The cookie-induced incident

Holiday parties are everywhere this time of year. Work, family and friends all hop on the party wagon for some festive fun. I’m all for eggnog, fatty foods and Christmas music, I even like the wacky holiday sweaters. However, what I’m really looking for at a holiday party is a mistake. A mistake that will leave me saying: “Why oh why did I drink so much? That party was awesome!” or “Why oh why did I eat so many cookies? That party was awesome!” or “Why oh why did I hook up with my supervisor? That party was awesome!” Okay, the last item has never happened. Have I wanted it to? Of course!

Each holiday party I go to I hope to meet a wonderfully mysterious dude to hook up with in the coat check. Of course I never make a move to initiate this to happen but it is one of my fantasies and you can’t judge me for that. Well, you can, but that isn’t nice. A few weeks ago I had a holiday party with my roommate and best friend. We made entirely too much food, had too much alcohol supplied, and too much drama broke out. I was looking forward to meeting a friend of a friend of a friend and inviting him into my room and wooing him with my complete Full House series collection. Unfortunately, the party consisted of the same incestuous group that is always hanging out in my apartment. Don’t you guys have friends for me?

This past Friday my work had a Christmas party in a fancy ballroom. Dragging along my best friend I boasted in the parking lot as we were walking in “I hope I hook up with someone in the coat check!” Laughing at me, Matt knew I would never do such a thing. A girl can dream.

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Just hope this lady isn’t planning on sticking around.

Finally my opportunity had presented itself at a holiday party over the weekend. This is a story of disappointment, sex and betrayal.

A cookie decorating holiday party doesn’t exactly scream sex or anything really sexy for that matter, unless you bake penis cookies, which we didn’t. But there I was, wearing a little dress and tights with flats. I looked adorable and sexy all rolled into one (she says modestly.) I hoped this party would have people I’ve never met before so I had to get prepped to meet my party mistake. After a few awkward greetings and name exchanges I was familiar with everyone at the party. Upon further inspection I realized I had met everyone on separate occasions at different times. Disappointment started to set in. Batting my eyelashes at a few possibilities I was beginning to give up hope. SUDDENLY! I was sharing a story of sex and fetishes (oh “Tub Girl,” you have provided me for many years a cocktail story) when I sparked someone’s interest. Lester* was attractive, smart and in his mid-thirties. JAYNE BAIT as I like to refer to him as. Lester asked me more about said Tub Girl and we exchanged laughs and winks. Smitten!

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Festive!

The party was starting to slow down a bit with people leaving for other commitments. I text Matt suggesting he probably shouldn’t come. Then it happened. Lester strolled over to me and sat on my lap. HE FELL DIRECTLY INTO MY LAP. I giggled, he laughed, and party-goers nervously smiled. Conversing quietly, Lester came out and said I was hot. Blushing, I thanked him. Of course many women would probably slap a guy for invading their space and coming on to them so directly. But unlike many women this NEVER happens to me. I’m always the funny girl, never the desired girl. I pulled my phone out of my bra (something that really amused Lester) and text Matt to come to the party, things just got interesting. I started feeling the eyes of judgmental peers so I felt the need to straighten up a bit. I gently laid my scarf across my lap to cover my stems, feeling a bit exposed. Ripping the scarf from my legs, Lester proclaimed “Don’t cover up! Keep that off!” Lester received a verbal lashing from a woman across the room. “Oh goodness, no, really, he’s fine.” I assured the woman. Matt finally arrived at the party and he shook his head at me soon as he walked through the door. I couldn’t stop smiling and blushing, but I was thankful for him coming. I prompted Matt to sit between Lester and me, which he complied. Lester leaned over Matt during conversation and reminded me how hot I am. At that very moment Matt nearly spit out his drink, which later he assured me he was laughing out of embarrassment for never hearing a man call me that. Thanks, buddy.

The night simmered down again and I was feeling the need to pull away. I wanted this guy badly and I knew it would be a problem. A huge problem. I gave the WE NEED TO GO! look to Matt. We packed up our things and said our goodbyes. Lester showed disappointment in our decision to leave, to which he promptly invited us to his New Year’s party. I looked to Matt as if I were saying “That could be fun!” He shook his head and laughed. Lester and I hugged goodbye and we walked out the front door.

Walking down the sidewalk I said to Matt “OH MY GOD. Why are they ALWAYS married?” Lester. Was. Married. The woman in the party giving him the verbal lashing-his wife. HIS FUCKING WIFE. This man, this beautiful specimen of a man, was married. Scum, sure, for flirting with another woman in front of his wife. But lovely scum, delightful scum, scum that made me feel so good about myself that I wanted to be a mistress.

*Names have been changed to save face.

The Reason Rally and Sex Breakfast Tim

HIATUS!

Where have I been for so long, you ask? I’ve been fricken’ busy that’s where.

My life became increasingly busy over the past couple of months to the point where updating my blog seemed like a chore. I have SO much to share with you and I think I’m going to do it in the most effective way…. by updating my blog once a week! Great idea, I know.

Last time I left you I was working at my new job, seeing my FWB A LOT, and basically loving life. Most of that still holds true. Most of it.

Let’s start with the best life-changing event I have ever been a part of, aside from attending President Obama’s inauguration. Same location, different reason; the reason: THE REASON RALLY!

On March 23rd I received an interesting text that would lead me to make a life-changing decision. I received a text from my FWB that read, “If you want to go to D.C. you should go now.” Confused, I text back “What? Why?” His response “Look it up on the internet.” Gee, thanks for that explanation. He never was one for words, or being chatty, or having clear communication at all.

Weeks prior I had expressed to my FWB my love of Washington D.C. I know what you’re thinking. The crime! The danger! Well, friends, I had been to D.C. exactly once before and I am in love. The architecture is amazing, the history is rich, and the atmosphere “seems” welcoming. Knowing all this my FWB casually informed me of a huge life-event that would be taking place on March 24th, 2012. The Reason Rally 2012. How have I never heard of this momentous event? Why didn’t my atheist friends tell me about it? Oh, I’m the only atheist in my group of friends? Never mind on the last question.

I became obsessed. Google + Reason Rally search = 5 hours of “work-time” consumed. I text my agnostic BGF (best gay friend) Matt, furiously, “YOU HAVE TO COME TO THE REASON RALLY WITH ME!” His response, “I have to work Saturday.” My practical advice, “Call in sick.” After much persuading he agreed to go.

Things quickly progressed. I had arranged to change my brakes on my car that night with my FWB, so I headed there after work. That was a terrible experience, by the way. We argued, put each other down, and rolled our eyes. I complained about getting my hands dirty. He complained about my unwillingness to work hard. It was awful. To top it all off, at one point a motor came crashing down off a high shelf and crushed my Blackberry. I cried. A lot.

SIDE NOTE: Don’t ever get a FWB that doesn’t enjoy your company outside of the bed.

Matt and I showed up at our pick-up location an hour early so we would be assured a good seat on the bus. That plan backfired once we found out the bus was going to be two hours late. TWO HOURS! Luckily, atheists are the coolest people you would ever meet, so I had a blast having intelligent, albeit sarcastic, conversation with fellow non-believers. The whole time I was standing there, in the rain, I just kept thinking how happy I was. These people shared my interests and I’ve never really had that before.

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Waiting in the parking lot at 1 a.m. in the rain.

The crowd learned about me pretty quickly. What does that mean? Oh, just that I like to date men who are divorced, in their 30’s, and carry a lot of emotional baggage. With that comment, I got a bite. Enter Sex Breakfast Tim. Tim was in his late 30’s, from Chicago, divorced from his “whore of a wife” and has a 12 year-old daughter. He noticed me, I noticed him. He fit my criteria. I fit his criteria; I had a vagina. I assume that is all he was looking for. I will come back to Sex Breakfast Tim later.

Matt and I act like we are drunk on wine when we are around each other. Everyone on the 6 hour bus ride HATED us. We were loud, took pictures, and laughed…A LOT. When we finally arrived in D.C. Matt and I were exhausted from only getting an hour or two of bus sleep.

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After HOURS of taking bus pictures we finally got photo bombed.

The Reason Rally was amazing. I read that over 30,000 people showed up for the rally, which is an incredible number to read, because as I was there I felt like there were only a few hundred people. Hilarious signs, fun conversation, and incredible atheist activists. Matt, Arianne (our friend from Philly), and myself stood in the rain for 5+ hours, listening to moving speeches, hilarious commentary, and uplifting remarks. At one point we left the rally to get coffee and I wore my “This is What an Atheist Looks Like” sign. I never felt so judged in my entire life. People stared, looked angrily in my direction. This HAS to change. It MUST change. A big saying of the day was “Out of the closet Atheist.” I am no longer going to be ashamed of my rational beliefs.

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We represented our views!

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Such an amazing day!

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The weather was pretty miserable. But wow, what a day.

Boarding the bus, we were exhausted and wet but super excited we were part of something so huge. Once we arrived back in Akron Matt and I started saying our goodbyes. It was bittersweet. I was going to miss these incredible people. I exchanged numbers and email with Ellen, who would later open my life up to Cleveland Freethinkers. (Ellen and I are still great friends.)

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Ellen introduced me to the Cleveland Freethinkers. I am eternally grateful for our friendship.

Just as I was about to hop into my car, where Matt had already settled into, Tim sauntered his way over to me. I threw my purse in at Matt, closed my door to where Matt could still hear what was going on. I knew what Tim wanted. I rather wanted it to.

Tim: Well, Jayne, I’m really glad I got to meet you and Matt.

Me: Oh, me too! We had a lot of fun. It’s too bad we didn’t get to hang out more.

Tim: Yeah, me too. You know, I have an idea. I don’t want to come off as…well, it’s just an idea. Don’t think I’m…okay, here is the idea. You know it’s been such a long day, and we didn’t get to really know each other. But I was thinking since I have such a long drive ahead of me that maybe, I mean, I don’t know your living situation, but maybe I could come over. I could come over…and take a shower, then we can talk or whatever…and… I would just really like to make you breakfast in the morning.

Me: (in shock, I hesitate a little) Oh wow. (I place my hand on his forearm) That sounds really nice, but I’m just crashing with a friend. It’s not even my place. That just sounds. SO. NICE.

Tim: Yeah, well. It was just an idea.

I gave Tim my number and email address. I still haven’t heard from him.

He would have showered, we would have “talked”, he would have made me shitty eggs in the morning, and he would have been gone forever.

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By the way… here is Tim. In all his glory.

Close call…

A Review: I Don’t Care About Your Band

About a month ago I went out to dinner with my number one gal pal Kerry. I needed a friend to confide in about a situation I got myself into; I found myself suddenly taking on the role of a “friend with benefits” with a new friend. I wasn’t sure how I was feeling about this new role so I needed my girl to talk me down off a ledge. The ledge being my leap from dignity. I asked questions such as:

“Am I making a huge mistake?”

“Can two people really be friends with benefits, without one getting hurt?”

“Do you think this is something I am capable of doing?”

“Are you judging me?”

Kerry offered me great insight on the situation. I felt relieved she didn’t think less of me, and she actually made me laugh about my panic. If there is ever one friend I need in a panicked-like situation it’s Kerry. She has the ability to make even my most heinous moments seem silly after discussion, which for that I am grateful.

I often get wrapped up in my little world, over analyzing each detail, worrying about what I must seem like from the outside.

After much discussion of “what ifs” with Kerry she made a recommendation of a book I should read. I had no idea how much this book would mean to me until I finished. The book: I Don’t Care About Your Band by Julie Klausner.

I Don't Care about Your Band- Julie Klausner

Kerry has never steered me wrong when it has come to books, her talent of knowing exactly what I will like still amazes me after 8 years.

Like Klausner, my dating life has been a mismatch of losers, making my want to find love grow stronger after each mistake. Klausner’s book was not an advice column or a self-help book for dating. Her book was, for me, a great pool of laughs and comfort. I found comfort in knowing there is someone else out there that suffered through bad sex, bad dates, and bad guys in general, too. Take for example this quote that actually led to me putting the book down in disbelief on how similar we are.

“There are ladies who hook up instead of date because those are the crumbs to feast on when they are starving. Women who feel awful because they knew a guy was bad news, but got involved anyway, then got attached, and now they feel terrible not just because biology kicked in– “I had an orgasm and I like him now!”– but because they feel bad for feeling bad. Like it wasn’t enough just to feel bad because he didn’t call you after his dick was inside you. Now you have to feel bad because you’re not allowed to feel bad.”

Amen sister! I am feasting on crumbs because I crave attention and intimacy. I feel bad for feeling bad for the situation I have gotten myself into, knowing very well what the situation was/is.

“You stop confiding in people when they ask why you’re upset, because you don’t want to enter a debate on a side you can’t defend. You feel like you were wrong taking a chance on a guy you should’ve known couldn’t give you what you wanted, and in a way, you feel you deserved what you got.”

When I first started getting together with my friend he clearly stated what the situation was. Friends only. Nothing more. Nothing less. Well I thought that was something I could handle so I got involved. Now I am getting what I deserve.

“You didn’t follow the rules and you failed to act like a hooker who just shrugs and moves on to the next conquest, like those are the only two things a girl can do.”

No, I’m not a hooker. I do not receive pay for services rendered, nor do I get treated to lavish dinners and spontaneous friendly phone calls. That is not the situation. Mine is tricky, where trying to be devoid of any emotion is making looking in the mirror every day difficult. I deserve so much more, but I should be able to shrug is off, right?

Klausner writes chapter after chapter of the men she has been sexually or emotionally involved with. Each story is funnier than the last, and sometimes confusing and heart breaking. I provided you with only a sample of what Klausner addressed in her book. I HIGHLY recommend the book to any woman who has had a tragic dating experience, needs a good laugh, and doesn’t want to feel alone. After reading I Don’t Care About Your Band I found solace in knowing I am not alone.

Oh, in case you were wondering, will I continue to see my friend? Yes. At this point the experience is providing me with terrific commentary.