Comfortably Numb

Remember No Fear shirts?  There was one in particular that to this day resonates with me...damn my love/hate relationship with my perfectionism.

If you didn't own one of these shirts in 1994 - you were also a loser.

Last night my team [I] came in second place for "Name That Tune" at a local Irish pub.  For it being my first time ever playing, I was quite proud of my finish.  [Pretty sure I would've had to identify a Fantasia Barrino song in order to win.  I consider it a moral victory.]  The rest of the night, however, not so hot.

We'll start with the group of guy friends I met up with for "Name That Tune."  I beat the boys there, so I called the one I'm closest with to see how far away they were.  He informed me that we were also meeting up with some girls that I might know.  Awesome!  The more people on our team, the better our odds of winning.  I secured a corner booth with two tables - more than enough space for the six or seven of us.

Maybe if you ate something you could keep up.

The boys came, hugs all around.  Turns out the girls were already there having a glass of wine at the bar.  One of them was a chick who I had just seen in the womens restroom loading on some more eyeliner.  After coolly introducing themselves, they proceeded to sit down at the table adjacent to the booth area I had claimed...then spent the remainder of the evening, no joke, pushing their iceberg wedge across their plates and nursing one glass of wine.  [I am all for healthy eating and drinking, but it almost would've been better if they simply stuck to wine.  Hello?  Irish Pub!]  As if this was not rude enough, there was absolutely no effort made to engage with the group.  Instead, they chose to talk to one guy at a time and create their own "Name That Tune" team, only apparently they didn't understand the rules and had to forfeit part of the way through.  So my night out with the guys was spent trying not to be annoyed by uneducated bitches.

I had sex with you last year!

Enter part two of the evening:  guy with whom I have had an ongoing flirtation/occasional hook up for the past eight years.  I'll call him Medical Device Boy, because he is quite successful at selling them.  He has been badgering me since New Year's Day to hang out with him, and after my aggravating evening, I caved.  We spent the evening like we usually have for the past eight years:  witty repartee, snuggled up for a funny movie [Best In Show is hilarious by the way] then on to super fun making out and me not letting him do anything to me.  The thing is, since I'm so fed up with his broken record of how fun/hot/smart/awesome he thinks I am and never doing anything about it, I decided to use him as a little experiment.  Oh, Medical Device Boy, you want to tell me how super fantastic I am and lament that your ex-girlfriend of the past two years was "Satan" and never blew you?  Fine, but I'm going to call you out:  Why have you never dated me?  I'm sick of the games.  I'm a big girl, just tell me.  Why is it that we can have great chemistry both verbally and physically, yet you date the frigid bitches???

First the stupid, rude girls monopolize guy night, now here I am with a guy who can't stop talking about how freaking fabulous I am and how badly he wants me (I said, of course you do, I'm female and breathing, tell me something original) but when I ask then why not date me his response is "What do you want, a proposal?"  ARGH!  No!  I said I would just like for a) someone to recognize that I am more than just fun and b) explain to me why so many men that I know complain about these horrible, sexless relationships, but when they find someone who allegedly meets all of their criteria for a super cool girl (ME, duh!) it just doesn't seem to work.  What ever happened to "we want a lady in the street and a freak in the bed?"  [Yes, I am quoting Ludacris from an Usher song.]

So I asked the million dollar question:  "Medical Device Boy (and I used his middle name,) what exactly do you want?"  His response:  "I don't know."  I thanked him for the most honest words that he has ever said to me.

Did I mention that Buzz, who had been MIA since late night drunk texting me post-date canceling on Saturday, texted me while Medical Device Boy (hereinafter to be referred to as MDB) and I were hanging out?  "Hey sorry for being such a drunk ass on Saturday night.  I effed up."  I hate that I feel like I could be drawn into conversation with him.  That was a benefit of having MDB around - kept me from engaging in a back-and-forth with Buzz.  Couple of quick, eloquent texts where I tell him he sucks and should man up.  He responds with excuses and then tells me what a great girl I am and how much fun he has with me.  Whoopdyfreakingdoo.  Sound familiar?

Enter fucktard number three.  My ex-boyfriend texted me to apologize for a bizarre text he had sent on Monday night:  "Am I allowed to comment on how fucking awesome your calves look in your (facebook) profile pic?" I get the lovely follow up, "Sorry about the calves comment the other day, out of line."

Honestly, I don't care about him, it's just the cherry on top of a sundae of ridiculousness with boys...boys who are all 29 years old...  Ohmygoodness, Buzz, MDB, and ex-BF are all 29, successful, intelligent, blue eyed, tall, confident, funny...and emotionally unavailable/fucked up/clueless.  Wow.

If I'm being perfectly honest, MDB and ex-BF don't get to me as they once did.  I've had the gift of time to heal any wounds and allow logic and reason to take over most of the tugging at the heartstrings.  Buzz...he's still fresh.  Fresh and quite frankly, seemed to have potential to be even better than the others.  I feel weak for saying it, but given the right approach, he could still have a chance.

So you're saying there's a chance...

Regardless, with all of these guys there is a common denominator:  me.  Perhaps I need to make some changes.  I realize these changes probably need to start with me...what they are I am not exactly sure.  A date with a 35 year old, brown eyed, hottie condo owner might not be a bad place to start.  What I will say for him, is so far he hasn't made me feel like I'm in second place.