“I’m fat,” said Big Man on Campus (ex college boyfriend, still very good friend). “I’m loosing my girlish figure.”

“So am I,” I replied. “I’ve been working out like a fiend, cardio, weights, yoga but it does nothing to curb my daily cupcake/cookie craving at 3:00 p.m.”

“I’m lazy. I haven’t been working out, I haven’t been eating well, I’ve been drinking a lot. It’s the tri-fecta of lazy and fat.”

“Wow. Yep – that’d do it. Well, if it helps, I still love you!”

“I feel unattractive with my shirt off. Could you please pass the tater tots?”

"I'm not quite to that point yet. I still feel attractive with my shirt off. Mostly because my boobs are fabulous and I wear sexy lingerie."

(Waitress walks by) “Ya’ll doing ok?”

“I’ll take another Miller Lite draft and he’ll have another rum & coke”

“And an order of the Spinach Dip”

(Waitress walks away)

“I hate men”

“What's the reason this week?”

“Well – I had an AMAZING date with Irish Guy on Friday. At first, I thought ‘oh no! I’m being too much myself – being a little too honest, sarcastic, etc.’ but then he gave me the most amazing kiss ever!! Truth be told, we made out for a good 30 minutes – unbelievable! So I took that as a good sign.”

“Making out with someone for 30 minutes is never a BAD sign”

“I mean, you wouldn’t make out for 30 minutes with someone you weren’t attracted to, right?”

“Depends on how drunk I was”

(Scarlett starts counting the number of drinks ordered in her head…)

“I’m just kidding! I’m sure he was attracted to you. So what’s the problem?”

“Well, I didn’t hear from him all weekend and then I get a little email on Monday saying ‘how was the rest of your weekend? I went to an Oscar party last night but left early because I didn’t want to be a vegetable today’ so I replied, ‘A vegetable? Do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?’ (ha. ha. cute, no?) and then I gave him a few sentences about my weekend, commented on the cold weather – asked him what he was up to this week and…NOTHING. No reply email. No “I had a great time and would love to see you again.” NOTHING. WTF?"

“Well, give him one more day to respond and if nothing, fuck him”

“It’s still frustrating.”

“I’m interested in a girl.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“She’s married”

That spawned a whole different conversation. As we walked out BMOC, grabs a few Mardi Gras beads that decorated the bar Tuesday evening and placed them over my head.

"You have to show me your boobs now."

"You've alerady seen my boobs."

"True. Well then consider those beads payment for services rendered."

"So noted."

Dear Fuckhead:

So its come to this. It's sad really, but apparently necessary given the fact that you obviously can't respect my repeated requests to leave me the fuck alone!

You're the one who chose to take yourself out of my life. For once in your underachieving, maturity stunted, drug laced life – own the decision you made and kindly leave me be.

I’ve asked you nicely, I've asked your forcefully to stay out of my life and off my blog. Sadly, you have chosen, in your characteristically narcissistic and selfish manner, to ignore my requests. This begs the question - why?

The only conclusion I can reach is that in your mind, your visits are some twisted sort of compassionate, altruistic attempt to insure that your absence hasn’t yet led to a ritualistic slitting of my wrists. Please do not confuse me with your mentally unstable ex-wife. I am beyond fine and also, unlike your ex-wife, I do not and never will want you back. (Damn it feels good to say that and TRULY mean it).

This is the last time I will ask you – stay out of my life - stay off my blog. My thoughts and my life should no longer be of any interest to you. If you choose to continue to ignore this request, simply put: there will be consequences. I know you're somewhat unfamiliar with that concept, so put down your bong and pay close attention:

If I see you trolling my site again, the next email I send will be to your girlfriend asking her to please tell her boyfriend to stop harassing me. I'm sure she'd love to know with what a regular interest you take in your ex-girlfriend’s life. I know I would. Let's get her opinion on this, shall we?

I will then post her name along with photos and proceed to conduct a worldwide poll of my readers as to whether or not she does, indeed look like a man.  I’m predicting a favorable outcome.

So, Fuckhead please wave one last goodbye as I hope to never see you here again. And even though the knowledge that you more likely than not, will choose to continue to violate my privacy, I hope whatever feelings you have for the current "love of your life" (ya know, its truly amazing how generic you really are) will make you think twice.

If you do not, in fact, know me well enough not to doubt my sincerity I have three little words for you: Just try me.

Goodbye,

Instead of regaling you with tales of my date with Irish on Friday (i.e. the BEST SEX of my LIFE) – I've chosen to add a few opinions and commentary on last night's Oscar celebration. After all, what kind of pop-culture obsessed, aspiring bitchy fashionista would I be if I didn’t give you a play by play of the red carpet??

There I was, watching all of the glitz, the glam, the extensions…in tres fabulous homebody mode in boxer shorts, a grey, faded U of M sweatshirt, my favorite pink, fuzzy slippers and the perfect accessory: a freshly popped bottle of champange. What more could a girl want, right? Well, I'll tell you. I WANT TO WEAR A PRETTY DRESS and spend hours having my hair done, my makeup professionally applied, my nails manicured, spray tan applied and my own personal fashion consultant!!!!

Sigh. Pout.

But even in the far more subdued glamour style of fuzzy slippers I still felt compelled to provide a stream of conscious-type commentary.

The Oscars: The Good

Of course the Oscars bring out the beautiful people of the silver screen - however - watching all of these just incredibly stunning women makes me just want to give up!

Penelope – you looked AMAZING!!! While I prefer you in your signature black dress, you looked equally alluring in your pale shaded ball gown. Equally poised was your acceptance speech. Bravo.

Natalie Portman – I frequently reel over her performance in "Closer", but she is just such a perpetually stunning woman.  

Kate Winslet – Congrats to you, Kate with your Academy Award and thank you for giving us girls with curves something to aspire to (i.e. not size negative 4). Also, hands down my favorite dress of the night (with Reese Witherspoon coming in at a close second). Apparently the one shoulder statement was tres en vogue this year. I’ll have to remember that for my next black tie event….of course by the time that comes around – who knows!?

Angelina: YES YES for the green jewelry with the black dress. Understated. Classic. Bravo.

Jen: GOOD FOR YOU! Way to walk on stage looking stunning directly in front of your ex and the women that he left you for. I know I personally could not do it with your grace and poise no matter now many millions of people were watching. Then again they were on a 7 second delay and who knows WHAT went on in the theatre while they were rolling the animation clips. What do you think Brad was thinking as he watched her? Hm.

Incidentally – did you see the RED!? Yea for the comeback of the red dress, Amy Adams, Heidi Klum and several others!!!

The Frightful

Apparently I miss football season so much that I'm now using sports metaphors to describe, what is quickly becoming, a very, if not complicated, definitely busy love life (see below). However, upon further consideration, circus terminology such as juggling, clowns and three rings would be much more appre-peaux. Anyone know where I can get a fire breathing midget?

In Play

No word from Lawyer Man (i.e. Sex Fiend) – neither surprised or disappointed.

With much pushing and prodding from many circles, I FINALLY asked Boss Man (my former boss) out for drinks. Perhaps “asked out” implies a little stronger and more direct verbiage than what was actually used. Let me attempt a more accurate description.

I casually suggested that we meet for happy hour so that I could catch him up on everything happening here and I wanted to hear how his job search was going, etc. etc. Very passive aggressive – not overtly romantic. A strategic approach in my opinion. It lends plausible deniability should he indeed think of me as a co-worker and nothing more however, it gives me the opportunity to get him into a dimly lit, alcohol laced setting where I happen to show up looking effortlessly stunning thus giving him the perfect opportunity to commence with confessions of love and adoration.

I may be living in a fantasy world – but at least I own beach front property!

He accepted my invitation and we’re trying for next week. He’s not swift with the email replies and so I’m estimating his next response suggesting time and place (I predict my calendar to be absolutely filled until Friday (wink, nudge) most likely on Tuesday or Wednesday.

Next Half

I’ve got some potential dates lined up for next week. One with a tall, blonde, blue eyed (but I’ll try not to hold that against him) Texan, and the other with a guy for whom I have yet to come up with a clever Blog name. Hmmmmm. I seem to gravitate towards uncreative names describing the man’s nationality, heritage or profession (Canadian, Russian, Texan, Lawyer Man, Football Player….). Keeping with that somewhat mundane but effective trend, I’ll dub him “Irish” for now. And in true to both our respective heritages, we’re planning a pub-type date.

AND – in the seemingly ever present quest to make my life even MORE complicated – Because, honestly, we all know how boring my blog is when my life is uncomplicated and happy….

Off the Bench

The Canadian is moving back to DC in August.

Army is back state side in about 6 weeks.

(Queue ominous soap opera-esque kettle drums) Bum…. Ba Bum...Bum Buuuummmmmmm!

So, after being canceled on last Thursday for date #2 with Lawyer Man, I was almost ready to toss him onto the discard pile – however, after feeling somewhat generous I decided to take him up on his offer of Thai food  and a movie at his place last night.

Not necessarily a mistake…but not exactly the most brilliant of ideas. Let me break it down for you this way: He’s insanely attractive. Tall, dark, handsome, beefy but in a crazy strong, muscley, rugby player kind of way (just the kind of guy you want to snuggle up with and, incidentally just my type). Yummy. Definite chemistry. However, that’s where the pros end. Purely superficial.

 He’s sweet, but in an “I’m too sexy for my shirt” kind of way. He’s all with the calling me “baby”, which, after a week long acquaintance is annoying in itself. But then, when this grown man started pouting – literally pouting – after I drew the "no sex" line …I was definitely turned off. Especially when he pulled out the, “but I’m so crazy about you, baby”. To which I replied, “calm down, pout boy, you don’t even KNOW me!!? Furthermore, if you think this is some kind of litigation to be argued and negotiated upon, consider me judge and jury of the Supreme Court 'o Love. Your verdict: Guilty.”

And so, in his rather lawyerish way, he started a lengthy appeal process, touting the merits of his case. He wants to date me exclusively. He’s hardly ever felt this way. That I'm amazing. That he NEEDED to express his feelings. Puh-lease!

That schpeal might work on a girl desperate for male attention, affection or a relationship, unfortunately for him, that’s NOT me - this week anyway.

Poor boy, his plan backfired and the relationship talk was a turn OFF. I just got back on the market! I don't care how cute he is - the only way i'm jumping off the highway at the first rest stop is if Russell Crowe is holding the exit sign! And the begging - just pathetic. I thought I had left these sorry tactics back in the frat house where they so definitely belong.

Amateur seduction hour aside - while physically speaking chemistry exists, mental stimulation is next to nil. There was not a bookshelf to be found in his apartment (strike one); he doesn’t make me laugh and  half my witty, sarcastic one-liners soar over his head(strike two); he’s waaaaay too quick with the cute nicknames which either cinches the 'most transparent motives in DC award' and is just trying to get laid or b) that, much like Fuckhead, he’s an emotional whore (strikes three and/or four!).

I'm no expert but doesn't that qualify as a definitive "out" in most sporting circles?

While yes, a little lovin’ is always fun and very much needed, this is NOT someone with whom I envision a future. So frankly, what's the point??

I’m a mess – I admit it. I’m a creatively scatterbrained, disorganized mess! To illustrate my point, this is how I left my apartment on Saturday.

Yes, my friends – I walked all around Dupont Circle, Adams Morgan, Woodley Park and the gym enjoying the gorgeous weekend weather – WITH TWO DIFFERENT SHOES ON MY FEET!!! And no – it was NOT on purpose.

You can’t help but laugh.

Disturbingly enough, this kind of crazy brained behavior has spread into my love life, which I am trying to jump start. So a friend offered to set me up and I decided to dust off the jumper cables.

Friday afternoon, Mr. Lawyer and I traded several emails and we decided to meet today (Monday) for HH in Dupont. The plan was that he would call me on Sunday evening to confirm. Well, no call came on Sunday and so I shot off an email last night, very casually asking if we were still on for today. As of this morning I hadn’t heard back – and so was cursing the name of men everywhere trying to discern during what drug/alcohol induced haze I had the bright idea that dating would be a good plan.

As usual, I got myself  entirely more wound up than I needed to be.

Until I received a confirmation of our drink plans about 30 minutes ago. Any logical person would think - "good - all fears abated - dating STILL a good plan." However, we're taking about Scarlett - the hot mess.

NOW I’m dreading the whole thing – just knowing that I’m not going to like this guy. That he’ll be boring; or quiet or arrogant or unattractive or WORSE: that I’ll like him, which bring with it a whole DIFFERENT set of worries. What if I like him and he doesn’t like me; what if I picked the wrong shade of red to wear today; what if…..

UGH – see! Even my brain mirrors my mismatched footwear!!!!

Nevertheless, I will meet him this evening, jumper cables in hand and attempt to discover there is, if not a spark, at least a faint whisp of smoke.