Smarminess

I sent hot printer guy a text today. I know I shouldn't have made the first move but if I were to even feign sincerity regarding the friendship I had forged, it wasn't out of line. I simply wanted him to check into some scuttlebutt I had heard about being regarded as high maintenance by an assignment editor. I thought it may also shed some light on the curmudgeon who sat next to HPG and his acerbic tone with me (curmudgeon was known to take frequent smoke breaks with the editor in question).
ME: I have an assignment for you.
HPG: What is it? How is az?
ME: Get the scoop on me. Why (those guys) don't like me.
HPG: They don't dislike you, you silly girl.
ME: (major passive aggressive tone)Some reporter u r. Ok now u can go back to pretending I don't exist.
What?! He hasn't emailed or texted since last Thursday, he deserves some grief.
HPG: You are a weird...
ME: That's not very nice
HPG: You made snide comments...
I struggled with this part. I had made snide remarks but were they out of line? Was I coming across like a.. a girl?
ME: I'm sorry
HPG: Ha...ha.. For what?
See! You can't be too hard on a player, they need to be checked. Here I was putting aside a myriad of cleverly cutting quips and he was toying with me. I'll see your mockery and raise you..
ME: Forget it. You're mean
in the absence of wit I chose to be wimpy
HPG: I'm being sincere!
ME: By Laughing at my apology? And snide wasn't even my intent.
HPG: I wasn't laughing at your apology I was laughing at the misunderstanding...
again with the ellipses. it is cute, tho, yeah? no? Jealous
ME: What 'misunderstanding'?
HPG: Where you felt the need to apologize
ME: I'm fighting the urge to be snide
HPG: You be as snide as you like
ME: U can't handle it
HPG: I think you are just trying to buy time to think of something snide to say
Damn! He's right, I'm suddenly afflicted with writer's block
ME: LOL! You're hotter when you keep your smarminess in check
HPG: I have no smarminess! That was snide!
ME: Thank you. Thank you very much. U epitomize smarminess.
HPG: Smarmy is for country club polo players.. i am a very humble man
ME: U, my dear, possess at times the unctuous air of a self-assured Casanova.
THE END. No more texts from very HPG. But it was also past midnight when I sent my last text so he may have opted to turn in after being called on his hubris. I figure if men like a challenge, I'm definitely not sending sweet nothings. He can think I'm toying with him or bored as long as neither assumption means I'm really interested. Because I'm not really interested. Unless he is. Then, I would reconsider my interest.

Verbal mentions

That's what a local reporter wanted in exchange for file footage. This after his retarded (no offense to the mentally-challenged)actions almost resulted in all of the broadcast media being booted from the courtroom. The MacArthur genius candidate was listening to testimony (as it was being recorded) outside of the courtroom where witnesses were waiting to testify. So the whole rule about excluding witnesses from the courtroom to prevent them from hearing proceedings was undermined. First he apologizes to us profusely for his actions and we generously act like it's no big deal. A few hours pass by, another network goes live with the story, the yocal goes live. Then we ask for file and he says, "Sure if you give me AND my station a verbal and visual mention." WTF?! Who gives verbal mentions? Have you ever heard a reporter and/or anchor say, "this video is due to the courtesy of the dumbass who almost got us kicked off this story." OK, seriously, who says "this video is provided by blah blah blah"?? No one. It doesn't happen. And I'm not adding the five seconds of audio track required to set the stupid precedent. I had a verbal mention for him alright but the knowledge that his facelift was gonna give soon provided temporary comfort. Verbal mention. Jackass.
Speaking of jackasses, hot printer guy has yet to reach out and touch someone namely me. Tonight my cameraman asked, "so what's up with all the self-deprecating stuff? you know you're a hottie." ME: Awww, that's so sweet but I'm still fat. Don't make me lift my shirt and scare you with my mom pouch. My cameraman told me I was crazy which was news to neither one of us. Then the conversation veered into dating do's and don'ts and he said that men LOVE aggressive women. Men want us to take the wheel and the guessing out of the dating game. OK, I'll buy that.. right after it jives with the notion of men enjoying the chase. If men want us to be in the driver's seat, why do they get turned off when the chase is over? My cameraman pondered this for a moment and replied, "you're right. Once I get a woman, I'm done, moved on to the next. We do enjoy the thrill of the chase." My point precisely. I've never been more upset about being right.

Happy Eid Mubarak

For those of you familiar with the term "Eid Mubarak", you can see why saying "Happy Eid Mubarak" is tantamount to "Happy Merry Christmas." That's what mandals texted me today. Mandals is the freelance still photographer who I have gone out on two dates with. What's white on the outside but brown on the inside? Mandals. He's a white boy who lives in Jackson Heights and loves all things South Asian. I'd elaborate but would end up exposing myself.

Anyway, Eid Mubarak, everyone! Hooray, Ramadan is over! 30 days of fasting from sunrise to sunset during the holy month of Ramadan observed by Muslims. Not all Muslims. Not me. For me, Ramadan is like a month of being Catholic, abstaining and indulging while feeling guilty the entire time, it's exhausting! Finally, I can go back to feeling guilty about eating not because of God but because of the carbs that are turning my 20-something waistline into a "mom pouch." It's bad enough I've been accused of dressing like a soccer mom on the weekends but to have the slight protrusion characterized by women who have given birth, adds insult to injury.

My sister accused me of dressing like a mom. This was about six years ago and, as a result of the upbraiding, I ceremoniously destroyed my Ann Taylor card. OK, so it was overdrawn, details.. Then I went to the opposite extreme and started shopping at Bebe and that was a page from a fashion victim's diary. (Note to self: if it's lace and spandex, it's not for you.) One $100 leather bolero later, I had learned my lesson. OK, one leather bolero and two sequins tops later, I had learned my lesson. Oh, speaking of fashion fatalities, can we observe a moment of silence for the death of the low-rise jeans?! Hallelujah!

I found out that my younger sister has a blog but she wouldn't let me look at it. She said if anyone who knew her read it, she couldn't allow her readers the unfettered access into her world. My sister is BRILLIANT. She makes me feel like a dumb blonde. Anyway, it got me thinking about the amount of trust I've instilled in my girlfriends who are privy to this blog. So at the risk of sounding self-important, please feel free to share but do NOT disclose my true identity. Cool. I suddenly feel like a super hero. Only I have no secret powers. Just a secret blog.

I'm currently out west covering a high-profile case involving a sex offender. Sorry, alleged sex offender. Hot printer guy has not emailed or texted which doesn't surprise me because he was in Upstate NY all weekend for a wedding and got back to work today. Why am I making excuses for him? He's lame, I'm out of his league and far too sophisticated to be bothered by men who don't have the wisdom to see my value. Why won't he call? Focker.

Weltschmerz

There is a word that perfectly encapsulates any given emotion. It's just a matter of discovering it. For instance, who knew that I was actually in a weltschmerz? That's what hit me like a ton of bricks and weighed me down like an anchor in a deep lake of remorse when I found out that Mo had not only found someone else to date him but that she was attractive, smart and into him?! Behold, weltschmerz \VELT-shmairts\:*1 : a mental depression or apathy caused by comparison of the actual state of the world with an ideal state 2 : a mood of sentimental sadness
But today as I drove down the Las Vegas Strip on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon to meet one of my best gal pals, it occurred to me that it had lifted. Even as I stood in the beautiful Bellagio atrium where my ex-husband had haphazardly proposed, I felt no pang of nostalgia, not tug of tormented what-if's? And when I drove through the Nevada mountains, over the Hoover Dam, I made a point of stopping at the scenic overlooks because that's what life is. The scenic overlooks. I wax poetic and promise that just as soon as I gain the fodder for folly, I'll wax sardonic once again.

lucie monday

It occurred to me that I didn't give the 411 on the 'text-saver' girl a.k.a. Lucie. After I had developed a crush on hot printer guy, I went to a party for a work colleague. Too much wine led to that giddy feeling I get right before I unwittingly blurt out potentially dangerous information to virtual strangers (I once told a girl I had two orgasms while waiting in line for the bathroom at a bar. Innocuous? I turned to face the boyfriend-elect, i.e.elected but not yet in office, who was not the purveyor of the big O, yeah, UGLY. Anyway, on this occasion, the mixture of alcohol and opportunity resulted in the acquisition of info regarding hot printer guy. HPG was a player, said Lucie and to prove it, she whipped out her cell phone and showed us text messages he had sent her... IN JUNE! At first we were alarmed that HPG would go for Lucie but then we realized we should be equally alarmed at the fact that she had been saving his texts, harmless banter, for five months. Anyway, that's what he meant by "Lucie Monday all over again" in the previous post.

Today I spent the day with my friend Frankie who was visiting from Denver. She brought her friend from Seattle and we literally shopped til we dropped although I was more than a tad annoyed when everything I grabbed at Century 21 ended up being $299.99 as opposed to $29.99. Retail therapy just isn't doing it for me lately which could mean that I have everything I need- NOT- or I'm growing up- doubtful- or possibly, that I'm just plum bored of shopping (GASP). On one hand, I'm grateful for the quietude afforded in the absence of male drama. Yes, despite the HPG posts that appear to consume me, they're not nearly the caliber of high jinx and angst supplied by the emotionally unavailable men I usually find. I currently don't have male companionship. No one is calling or texting, emailing or asking me out. It's the fleeting moments of serenity I should use for self-analysis but I'm just too tired. Tired of thinking, tired of beating myself up for being too (choose one) honest, neurotic, needy, angry. Anyway, this post is getting a bit too introspective for a blog that's intended to serve as comic relief. And as the sad clown cried, the crowd roared with laughter...

Gossip Guzzler

Apparently, the newsroom where hot printer guy and I work is a cesspool for office gossip. We had been deftly skirting the issue of dating while maintaining an email rapport when he dropped a bomb on me. I was happily scavenging the clearance racks at Daffy's (ick) and Bloomie's for a dress for the upcoming gala (need a formal that makes me look effortlessly chic and sophisticated, sexy but not slutty-read- tall order), when he rang. Below is the stomach-churning text exchange that transpired:
HPG: I am not thrilled with you right now...whoever you told has told others...and it is lucie monday all over again...How is vegas?
(note his overuse of the ellipses, a trait he endearingly calls charming. Also, 'lucie'- name has not been changed to protect the not-so-innocent, is the aforementioned gossip monger)
ME: Told who what? (I fumbled with my phone as I pulled an ill-fitting silk and lace gown over my head)
HPG: Told someone something
ME:Well my conscience is clear and i need more info 2 help solve this mystery (WHAT THE FUCK IS HE TALKING ABOUT?? AND WHAT'S HE DOING COMPARING ME TO WEIRD TEXT-SAVER? so then I added)
ME: Don't compare me to the headcase.
HPG: It was the most recent parallel..but now you see why i don't cross the line..they are all gossips!
ME: I have to be completely honest that i find this whole cryptic exchange annoying. Tell me what u heard.
HPG: I heard that i made out with you the other night
(I was flabbergasted. The only person I had told was my roommate and those of you who read my blog and that group is smaller than the one that thinks Nicole Ritchie has a high metabolism)
ME: WHAT?! I SWEAR THE ONLY PERSON WHO I TOLD WAS MY ROMMATE. WTF?!!
HPG: I told nobody... You see why this place is psycho?
I was beginning to think hot printer guy was psycho but I still needed a date to the gala.
ME: But that's so f'ed up bc someone just made it up and happened to be rt. What else could it be? And WHY didn't you tell anyone? I'm def worth telling someone.

He didn't reply but I spoke to him later that day where he remained evasive about his source.
At this juncture, I don't know what was said to him via what medium. But I do know this. Hot printer guy is younger than my little sister who is currently visiting with her sweet, tall, handsome, witty boyfriend who loves her inspite of her flaws (you think I have baggage?!). I don't even know if he's my type. I mean, sure, if tall, good-looking, smart and borderline witty is my type, then he may be. But do I really want to embark on an investigation into the mole who may or may not have alluded to a tryst that didn't really occur? My intellect is going to say no... for the time being (pregnant pause)

johnny walker bad label

I had drinks again with hot printer guy tonight. This after accusations by a twenty-something who painted him as a heart-breaking, ADD-suffering skirt-chaser. He indignantly denied the allegations of rampant flirting and player-like behavior but I was still skeptical. Two cranberry and kettel one's later, we established that the rumors were exactly that and largely inflated. We also confirmed that I have zero-tolerance for alcohol and that we would be friends because I needed hot male companionship and neither one of us was in a position to pursue anything else, however promising the haze of alcohol might make said union seem.
Serenity now.

I'm not alone

Apparently, I'm not the only love pariah. Of course I'm not! But what's surprising is how many women have created the same blog. (Sigh) I can't even bask in the creation of a neoteric blog because it's far from unique, it's cliche. As hard as I tried to be tragic, I was in fact constantly reminded of my good fortune with friends popping out of the woodwork to praise me for random things like my great shoes, choice of nail polish and cynical musings.
I had been sharing my plight with various coworkers who only knew me as the freelance field producer who flits in and out of the newsroom every several weeks. One of those colleagues, who will henceforth be known as hot printer guy, was the hot research assistant who sits next to the printer. At the risk of sounding redundant, allow me to elaborate- he's hot and his desk is next to my my assigned printer. What? I said redundant.
Anyway, I had been sharing my trials and tribulations with him regarding the lazy-eyed guy who had dissed me after I checked every don't on the list of dating do's and don't's. Then, in a flash of brilliance or blatant stupidity (for now I'll choose to characterize it as genius), I thought, "why are you putting hot printer guy in the friend zone, HELLO?" So I started flirting with him via email and we ended up going out for drinks. Yes, it's Ramadan, what are you, the Taliban? Add kafir to my list of flaws, see if I care.
We talked for about three and a half hours over vodka tonics and established the following: 1) hot printer guy thought I was hot from day one whereas he popped up on my radar just 24 hours prior to our pseudo-date, 2) hot printer guy is squeamish about office romance, 3) I'm not really inter-office material since I'm usually on the road and rotate desks vacated by staffers who are ooto ('out of the office' for those of you blessed with ignorance of corporate acronyms) and, 4) he was not a 'quick fix.'
At one point, he came dangerously close to kissing me and I leaned in and whispered, "we're not having our first kiss in this bar." He relented and then suggested he kiss me in the rain outside which was romantic but that plan was thwarted by an endless stream of Cliff Claven-esque babble I opted to spout off instead of appearing demure and well, kissable. So then he was going to kiss me in the subway station and that was just sordid so we decided to wait until our first date. That was Thursday and despite my less than subtle attempts at discovering when that date may come ("so when are we going out?" I know. CRINGE), I still don't know. I just don't know. But I'm going to play by the rules. Stand-by for upcoming update on how long that sadly doomed plan will last.

Perception is Reality

If perception is reality, then is it possible to perceive blatant failure and humiliation as an unnecessary rebuke? Maybe this email I received from the admittedly ugly yet marginally sexy guy who lives in another state, doesn't get out of bed all day (he "works from home"), and only calls me after 9 p.m. PST because he doesn't have daytime minutes on his calling plan; is actually his way of pushing away the love of his life. Because if that's not the case, I'm a bigger loser than I thought.
Here's an edited version (I took out tangential details that spare no humiliation but are esoteric to you). This was in response to an email from me attempting to be "light and airy" but then demanding to know why I hadn't heard from him in two weeks:

hey,I know it's been a while since we've spoken. I've been super busy (blah, blah, blah). When I'm not busy with that stuff I'm usually doing work for Kaiser or sleeping...usually sleeping.
I started to read this email thinking, "wow, this is actually a "normal"email, no over analyzing, no negativity, no histrionics, " but then I got to the second half. Granted it has been a while since we've communicated, and we did go from one extreme to the other; I think partly due to the fact that it's a super busy time for me, and partly not wanting to dealwith these "talks". I had picked up the phone to call you several times, but then I realized it would just be another "one of those"conversations...and honestly I just didn't have the time nor the energy todeal with it. I realize that's harsh. Then I asked myself why don't I have the time or enegy to deal with it and I came to the conclusion that I justdon't have the same feelings that you do.At this point it just seems like you want something more out of this relationship than I am able to give. I'm not at the point where I feel like calling or writing everyday or even every week. I'm just not. I'm sorry. Ijust don't feel the same way that you do. That doesn't mean that I don't care about you, just that my involvement is at a different level than yours. I really do enjoy the time we spend together, and I really do miss you, butin light of everything I really question our romantic compatibility.
THE END
OK, let's review. This was my FRIEND. Yes, I actually made the mistake of crossing the line with a friend because happily married former singletons always claim that's the best starting point. So much for that.

Born of Frustration

I'm a love pariah. How else do you explain the parade of non-committal, emotionally unavailable and judgmental men in my life? It's so sad, it's funny and it's that humor or desire to share my misery that's overshadowed my hubris, allowing me to chart this course in anonymity.
First, let's meet me. I'm a 30-something TV journalist in New York City. Currently, I work for a network and travel extensively. Have you seen me on-air? Perhaps. I worked as a local news reporter for several years before moving to the Big Apple. Now I spend my time covering murders and on occasion covering humanitarian crises. That's all I'll divulge right now, stay tuned.
I've kept a journal for several years and it's probably the most incriminating thing I've ever done. All those thoughts spilled onto hundreds of pages which are all awaiting discovery by my grief-stricken mother when I die, or worse, yet another judgmental man who I unwittingly believe is Mr. Right. Usually he's not even Mr. Right Now, more like, Mr. He'll Do because I'm (choose one) bored, lonely, or panicked.