Monday, August 14, 2006

No More Men or Really, I'm Not a Slut



When I lived in Boston and was broken up with my then-ex-boyfriend who went on to be my re-boyfriend, then my fiance, then my husband, then my ex-husband, I had a sign on my phone: a big red circle with a slash through his name. "Don't call!" it read. A lot of good, that.

Still, I think I need to make a new one, but including all men. I found this one on the Web.

Yes, yes, I'm the one who rambled on a few posts ago about how I don't need a man. I still maintain that I don't -- but isn't dating fun? I used to have fun dates. But fun dates just don't seem to be in the cards for me at the moment (you might say I'm playing with the Old Maids deck). The dates are all riddled with neuroses (hey, I'm not claiming to be an innocent party, either).

So, no "mens" for me anymore, as Tina Popo would say! Really! Except ...

Well, I'm having this party this weekend, and despite having gone over the invite list several times before I sent it out to make sure I hadn't invited too many of my romantic interests, past, present and futre, I think I did it again, Britney.

Vic, my college roommate, who also happens to be coming to the party, remembers all too well our crazy summer between junior and senior years. I had an internship at a newspaper and, as the new young thang, had no trouble finding lunch and dinner dates. I remember falling asleep in The Terminator one night because I had double-booked, as they say in Sex and the City, and made it home from the dinner date just in time to find my second date talking to my roommates.

That summer, Vic, Debbie and I threw a party. I invited all the men I liked, including the cute guy who sold us the keg at the liquor store.

I had strategically ensured that two men wouldn't be there: My college boyfriend from whom I was "taking a break" and Gary, a former fling who was still at ROTC camp and whose roommate I'd been casually dating that summer.

How did I know everyone would show up?

Gary had unexpectedly arrived home early from camp and showed up WITH his roommate Matt, whom I had been dating, though Gary didn't know this. (Don't worry, Gary was a player and didn't care when he found out, either.)

My college boyfriend came.

The keg boy came.

Cris, a guy from the paper on whom I had my eye and whom I ended up dating later (despite the fact that he showed up wearing tight white jeans) was there.

The straw that broke the camel's back, though, was Dennis, the former editor of our college newspaper, who had a crush on me.

I just couldn't face him.

What did I do?

I was college-educated! Schooled in crisis situations! Diplomatic, democratic, the master of all I surveyed! And need I add vastly mature?

I climbed into the laundry basket in the closet of my bedroom and shut the door. Unfortunately, the posse soon came looking for me, and the sliding door was thrown open with much gusto and the cameras started flashing.

I e-mailed Vicky this morning: "I tried to be careful, but I can't promise that I haven't invited too many romantic interests. Good news is, I can't fit into my current laundry basket."

Ever the supportive friend, she replied, "You might want to consider getting a larger basket for the party."

I do have to go to Target anyway after work to get the lawn torches ...

2 comments:

Callimachus said...

Ah, c'mon. You're a big girl. You can handle a harem. Or a himem.

TinaPoPo said...

Ha ha ha ha ha

This is my favorite post. I absolutely love that you hid inside a laundry basket.

I can't wait to hear about the party.