Never Felt So Alive

Last week was the annual Mile of Men in Atlanta. 94 single men lined Peachtree Street, holding large signs that displayed their numbers. Women drove by slowly, calling the radio station for more information if they saw something they liked.

Marjorie, Candace, and I decided this didn't cut it.  We wanted face-to-face interaction with the guys, so we decided we would park our car, get out, and walk the strip of men.  "Shopping," as Marjorie put it.  Well, when we got to Peachtree Street, I got a little excited at the sight of all of those men, rolled down my window and began yelling to them, like a construction worker on lunch break.
"It was a side of Michelle I have never seen!" Candace later said.

By the time we had finished our shopping excursion and headed back to the office, I had rounded up three phone numbers (only one of which I seriously intended to call) and Marjorie none.  She now owes me lunch.

Neither of the girls were interested in the after-party that night, so I went alone.  I ran into a woman who bitched with me the whole night about the 4:1 female:male ratio.  Soon, she was ready to leave.  I decided to hang around a few minutes but didn't last much longer, walking out soon after.  I ran into her outside the parking garage.
"Michelle?!  Get back in there!  I told you to pick up at least three more men before you left!"
"I couldn't do it.  I was too bored!  I thought you left?"
"Well, I was kinda looking for that one guy.  I wanted to give him my number ..."
"Here, give me your number.  I'll go back inside and try to find him."

I ventured back inside and found him easily, but he was surrounded by a group of women.  So, I stood against a wall and waited for the women to clear out. 

As I waited, a handsome man in Army fatigues approached me, and we began talking, flirting, dancing.  After an hour or so, he asked me if I would go back to his hotel room with him, so "we can lay together," he said.  Normally, I am not so naive, but I agreed.  I was drunk, and it sounded nice to have someone with whom I could pass out with.

Once I had successfully delivered my new friend's phone number to the man, the Army guy and I left. 

At his hotel room, we were making out when he asked, "Can we?"
"Can we WHAT?" I asked, thinking he wouldn't dare ...
"Have sex?" he asked. 
"I've known you for, like, four hours!"

"What did you expect?" Sharon asked me, the following Monday at work. "You're such a tease.  Telling him you would go back to his hotel room with him and then not putting out!"
"I know, I'm horrible.  I don't know what I was thinking.  I guess I thought he was really serious when he said he just wanted to 'lay together'!" 

He was still very pushy about it, even after I said no.  He kept crawling on top of me, waking me up when I was asleep. 
"Can we please go out tomorrow?  Please tell me you'll go out with me tomorrow night too," he said.
"I will if you will just behave and get off of me!" I said.  But I didn't.

That wasn't even the worst part of the night though, because at one point when we were making out, I thought I was going to burst into tears.  At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be with Hulk and to be kissing Hulk and to have Hulk pestering me for sex.

I've got to end it with Hulk. 

I'm never going to be able to have a normal relationship when all I'm thinking about while I'm with other guys is him.  And I hate to plan anything with another guy because I'm always wondering if Hulk is going to text or call, causing me to miss an opportunity to hang out with him. 

And I knew it had reached a bad point when I was talking to Val about him, and I had accidentally called him by his first name when we always refer to him by his last.
"Who?" she asked.
I corrected myself and used his last name to clarify.
"Since when do you call him by his first name ...???"

It ends this week ...

So, just as I was complaining about men who turn out to be bald or fat in person, I was pulling a deception of my own. 

This guy, Pete, had sent me a friend request through myspace.  From his pictures, he looked like maybe he was a club promoter, just looking to add people so he could advertise.  But he was cute, and I liked what he said in his profile, so I added him anyway to see if he was for real. 

We ended up emailing all day Sunday and then arranging to meet up Tuesday night for a drink.  Unfortunately, my face broke out pretty badly on the right side.  I was 10 minutes late, because I was unsuccessfully attempting to cover my imperfections. 

"How do I look?" I asked Val, frantically before I walked out.
"Good," she responded.
"No, I mean my face.  How bad does it look?"
"It's looked worse."

I thought back to the end of a date I went on two years ago with Billy where he had said to me, "I knew this was going to be a good date."
"How?"
"Because I broke out," he said, pointing to a spot on his face I had not noticed previously.
I laughed, not only because I had broken out too, but also because he was right.  It was a really good date.  Maybe breakouts are an omen of good things? 

Either way, I resolved not to care how this night went.  I bet that I wouldn't like him, and it helped to bring him down in my mind, thinking of him as a "pretty boy"--after all, he had gone to the tanning bed before we went out. 

But still, I hated that my pictures showed a girl with smooth, clear skin and that was not really the case that night.  So, when we met at the bar, I took a seat to his right and chewed strategically on a thumbnail so that the rest of my hand would cover my breakout.  I was grateful for the dim, red light of the bar--everyone looks good in red light. 

He ended up being a lot of fun in person, and I was disappointed that he would not be calling me again, because I was not the girl in my pictures. 

But I was wrong.  He did call again.  And he texts nearly everyday.

So now, I have resolved to look at my occasional acne as a good omen instead of a social hinderance. 

Easier said than done ...