Don't drink boxed wine with coworkers.

[*some names have been altered] I work as a camp counselor (don't worry about it, the kids are fine). Anyway, camp counselors are almost always early 20-somethings and everyone knows when you herd together a bunch of 20-somethings, shit is going to go down. The obstacle in this scenario, however, is when there are children running amok it's hard to get in the zone (and for me, the zone=drunk and...well yeah, basically just drunk). SOLUTION! After the children go home, meet up with your coworkers and get trashed. Okay, so the first incident was when me, Shmalex(*), Shjustin(*) and some other shpeople went over to Shjustins. Smirnoff, Jose, and I decided Shmalex was looking pretty damn tempting, so I busted out my patented moves(blatant, unclever come-ons in combination with preparing him very strong drinks). As soon as he was adequately intoxicated, I made my move. We proceeded to sloppily make out around the apartment and I insisted he carry me around because I guess I'm into that. Anyway, one thing leads to another and drunken somewhat ineffective sex ensues(although to give Shmalex credit, he had some moves which would've had potential had me & my vagina been sober).

Anyway, let me give you a little description of Alex,er, Shmalex:

~definitely caucasian ~definitely speaks Japanese --- stop right here. If a white boy speaks ANY asian language it is a dead giveaway that he wants to fuck asian girls. Exclusively. I may be a lot of things, but unfortunately asian is not one of them. This was sign #1 that I should not try and bone him. shmalex also: ~really into comic books/manga (because he really likes asian poon) ~is into musical theater (which is generally a turn off for me...don't ask me why, perhaps there was some traumatic incident involving jazz hands in my childhood, I don't know) ~in the sober light of day...not so into me (see 'not asian')

So, naturally, this combination of features made me want him all the more. When morning came(something had to), I was still a little drunk and my friends had peaced out the night before when I insisted shmalex would drive me home. I'm about an hour out of his way, but that was unimportant the night before. So we drive home in his sweet pt cruiser and he immediately switches out whatever cd is in there [I now speculate it was musical theater, because the delightful creature I am, I had been mocking him for his interest in it the entire night before.][[also, i put on my best japanese accent randomly while we were having sex...seemed like a great idea at the time. but looking back, i don't think he was that into it.]] and replaces it with "rage against the machine" because he is really badass like that. Anyway, he drops me off and I awkwardly drop all my shit in the middle of the road as he speeds away. This would not be the last time he makes a getaway from me.

Cut to: evening of BOX WINEThis evening, more coworkers were there. Also, my boss. It was actually held at my residence so I busted out box wine and misc snacks. Naturally, we all revert to being in 7th grade and play "Questions" which is basically "ask a sexual question and everyone has to answer it. - teehee." Slowly, people filter out until it is just me, Shmalex, Shjustin, and my friend Chelsea. Oh, sidenote, shmalex kept talking about this korean stripper with "slammin tits" he really wanted to bone. The only part of this that I absorbed was the "slamming tits" part. And I DO have slammin tits,so I thought I was in the clear. The whole korean stripper thing left me unaffected. Shmalex had expressed a desire to leave. I had expressed the desire to punch him in the face if he left. "Okay,okay,okay before you go...I just want to show you the washing machine" I seductively lead him into a room which actually doesn't have a washing machine (it was a large sink, anyone could make the mistake) And I start making out with him, he returns the favor, and picks me up as he knows I like. Then he just goes "uhhh I have to go" "what? no just 15 more minutes..." I say coyly. He runs off. Literally, runs. And that fucker's fast. I text him "you are an idiot" and make Chelsea take me to get a veggie burger and onion rings despite the fact that it is 2am. Mmm, at least the night wasn't a total bust. Nothing takes away the sting of rejection like onion rings.

The next day: my boss begins inappropriately texting me. Oh, joy. A couple nights later, he asks if I want to hang out one on one and being the mature person I am I go"uhhh sure sure I gotta go", hang up, and text him a little later that I don't think it'd be such a good idea and I say clever things about dipping my pen in the company ink. He responds with "o ha well i thot u were into bosses lol :)" swear to god. 40 year old man using lol, emoticons, the whole shebang. so I just go haha, sorry. He makes the situation even more awkward by busting out the "ur all talk lol" Alright creeper, unless my vagina was whispering sweet nothings to you without my knowledge, I definitely never implied that I want to bone you. Excuse me, but I'm a little preoccupied with creating awkward situations with another coworker altogether. sheesh.

Note: Shjustin hit on me frequently also, but nothing too story-worthy...just your run of the mill sexual harassment. He affectionately gave me the nickname "barely legal" and informed me that my "tits look great" in one of my bathing suits. Romance.

So, the current situation= this upcoming mon-fri is my last week of work here (I'm headed back to NY Sept 2) and I'm debating between two possibilities#1- Be mature, and be respectful that perhaps I am not shmAlex's cup of tea. This is nothing against me as a person, I can still work with him and we can be on friendly terms.#2- After work one day, corner him saying "I'm horny!" As he runs, throw myself at him, and as he drives away, throw shit at his car while sobbing. That night, get drunk and call him repeatedly. If on the off chance he answers, alternate between saying I love him and he's a fucking idiot douchebag and I can do fucking better anyway I don't need his shit!!! FUCK YOU ALEX! Next day, repeat.

I'll keep you posted.

HUGS AND KISSES,

Erin

How to (not) woo a man.

Over the years, it's been trial & error in terms of picking up gentleman. Here I will share some of my failures.
#1: Leaving your number with a cute waiter: If I were Samantha on Sex & the City, this would fucking work. But I'm not. And it didn't. First time was my senior year in high school. I was at a restaurant in Redondo Beach called Green Temple, and my buddy Christine and I had a waiter with an Australian accent. DTF alert. Anyway, I tipped him like 50% and left my number on the receipt. He didn't call. Second time was a couple nights ago at Cheesecake Factory. I had a couple of drinks, but I wasn't drunk by any stretch of the imagination. I guess the liquid courage allowed me to forget about my past failure with Australian man. So my friends and I had this waiter, Cameron. His smile could melt your soul. So I wrote "Thanks for the drinks! Maybe I can return the favor! (I'm not a creeper!) - Erin (310) ***-****. [I wrote my real number, because I could see how just leaving astericks would not be ideal]
Where did it go wrong? I mean theoretically I COULD come off as a creeper [although in the second attempt I did specifically write "I'm not a creeper!"] Also, there is the possibility that they have a girlfriend. You get fooled into thinking they like you, but actually its all a guise to get tips. It's the same reason you don't leave your number with a stripper... they didn't give you a lap dance because of your sparkling personality. They did it to get your money.
Moral of the story: Don't tip your waiter 50% and leave your number. Tip 15-20, keep the extra to buy yourself a little something special to make yourself more appealing to potential suitors that you don't have to pay for attention. Also, you get to keep a little of your dignity.

#2: Hitting on someone aggressively in front of your and/or their family: Unfortunately, this has also happened twice. I guess I'm not the quickest learner. First time, also senior year in high school. I had gone out to Cheesecake Factory (which apparently has some force over me which fucks with my game) with my family and my brother Stephen's fiance Amy's family. We've known eachother for many years and it was a comfortable environment, so when we returned to their home I had a few drinks. And by a few, I mean I polished off a bottle of wine all by my lonesome. Now, I did this mostly out of boredom...I've found chugging wine adds a lovely sense of occasion to any event. So, naturally, I begin intensely hitting on Amy's older brother. Like, graphically. Needless to say, I made a complete and total ass out of myself. Incident numero dos was this past year on my birthday...I went to my other brother Eric's friend Matt's house. I had already had a bit of wine, I was feeling good. But I wasn't a scene or anything (yet). So Matt brews me a truly ridiculous drink: it was just 3 different types of hard liquor mixed into a fucking beast of a cup. I didn't realize at the time it was 100% alcohol, and my memory from that night is mostly gone. But my brother filled me in on some of my debauchery. I proclaimed myself the "blowjob Queen of New York" and took my pants off.
Where did it go wrong? First of all, cavorting with someone who is close to a family member of yours is always tricky and must be approached carefully. And by carefully I mean not in a state of complete and total shmammeredness, and not in front of the aforementioned family member.
Moral of the story: When hitting on a friend of a family member, keep your fucking pants on.

#3 Attempting to obtain a pity hook-up: We all have that friend, the drier[drunken crier]. You know, the one who breaks down into sobs upon encountering one ounce of alcohol. That annoying, annoying girl who everyone else has to take care of. Nice to meet you! I'm the drier. Well, not so much anymore. In fact, nowadays I am almost never the drier...but in high school, I was often a blubbering mess who smelt of tequila and shame. But I did have *one* such incident in recent history, I was at my lovely friend Sandy's friend's BBQ in Brooklyn. I was really hungover, so I wasn't going to drink. But then again, I was really hungover, and nothing cures hangovers like being in a constant state of inebriation. A few [million] shots/gulps/bottles of whisky and whatever else I had later, I was hitting on this awkwardly skinny gentleman who looked like he was about 15 [but don't worry he wasn't, he was legal.] I set my sights upon this prepubescent stud and began some of my best drunken moves ( including the subtle yet effective"what's this t shirt mean?" whilst stroking it clumsily) but he wouldn't have any of it. What the fuck? How dare you reject me you douchey little man? The tears began. Sandy, Kirsten, and everyone else there attempted to console my sorrowful self, but to no avail. In the end I got over it (if by "got over it" you mean passed out cold).
What went wrong? If some man, who is clearly either gay or out of his damn mind, rejects you...you act as if it doesn't bother you in the least. Because men love confidence, and an in-control attitude. The only man who will hook up with a sobbing/drunken girl is the same variety of man who will hook up with ...well fucking anything they can get their hands on. No one worth it wants to hook up with a messy drier. And that is a fact.
Moral of the story: Continue drowning your sorrows with alcohol. Perhaps hook up with someone less appealing than your original target. If you must cry, wait until you are alone in some sort of soundproof isolated area.

Wow, it seems like most of these involve high levels of inebriation. I wonder if there's any significance there.

Nah.

I have many many more failed man pickup attempts, which I will chronicle at a later date. But for now, I feel I wrote a shitload. So that's that.

The beginning.

What is up my interweb amigos? I’ve decided to make a blog because:
1) Too much free time
2) Mainly #1
Now, I am very aware that most people probably don’t care what I have to say. And that is understandable. But I am going to write anyway, so that is that. A little background. My name is Erin, I’m in nursing school in NY but am currently stationed in sunny California with the fam for the summer. If I were one of the Sex & the City girls, I would be Miranda. I know, no one says that. Just telling it how it is. I enjoy hangin with the cats, eating, and bemusing myself with the antics of my friends. However, I have a bit of Charlotte thrown in… I’m this awkward combination of Miranda & very hopeful/romantic. Let’s just say I saw “He’s Just not That Into You” 6 times in theaters. I like me some chick flicks. I get into shenanigans from time to time… in fact, let me tell you a little tale.

April 2009, New York City. Bar: Nevada Smith’s.
I am feeling a little lonesome, sitting on a bar stool, enjoying some fruity vag drink, when two unappealing gentlemen approach me. I learn they are from Albania, and as I get more and more shmammered, they get more and more appealing. The one that seems preoccupied with hittin it is 28, and his name… I kid you not… is Klit. And he quit his “job on wall street” to follow his dream of producing techno, although he admits “Americans don’t understand techno.” Seems like an unwise career path then, but who am I to judge? It goes without saying that many giggles ensued from my end throughout the night, for I was hanging out with a 28 year old Albanian techno producer named Klit. Anyway, after being thoroughly blitzed and a woman of class and desperation, I invite said gentleman back to my place. He reveals himself to be not at all fat, but very very doughy and pasty (granted, I am not a bronze goddess but that’s beside the point). And even more unappealing in the sober light of indoor lighting. Needless to say, I lose all feelings of dtf. And my fab roommate Kirsten (who loves me despite my frequent displays of ridiculousness) moseys out into our living room after hearing the commotion. I’m sure she was very amused, seeing a very clearly drunk Erin and a very clearly creepy Klit hanging out on the floor. I told her his name, we laughed. I explained to him what his name meant, I laughed. Anyway, he persuades me to hear some of his techno masterpieces. He hooks up the iPod mini in his car and begins driving to Queens. No, no. I will not allow this. I diplomatically explain “fuckkk I don’t want to go to fucking Queens that’s fucking far”. I, of course, left out “and as I become more and more sober, this situation becomes more and more unpleasant”. He obliges, and parks somewhere a couple blocks from my pad. He tells me he loves me. He tells me to tell him I love him. “Klit, I don’t love you” I say, trying to stifle the natural giggle that comes with saying his name. “Just pretend!!” he says creepily. I oblige. I ask if I can leave now, he says no. Sleep with him! At least give him blowjob! No. I fall asleep in the passenger’s seat, wake up mostly sober, and entirely ashamed as I look to the left to see … Klit. “Can I go now?” “Just a littttle longer!” Fuck this. I dismantle childlock like a pro and bone out of that situation, doing the still-tipsy-the-next-morning hobble of shame back to my place.
Note: I do NOT condone getting into the vehicle of a strange man. Let this be a cautionary tale.