Closer to Crazy, Farther from Happy...or is it the Reverse?

Update: I know better than to not leave the cliffhanger...so here's the story. Self torture was at its best on Friday night with Insecure Boy. Five cranberry vodkas and two drinking games later, Insecure Boy and I started....


...talking about sex. For two hours. But we never had any. Which means if you live on the West Coast, watch out. I'm still driving around town, horny as ever. And apparently not Clumsy enough to fall on top of his penis at the right angle or moment.

And to top it all off, I talked to HC today, for the first time in six months. He's moving back to my hometown and we're going to hang out before he moves home. And now I am starting to think, maybe I went about this the wrong way....or with the wrong guy!

Here's Chardonnay's birthday story:

I'm sitting at home. Moping. Just got off the phone with my dad and he was pissed. Could I have really told him it was my out-of-play vuh-j-j that caused the accident?

I need to be at Chardonnay's in 20 minutes if I am going to make it to her party. A cab all the way there is out of the question and it would take forever for a cab to go to Chard's. Feeugh.

I really want to go. I'm all dressed up. Screw it. I put on my coat. Take off my shoes. Put on some flip-flops. Grab my Hallmark card and walk out the door.

Yep. I mapquested that sum bitch and I walked to Chardonnay's apartment. I walked a mile and a half in 30 degree weather in flip-flops carrying my cute shoes.

I swear.

Chardonnay calls.

Chardonnay: Where are you?

Clumsy: (huffing, puffing) Um, I'll be there in five minutes.

Chardonnay: You in a cab?

Clumsy: (I am so embarrassed) What? Uh....I'll see you in five!

I get to Chardonnay's apartment and I am kind of tired. I just briskly walked a mile and a half after a car accident and had no dinner. I switch into my high heels and walk inside to the start of the party .

Chardonnay, Elle, and two others are already at the apartment. We make quick introductions. They pour me an adult beverage and ask what in the world I have protuding from my purse. I start laughing. It's my flip-flops. HAHAHA.

Chardonnay: You didn't?! You walked here? hahaha Hilarious! Were you trying to hide your shoes? hahaha.

Then they notice my bruised and scabbed knee. Shit. I forgot about that. I explain. I was at work and we don't have heat (nope, no heat), and I tripped over the space heater cord and skinned my knee. Then, later that night, I went to the gym. I was getting on the leg press, trying to be suave, when BANG! I freaking knocked my knee so hard I wanted to cry. But I was at the gym. There's no crying at the gym! A guy across from my machine asked if I was okay. Three weeks later, the bruise went away. Months later, I still don't use the leg press. It hurt!

We hop into a cab and head to a bar.

When we arrive, I'm already pretty buzzed, just from the excitement of the whole day. I start talking to a bunch of different people. So@24...remember meeting me? :)

I also meet So@24's friend Jack. More on this later when I describe the most awkward Clumsy dates ever!

I entertain everyone with my story about how I got into a car accident earlier in the evening because of the upcoming celebration of Baby Jesus's birth (aka I lied and only blamed the Christmas music even though it was the "I'm horny!" shout).

I bump into someone I went to high school with and hadn't seen in years! It's a small world.

I move out of the way for the waitress (the only person who did move out of the way) when she's trying to get through with a tray of drinks. She then spills a beer on me. I apologize and she starts screaming at me. Bouncers are summoned. This is what I get for being too nice and too accommodating! It ends up being fine. People shake hands.

Jack asks for my number and writes it in a match book.

Chardonnay, Elle, a dude, and I pile into a cab to go to an after party. We get dropped off in a residential area and there are no parties to be found. Not one. Empty streets with plenty of parking. Quiet as a mouse. It's 30 degrees. We can see our breaths in the air, I'm wearing a short dress, and my feet hurt (probably from the walk).

Finally, we find more people we know. Elle had called a cab as a back-up and I take it home to my safe and warm bed.

As I put my head on the pillow, I laugh.

I might be four grand in the hole (yes, four grand), but life is good. And so are the memories from the day I got in a horny accident.

Happy Belated Birthday, Chardonnay!

A Couple Miles From Crazy and Happy

Not too long ago, in a land a couple miles away, I had a crazy and terrible day. And then I went to a party.

I met up with Insecure Boy for tailgating in the morning. His dad was in town and he wanted all of his friends to meet him. Apparently, I am a friend...even though Insecure Boy has slipped me the Hot Beef Injection. All of his "friends" included a handful stopping by, but otherwise, it was just me. Insecure Boy, his dad, his sister, and his brother-in-law. Wow. Pretty awkward.

I handled it beautifully. I was charming, funny, and cute.

For lil ol Clumsy, I was on top of my game. Had a great conversation with his sister, made his dad laugh, and charmed his co-workers. I even flirted with him a little.

About three hours later, I went to the little girls room, came back, and he was gone. Everyone was gone. No text, no call, no good-bye.

I was SOOOOOO pissed. I knew he had tickets to the game, but not even a "hey, see ya later!" or a "we went into the game"?**

I went home, slept for a couple hours, and Kayla came home with two of her sisters. We decided to go to dinner before I went to my brand-new friend Chardonnay's (we weren't on a nickname basis at this point...I wasn't even a blogger) birthday party.

I was dressed in this short silver dress, with my fabulous designer coat and black patent leather shoes with silver heels. I had to leave to go to Chardonnay's birthday party from the restaurant, so I drove separately with one of Kayla's sisters. Kayla's sister just broke off her engagement and we had a lot to talk about. I'm sort of obsessed with Christmas music, and seeing as this happened to be December, I had just burned a CD of some killer Baby Jesus's birth songs.

Here we are, driving to dinner, and having an intense conversation. I'm kind of venting about Insecure Boy, she's venting about her lost love, and suddenly, out of nowhere....I shout....

"I'M HORNY!!!!!" (Then I dramatically turn up the volume of My Grown up Christmas List)

Boom.

Fuck.

Beemer.

I hit a fucking beemer.

While screaming, "I'm HORNY!"

I shit you not.

Is this God punishing me for being horny and singing along in celebration of the birth of his Son?

So, we pull into an empty lot and my car's hood is up about 5 inches, but the rest of everything looks fine. The beemer looks untouched. I went under it.

So, after exchanging information with the scariest woman I have ever met in my life, I drove my poor little Honda home.

I call Chardonnay on the way home.

Clumsy: Dude, I don't know if I can make it to your party.

Chardonnay: Why? You have to come!

Clumsy: I just got into a car accident. I hit a freaking beemer.

Chardonnay: Omigod, are you okay?

Clumsy: Fine, except for my ego.

Chardonnay: Go home, take care of some stuff, and then take a cab over here.

Clumsy: I'll try. Talk to you later.

After talking with my dad and insurance company, I make a decision. Either this day is just going to SUCK BALLS. Or I am going to my new friend's birthday party and it is going to be a great time. A great time known as the night of Chardonnay's birthday.

This story is to be continued.....

**So the first time I talked to him since the "I'm Horny" accident was when he called to invite me to his birthday party two weeks ago.

And we're hanging out tonight.

What the f*&% am I supposed to wear? And should I try to accidentally fall on top of his penis or take the higher ground and pretend I don't want to. I mean, do you really blame me? I can't really afford another "I'M HORNY" car accident. It's expensive.

Why I'm Saving Titty Sex for Marriage...

Yep.

You heard it here.

I'm saving myself for marriage. Or at least part of myself.

Make that two parts of myself.

And if I do say so myself, pretty big two parts of myself. I remember waking up in 7th grade and suddenly not being able to see my feet while standing.

And with a rather petite figure, having some large jumblies caused some major shenanigans in the boy arena. Some boys just wanted to "go out" with me because of my big ol' tattas and there were even rumors that I stuffed my bra. But once people realized my cantaloupes were real, I got a lot of attention. And I was officially boy crazy.

My friend Kim* even told me, "Clumsy, all you talk about is guys and boobs."

Wow, I'm shallow, I thought.

But after a while, I realized my triple D's did define part of me. I became really self-conscious of them and how they affected my relationships with other people. I don't think I've made out with any guy without them making a comment about how huge my tig ol bitties were. And my, my. Making eye contact with a man is hard enough to do when you've got two extruding parts staring right back at him.

So, I think my voluptuous fun bags are worth saving for marriage. I mean, I'm no virgin, but at least my breasts are holy jugs.

And I won't have sex up the wrong tube (if you catch my drift...and I mean NEVER EVER), so this is what I've got left.

My tits.

So there you have it, folks.

I'm saving my tits for marriage.

Call me Mother Teresa, call me Tits McGee, call me Crazy Clumsy. Call me whatever you like.

But call me a Booby Virgin. Because that's what I am until my wedding night. And I feel it's quite a lot to offer a man.

That and I'll let him motorboat me too.

Wow. I'm going to be quite a wife.


* I forgot Kim's birthday this week and want to officially blogogize. I really feel like a bad friend! Happy Birthday!

Pull Me Over...

So...I've been MIA. I apologize, there's been some craziness in my life this past week and I've missed blogging SO much. Ask Chard.

Update: Suave Beefy Guy and I had some miscommunication and I am sorry to say, we didn't end up meeting up.
However, I did talk to Insecure Boy this week. Because I had such a bad week and I knew he'd listen. And he did.
Shit. I can't be friends with Insecure Boy...because I still like him.

Here's the story of Monday night:

8:00pm Meet Chard for dinner...I'm late because I literally parked three miles away. Chard saved my spot in line and I had to cut in front of a blind woman at Chipotle. Niiiiice, Clumsy. Way to go.

9:00pm Chard and I walk into Nordstrom so Chard can get makeup. She tells me she only needs to get blush and nothing else. Chard immediately heads to eyeshadow. Me, being the good friend, says, "www.youonlyneedblush.com." The lady laughs at us and I successfully keep Chard in the blush section.

10:00pm Home. In bed. Wow. Fun Night. Reading a book. It's pretty good. Dozing a little.

10:30pm Cayla, my roommate leaves to go out.

12:30am I hear my phone ringing, it says Cayla on my Caller ID. I almost don't pick up, but maybe she's locked out.

Clumsy: Hello?

Bellowing Male Voice: Hello, is this Clumsy, Cayla's roommate?

Clumsy: (Mild panic attack ensues...was she in a car accident? DUI? ) Uh, yeah.

Bellowing Male Voice: Clumsy, this is Officer Shesintrouble and I've got Cayla with me and she's pretty wasted. Could you come pick her up? I'd rather not have to arrest her, but I'll have to if you can't pick her up.

Clumsy: Yes, of course, Officer Shesintrouble, I'll be there in 15 minutes. I'm so sorry.

So, I put on a sweatshirt over my pjs and head to pick her up on a street corner. When I arrive, it's almost 1am and she's in the back of the police car. I introduce myself to Officer Shesintrouble and I can see Cayla puking in the cop car.

Shit.

She's screaming at the cops to let her out. They say they are going to take her in. Officer Shesintrouble sees that I am super stressed and says I can take her home if I can get her to shut up. He tells me the only reason he let her go home with me is because I was so polite to them.

I tell her to shut her trap and I put her pukey self in the car.

I'm going to be a great freaking mom some day.

I stay up til 4am making sure she isn't choking on vomit or puking in the living room.

In the morning, Cayla walks in my room and wakes me up at 6:45am with a "What the hell happened last night?"

"Um, I saved your sorry ass from being arrested?"

"Where's my car?"

"Dude, I have no idea."

"Can I borrow your car to see if mine was towed? I'll be back before eight when you have to leave."

"Yeah, but it's a really important day at work, so you HAVE to be back."

At 8:30am she finally calls me...she's not even close. At 8:50am, I finally head to work. Tired, pissed, and without a thank you.

And that was Tuesday.

And Tuesday -- I got to go to WICKED. Which thankfully, was amazing and made me feel a ton better.

Friday Night, Turn Out the Lights

So, I just arrived in my hometown and I can't fall asleep. And I've been tagged. By two people. The Stormin' Mormon and MsPuddin' and I guess I should go ahead and do that. While I'm watching Fresh Prince of Bel Air on Nick at Nite.

So, here's the scoop. I write seven random facts about myself, and tag the person(s) that tagged me and tag seven other peeps too. If it's you, I've only been blogging about a month, and well, I'd just appreciate you not thinking I'm newbie or something.

Random Ridiculous Facts:

1. I have a major addiction to some very ridiculous mystery TV from the 80s. Matlock, Murder, She Wrote, Magnum, PI and Columbo.

2. My favorite sandwich is peanut butter, honey, and peaches. Toasted.

3. I have had the following hair colors: Black, Dark Red, Blonde, Platinum, Dark Brown, Cruella Deville (an accident just like the femmullet), Light brown. All in the last 5 years.

4. My new hairstylist hasn't created any of the above hairstyles except for the regular blonde and light brown. She lives in my hometown and I've been her client since my "breakup hair after Social Retard" and I see her at the bars when I go home. She buys me shots and she's super awesome.

5. I could watch the following movies on repeat for the rest of my life and I'd probably be okay. But my roommate would kill me. Just Friends, Pride and Prejudice, and About a Boy. (Yeah, random, I know.)

6. I try not to talk to people on airplanes to no avail. People LOVE to talk to me on planes. I'm one of those people that you feel like you've known forever and you spill your guts to on an airplane. And I awkwardly spill my guts too. I'm an old soul. I wonder if any of you have sat next to me.....

7. I get my nails manicured every day. By my teeth.

My tags...I'm sure you have lots of interesting facts: Just Me, Princess Consuela, Mortarbored, The Maiden, Technodoll, m, Unbonhomme

Mortar, this is pretty tame, so you could blog from your secret Starbucks location. hahaha.

Insecure Boy Called Me...

tonight.

I've been working insane hours this week and I was headed home after a twelve hour day when the phone started vibrating on my drive home.

I picked it up without looking at the Caller ID, who am I kidding, I looked at it and in a moment of weakness, I picked up the phone. I haven't seen him since the day of my car accident/Chard's birthday and we left on somewhat weird terms. I'll spare you the details, but he really pissed me off and I've done everything in my power not to call or e-mail him.

So when I saw his name pop up, I thought I would be strong enough to not pick up the phone.

Ring....

Be Strong....

Ring....

Clumsy: Yo!

Insecure Boy: What's up?

Clumsy: Not much. Drivin' home from work.

Insecure Boy: Wow. Twelve hours at work wasn't enough for you?

Clumsy: (chuckle) Nah, It's my third one this week.

Insecure Boy: Hope they're payin' you enough.

Clumsy: Nope, but I'm working on it, gonna ask for a raise. I hardly have enough money to pay the bills and then I have to try and feed myself, although my dad is always excited when I lose weight. My family's weird like that. I'll tell him I can't afford food and he'll tell me I look great. Thanks, Dad, it's called the Almost Starving Diet. (this is where the Chatterbox part of my name comes from...seriously Clumsy, shut your trap!)

Insecure Boy: (chuckle chuckle...a little drawn out if you ask me) I was calling to invite you to my birthday party. It's actually pretty chill. I'm having people over tomorrow night, just a small group.

Clumsy: Wow, happy birthday. Sorry, I can't come, I'm singing in a wedding this weekend.

Insecure Boy: Isn't this your sixth one this year?

Clumsy: Something like that, working to break the world record.

Insecure Boy: Nice. Well, then since we're both poor, why don't you come over for drinks at my place in the next week or so? My alcohol is free. Or at least already paid for and we can save money by staying in and drinking here.

Clumsy: Sounds good. I'll bring the heartache, you bring the hard on.

(Just seeing if you were paying attention...I just said the first sentence.)

Insecure Boy: Cool. Call me next week.

Clumsy: Happy Birthday.

Always the Wedding Singer, Never the Bride (Part 2)

Suave Beefy Guy really cracks me up.

Cracks me up because he's so nice, but a total know-it-all (like me), good looking yet a total goofball (his eyes are closed in every picture), and kind of rough around the edges with a little bit of beefy charm.

He's genuinely interested in what I do...and he always answers the phone when I call or he'll call me back promptly. He's a good one.

So, we have a nice, get-to-know you conversation at the bar and we take a cab ride home...to his house.

Yep. Me. The Shacker.

He makes me a snack in the kitchen and then makes his move. He puts me up on the counter and we make out (PG) for a while until he carries me to the bedroom.

I'm thinking I'm going to get lucky at this point. Lucky in a he's-my-rebound kind of way.

But Suave Beefy Guy is a total gentleman and apparently wants to make sure we keep things PGish.

So, no, he didn't slip me the hot beef injection. No injections of any kind.

Just plain making out and cuddling. Like high school.

And I have to say, I really enjoyed it. I mean, I let him feel me up...but seriously, it was hilarious! And it wasn't awkward and I didn't feel dirty in the morning.

I woke him up at 6am to drive me sixty blocks to my parents' house in the distant suburbs and he didn't complain at all. He even stole a kiss from me at a stoplight.

So my almost one night stand keeps in touch with me. It's been nine months since I met him and that's quite a while to stay in touch with a PG makeout buddy. He called me while he was driving his two friends cross-country and I met them at a bar.** Pete and Shawn (the guys he drove here) are now my friends.

Suave Beefy Guy, why don't you live where I live?

I went home for a wedding this summer and we went on a mini-date. He accidentally spilled a beer on me and it was really endearing. It was a total Clumsy move and I was so glad I didn't do the spilling for once!

When I went home for a wedding on my birthday, he took me out on the town after the rehearsal dinner. We made out in my mom's car for an hour. On the hood.

So, I'm going home for a wedding on Friday and I can't help but wonder, will Suave Beefy Guy finally slip me the H.B.I.?

** Did I mention this was the day after the big infamous "Insecure Guy in the Rain" day. I snuck into the bar without my ID. Nice.

Always the Wedding Singer, Never the Bride (Part 1)

Well, I feel like I’m far enough into this blogging thing that I can tell you about how I’m a wedding singer and you won’t laugh TOO hard at me. Well, I sing in wedding ceremonies, but it’s not my career. In high school, I used to get paid to do it, and I apparently promised every girl that I ever met that I would sing in her wedding. Now, I’m 26, single and singing in an average of five weddings a year.

The good thing is, I am not a bridesmaid, so I don’t have to wear a matching dress. The bad thing is, I never get a plus one. I never get a plus one and people are always trying to set me up at weddings. Which usually makes things really awkward, but whatever, I'm a freaking riot on the dance floor.

Two of the Seven Sparkles got married in 2007 and I sang in both of their weddings. One of them, Mimi, got married two weeks after HC and I stopped seeing each other. Therefore, I was in dire need of a rebound or just a guy to make out with after the wedding. And when I’m on a mission, I usually succeed.

I fly into my hometown for the rehearsal and to practice with the guitar player. I’m the only other girl there besides the bridesmaids who are practicing walking up the aisle. All of the men are dates of the bridesmaids or are groomsmen, save one.

A cute one. A cute, tall, well-dressed one. I focus on my target, get a good visual, and go in for the casual introduction, Clumsy style.

I fall and spill my purse on the pew and then sit down behind him. Wow. Way to look like a spaz, Clumsy, way to look like a spaz. But he turns and looks at me, and says, “Hey, I think I met you at the engagement party.”

Clumsy (Thinking…I have never seen this person before in my life, but DAMN does he look good): “Oh yeah, I remember, that was a really fun night.”

Suave Beefy Guy: “This is going to be a really fun wedding. Well, I’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner, right?”

Clumsy: “Yeah, wouldn’t miss it!”

Suave Beefy Guy is a little cheesy, so I know he's my type! Suave Beefy Guy is the amateur photographer, and some part of the wedding party because he knows both Mimi and the groom really well. I need to figure out who this guy is…because I never forget meeting people and he remembers me!

Mimi: “Oh funny, don’t you remember the big guy with long hair at the party?”

Clumsy: “Yeah? That cannot be him. No freaking way. That guy was a freaking hippie with hair to his shoulders!”

Mimi: “He cut it and gave it to Locks of Love…haha. Seriously, he did. He’s a really good guy. He’s in law school and went to undergrad with me and Groom. Are you interested in Suave Beefy Guy?”

Clumsy; “Hmmm….perhaps interested in sucking face with him, but time will tell. Go enjoy your wedding rehearsal! Woo! Another Sparkle getting married!”

At the rehearsal dinner, I am charming as can be and the biggest flirt in the whole world. Good thing I had a brand new black dress for the occasion! We go to the bars afterwards and run into every person I haven’t seen since high school, so I start ignoring Suave Beefy Guy. The end of the night comes and I am about to leave when, Suave Beefy Guy touches my arm and looks me straight in the eye, smiling, “You’re leaving without saying good-bye to me?”

Clumsy: “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Suave Beefy Guy.”

Suave Beefy Guy: “If you're lucky...drive safe.”

Hmm, he seems like he might be flirting with me!

Mimi’s wedding day arrives and all the Seven Sparkles are at the wedding and so are our parents. This proves to be pretty funny…since I found out my parents have been taking secretive dance lessons and they are showing them off at the wedding. We are dancing up a storm and Suave Beefy Guy asks me to dance during a slow dance.* I think my dad gave him a nod as a go ahead, which just makes me cringe a little inside.
***
We joke around and have a pretty good conversation for all of the three minutes of dancing. I have to say, Suave Beefy Guy is a pretty good dancer. He also makes a point to ask what my plans are following the wedding.

I practically sit on top of him in his truck to head to the bar, some other dude is sitting next to me and I am sitting bitch.** We are walking from the car to the bar when he almost jumps in front of me, turns to face me, and kisses me in the middle of the street. I’m definitely caught off guard here, but he’s a great kisser.

When we get into the bar, I immediately see every single college friend I haven’t seen since college. They were there for a bachelorette party (my life has all sorts of random coincidences) and since I am home from Cali, imagine about 20 squealing girls running and surrounding me. Yeah, this guy probably just saw his manhood being put on ice. But he’s pretty cool about it and says, “Why don’t we meet upstairs in twenty minutes, you can catch up with your girls and I’ll grab us drinks and a table. Just in case you can’t find me, let me get your number.”

Um, yeah, Suave Beefy Guy gets major points here. Smooth, really freaking smooth. Cheesy and smooth are synonyms in my world. Feel free to use either one when reading my blog.

Jazz is there and she says, “Damn girl, where’d you get this guy? HOT. Didn’t you just stop seeing HC? Haha!”

Jazz and I laugh, take shots, and then she sends me up to the roof to meet him. “Go get ‘em Tiger. Make me proud.”

Jazz knows I NEVER go home with randoms. I just don’t. I don’t bring them home unless I’ve known them for a while and she know at this point in my life, I’ve only slept with two people total (no Insecure Guy disaster quite yet). Jazz wishes I would loosen up a bit and take some risks, but I’m pretty much a nervous wreck…about all things in life including dry cleaning and grocery shopping.

I see him from across the room and he has a beer waiting for me. He has a beer and it’s the beer I drink (a draft made in my hometown) and he didn’t even ask me what I wanted. Smooth, really smooth.

(to be continued...before Friday...because I might be seeing Suave Beefy Guy this weekend and I need to get you up to date!)


*I know, I know, this is SO middle school.
** Sitting bitch, AGAIN!
***Can you tell which one is me? Hint, not the beautiful bride.

Getting Intimate with Insecurity (Part Deux...sorry)

He's carrying me up the stairs...we are making out.

All I can say, is that IT. IS. ON.

It's on.

My clothes are flying off. Rapidly. I am RIPPING his shirt off. He lays me down on the couch. We are making out, but only PG-13 making out at this point.

When the pants come off and we head to the bedroom, I realize this is the point of no return. I am going to make out ALL the way with Insecure Boy.

My internal monologue is saying, "Holy crap. This is actually great. I am really enjoying myself here. Wow. Insecure Guy. I freaking like you. And you are really great in bed..."

Until...

SNAP!!!!!

The condom breaks and pops so hard I have a freaking WELT. A WELT on my freaking vuh-j-j.

Over. Totally done. The moment is lost. And if I was really listening, I would have heard our friendship gasp its final breath, but I'm too much of an optimist.

Flash forward to 8:00am the next morning. Everything's fine. I'm cool with this. Fine. Totally fine. Totally naked. And totally self conscious. Totally fine.

I wake Insecure Boy up and drive him to work. We make fifteen minutes of small talk, but I can't look him in the eye. Why can't I be less awkward? AHHH! Can I puh-lease have a re-do? I totally want a re-do. Totally fine, I'm totally fine.

He says he'll call and I get a text from him at work that says: Wow. I'm really hungover. Hope I everything is cool with us.

See? Fine. Totally fine. Totally normal.

I try to be my suave, texting self and say: Wow. Things would be a lot more cool if we would have tried it on top of the washer and dryer. haha.

Totally fine.

No reply. Shit. Totally NOT fine. I am SO not funny right now. Can I please learn to use humor appropriately?! I am a freak! A freak who slept with her friend and ruined EVERYTHING and is trying to make a joke about sex on a washer and dryer in a text message!?

Later that night, I realize I am missing my I.D. It was in my pocket and I found my pants in the living room in the morning. Guh-reat. I have to call him. I have to mother freaking call him. Totally NOT fine.

He doesn't answer. I leave one of those terribly awful messages like: "Hey, hope you made it through the day okay...just wondering if you found my I.D. anywhere. I'm leaving to go out-of-town with my sister in two days and I really need it. It was in my pants pocket...so, uh, it might have fallen out last night...let me know if you find it."

Dear Lord. In my head, I'm hitting myself, he probably thinks I just needed an excuse to call! Or that I left it there on purpose!

I get a text the next night saying he found it. No call back.

I go to pick up the I.D. at his place of work. We have a pretty normal, if not nice, conversation and I tell him I'm going to pick up Daphne at the airport. He says, "Call me when you get back."

I get back from my vacation and call him a day later and leave him a message. Nothing too weird.

Clumsy's message: "Hey, just got back in town and had the BEST vacation of my life. Seriously, it was awesome and I have some great stories....How was your weekend? Hope it was great. Anyway, call me."

Insecure Boy's message later that night: "Hey, I just got your message. Sorry I missed your call, I just worked out for five hours. Yeah, so I'm pretty exhausted and I think I'm going to go to bed now. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Hmmm. FIVE hours. You worked out for FIVE hours. What are you, freaking Hercules? That was weird.

I call him the next day. He doesn't answer and I leave a short message. "Dude. Just callin' you back. Call me."

Two weeks pass. NOTHING. Not a text, not a call, not an e-mail, NOTHING.

Um, dude, we were friends and then you stuck your dick in me and now I feel REALLY awkward. Awkward because so much time has passed and now it is AWKWARD. Much more awkward than it was last week or the week before.

At first, I'm annoyed, then I'm worried, then I am fucking pissed. I mean, really pissed.

Insecure Boy was always saying I'm a nice girl and I need to stand up for myself when I'm mad. I had always preferred to use funny curse words, like fucktard, in order to show my anger. Most people just mistake it for cute, but I only use fucktard when I'm really mad. Insecure Boy told me that when I really need to get someone's attention and let them know I'm upset with them, I should call them a FUCKSTICK.

He made me practice saying it like I mean it.

And I did.

Well, I meant it in my text message...does that count?

Clumsy: How much time should pass before I start calling you a fuckstick instead of a friend? Let me know.

Insecure Boy: Wow. Sassy. Probably last week.

Clumsy: Well, fuckstick, can we pretend like this didn't happen and be normal?

Insecure Boy: I will do whatever it takes to stay friends with you. It's really important to me.

Clumsy: Fine. Done. Let's hang out soon.

He calls me the next day. "Want to hang out this weekend? Why don't you come over for cranberry-vodkas on Friday and I'll make you pancakes."

Pancakes? Is he serious about the pancakes? This is such a non-friend hang out and I have to pretend like we're friends. And sit on that couch...

I get over there at 8pm looking my very best and he goes in for the hug. Actually, he said, "Don't I get a hug?" (I shudder) This time I am totally aware of my boobs squishing against his body. Kill me. Please.

Five cranberry-vodkas and four pancakes later, we finally talk about it.

Clumsy: Dude, you totally got weird on me.

Insecure Boy: I got weird because you asked how my weekend was...

Clumsy: What?! You've got to be kidding me. Because I asked how your weekend was? You're crazy. I had just talked about mine and then I asked about yours...and then I get a message from you saying you worked out for FIVE hours. THAT, was weird. FIVE hours?

Insecure Boy: Whatever. Well, can we just agree it was a mistake and it can never happen again?

Clumsy: (I swear I didn't cry, but I totally wanted to) Definitely.

Note to self: Sleeping with one of your friends, means they've seen you naked. And seeing a friend naked means he is not your friend anymore. And when you have to pretend like nothing happened, pray you're a good actor...scratch that, pray you're an Academy Award winner, because it's impossible to pretend like nothing happened. Impossible. Every time you see him, it flashes back to Scene Number Seven, where you're kissing and spinning in the rain, and then you feel like shit.

The Fine Line between Insecurity and Intimacy

Let me tell you a story. A very sad story. The story of Insecure Boy.

Insecure Boy and I went to the same high school. A crazy high school where hardly anyone was sexually active and the only drug available for abuse was weed. We drank, but not excessively, and we were genuinely good kids. Good kids living in the suburbs of a Midwestern town where the school parking lot was filled with Beemers, Hummers, and Mustangs. We were all a little spoiled, a little innocent and a little crazy.

I remember Insecure Boy. He does not remember me. Or at least he says he does not. He remembers some of the Seven Sparkles. He doesn't remember that he was in my English class. He was a bit of a class clown, hadn't hit puberty, and I remember I thought he was funny. I even found an entry about him in my diary. I perhaps had a crush on this quasi-geek in high school.

So, when I got a facebook message from him about a year ago (I was still talking to HC at this point) asking if I wanted to meet for Happy Hour, I agreed.

It was totally a friend thing. I have this amazing memory and can pull random names out of hats, so we reminisced about high school for all of five minutes and then we caught up on life. Surprisingly, we had a lot in common and both enjoyed it. We went to a pretty fun Happy Hour and then we both went our own ways.

I was a little surprised, but secretly excited when he called me the next week for Happy Hour. He worked close to my school, so he picked me up and we went to a different place for drinks and dinner. It became a pattern. We went out for dinner and drinks almost every week. Things with HC ended and we talked about both that and his dates. He was dating someone when we started our Happy Hour gigs and everything was good.

Over the summer, he would come over to my place for drinks and TV or I would go to his for tailgates and barbeques and such. We got pretty addicted to one particular show and he came over every week to watch it. One night, he fell asleep on my couch.

This is when I realized, I wished he was sleeping in my bed. Oh shit! I had a crush on Insecure Boy.

In typical Clumsy style, I was completely awkward. I avoided hugging him even though we always hugged because I was worried my big ol jumblies would smush against him and then I would really freak out. I am seriously a spaz. I started acting weird and avoiding calling him so that he would not suspect my crush.

Two weeks later, he calls to ask me....

...if I would be interested in going on a blind date with one of his friends.

Fuck. I'm blind-sided. I did NOT see this one coming. Not at all. And I'm usually a little intuitive when it comes to my people. My people that I see a lot of the time.

If he sets me up on a date, he's totally not interested in me. Get it out of your head.

Get it out of your freaking head.

So I went on the date. I went on the date dressed to the nines. And I had a good time talking with this guy and thinking about how I wanted to make out with the guy that set us up.

Get it out of your freaking head.

Blind date guy is totally into me and calls me two days later. I had warned him that I was in the middle of finals and was finishing my degree, but he apparently didn't care. I texted him back that I would call him after it was all over in a day. Blind date guy called three times the next day. One time he even left a message that said, "I am about to go to my softball game, but I'll be available from 6 to 9pm and you can call me then."

Um, I never called back. Giving me a window of time to call? You have GOT to be kidding me.

But Insecure Boy called. Insecure Boy called and wanted to hang out over the weekend.

I oblige.

Get it out of your freaking head.

We go to a tailgate during the day on Saturday. A pretty freaking suh-weet tailgate. Flat screen TVs, a big RV, leather couches. I park near his house and we walk. We start drinking and I meet a bunch of his co-workers and friends. They love me. I'm really cracking them up with my cleverness. Or maybe I just drank too much. Maybe he did too.

Co-worker: You and Insecure Boy make the cutest couple.
Clumsy: Oh, we're not dating. He set me up with one of his friends.
Co-worker: Really?
Clumsy: Yeah, really. That's how I knew he wasn't interested in making out with me.
Insecure Boy: (chokes on his drink) Um, what?
Co-worker: Well, this is interesting. There's definitely some sexual tension.

At this point, I walk off and start talking to other people. I pretend like my bad self did NOT just say that. My bad self DID just say that. So, I start flirting with everyone. Everyone but Insecure Boy.

He keeps on trying to get my attention. He's staring at me. I pretend not to notice. Shit. We're going to have to talk about what I said.

Insecure Boy: Um, so were you being serious about what you said earlier?
Clumsy: What did I say?
Insecure Boy: Um, about making out with me. Because I would definitely make out with you, but I think it's probably a bad idea.
Clumsy: Oh, it's totally a bad idea. Definitely. I can't stop thinking about it, but it's a TERRIBLE idea. Let's never talk about it again.
Insecure Boy: Uh...

I walk off again.

A couple drinks and a few hours later, we start walking back to his place. I am way too drunk to drive. He realizes his keys are in the tailgating car that left 15 minutes ago for the Valley.

He has to break into his apartment. He will not let me watch him break into his apartment. This is actually pretty hilarious. He climbs up to the balcony, jumps through his window, and yells down to me! We laugh! Did I mention it was raining? He comes running down the stairs, obviously exhilarated by the fact he just broke into his apartment, and picks me up, spins me around hugging me, and gives me one of the best kisses I have EVER had in my life. No joke. Raining, spinning, kissing. GREAT combo.

He carries me up the stairs reverse piggy back style while kissing me....

This disaster is to be continued....

New Year in the Nude

Okay, so enough with me trying to write a bunch of things I should try and do this year to change my life. I am going to start small.

My new underwear says it all, right on the behind.

I am going to believe in my bottom. I will overcome my fear of my bleg (butt/leg coined by HC) and face the new year with a new attitude.

I will not be as awkward.

Especially on dates.

I won't talk too much when I am trying to impress someone. Who do I really need to impress? (Okay, I'll just put it all in my blog? And hope some of you actually read and like it?)

I will not be as uncomfortable naked. (Thank God I am working out at a gym these days)

I will not freak out if someone sees my naked behind. (Actually, I will, but I really need to work on this in relationships.)

I will not immediately point out my faults to people. (Even if I think it's funny)

I will not use self tanner before important events like New Years and weddings. Or if I think I might get laid.*

No more home waxing kits! (AHHHHHH! I need to heed the advice of a professional!)

And most importantly, I will wear cute underwear! Not just in case someone will see it, but for myself! I think the best way to feel better about myself is crackin' up about what's hidin' my crack.


* When Social Retard and I were dating long distance, I went to get spray tanned.
Spray Tanner: What are you getting tanned for?
Clumsy: Oh, my boyfriend is coming in town tonight.
Spray Tanner: Well, wait at least eight hours and then shower. Otherwise, after you have sex, it looks like shit on the sheets.
Clumsy: Shit. He gets in town in two hours. Geez I have terrible timing.