Work my Magic

         I got the digits of my boot camp instructor. I worked up a sweat for that one. ;)

I am crushing on him. Big time. I cannot look at him. I smile like a cheese. And I probably blush. There is something about him that is so attractive. I love that he works out. Such a turn-on. He is very poised, yet has a good sense of humor.  And he’s black. The dark kind.

I can seriously see myself on a date with him. He is not ghetto. He sounds like a white guy. Now that I have his number, I don’t know what to do with it. He is not the typical flirt trainer at the gym. He is serious but knows how to joke around to get the class motivated. However, he is very touchy feely. He can use the excuse that he is a trainer and wants to make sure we are in the right position. Smooth.

We were paired up and had to plank and shake the hand of our partner, and then switch hands. Then I felt a set of hands around my waist. Oh. My. Goodness.

“Why are you pushing me down?!” Picture this: I am in a plank and he is behind me, literally on top of me. It felt like he was putting a stack of weights around my hips to make the plank tougher.

“I’m not pushing you down! I have my hands around your hips to keep them straight.”

          Might as well shove his ween in there with that position. Ouch!

          “Doesn’t that feel good when your stomach is tight?!” he said, roughly patting my stomach, still in a plank.

          Good God almighty.

          After class I told him I would see him tomorrow. My co-worker wanted to give boot camp a try, so I asked him for pricing yesterday.

          “Where is your friend?”

          “Ummmm…I didn’t talk to her.” The truth is, she said “hell no” to boot camp because it is expensive.

          He was looking for trial cards on the counter. BS…he never had any.

          “Call me tomorrow then. I can’t find them. Do  you have my number?”

          “No….”

          “What?!” He proceeds to give me his number and I diligently dial it on my phone. I hope my number registered on his phone.

          “Call me tomorrow then.”

          OK!

          He could just be doing business, but I don’t care.

          Unfortunately, my parents would really disown me if I had dated a black guy. It’s a shame how unacceptable it is. He can be a really great guy, yet they would not allow it because of his skin color.

         I could just be going through a craving for chocolate....but it's so good.

         I will work out my fingers and dial his number tomorrow.

Keepin’ it real,

   Realist

Be honest!

Who keeps a list of your sexual escapades? Do you rate them on a scale? I used to have a kiss list. I gave up on that freshmen year of college. Maybe I still have it somewhere if I dig deep haha....

<3 Disbeliever Disbelieving 24/7

What was his name again?

I went to a birthday party at a bar last night for a girl that I don't know very well, but who has always been very nice to me.  I saw a few people that I used to work with, which was slightly awkward because my tenure from that company ended so abruptly (and none of them reached out to so much has tell me hey, sorry about that, that sucks), but I was quite friendly and upbeat, so I think I did a good job of keeping all awkwardness at bay.

Then one guy I used to work with showed up, who I didn't know very well, but seemed nice.  And he came with his brother, who was visiting from San Francisco (this seems to be a theme for me lately--the guys from San Fran).  Oooooh was he cute.  And he seemed smart and well-spoken.  At one point I noticed that I had my game on without even realizing I had turned it on--I was smiling at him (in fact, I don't believe I could remove the smile from my face), making jokes with the group as we talked, etc.  We all sat down at a table for 6 and as luck would have it, he got the seat next to me.  We started having a one-on-one conversation and I could just feel the energy off him.  Every once in a while I would look across the table and could see his brother looking at us.  It felt like my attraction to San Fran was written on my face, the way he was watching us.  Could he tell?  Did he approve?  Was this okay?

The problem started when someone ordered fish bowl drinks to share.  I was certainly excited to share a fishbowl with my new acquaintance, but those fishbowls contained danger.  I don't drink much usually, so it doesn't take much for me to feel the effects.  And this fishbowl was particularly evil.  So before I knew it, my graceful and elegant self had gone out the window and I turned into a klutzy slob.  I'm not proud of it.  And this is not cute or attractive (just one of the reasons why I don't drink much typically).  After that, San Francisco man didn't say much to me anymore, despite my fantasies of meeting him in the bar bathroom for a smooch.  I can't say I blame him.

Thus, the moral of the story, kiddos, is that while some relationships out there start with the help of alcohol, sometimes alcohol can also become a mood killer.  And I really should be more careful about it.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going on the hunt for some Advil and a big glass of water.

Trying to stay positive,

Skeptic

The things I do for my career

The line between professional and personal is a tricky one.  The recruiting manager for my field at the networking event last night was really cute.  I sent a follow-up thank you email (of course), and when he wrote back and said he "remembered me well," my heart fluttered a bit (even though I'm sure he meant it in the most professional way possible). 

What's between the lines here, is that if I have any interest at all in this job, it should be hands-off and 100% professional (I am NOT the kind of girl who would sleep with someone for a job).  So even though I have this guy's card and would very much like to read innuendo into the comment that he "remembers me well," the protocol is to pull back on the reigns.

*sigh*

Trying to stay positive,

Skeptic

The Mathematician

Setting: A bar in Hoboken. I am standing by the bouncer and am approached by a guy.

Guy: "Hey there. So, how old are you?"
Me: "Always a great first question, seeing how you're not supposed to ask a woman her age. I'm 31, you?"
Guy: Pauses for a few moments "Well, if you take the digits in your age, reverse them, and subtract that value from your age, you get my age."
Me: Pauses for a few moments, to both absorb the ridiculousness of that comment and to do the math. At this point, I would like to remind you that we are standing within earshot of the bouncer. In a raised voice, I say, "Oh, so you are 18! You must have one hell of a fake ID to get in this bar!"

I'll let you come to your own conclusions as to what happened next.


Doing math wherever I go,
Leader

Yes, I am a junkie. And this is what they call withdrawl.

So I have accepted this thing with SanFranMan for what it is--a fun, meaningless, and uninvolved fling of sorts.  But perhaps I was having too much fun?  It's been a while now since we've *ahem* chatted, and it's making me slightly anxious.  I miss it!

I think there are a few levels to this.  On a very basic level, it's fun.  I like fun.  I want more of it.  On a slightly deeper level, it feels really good to feel attractive, and as much as I shouldn't rely on men for validation, I feel unattractive without any attention from the males out there.  I just want to feel alive, young and vibrant!  And on an ever-so-slightly deeper level, I don't want to be cast aside.  Even though this is nothing, and no one signed any contracts, it would be a little disappointing to think that I could be cast aside so easily, if it was the case that he lost interest.

Oy.  This was not supposed to be complicated.  All right, need to find someone else.

Trying to stay positive,

Skeptic

Introducing: "Seven Dates a Week"

The ladies of this blog like to support the other ladies out there who are venturing among the weeds of the dating world.  We have supported The Perils of Urban Courtship on several occasions (holla, Sabrina!).

Today I would like to introduce you to another blog, which may be one of the juiciest things you'll ever read.  That blog is Seven Dates a Week, and it is red hot now and gaining followers like crazy.  She is an (anonymous) friend of mine, and not only does she have an endless supply of material (which comes from being bisexual, polyamorous, and generally very open about her sexuality--not to mention an incredible knack of attracting dates and partners that I have always tried to understand and learn from), but she is also a top-notch writer.  She's witty, clever, and sometimes sarcastic.  She's often funny, sometimes heartbreaking, and always fascinating.  Give her blog a read, and if you're on Twitter, she is definitely a good one to follow--her Twitter feed is what started it all!

Happy reading!

Trying to stay positive,

Skeptic