Vodka? Yes, Please!

A CAUSE FOR CONCERN

I just discovered from Bloomingdales that shorts will be hot for this fall. Is this really a good idea? Shorts in cool weather mean that tights will have to be donned and I’m still trying to recover from the mistake of embracing this same trend at the beginning of that turbulent decade commonly referred to as the roaring nineties. One glance at my seventh grade class photo depicting me with my frizzy head cocked pluckily* to one side while sporting floral, knee-length shorts coupled with navy blue tights makes me shiver to this day. Seriously, has history taught us nothing? Are we going to continue to insist upon making the same mistakes over and over again?

I think I may have to sit this one out.

*I was so mired in delusion. Oh, to be young, confident and permed…

EVENING PLANS

My friends and I have begun having Wednesday happy hours downtown. Every Wednesday we meet up right after work at a predetermined bar and have a couple of drinks. The rule is, however, that the happy hour is simply that. An hour. No more, no less. This is our third one so far and I think it works well. You have a couple of drinks, hang out with your friends (as opposed to co-workers) and then head home for a pleasant night of lethargy. To celebrate Bastille Day, we went to Brasserie Jo.

Tonight we’re going to J Bar.

STOP HERE IF YOU DON’T ENJOY HEARING SOMEONE ELSE’S EMOTIONALLY INCOHERENT, SELF-INDULGENT RAMBLING. PLEASE CONTINUE IF YOU DO.

So, I realized on Monday that Jack has never initiated a phone call in the three weeks we’ve been dating so far. This seems to indicate an imbalance in our relationship. Especially since I don’t even enjoy talking on the phone. Okay, he initiated one call, but that was after he’d mentioned** that he’d call me later to see if I wanted to go to his friend’s barbecue. Otherwise, none. Nada. I’ve done all of the manual labor so far in this relationship. I’ve asked him out four times:

1 – as my date to my friend’s house warming party on the Saturday before last,
2 – to a Cub’s game,
3 – to come over and grill out steaks with me last Friday, and
4 – to my friend’s thirtieth birthday party on Saturday.

** While driving me home during my walk of shame.

Not that I’m keeping score.

I’ve just reread the above passage and I totally sound like an insecure/crazy-bat***, but I’m pretty sure he likes me. He seems excited every time I call and is always incredibly polite/nice during our dates. It sucks, though, to always be the one exposing myself to potential rejection. So I’m going to wait and see. I think if he doesn’t call by Friday, I’m in trouble. My obsessive analysis of the situation has resulted in me concluding that only two things could explain his motivation for not calling:

A – He changed his mind and doesn’t like me anymore, or
B – He’s a wuss.

*** I like the phrase ‘crazy-bat.’ I think it’s time to bring that one back into the rotation. Wanna know what’s hot for fall Bloomingdales? The term ‘crazy-bat.’ Use it! Live it! Love it! Look ... just do it or else (I’m wearing a menacing expression and reaching for a gun).

I’m going to be really sad if he doesn’t call. Maybe I should just call him. No. Seriously. He should make some effort too, otherwise he’ll always have the upper hand and I’ll be relegated to some variation of the unpopular kiss-ass, self-respectless lame-o. This sucks.

I think I’ll go adopt some cats and develop a passion for needlepoint.

ON THE BRIGHT SIDE

Sorry. I don’t feel very happy-go-lucky today. I feel listless and a little hyper from the two diet sodas I just drank in rapid succession about five minutes ago. Fortunately all of this will change in a few short hours, when I consume an overpriced, but delicious dirty martini lovingly mixed by an aspiring-actor/bartender at J Bar. After the last bit of alcohol in my vodka-doused drink has infiltrated my blood stream, I’ll drunk dial my parents and tell them in minute, disoriented detail about how I’m thinking about getting some cats. Then I will insist that they help me think of some preliminary cat names.

So anywho ...

- hopefully Eek will imbibE some vodKa later