.
Professor: Good morning sunshine
Scarlett: (2 hours later) Good morning.
Professor: So, you were being quite to cocktease last night
Scarlett: Well seeing as how I had absolutely NO interest whatsoever in you OR your cock, I don’t see how that’s possible.

Thus was the unceremonious and immediate ending of our voluntary interaction. Apparently men, even the gluttons for punishment, don’t love bitches THAT much.



Frankly,





*Side note: The image recorded is that of my favorite author, Elizabeth Wurtzel, on the cover of my favorite book, entitled none other than BITCH: In Praise of Difficult Women. I Highly recommend you check it out not only will the social commentary make you laugh, but as always, Ms. Wurtzel's prose feed the soul.

Playing Office

He was beautiful. 

 

My second week of my new job he took over the publicity department. I didn’t fall immediately. It was slow. Gradual. At first glance he was a snappy dresser wearing wide, colorful ties and sporting a huge smile.  After a week, he was an organized, no nonsense PR guy who had been in the trenches and whom I admired professionally.

 

After two weeks he was the charming Italian, New Yorker with a slight Queens accent who accompanied me to the coffee shop every morning. After three weeks, he was my reason for looking pressed and perfect in full makeup and heels in every morning staff meeting.

  

After a month, he was making nightly appearances in rated-X, multi-orgasmic sex dreams rendering me incapable of meeting his gaze without blushing a shade of red that put my own hair to shame.

Eventually it was taking every ounce of will power I possessed not to walk into his office, shut the door and crawl across his desk as if channeling some big haired, cat-like, temptress dancing on a mustang in a hair band music video. 

   

It was agonizing. He wasn’t the sort of beautiful-and-knows-it, arrogant political asshole that frequents the political dives of Capital Hill and the networking dens of downtown. In fact, he wasn’t the sort of good looking man that makes you look up from your Cosmo or take notice from across the bar. He’s the kind that sneaks up on you. He’s the kind of man that may not truly knock a girl off her bar stool until you talk to him. And then BAM! Five minutes of snarkey, intelligent banter while he flashes those dimples, waxes philosophical on the Yakees, all things New York, Opera and politics and you’re done for.

   

I have to admit. I was obvious. I smiled too much. Asked too many questions - lingered a bit too long in his office perhaps. During the Christmas party, I even put myself in charge of desserts, baking 8 dozen cookies of various shapes, sizes, colors, textures, themes and flavors in my itty bitty kitchen. I then bought myself a new suit of beautiful black and red, had my hair blown out and visited the MAC counter at Macy’s for a 40s Marilyn, cat eye/red pout look that was truly, irresistible. 

   

I then skillfully strutted into his office, both red pout and Christmas cookies perfectly presented and beautifully arranged as if to say “not only will I bake cookies for our children, but I will look AMAZING doing it. 

  

While he did do a double take…it wasn’t quite the “throw the cookies in the air and take me now” response I had imagined.

  

Never have I ever put so much time, effort, MAC, Calvin Klein, Victoria Secret shaping or Jimmy Choo discomfort into unsuccessfully seducing a man! 9 months I spent on this man - and to no avail. Sigh. 

  

Utterly disheartening. My one hope was that after the change of Administration, he would no longer be my boss. He would no longer have a position of authority over me (professionally speaking anyway) and he would be free to express his desire with wile abandon befitting a Fabio bedecked romance novel. 

  

No such luck - this Republican politico is as utterly unseduceable as a Pope after Mardi Gras. I’ve learned to live with disappointment. Win some loose some.

  

And tonight, we’re having dinner. We’re just two old friends having dinner. He still makes me nervous, but I will do my own hair and make up and hopefully keep my rather vivid imagination in check.

 

Frankly,

Ribbitt. Ribbitt. Ribbitt. 

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp. 

Plop. 

These are the sounds one might hear standing by the water’s edge.
Alone, under the sleepy watch of fireflies and singing crickets - a soft melodic hum reminiscent of ‘can you feel the love tonight’ and ‘kiss the girl’ seem to dance on the warm breeze. Looking out over the small pond seeming to reflect an aura of possibilities and magic just as brightly as the slightly undulating reflection of the moon against the dark water. You close your eyes, melting away the cares of the world and open your heart up to belief and hope, as though love, never ending love were the only thing standing in front of you. Believing in everything but the possibility of disappointment and pain. And you take a step forward into what you believe to be the waiting arms of someone wonderful and then……

SPLASH. 

The unscuffed red soles of your designer peep-toes are now submerged in muck, your beautifully tousled hair gone damp and frizzed beyond recognition. What's more, you’re covered in eager, hopeful frogs who, like some other naïve singleton of recent memory, are crowding around in the hopes of being kissed. 

It seems to be the ones who aren’t hopping into the fray, those submerged and harder to catch which seem to be the most attractive. Even though there may be many an amphibian vying for the opportunity to show off his legendary croaking skills or perhaps to prove that his lily pad is the best in the swamp, I seem to end up face down in the mud trying to kiss some slippery, web-toed, wart infested croaker because I’m convinced the more elusive the frog…the handsomer the prince. A scenario which is seldom, if ever, the case. 

While the prospect of batting one's eyes and puckering up for frog after frog is, admittedly, a daunting one; (after all, you may only have frizzy hair a cold sore and a pair of worn down stilettos to show for your trouble) the possibility still remains that happiness could be waiting for you around the next lily pad. And hope springs eternal, after all. 

Welcome back to the pond, my friend. 

Ribbitt.

Frankly,

Dating Sagas

Soooo date updates. I’ll give you the quick ones first then move on to more detailed craziness that only your dear Scarlett could produce.

Coffee Date. I haven’t written about Mr. Coffee yet. A friend set us up and we decided to meet on Friday afternoon. He’s very nice, really great smile. I don’t know if I’m all THAT attracted to him, but if he asks me out again, I wouldn’t be completely opposed to the idea. 

Irish Guy. We all remember the fabulous date/marathon make-out session I had with this guy. He emailed me last Sunday and said:

Sorry I've been a little flaky.  Things have been rather crazy.  I unfortunately had to work today, just me and anal retentive boss which is just tons of fun.  Are you still up for doing something soon?  Things should hopefully calm down for me this weekend.  Do you have any plans?  Let me know what you think.  Hope you had a good weekend.

So after that I said I was free on Saturday and he suggested we touch base closer to the end of the week to decide what to do.

Friday I emailed a friendly, “hi” to see what the plan was for Saturday and heard…NOTHING back. I’m NOT a fan. We’re kicking this one to the curb.

And then we have Tex. 

So Friday evening, after sharing a drink with PQ, I met him in Gtown and had a lovely dinner at Pizzeria Paridiso. Tres Yummy! We had a great conversation, I had to stop myself from literally staring at length into his piercing blue eyes. He looked like someone…but I couldn’t quite place it. 

After dinner, we walked over to Clyde’s and proceeded to talk, drink and flirt until around 3 a.m. when the bar was closing. He offered to give me a ride home and a I certainly didn’t object. 

So we pull up in front of chez moi and he kisses me ‘goodnight’. Many, many kisses goodnight. 15 minutes of kisses goodnight – and the cars whizzing by on my busy Dupont street got a little distracting. So I very cleverly suggested, as I didn’t feel comfortable inviting him upstairs, that he pull into my building’s parking lot around back. 

Incidentally, my discomfort in inviting him up stemmed from the following three rationale:

#1. My apartment was/is STILL in disarray as the ceiling has not been repaired and all of the displaced furniture/wall decorations have not been replaced. Not exactly the way to make a stellar first impression.

#2. The way this make out session was going, it would be very hard to put the proverbial sex brakes on outside of the confines of the car. 

#3. If said sex brakes were to come off, along with my clothes…my undergarment ensemble didn’t exactly match. (I couldn’t find my mega fabulous black bra…and I didn’t feel comfortable getting naked-ish for the first time in anything else). 

So….we made out like a couple of teenagers in a car with nowhere to go. That is, of course, until we fell asleep around 4:30 a.m.! We woke up around 5 a.m. when I said, “OK, the sun will be coming up soon…you have GOT to go home and I have GOT to go to bed”. He agreed. 

So we resituated and he started the car. 

Correction – he TRIED to start the car. Einstein had left the battery on. Yep! Car – completely dead.

As ya’ll know, I don’t drive. So I didn’t have a anything to help him jump his car. The rest of my date went thusly:

5:00 a.m. – We decide its time to call it a night.

5:15 a.m.  - We realize the battery is dead.

5:30 a.m. – Tex calls a tow truck.

5:50 a.m.– Tow truck shows up.

6:00 a.m.– Sun starts coming up.

6:15 a.m.– The tow truck guy tries to jump the car. It’s not working.

6:30 a.m.– Tex asks him if he can tow him to the BMW dealership in Pentagon City. The driver informed us that he gets off at 7:00 a.m. and so he’ll have to call ANOTHER truck to tow him to VA.

7:00 a.m.– The second tow truck comes. He gives me a hug, a kiss and says "we'll talk" and he and his lifeless vehicle get hauled away.

7:15 a.m. - I fall into bed, exhausted. But have lovely dreams.

Oy! Either I’ll never see him again or it’ll be a great story about our first date!!

So THIS week:

Tomorrow…I’m having drinks with…..(drum roll please)….BOSS MAN! Yep – it’s finally happening and so little time to plan! Short skirt or low cut top? Hmmmm.

Wednesday is lunch with Rugby. A new guy, friend set up. We’ve been emailing/txting/talking on a daily basis.

I’ll keep you posted!

Frankly,

Pulling the Plug

I’ve been dumped.

After a certain age…say…14...I’m guessing we all have.

Via email, phone call, Post-It or just the failure to respond to communication. These methods are easy, distant, avoidant and thus preferred. Let’s face it, the last time you probably broke up with someone in person was in the 2^nd grade cafeteria because they wouldn’t trade their Little Debbie snack cake for your carrots.

But in the end, its all the same thing - Rejection.

The statement either declared or implied is “I just doesn’t want to be with you.“ For whatever reason, in whatever context - it is always a bit of an ego blow. Because, let’s face it: more often than not, it is, in fact, you and ultimately, you’re not what they want.

And it’s fine - or at least it will be 3 glasses in.

After all, it’s the boring ones, the safe ones who never put themselves out there that never get hurt or know how to deal with the rejection, which is, admittedly, a useful life skill.

It’s a life skill and an art form that I, perhaps not so proudly, have mastered. I am the queen of the ’move on’. Being possession of such a cultivated talent you’d think I’d be able apply it more readily. Utilize my experience in a constructive manner. You would be wrong.

Sadly, and with much frustration, I seem unable to initiate a drama free break up. Then again, does such a thing even exist?

Case and point, my break up with Army in July - disaster. In fact, so disastrous that he recently de-friended me on Facebook along with an email containing the explanation that I’m a commitment phobic, heartless bitch and he never wants to hear from me again. Lovely.

On the receiving end, I was seeing LAX, off and on for a little bit…at least he had the decency to write me an email explaining why he hadn’t been in touch. That he’d met someone else and it had “progressed quickly” - my translation, she slept with him on the second date, whereas I had not so much as permitted him to steal second base after date 6ish??

So why am I so bad at the break up? Men seem to have it down to a science. I have no hesitations about not returning a phone call or even escaping out the back door if a blind date makes me wish I were back in that 2^nd grade cafeteria purely for the sophisticated conversation.

Rejection after the first or even second date leaves no scars, only minor bruises. But it’s the not calling or not picking up the phone after the third date…or the fifth. When you’ve gotten to know someone just enough to care whether or not you hurt them, even if you can’t see a future with them in it.

Because at that point, the rejection isn’t ‘we have no chemistry’ or ‘I don’t like the wine you ordered’ or whatever other petty reasons we find to dismiss someone within the first 5 minutes. By this point, its more personal, it goes deeper.

So how do you do it? What is the most humane? The adult approach - be straightforward? Leave no doubt? Or are you a fan of the disappearing act? Stop picking up the phone, change your phone number, possibly your address? Hide in your apartment and pretend no one’s home until the big, bad, scary relationship seeking man goes away?

Personally I’m a fan of the fizzle, which lets the relationship die a kind, slow death. The fizzle takes the dying relationship off life support and basically lets it go peacefully, quietly without any drama, fuss or ceremony.

The problem is that this approach doesn’t work so well on the persistent types of men. And frankly sometimes, even when the relationship is diagnosed as terminal, I’m not always ready to pull the plug.

Superstar

Tuesday was tres fabulous, fyi. 

There’s nothing like being a redheaded irish girl on St. Patty’s Day – by the end of the day, I felt like a damn celebrity. Of course it could have been the euphoric effects of the green jell-o shooters, whiskey shots and tons of beer….but I like to think it was because I was receiving an incredible amount of male attention and beaucoup des free drinks. It was a healthy dose of some much needed ego boosting.

Crazy Bitch also got a hearty helping of adoration – go girl!

Canadian is coming to town tomorrow – did I mention that?  For a work conference. For nine days. So it looks as though my rather arid physical streak could be at an end. 

In other news I exchanged drunken txt messages with Tex – which was promising. My potential FWB (aka Rugby) guy is getting dangerously close to being kicked to the curb and I have a date with a NEW GUY on Friday. Also managed to score the oh so elusive second date with the PRIEST. Ok – he’s not a priest – he’s a preacher – a cleric – a man of god (but priest sounds better). 

Get this ok, we all remember Army? Yes? No? Anyways, ok so for the sake of illustration lets just say that Army’s name is “Joe”. He’s a major in the army. He’s in Afghanistan. The Priest’s name is also “Joe”. He’s a major in the army. He’s going to Afghanistan in 2 months. OY! 

Well, with any luck he can bring me…closer to God before he leaves. 

Hell. Straight to. In a Prada purse. Ya – that’s where I’m headed.

Frankly,

Frankly, I'm Loosing My Mind!

(disclosure: this post was written after  consuming a bottle of ‘Royal Bitch’ Merlot)

6 months. 

6 months. 

6 MONTHS – people. Since I’ve had sex. I thought I’d just throw that out there as the frustration has reached new heights. I haven’t gone six months without sex since 1998 – and at that time….I was a virgin!!!!

Sure it was all fun and games after 3 months and I was all caught up in holiday craziness. Thinking about the Virgin Mary and the birth of the baby Jesus were the only things keeping my mind off the lack of sex. Then the whirlwind of January, my London via Texas three week excursion also definitely a diversion. 

Then February – definitely diversions in Feburary – nothing too distracting though leaving more time to think about what I wasn’t getting. 

Now March. I have begun my dating fiesta. I’m currently ‘dating’ (as in gone past a first date) several adorable men. Tex – unfortunately, apparently the fact that I wore down his battery didn’t sit too well. However, we have Rugby, the Pastor (whole new story), LAX and Boss Man (we had drinks. He was all eager to do it again – who knows if he’s feeling the ‘Scarlett Spark’ yet, but I’m hopeful. This one is a marathon, people – not a sprint). 

At any rate, I’ve had a fair number of ‘first kisses’, good first kisses (because, well, the others just get kicked to the curb), and so reminding me what I’m missing. Reminding me how intoxicating a good kiss can be. Making me long for more drawn out kissing sessions…which lead to other sessions. Making me remember how much I’ve missed being physically close to someone. 

I’m not talking about one night stands – the flame burning within me right now is far hotter than even the best anonymous encounter could put out. 

So to recap – I’m frustrated. Oh – and on Top on that – I’ve totally given up sugar for lent. Which means…no chocolate!!! My last hope for any semblance of solace.

Oh well – on a lighter note – Happy St. Patty’s day!! For those of you Non, Micks - please see one of my all time favorite posts for a guide on surviving the day.

 

This redheaded Irish Girl will be giving homage at the Dubliner starting at noon. See you there!!

Frankly, 

'Cuz That's Just Who I am This Week

So, after being canceled on last Thursday for date #2 with Lawyer Man, I was almost ready to toss him onto the discard pile – however, after feeling somewhat generous I decided to take him up on his offer of Thai food and a movie at his place last night. 

Not necessarily a mistake…but not exactly the most brilliant of ideas. Let me break it down for you this way: He’s insanely attractive. Tall, dark, handsome, beefy but in a crazy strong, muscley, rugby player kind of way (just the kind of guy you want to snuggle up with and, incidentally just my type). Yummy. Definite chemistry. However, that’s where the pros end. Purely superficial. 

He’s sweet, but in an “I’m too sexy for my shirt” kind of way. He’s all with the calling me “baby”, which, after a week long acquaintance is annoying in itself. But then, when this grown man started pouting – literally pouting – after I drew the "no sex" line …I was definitely turned off. Especially when he pulled out the, “but I’m so crazy about you, baby”. To which I replied, “calm down, pout boy, you don’t even KNOW me!!? Furthermore, if you think this is some kind of litigation to be argued and negotiated upon, consider me judge and jury of the Supreme Court 'o Love. Your verdict: Guilty.” 

And so, in his rather lawyerish way, he started a lengthy appeal process, touting the merits of his case. He wants to date me exclusively. He’s hardly ever felt this way. That I'm amazing. That he NEEDED to express his feelings. Puh-lease! 

That schpeal might work on a girl desperate for male attention, affection or a relationship, unfortunately for him, that’s NOT me - this week anyway. 

Poor boy, his plan backfired and the relationship talk was a turn OFF. I just got back on the market! I don't care how cute he is - the only way i'm jumping off the highway at the first rest stop is if Russell Crowe is holding the exit sign! And the begging - just pathetic. I thought I had left these sorry tactics back in the frat house where they so definitely belong.

Amateur seduction hour aside - while physically speaking chemistry exists, mental stimulation is next to nil. There was not a bookshelf to be found in his apartment (strike one); he doesn’t make me laugh and half my witty, sarcastic one-liners soar over his head(strike two); he’s waaaaay too quick with the cute nicknames which either cinches the 'most transparent motives in DC award' and is just trying to get laid or b) that, much like Fuckhead, he’s an emotional whore (strikes three and/or four!). 

I'm no expert but doesn't that qualify as a definitive "out" in most sporting circles?

While yes, a little lovin’ is always fun and very much needed, this is NOT someone with whom I envision a future. 

So frankly, what's the point??

Attractive Messes??

I don’t understand men. No this is not a novel revelation - just a perpetual confusion that seems to be compounded daily.

This afternoon I walked over to the corner CVS in search of the usual – milk, cereal, and cat food. Seeing as how I drug my hung over ass out of bed only a few hours before I had not washed my hair, I had not applied makeup, I had not taken the time to dress in anything more becoming than a faded pair of blue jeans and my favorite, bulky gray sorority sweatshirt and an old pair of sneakers. Not my most attractive day.

As I was pursuing the aisles and decided exactly what kind of cereal I wanted (special K vs. Lucky Charms…the truly important decisions in ones life) I carelessly bumped into a fellow shopper.

As I softly apologized and briefly lookup up at the person to whom I was apologizing to.

About 6’2, blonde, wavy hair, ice blue eyes, long black wool coat, a black sweater and lucky jeans. And I thought to myself – of course. Of course when I look like crap I bump into mr. tie me down in the cookie aisle of CVS on a Saturday afternoon!

Oh well. I shrug it off and continue on my mission for skim milk. Then while in the check out aisle, he bumps into ME. I give him a pursed lipped ‘its ok’ smile and stared intently at the contents of my red shopping basket. When I looked up, mr. please do things to me that would make a porn star blush, was outside, facing the inside of the store, holding door open for the elderly couple he came in with (which I would assume are his parents), looking right at me, and smiling. I quickly looked away and then I looked back, our eyes met, and he flashed me the cutest smile ever. I couldn’t help but smile back J

The question is, what the hell was he doing smiling at me when I looked like such a mess? Why do cute guys smile at me when I’m a mess and ignore me when I’m all dolled up?

Frankly, I just don’t get it.

I've Gotta Crush

My favorite wino brought this to my attention!

And so here it is. My chance to come clean - my chance to admit my undying affections and admit that I do, indeed have a crush on....

Texpundit: Yes, I have a thing for Texans, and this one in particular :) His hysterical, yet somewhat misguided theories on women are usually guaranteed to illicit a hot-tempered response from yours truly

Hipster Dork: What can I say? His musical tastes get me weak in the knees. And he is even more charming in person :)

DC Viking: Hasn't posted since...well...a LONG F*ING Time! Oh, how I miss you.

Chronicles of a Bachelor:Dustin, you're sometimes silly, sometimes crude, mostly cute and always hilarious and your love of cats will endear you to me forever!

K Street: This is a love/hate relationship - you've developed a singular knack for pissing me off. I hate your politics, but I must admit, the blog is a guilty pleasure.

Disturbingly enough it would seem that I am a crushing slut! Oh well - there you have it! The blogger boys the I luv!* I encourage all those who have yet to participate - come out of the closet and reveal your love to the world! (coming from me...this is quite hysterical)

Blush....Swoon...(somebody catch me please!)

* Please know that I also have a crush on my favorite irish boy...formerly of Detroit :) A crush since the 8th grade....is there really any other kind? But sadly,...he does not blog :-(