tour de whiskypants

B2 has pulled ahead of B1 in this latest leg of the Tour de Whiskypants: he was an excellent date for my friend's wedding (and showed considerable fashion sense by wearing a very nice linen suit) and even called to make sure I made it home okay (this sort of move is a clincher, by-the-way). Also, he kisses well (I'm tired of men using their mouths like gigantic wet sponges). The fact that I felt comfortable enough to call him this afternoon to see if he wanted to catch a late afternoon movie bodes well (if you haven't seen Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, it is rather fun and the late afternoon movie ticket at Arlington Cinema and Drafthouse is only $5). The fact that he was, indeed, interested in spending even more time with me bodes, like, even better.

We hit a new Thai place called Bangkok 54 after the movie - both food and service were great. B2 had the spicy roasted duck (which was excellent), and I had the chicken panang (very good - the heat was not overwhelming).

must. stop. thinking.

All rightey. I've been on three dates with two men and I'm already thinking about it too much. Must. Stop. Thinking.

It has been a busy week, as a good friend was in town for business and invited me to join her at her posh hotel. Since my little studio lacks a bathtub, I naturally jumped at the chance. (Also, the hotel will lend you a goldfish for the duration of your stay! We named ours "Gil" as an homage to Bill Murray and his outstanding role of "Bob" in "What About Bob".) Plus, she's very good people and the first friend I made when I moved to DC. She also sees dead people but that's a whole 'nother story.

As a result, all contact with B1 and B2 has been by email only. Until tonight.

So, B1 followed up with a pleasant post-second date email on Monday; we generally trade an email per day. Last night he mentioned that he doubted we would be able to get together before I leave DC for my family reunion next Wednesday in the land of Mark Twain. His excuse is reasonable: he has family in town through Saturday night, plans on Sunday night, and will be leaving town for work on Tuesday. That leaves Monday as his only free night, and he was reluctant to make plans with me as a result. Monday also happens to be his birthday, so I can certainly understand wanting to spend time with long-time friends instead of a very recent romantic interest.

I'm giving him some room for various reasons... He called tonight (while I was on the phone with B2 - eek) to make sure that I understood why he probably wouldn't be able to see me before I left to see the family. Perhaps I should have emailed back today to say that I understood... But this situation bothers me just a little. I can understand wanting some "me" time, but my pride was a little bruised to learn that his "me" time was preferable to making out like a high-school junior with me. Apparently, he does not have plans yet anyway. Christ. Just lie to me and tell me you already have plans.

On the other hand, I'm not exactly left to my own devices. I mean, B2 is going to a wedding with me on Saturday. Yep - date numero dos will be to a wedding, and he says he's actually looking forward to it. I'm way past the age of thinking weddings are a big deal, and, he was "had" at the mention of free dinner. Plus, I promised to wear something that showed my decolletage to a very nice advantage. We email each other a couple times a day. He seems more emotionally available than B1.

See what I mean? Must. Stop. Thinking.

when it rains...

While I've always felt that blogging or talking about a fortunate situation tends to jinx things, I just can't help myself.

For the first time since I was a teenager, I have a potential date-juggling situation. I have had excellent dates recently with two different guys. Actually, I had date two with the very nice man from last Saturday, and a first date with a new one. Both gentleman were met online. They appear to be saddled by your average amount of emotional baggage, both are attractive, bright, and think I'm fun/cute/interesting.

So far, the nosehair situation is well in hand. As you, my dear readers, know from last weekend, I have kissed Bachelor #1 before and can verify that he is proficient. We have not gotten to the point of having to ask what the definition of "is" is, which is good. I don't think it is wise to know someone biblically if both parties are still dating other people. But B1 is pretty cool - he emails, is very upfront about what is going on with him, and he also calls. Calling is nice sign of interest.

Bachelor #2 layed a nice kiss on me after our date on Saturday. I was anticipating another wet-sponging of my face (since this has been my sad sad sad experience of late), but he surprised me by knowing what he was doing. And he left a message telling me how much he enjoyed our date and wanting to know when we could get together again.

The question is, How Long Can I Make This Last? Seriously. Two seemingly normal guys that I happen to find attractive and treat me so nicely? The last time I had anything resembling this, I was in high school. It was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, and I started the summer with 6 different boys. And they all knew it. A couple ended up a little bitter about it, with one of my beaux asking a friend about who had won the Whiskypants lottery. My vain teenage self was both pissed and puffed up over that comment. Good times...

Well, blogging will surely kill it.

america's office space aspirations

The NY Post posts a piece today about how Americans waste more and more time on the job with personal email and internet surfing. This is no small surprise. As a society we praise the workaholics and scorn those who "leave work at work". Sure, we produce far more than other nations but at what cost? Our sanity? Our families? Our health? Yes, yes, and yes. But by depriving ourselves of adequate vacation time, we're slightly less productive in the greater scheme of things. This is evident by the increasing amounts of time we spend on the internet reading frivolous blogs instead of working on those tps reports.

Anyway. The reason we're on this subject is because my site meter shows up some disturbing stuff on occasion. For example, a navy.mil address found me by doing a yahoo search on "i like my boobs". Now, that statement is patently true but what the hell? Some Seaman is looking for boob shots while on your and my dime. What kind of idiot goes looking for porn on a government computer? Apparently, idiots that are supposed to be protecting our freedom.

Another person seems to have found my blog by yahoo searching "fully clothed sex". I have no idea why I came up on that search, as most of you know I find that concept to be counterproductive.

Then there's that total creep in Atlanta that found me by yahoo searching for "poop sex". I don't know whether I'm more disturbed that I came up on that search or that there are people into that sort of thing. Exit only, people. Exit only.

Now, I try to be careful when I'm at work. I never blog at work (let's all channel our inner Palahniuk and repeat after me, "The first rule of blogging is we do not blog at work. The second rule of blogging is we do not blog at work."). I'm cautious about google search subject matter (leave the Toys in Babeland shopping for home, if you'd like to keep your job). I'm also cognizant that Big Brother keeps an eye on our computer meanderings. They do that in the private sector too, you know...

So, stop being a martyr and take a freaking vacation. You pervert.

titles are overrated

So, it has been an interesting week. I reapplied for my own job, terrible things happened in London (read TMS's post on this too), I almost got to be an extra in a reality tv show, and I finally had a very nice first date. I had one of those 13 and a half hour dates. One of those dates where you start out kissing in the car and somehow end up half-naked and tangled up in sheets. Where you can't keep your hands to yourself and feel marvelously wrecked from the lack of sleep and exertion.

a couple long days...

At 8 am on Thursday, I got a call from the front office and was told to head out to our alternate site. Which is, like, way out in rural Virginia.

This was immediately after I had woken up to NPR's coverage of the hideous attack on London. I ache for Londoners. Even though I was really lucky that none of my friends were hurt over 9/11, that event had a major impact on me. It didn't help that I had a direct view of the side of the Pentagon that had been struck. And it was the reason why I left the private sector for civil service.

The first thing I did was send an email to the Brooklyn Freckler asking her to let us know that she was allright (BF is taking a little sabbatical over in the UK this summer, and I'm hoping she brings me back a lusty Scotsman as a tzotchke). I had a message from her when I checked again at noon, saying that she had been on the tube earlier that morning. Her notes were pretty short so I suspect she was emailing just about everyone to let them know she was safe.

The next few hours were a bit of a blur: had to brief the boss before jumping in the car and driving maniacally out and PAST the suburbs. Which is weird. Because urban sprawl is the rule, it takes a while to reach bonafide farms. And I had forgotten to bring an overnight bag. So, after finishing my day I had to sneak out, drive back (1.5 hours), snarf down something, pack the bag and return (1.5 hours). In driving rain.

I was the last person at my post this morning, arriving at 7:45. Who are these whackos that get to work before 8:30 am? It is just barbaric. Just kidding. Most of the people I work with take their jobs very seriously, and they work long days in order to make our department successful. So please know that your tax dollars are hard at work...

I'm not really what else I can say, but if I had to give any advice to the Freckler and her fellow Londoners, it would be stop watching news of the carnage, cry a bit as it relieves stress, pick up books with noble stories (I read the Harry Potter books), be ready to take a couple mental health days from work. Oh, and sleeping pills. I like lunesta. And know that you are not grieving alone.

where the hell did my sex life go?

Seriously. What happened? I realized last night that I was getting bored of The Bathtub Bunny. My sex horoscope is fantastic, so all I can hope for is that my week may improve. Or pay another visit to my local marital aide boutique. Yeah, I think we all know I'm headed to Dupont Circle for a new toy. [Big Dramatic Sigh.]

Libra (Sept. 22-Oct. 22) Be sure and wear cute clothes this week — you're going to be somewhat unexpectedly recognized for your achievements and general wonderfulness. Maybe the boss will pat you on the shoulder with a "job well done!" or perhaps the person with whom you lay in bed will tap you on the shoulder to say, "Can I just say, you are the best person with whom I have lain in my entire life. Good work." As the week wears on, spread this incoming love to others. At the very least, it will help ensure you get another person's sexual thumbs-up in the near future.

sentimental

I really miss having a dog. A good dog. Not like my sister's dog, who happens to be the Bart Simpson of the dog world. She doesn't much like that hound either, but Nephew of Whiskypants is extremely fond of the neurotic hairy beast.

Pepper was a keeshond - a medium-sized Norwegian barge dog. They're known to be good with children. We found her at the local pound when she was about 10 months old, and the shelter staff thought she might have been mistreated. For the rest of her life, Pepper could not stand the sight of a rolled-up newspaper. She slept on her back with her legs all akimbo and her passion was licking feet. She had the world's softest ears.



This photo was taken in 1975 on Thanksgiving Day. I'm the one hugging Pepper, while my sister is the darling toddler in the lumberjackesque attire.

My parents had to put Pepper to sleep back in 1988 as her health was very poor and she was in misery. I was touring the University of Colorado-Boulder and didn't find out till we were on our way home. I always said I couldn't go there due to the insufferable drive, but maybe I blame the school for not being able to bid farewell to my pup.

Now I want a purse dog. (The smaller the dog, the smaller the poop.) I LOVE purses.