The Morning After - Oh F*ck.
Thoughts when I woke up this morning:1. F*ck.
2. I'm thirsty.
3. Did I charge $50 to my credit card for Match.com?
4. I vaguely remember writing a blog post about this.
5. I have a stomach pain so intense that I'm scared to look down for fear of seeing a baby somewhere.
6. I think I was smart enough to use spell check on the post, at least. A smart drunk. Go me.
7. F*ck.
Seven thoughts this morning, friends. One in succession of the other.
Not quite sure what came over me last night, but I think somewhere in between glasses 3 and 4 I lost my shit. I think I stopped at four, because that's when QWERTY started to look like TERWQY and I got the spins. What can I say - it was a rough weekend and I have been under considerable stress at work. This is not a good combination.
(And to those of you concerned, I do not have a drinking problem, nor do I condone solving problems with alcohol. This was an isolated incident that I do not expect to happen again the near future. Or hopefully ever.)
I decided, shortly after the first sip of my Dunkin' Donuts Iced French Vanilla with cream and sugar that I was going to chalk last night up to a self-induced pity party and move on. I was going to walk into work, tackle the mountain of planning that awaited me, return all reps phone calls within half an hour, and try hard not to anticipate any emails from Mr. Poopy Pants, who had been emailing me multiple times daily for the last month.
Little did I know the heart attack that awaited me at work, when I was slammed with four (4) plans and and evaluation due by COB.
At around 9:47 am I checked MySpace. At 10:14 am I checked my Gmail. It was then that I noticed the three "winks" I'd received on Match. I don't know what the f*ck a wink is but it sounded nice, so I went to the page to check it out. Why not embrace the Match thing? I've already spent $50. I have a couple of months. I have time, energy, and a shred of dignity left. What do I have to lose?
One guy - 38, divorced, very few of those enamel-looking adornments in his mouth, more commonly known as "teeth".
Guy #2 - gold chain, blonde buzz cut, and a nickname that involves some sort of creative "Eminem" reference in the moniker.
Guy #3 - a fairly decent looking guy. From Mobile, which courtesy of MapQuest, is apparently located in Alabama. (Okay, I'm kidding. I know where Mobile is, but what kind of good is that going to do me? I thought my goal was to meet someone cool to date, not to get abducted and written about as a survivor story in "Marie Claire".)
Were all Match guys such freaks? This kind of pressing matter needed to be investigated immediately, so I allowed myself a 10 minute break from my work to poke around. Apparently there are some decent-sounding people, but none of these people seem to be remotely interested in me.
It was then that I wondered how many lies there were in these profiles. How many commitment-phobes? How many S&M fetishes? How many bored, married men just looking to play while their wife buys milk and drives the kids to soccer practice? Or even just generally - how many white lies?
I thought about my own profile and what I had written. In retrospect, I write quite well for a drunk. This is no surprise, as I once pulled off a 10 page case brief for Com Law in college after coming home from the bars at 2:30 am and with a little help from spell check, pulled off an A-. But even so - I felt like my profile was honest, but polite.
If I could write my own profile - truthfully and honestly - what would it really say?
And then that inspired me:
"Hi. I'm 25. I have curly hair that I like to flat iron, otherwise when it's humid, I resemble Rick James in his Superfreak Jheri Curl days, which probably aren't even over. I have green eyes and an okay body that could stand a few less cheeseburgers, but I've never really gotten any complaints about my boobs, which I enjoy having immensely. I have a great family, I love my job, and I will do anything for my friends, but I tend to pick total and absolute losers to date, which has caused me quite a bit of grief in recent years. Not all of them are losers, mind you, but I could tell you enough stories that would probably convince you that I need to write a book. Or a blog. Which I write in tirelessly and yet receive very little comments. If I do receive comments or emails, they're usually harshly critical and accusational - like I reek of narcissism or I should focus on something constructive, like World Peace. Speaking of piece, I'd like to get one, but not without looking like a total whore, and you'd better believe that many meals - over the course of a period of time - are going to have to be involved, and perhaps even a movie, or a live concert, which I'd prefer you asked me to before you dumped me as your nonexistent girlfriend. I am a total sucker for a glass of wine, and if you think I talk enough now, wait until you put a little Chardonnay in me, because you're in for quite a ride. We can talk about all kinds of things and overanalyze, because that's what I do. I am neurotic and overanalytical, and enjoy long conversations with myself and others in my head about things that could, should, or would happen. Most of the time nothing happens, really, because over the course of the last few years (and with few exceptions, but not many) I've become quite good at controlling my emotions and punking out on anything that requires investing emotionally. Like the John Cusack holding the boombox over his head playing "In Your Eyes" in "Say Anything"? I love that shit, but not for me. Don't try it, or I'm likely to label you a total wimp. Speaking of, the meaner or more emotionally constipated you are with me, the more I'll tend to like you. And if you're nice, then just don't be interested altogether, because that seems to be my new thing. I was recently dumped by someone I wasn't dating. I cannot digest green peppers and avoid them at all costs. I sing in the shower, and dance in my bathrobe when I'm done almost every single day, unless I'm in a big hurry. I like Tears For Fears and think that "Elemental" is one of their best albums. Are you interested? Contact me."
This, I feel, is what a real profile should say. Because if anyone can accept the above fact and still want to hold my hand at the movies, I'm sure I've found the right guy.
Until then, I'll keep you posted. Perhaps Slim Shady will refer me to his cousin, 50 Cent, who will attempt to woo me with talks of candy and clubs and rims and Ying Yang Twins. And as long as he doesn't live in Mobile, I think I'm good.
posted by KA @ 9:33 PM
3 Comments:
Perhaps I am being a little harsh, anonymousthanks. But it does make for good stories.
I'm seriously not drinking alone again for awhile though. Not sure my line of credit can handle it.
Wait--can i be harshly critical and accusational too?
KA -- chill the f*** out. Take it easy. Don't fret, my pet. One day at a time. You'll be fine.
No, but for real, I was gearing up for a whole lot of badness when reading your last post. And then when I finished reading, I thought, "now that's not so bad at all." Honestly, I know youre probably going through some shit right now, and you dont need people underscoring your shit, but it seems as though the outcome of what went down was not as bad as it could have been.
No?
Thanks for keeping the perspective, commenters.
THIS is what I like to see - good commenting!
I rarely (only once before) have drank myself into a stupor alone, and I wasn't exactly planning on "Matching" anytime soon, and I really don't even have $50. I think the shock was more in that I blatantly ignored reality and, within my own behavior and rationality, flew off the handle. Was it life-threatening? Thankfully not.
But that hangover was wicked yesterday morning.
Post a Comment
<< Home