Confessions of A Naughty Girl

A Pack of Lobsters and One Bad Seahorse

About six months ago, I met someone and fell over myself. From moment one, I was incredibly attracted to the guy, and after one conversation, my intuition kicked in (or perhaps indigestion, I'm not sure), and I decided that if this guy was to ever show an inkling of interest in me, I would club him, drag him back to my lair, and never let him leave. The only problemo with this potentially fabulous situation is a 5'7", 34B girl with brown hair and brown eyes and cankles, otherwise known as his girlfriend. Of a year. And a half.

I've met said girlfriend on numerous occasions, and I think it's fair to say that we really don't like one another. After all, he has mentioned me to her many times, so she sees me as competition, and I see her as the road block to a potentially incredible relationship. We have butted heads in the past, and if it weren't out of respect for my guy friend, I'd knock her the f*ck out if you put us alone in a room. (I could tell you a million stories as to WHY I would knock her out, because I usually wouldn't scrap unless I had good reason, but I ask you to trust that I do.)

Admittedly, I egg it on quite a bit. After a very long and complicated misunderstanding a few months ago, I began calling my dream boy my "lobster". A lobster, for those of you who didn't follow "Friends", is a metaphorical moniker for a soul mate, as lobsters spend their lives finding one mate and then die. (And that's the abridged version.) When she found out about the lobster, she was...well, irate. He, of course, loved it. I, of course, came off looking like the boyfriend-stealing bitch. Whoops.

Although nothing has ever happened between my lobster and I, I would be the first in line if his relationship with this girl didn't work out. Actually, I'd be the second. (I'd let someone else deal with the rebound.) I think he knows this. And so while I live my life and do my thing, and he lives his life and does his, we remain friends. But my disdain for his lady friend (and her disdain for me) remains rather obvious.

Friday night. An acquaintance of mine is moving to Charlotte, and threw herself a goodbye party. The entire crew of the 10-12 of us that go out every weekend was there. (My lobster and his girlfriend were not.) Now, I love Humpy, Matty, Krista, Mario, Mike, etc. I really do. They're a great crowd to hang with, and I always have fun with them. I love them. I'd take a bullet for any one of them (well, most of them). But let it be said that they are not exactly the best influences on me. They tend to let me do what I want, which is usually to make a huge ass of myself, when in some cases, I should be put in restraints and cut off from the liquor. (Sometimes it's funny, like when I serenaded everyone with my medley of Britney Spears, changing all of the words around and using Mike's last name in every other word.)

After a long, two-vodka drink shower at home earlier that night, I headed to the party with aforementioned friends and it only got worse. Drinking ensued, mayhem occurred, and next thing you know, I was on my trusty Samsung making phone calls like the ass that I am. I decided, in a very foggy moment, that I should call my lobster and let him know that he didn't belong with his lady friend. Yeah, I know, dumb idea.

In my stupor, I dialed his number and it went right to voicemail. So I say this, "Lobster, it's your lobster. I've been thinking, and your girlfriend is a seahorse. Seahorses are bad." Then, realizing that I made absolutely no sense and that I essentially implied that his girlfriend was all wrong for him (not to mention her cankles, but thankfully that stayed in my inner monologue), I hung up. I turned back around in my chair to find three people laughing hysterically. Shit.

I decided, half an hour later (Or was it an hour later? For Christ's sake, I was drinking, not on Quaaludes...I should remember this, but I don't) to call back and apologize. By this time I was way drunker (which I know isn't a word, but whatever), and I ended up saying, "Lobster, I am calling to apologize. Your girlfriend isn't a seahorse, but...well, she is, but...um, shit. I'm kidding. I was going with an Under the Sea theme and it went awry. Goodnight."

My lobster, who usually calls me back within a day, if not a few hours, has not called me back. I think it's time to bury my head in the sand.

posted by KA @ 6:35 PM