lucky charms

Last night, I attended a Halloween party.  Besides not getting the memo that Halloween was actually a week ago, it was a pretty spot-on good time.  And, as with most things in my life, if not a totally good time, at least there was a moment that I could learn from or gain something from.  I'm all about the gaining.  Unless it's weight, of course.

What made the night especially great was that I met a gorgeous man.  Now, I know it seems like I've been meeting gorgeous men left and right, since it's one of the only things I write about in my poor, neglected blog anymore.  But this is simply an illusion.  Well, maybe not.  It's true - I meet gorgeous men.  It just never goes anywhere.  When I say anywhere, I really mean it.  I mean, I meet them, the promise of a romantic future together is dimly sparkling somewhere under the glimmer of a New York streetlight and above a rain puddle with oil in it.  And then, I never hear from them again.  Which is cool, I guess. I haven't really been putting myself way out there.  I'm not really the type.  I like to go out, dance, have a good time, and if something happens, great.  I'm not necessarily looking.  Mainly because I don't know how, and if there's one thing I hate, it's the pungent repelling stench of desperation.

Last night was different.  This gorgeous man, who I probably had no business speaking with, was interested in me.  He said I was "adorable."  His dimples were insane and almost like they were carved into his face.  So, as he charmed the hell out of me, I cautiously charmed back.  I never really realized it until last night, but I think my flirting style lies somewhere between "hard to get" and "strong, silent type."  Which is funny, because I'm really none of those things.  Which is even more funny, because what a mindfuck it must be to date someone like me.

We had a nice conversation and learned a lot about each other.  He was quick to make plans, asking to go on a date tomorrow.  I wasn't doing anything tomorrow, and homeboy was gorgeous, so why not?  Plus, bonus points for not trying to sleep with me immediately.  And then, Shakira's "She Wolf" came on.

Goddamn you, Shakira!  You ruined everything!  I have a debilitating, serious syndrome where whenever "She Wolf" comes on, no matter how drunk I am, I have to dance.  I know this metaphor may be a stretch, but it's like that song is the full moon, and I am a werewolf, set free to dance in a one-legged leotard.  I excuse myself from dimpletastic and head to the floor, shake my booty, and return.  Dimpletastic is nowhere to be found, and I say, "oh well," cause he has my number and we have plans for tomorrow.

I blame Shakira.  Had she never written that infectious little ditty, I would have never had to dance and leave behind dimplepookie, and I would have never had to experience what happened next.  Gorgeous dimples returns from outside.  With a leprechaun.  Now, let's pause for some explanation.  This is significant in several ways:

• I was dressed as a sexy tennis player.  I had a fucking adorable gold headband.
• This guy was dressed as a leprechaun.  The only thing appealing about that costume is the fact that you can use the line "you'll never get my lucky charms!" to a gross handsy old guy who won't stop hitting on you.
• They came from outside.  I don't know what it's like in hetero-world, but in homo-land, this is basically a gay man's way of saying "I'm too classy to get frisky in a public bar/club, so I'll go outside to get frisky in my car/back alley."

Me, being somewhere between "hard to get," "strong, silent type," and "disgusted," smiled coyly, shook my head at him, and went to mingle with my new friends, two french maids.

Eventually, Dimplestiltskin approached me all apologies.  He was all "I'm sorry, it's a long story, we used to talk... you know, and I'm a peacekeeper."  And I was all "that's nice and all, but I prefer someone who can keep it real to someone who keeps the peace."  He was all "Wes, you're so adorable and I really do still want to go on that date."  I was all "Yeah. We'll see."

And that was it for a while.  I returned to dancing, only to find him dancing with his leprechaun, getting his lucky charms, and having a gay old time.  And then, leprechaun was on Dimpleshithead's lap.

Let me just lay it down for you.  I may not be getting laid, and may not have gotten laid for an ever-increasing amount of months (like, still lived in North Carolina months).  I may not have had a kiss with tongue in a similarly long time.  I may not have been on a date since I moved here, and lord knows that was a bust.  I may be contemplating more and more the declining standards that I hold myself to if this unwanted celibacy continues any longer...

But I have self-respect.  For about 30 seconds last night, I thought to myself "whatever, just go for it, once he goes out with you, he'll see how much you're worth it."  But then, I remembered the last time I was counting on my fucking fabulousness to transform an unworthy man into an appreciative one, and I was counting for a long. Ass. Time.  So, I decided to save myself the trouble, save him the trouble, save us all the trouble and told him that our date would not be happening and to lose my number.

Instead of dating dimpledick, I went on a date with myself today.

I also ate a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie, but... at least I'm the only one who has to live with that and I don't have a douche of a boyfriend to judge me when I'm fat.  Besides, he'd probably be eating somebody's fucking Lucky Charms anyway.