February 2009


Lent begins today, which means that us good little Catholic folk spend forty days without necessities such as Diet Coke to show Jesus just how much we appreciate the sacrifice of his life. Although my Catholic faith leans more cafeteria than by-the-book, lent is one of the traditions that I enjoy supporting. I might give up Target – and if you only knew just.how.much I adore that place, you would know how big my sacrifice is. It pains me to think about it, which is usually a good sign that I am in need of withdrawal. Any suggestions (besides hookers and booze, those are here to stay)?

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On Saturday, I was the closing server at the restaurant, so when my co-worker wanted to leave, I agreed to maintain her last table as they had been camping out for the past four hours without any sign of immediate departure. They were harmless – two women, possibly on a date, occasionally holding hands, somewhat gruff in nature and both wearing sweatshirts advertising different football teams.

When I walked over to introduce myself and check in on them, they both stared at me, drunk and confused, until one says, “Well, now, aren’t you tall drink of water.”

I’m 5’4”. On a good day. And I was wearing flats.

The friend took exception to the comment.

“She’s not THAT TALL.”

“WELL SHE’S TALLER THAN YOU.”

They then proceeded to spend the next five minutes arguing whether or not I was qualified to be referred as a tall drink of water. I, of course, vote yes because um, AWESOME? and at five-freakin-four I am pretty sure that’s the first and last time I will hear that line in my entire life – not counting, obviously, all the times I will repeat it to my friends.

You know the old grade-school rule where if you don’t have anything nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all? Well, I play by a slightly different rule in that if I don’t have anything interesting to say, I don’t say anything at all. Hence the no posting.

But Molly!, says you incredulously, your stories are never interesting!

Good point. And believe me, I am well aware. Which must show you just how deep a rut my life currently is – because that other stuff? Well, that stuff, my friends, is filtered out as the quality (sad, I realize) — think about what doesn’t make the cut. Do you really want to waste time reading about Sunday’s baby shower? (It sucked, they played the game where the party-goers have to smell/taste the baby food – turkey-rice dinner and macaroni-and-cheese flavors? I cheated and guessed based on color.) Or about how The Realtor and I never hung out like he suggested – mostly because he never called? (Of COURSE he didn’t – when has he ever followed through with ANYTHING? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me; fool me fifty times, MOLLY YOU’RE A FREAKING IDIOT. ) Or does anyone want to hear about my uneventful Valentine’s Day? (I worked with my favorite bartenders, made some money, and skipped out on the bar to drink by myself – which equated to half a glass of wine before I passed out from exhaustion.) I’m sorry – what was I thinking? I was wrong! These stories sound better now that I have written them down!

Er – um, wait. I think I meant worse. Yes – they definitely sound worse. Potato, Tomato.

No one needs to read these things. I’m thinking of you here – I am sure you have better things to do with your time – you ‘have’ to. Your life is probably EXTREMELY interesting – one with tales of betrayal and romantic trysts and good fortune.

… Right?

My life is in a rut, am more than likely dying from lameness. I hope this isn’t the case with you, however, so who has a story? Otherwise, I will break out the sequence to my latest dream. Ooo! Interesting! Wait, that opposite thing again … not* interesting …

When we worked together, Work Husband and the wine-bar regulars used to meddle in my relationship with Work Boyfriend. Work Husband still sometimes pries, so I wasn’t surprised when he called to share gossip.

“I saw your boyfriend’s parents yesterday.”

“Oh yeah? How are they?”

I genuinely like his parents. During the restaurant’s heyday, they often came to dine, and I would invite myself to their table to drink wine, collaborate on their crossword puzzle, and flirt with their son, in between waiting tables. I haven’t seen them since The Wine Bar closed, but Work Husband ran into them at the grocery store; at which point, the parents had, apparently, shared some opinions in Work Boyfriend’s current live/work situation. In that it was wrong.

“[Work Husband], it doesn’t really matter what they think – [Work Boyfriend] does what he wants – logic or opinions be dammed. We’re very similar in that regard.”

“No, Mol, that’s not the best part – at the end, his dad got flustered and stammered out, ‘He needs to make changes. I think he needs to just move back to Minneapolis, and … and start dating Molly!’ His mom shushed him but didn’t say anything to contradict his statement.”

Work Husband was very pleased with himself after his recitation of this story. Clearly, it indicated a green light for future involvement with the prodigal son, a case which would leave Work Husband delighted. Since Work Boyfriend’s been with his girlfriend FOREVER (ok, more like four years) and the parents get along really well with her, I know it’s more location than anything. And realistically, if we were to date we would frustrate the fuck out of each other because we are MUCH too similar. BUT. The approval is still flattering –even if that approval is for yet another guy I can’t have. Maybe I’ve been doing this all wrong – maybe I need to find/meet/charm the parents of a single guy … Hmm … I wonder where I could find some of those … The bingo parlor? Restaurants that serve dinner at 4:30? Phoenix?

Even though I was mentally done with it, the Vegas thing continues to be bounced around through email threads. They can’t let it die quietly. At one point, one of my friends tried to defend the bride, “Yes, but Mol, ALL singles weren’t invited to brings dates – she wasn’t purely excluding you.” As if that validates the behavior. And yes, maybe all singles, but I am the only single within this smaller sub-group – which is not a group of single girls, but couples-plus-Molly. Someone had even implied that yes, even though it was tactless behavior on the bride’s part, it was also tactless on my part not to attend just for a lack of date – after all, it was her wedding and she was allowed to invite whom she pleased.

Absolutely. I completely agree – your wedding, your rules. But am I wrong in interpreting this as a form of …. single discrimination? This Bride has literally NEVER met these friends’ plus-ones – she has no affection for them, no camaraderie, and some hold no long-term expectation. These dates will not enhance or add value to her special day in the least, save for enriching the event for her friends … for some of her friends. Those not in a relationship, the few of us, apparently don’t need the comfort or enrichment of a date. No one has been able to explain WHY only some matter.

Bottom line: the damage has been done and I’m over the trip, if not slightly still bruised from that singledom-cancer from which they seem to think I’m suffering. A kickass replacement trip might be needed – if only to slow the terminal effects of my disease. Expensive shoes and exotic vacations – isn’t that the recommended treatment? I should have agreed to go to Venezuela with my Baby Cakes when I had the chance. Did I ever mention that The Kid is now going on that trip? Literally the one person with whom I couldn’t third-wheel it. Booger.

I asked if I could stay in The Kid’s room while he was away – to visit the beach, Sweets and their new puppy. He said no. Because it would be weird or something. He’s never let me have any fun.

A possible option: One of my friends – a guy friend – has been drunk dialing me lately. Which is fine, I love a good drunk dial and didn’t think much of it until one of his texts asked me to please come visit. He lives in New York. I haven’t seen him in five years, and as I am in the market for a place-to-go, Manhattan might be a nice weekend spot for shopping and drinking. My one hesitation is that even though we’ve never hooked up, so there’s not that precedent (and I wouldn’t want to), but if I fly cross-country to meet him, is there the expectation to? Goes back to the rule: No one calls at 2am to be your friend. Can I clarify sleeping arrangements? Will that matter? Is this a weird situation? Probably.

Or maybe I need to look into alternative ideas. Either way, Vegas be damned, where’s my beach and umbrella drink? The world needs to stop harping on my Year-of-Awesome buzz.

The Bestest Friend immediately judged when she heard that I had been texting The Realtor; she was all, “And why were you calling in the first place, Ms Molly?” Um, dur, TO SEE IF COULD GET A REACTION, of course, do you know me at all? (And my point in telling you, dear Internet, her reaction is that please don’t think that I haven’t been scolded. Because I have and she.is.very.unhappy.with.me. Fiddle-dee-dee, I don’t care. When have I ever claimed to make healthy choices? I’m like a rebellious teenager –ten years delayed).

Previously, he and I hadn’t been talking, at all, which is totally for the best because he’s a different person now than before, that person whom I used to like. But then I kinda found out (via text conversations that I am not supposed to be having with him! I am badass!) that he’s not a different person, he’s only been maintaining appearances –he’s unhappy and uses words like shitty and uncomfortable as relationship descriptions … and somehow I find some comfort in that? Some relief that at least he isn’t a COMPLETELY different person? He’s just a big fat liar? Does that count as a silver lining?

Yeah, no, probably not.

He now wants to hang out later this week to “maybe make food and watch a movie.” Huh? We don’t hang out, we never have, we’re not friends, and again, never have been. We don’t do stuff together. We have this weird imaginary thing not based on any tangible substance. Wtf.

Part of me is ONE-HUNDRED PERCENT against any hanging-out thing, but another part of me finds this situation odd enough to spawn HUGE curiosity. When he stopped by my house yesterday to return a movie, he was flirty and giggly. As if I made him nervous or something. GIGGLING. But now I almost feel like I have some sort of upper-hand (I don’t) and that maybe it would be interesting to hang out with him … ? At the least, a story …? Any takers to enable me to play on, playa?

I was not invited to bring a guest to the Vegas wedding. Everyone else, everyone within the small high-school clique whom all have a significant other, received an invitation addressed to “[Friend Name] and Guest” while my invitation read simply “Ms. Molly Elizabeth.”

The Bestest Friend had hoped it was a mistake –an oversight on the bride’s part. But since she is slightly prone to co-dependency and desperately wanted me on the trip, I called my married friend for a second opinion. When I told her that my invite only read my name, her theatrical breath intake (such a proper former-bride girly reaction!) was enough to make me smile –and confirm the bride’s tactless behavior. She verified that wedding protocol dictates strict rules regarding the addressing of invitations; all wording is a very, VERY deliberate process. “Molls, I’m sorry, but you spend an ASININE amount of time determining the proper way to address the wedding invitations – it’s slightly ridiculous how big a deal this one task can be.” My married friend (who is part of this same clique and remembers talking about wedding rules with [Vegas Bride] over our brunch) was extremely offended for me (as well as outraged over her lack of tact) – it was actually pretty sweet.

I’m not going. I was hesitant to go without a date but now knowing that a date isn’t even an option, I don’t feel welcome. I am expected to travel across the country for a couples’ weekend wedding without a plus-one. Also, since I constantly take things to the next step and my diagnosis of end-stage, poor prognosis for recovery, singledom-cancer was a sensitive subject with this group anyway, I have elevated their interpretation of this whole situation to: Molly, not only are you single and no one wants to date you and you’re going to die alone, BUT ALSO no one would want to even hang out with you for one evening. I’m a lost cause. And I KNOW it’s not the case and I am being melodramatic but seriously? She doesn’t know the others’ dudes, she’s only inviting the four of us (plus their three guests) from high school, I am the only one of the group that went to the same college as her (where we were fairly tight, not BFFs but would get together for lunch/coffee/drinks on occasion)– I just don’t get it, save for the whole single-and-hopeless-spinster thing.

I dunno, I’m hurt and I find this whole situation absurd, so I guess the best course of action is to forget it and find something extra awesome to act as substitute.