It’s Halloween, Don’t Touch My Superhero Ass

Halloween…..the time of year when women can bring out the “ho” in Halloween.  (I realize that there is no “ho” in Halloween, but, you know what I’m talking about.)

It was a friend in the Hen House who made the suggestion that the group dress up as superheroes.   Of course we were not to be just any superheros, but sexy superheroes.

Sure, why not?

We were all directed to a website and asked to pick out our costumes.  After a quick scan, I decide to pick Robin – the “girl wonder.”

That’s me, right? Minus the blonde hair?

I was excited and pleased with my selection, until I took a closer look of the picture.

Exactly how short is that skirt?

Better yet, exactly how tall is that model?  It was easy to figure out that she was maybe 5’6″ with a boob job by looking at how close the top of her boots were to her knees.  My boots definitely didn’t go that far up my leg.

Houston, we may have a problem.

Now I started to panic.  I knew catalog models were catalog models for a reason.  They were usually on the petite size, and fit into everything.  They were perfect for junior sizes. I wasn’t no junior and  I knew I probably had at least 5″ on this model.

This could seriously be a problem.

Stupid.

Petite.

Model.

Nobody is that size!

Throwing caution to the wind, I order the costume online for $49.99 and crossed my fingers. God, please let this costume be long enough to cover at least my butt.

It arrived a few days later. Immediately, I go try it on with my high-heeled black boots.

Standing in front of my full-length, I slide  the costume over my head and down around my body.  Now I was convinced that the model in the picture was definitely a midget.  There was no way she was anywhere near 5’6″.

The size I ordered was a medium and clearly a junior size.  Why can’t they make everything in tall?

Maybe if I pulled it down…

It’s pleather. It should stretch, right?

It barely covers my butt.  Great.  I remembered that the description of the skirt was only 15″ long. This would be the shortest thing I would ever wear in my life.  I would have to be really careful not to let it ride up and, God forbid, it shimmied up by accident during my night out.  Taking a closer look at the workmanship on the costume I found that even the stitching was suspect.  Would it hold up?

If it started to unravel, I would definitely be screwed.

Regardless, it was going to have to do.

Halloween night, I’m at the Hen House with the girls getting ready.  Thankfully, one of the girls chose to go as Batwoman and be my partner in crime.  It was going to be a night of pleather.  Yup, I could smell it. Literally. And, knowing pleather doesn’t breathe, I put on extra deodorant.  You know, just in case…

*SNIFFS ARM PIT*

The first stop of the night, is a house party.  Naturally I bring a bottle of Jack, pour myself a Jack & Coke and start mingling.

Mostly everyone dressed up:  Catwoman, Wonder Woman, Danika Patrick, a Pirate, a Wench, and Captain America.

Life is good and, so far, no wardrobe malfunctions!

*THUMB UP*

Around 11:30pm, we all decide to head over to my brother’s bar.

We walk in – I’m pulling down my tiny skirt, saying a quick prayer in my head, in hopes that my brother doesn’t freak out and notice that the skirt is barely covering my butt. Trust me, it would be my luck that he witnesses my ass cheek falling out.

But, apparently, I was covered, or maybe he didn’t look.

It would have been weird if he looked…

Ya, he wouldn’t look.

The bar is packed.  We walk in and, because I am so tall, everyone is yelling, “Robin!”

That’s right! My name is friggin’ Robin…here to fight crime or, at least, score a free drink.

Yes, fight crime – that was my original intention until some drunkie staggered up to me in his drunken haze.  He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me and “the girls” bursting out of my costume.  Not sure what he was thinking, but he slowly inserted his index finger into my right boob.

Yes, you read that right.  He inserted his index finger into my right boob, as if he was testing it to see if they are real or not…

I’m standing there stunned. I’m in shock. My hair is getting redder and my blood pressure starts to sky-rocket.

I start yelling at the guy.  His two friends quickly move in and start making excuses for their drunk friend.  One of them even offered to buy me a drink – hoping that would shut me up.

Like a drink was going to make up for that?!

These guys must have been either really young or stupid because the apologies ended up turning into, “Hey, you are really hot in that Robin outfit. Forget about my friend, what is your name?”

I look over at Mr. Drunkie who is standing there staring at me – swaying. I give him the evil eye.  He’s testing me. Yes, asshole, the boobs are real.  And, I will knock you into next week, if you touch me again.

I’m so mad, I actually make a fist. This fiery red-head is about to lose it. I pull back my arm and get ready to punch him in his face, but then I remember…I am at my brother’s bar…and if you want to be treated like a lady, then you have to act like a lady. God forbid, I am remembered as “Nathan’s sister, who punched a guy in the face.”

Ya…not so flattering.

I decided to let it go – everyone was having a good time and Nathan isn’t anywhere in sight. So, I tell Drunkie’s friends to back off, and get out of my sight.

I turn back to my friends, grab my Jack & Coke off the counter, and managed to calm down. However, about 20 minutes later, wouldn’t you know, Mr. Drunkie had found his way back around the bar into our area again. What’s worse is that he’s perched his sorry drunken ass on the bar stool right behind me.  I’m determined not to let him bother me, so I keep my back towards him and continue to chat with my girlfriends.

I figured I would just ignore him.

That strategy lasted about 30 seconds because he ended up GRABBING MY SUPERHERO ASS!!!!!!!

I’m talking full-on grab.

Like, a whole handful.

I spin around and yell, “Mother f******! Are you kidding me????”

I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but the only thing people saw, was me yelling at him. And, even as I stood there reading him the Riot Act, nobody stepped in.

Typical.  This guy was clearly asking for it and denied grabbing me, instead he asked me, “What did I do?”

Really?  What did you do?

I turn to my friends and tell them I would be right back.

Managing to make my way through the crowd, towards the front of the bar, frantically looking for my big brother, I finally spot him by the front door.

“NATHAN!!!!” I yell.

He walks over to me. I feel five-years old again, as I try to explain what just happened. I’m so upset, I’m practically stuttering.

“And, and, and…then he put his finger in my boob, Nathan.

Nathan’s mouth dropped open as I poke him in his chest.

“At first, I thought I should just let it go, but then that fucker – I think you know him – maybe he’s one of your friends? Nate, he might be one of your friends. I don’t know and I don’t care. He’s a fucker and I’m so pissed off right now.  And it gets better…Nathan, he grabbed my superhero ass!”

*BIG LIP*

In an instant, I saw my sweet brother turn into a very, very pissed-off man. There wasn’t any more explanation needed, because his whole demeanor changed and he literally growled, “Where…is…he?!”

We both walk through the crowd, back to the scene of the crime.  Unfortunately for the perpetrator, his dumb ass was still in the same spot where I left him.  I quickly pointed at him and then took a quick step back, because I knew the drunkard was about to get…

*INSERT SPOOKY MUSIC HERE*

….the Wrath of Nathan.

Like the Leo that Nathan is, he roared over the crowd, “Matty, you are out of here! That’s my fucking sister you touched! You are out of here! NOW!

Clearly, Matty didn’t know about, “The Rules.”

I stood behind Nathan knowing that he had the situation handled even though Matty couldn’t conceptualize the fact that he was being thrown out or even why.  Matty argued a bit, but left without Nathan laying a hand on him. However, deep down inside, the vindictive side in me really wanted to see Matty get tossed out, the hard way.

I was really hoping that jerk would get some of this:

(Nathan, you didn’t think I had that picture, did you?!)

Nonetheless, my night was fun. I was trying to fight crime, or at least score a drink, and my own brother had to come to my rescue.

Later that night, via text:

ME: Thank you for being my super hero tonight and coming to my rescue!

NATHAN: I’m your f***ing brother!
ME:  Yes, you are.  🙂
MORAL OF THE STORY:    At the end of the day, all you have is your reputation, so it’s best to let your big brother do your dirty work for you.

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Swedish Dude and My Inner Turmoil

Hey, I was looking around a bit here and I came across your profile. I thought you sounded like an interesting woman who can be adventuresome and knows something about how to enjoy life. I also thought you were quite attractive and had a warm, pretty smile and soft eyes. That’s a difficult mix of traits to come across these days it seems.

John

That was Swedish Dude, who turns out to be a psychologist. Boy, could he write an email! Lengthy, well-worded, long emails – just love them! That alone caught my attention plus, I noticed in his profile that he looked really good in aviator sunglasses, rode a motorcycle, and from what the pictures depicted – he traveled a lot, especially to go skiing…and I love skiing! So, I reply to him….with an equally lengthy email, which I’ll only bore you with my first paragraph….

John: 

I thoroughly enjoy your emails – you write really well. Your initial email caught my eye because it was a far cry from the “Hey, what’s up?” which I usually get from admirers. Writing seems to be a lost art these days….

Carrie

He responded with….

Carrie:

I would agree with what you said regarding writing being a lost art. In some respects, I think language usage is sort of a lost art, which translates into taking thoughts that one can clearly articulate and getting them down on paper, slowly disappearing. I think there was a time when the whole notion of being able to express oneself in a clear and well thought through fashion was sort of a point of pride. It was something that people wanted to be able to do. That whole focus on internal experience and the desire to understand and make use of it is considered less valuable on a sociocultural level where everyone is worried about what they have, or don’t have, and what they might lose if anything changes in the world around them. However, I digress… 🙂 I think this is straying into the realm of waxing philosophical and/or social commentary… we can get into that over a drink sometime.

John

Meow! Tickle my brain with such talk, you naughty boy! I was sold!

After a few more email exchanges, he suggested that we meet for a drink at the Standard Grill Bar in the Meat Packing District of NYC. I was intrigued by this 6’2″ psychologist, even though I had just had a really good date with Interior Designer Dude. However, Swedish Dude was only 39-years old, whereas, Interior Designer Dude was 52-years old. Regardless, I was heading out for a date…after all, the Dating Gods were smiling down upon me and I was going to take full advantage of it!

We met on a Tuesday night. I was expecting it to be a slow night out on the town but, remember, this is New York City. Who was I kidding? The weather was still nice and warm, which meant that everyone was out to enjoy the  last few days of warm weather.

When my date arrived, I was a little disappointed that he did not dress up at all – not even a little.  Of course, I was in a black pencil skirt and wore high heels. The “girls” were showing a bit, but I counteracted my obvious cleavage and tight skirt with a black, conservative short-sleeved sweater. (You can never go wrong with a sexy/conservative look.)

I was feeling a little kitten-kitten meow-meow all dressed up. I knew the outfit worked, because all heads turned as I approached the bar to wait for my date.  And when my date walked up to me, he too had a smile on his face.

*DING!*

One drink in (red wine of course) and we were discussing my date’s career being a psychologist. I was fascinated by it, but couldn’t understand the whole point of being a psychologist.

“What do you mean you don’t give advice? You sit there and listen to people for an hour, and not once do you give advice? That doesn’t sound fun to me.”

You know me, if I have to sit and listen to someone for any length of time, that person will certainly get my two cents on whatever issue is on the table. It’s like breathing to me – both are a necessity, and definitely come natural.

Second glass of wine in and I noticed my date was getting better looking, and my hormones were coming alive! Uh-O…. I caught myself looking at his mouth when he spoke….and then I was looking at his big man hands…I love big man hands! He had a short, blond beard that outlined his jaw and I imagined that it was soft to the touch. I wasn’t listening to him anymore, but imagining what it would be like to kiss him. He must have read my mind because he stopped talking, and suddenly kissed me.

We ended up talking and did more kissing here and there. Our conversation had turned to talking about the patrons at the bar.  It was really amazing to see the assortment of characters stroll up to the bar and order a drink. It was a typical New York scene – lots of rich stock brokers out on the town with their hot mistresses.

It was getting late and now it was 1:45am. I told him I had to leave for the second time – or was it the third time? All I know is that I was leaving no matter what. I had to get up early for work!

My date walked me to my car and there we had a nice, long make-out session. I liked the way he kissed me…. (Maybe I shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine!) I asked if I could give him a ride home to his downtown apartment by Wall Street, and he said yes. I didn’t get home until 2:45am, and I had to be up at 7:00am. I wasn’t too happy about that as you can imagine…

The following day, I decided that, yes, there would be a second date, but noticed that Swedish Dude didn’t care how late I had stayed out, nor did he ask me to text him when I got home. A far cry from Interior Designer Dude who had made sure I was home by midnight and sent me a text to make sure I arrived home safely. (A very lovely, and sweet text, I might add!) I got nothing from Swedish Dude!

*DEDUCTS 5 POINTS OFF SCORE CARD*

A week later, we went out to dinner for our second date. I don’t know if my game was off or his was, but I was expecting our date to be a little more……fun. I’m fun, and I wasn’t making him laugh, nor was he making me laugh. To boot, our conversation fell flat – it was back to discussing his job again, because it was the only thing we had to talk about. Yuck.

Hmmm….he didn’t ask me anything about myself.

*DEDUCTS 25 MORE POINTS*

About four days later, we plan our third date. I’d meet him at his apartment downtown and we’d go from there and grab something to eat. The night of our date, he invited me into his apartment while he grabbed his coat.  It was a typical bachelor pad. However, this bachelor pad even included a friend from San Francisco who was staying for the week. Swedish Dude’s apartment was only one bedroom, so his guest was left to sleep on the living room floor on a blow-up mattress. OK, I’m not going to judge. We’ve all been there – especially those of us who have lived in NYC – everyone wants to visit, and they usually have to sleep out in the living room. I get that. But, it was still a buzz kill.  And at the least, make sure there are no dishes left in the sink!

We leave and go out for sushi. Thank God the sushi was really yummy because, once again, our conversation was about his work and analyzing people. Even with two Sakitini’s I still wasn’t feeling the “fun” factor.  After dinner, we hit a local bar for one beer, then headed back to his place. It was cold outside, and I just really wanted to get into my car and leave, but he wanted me to come upstairs.

Shocking, right?

When he open the door to his apartment I could see a silhouette of his guest from San Francisco getting into bed. I introduce myself, and the mysterious man waves back, not really saying much. Me and my date slip down the hallway to his bedroom which, by the way, didn’t have a door. Swedish Dude kept kissing me and trying to make the moves, and all I could think about was his friend down the hallway who was within earshot! What the hell? What are we in college?!

His bed wasn’t even made, clothes were strewn on the floor.

Where are my candles?

Where is the music?

I need ambiance…!

I was thinking of all these things that were wrong with the situation, but in reality, I knew I just wasn’t that into him. Plus, I was so close to being Penis Free in 2010 and I questioned whether or not I should give up that title for someone I just wasn’t into all that much.

Hell, no!

I had held out this far, why should I give it up for someone who I’m obviously not into. Just for sex? Hell, we didn’t even get to have the sex talk yet! I decided to keep Princess on lock-down and excused myself to go home!

“It’s really late. I better go home,” I said.

“You can spend the night here.”

I looked over to the bed and wondered when the last time his sheets had been washed. Eww.

“No, that’s OK…”

(I’d fallen for that trick before…..sleep over – sure, right!!)

He walks me to my car, and as he kisses me good-bye, he laughs a little and says to me in a serious tone, “Carrie, I can see that you are struggling with some inner turmoil.”

Inner turmoil??? Oh, right. Just because I have foiled your plans to get laid, now it’s on me?  Now I’m being labeled as the one who has a problem, and it’s called, “Inner turmoil”? Screw that! Your problem is that you’re an ass-hole who has not, once, asked anything about me – and who is just trying to get into my pants. How about that?!

I wished I had the cojones to say that, but I didn’t. Instead, I just smiled graciously and said I was leaving.

*HITS IMAGINARY EJECT BUTTON*

Swedish Dude might have looked good on paper but, in reality, I just wasn’t clicking with him. There was no spark….no laughter….no jokes….no nothing and more importantly, he didn’t take any interest in me. I just felt like I was being analyzed all the time. And who needs that?

Next!

~Carrie

Guy Smiley – Oh, the Humiliation!

Oh, my God.  I just did the unthinkable!  After a lovely date with a very decent and polite guy…  Oh, hell, I’ll just let you read our correspondence and you can see for yourself.

Hi Royalvelvet!

I really enjoyed reading your profile, and your photos are absolutely lovely….

Seems we have something in common. I recently moved back, (about a year and a half ago) to New Hampshire after living in the Midwest for the last 22 years. New Hampshire is a wonderful state.  It is funny, since being on Match, I do get woman who live in Massachusetts write to me and say, “You seem so cool–what are you doing in New Hampshire?” I just have to laugh.  Additionally, we both have an interest in writing. While I don’t make my living as a writer, writing does help me learn and figure out how to live. I do write on a daily basis, and have been published on journal writing and the creative process. So, perhaps we would have a lot to talk about….

In the interest of being transparent, you sound like someone I would like to meet in person.  I would be happy to meet you for a coffee or a drink if you are available to meet.

Awesome!  I love a guy who steps up, instead of standing around kicking tires.   Who the hell wants to do a million emails back and forth and play 20-questions – only to be disappointed when meeting in person?  (I learned my lesson with Beef Cake never to do that stupid pen-pal thing ever again.)

I was on a roll, dates were coming in left and right, so I figured I’d pencil him in for a date that Friday night.  After all, he had blue-eyes, handsomely bald, and 6’4” – with a beautiful smile!  What more could a girl ask for?

We meet at Michael Timothy’s for dinner in Nashua.  It was a beautiful summer evening, so it was easy to play up my femininity with a girlie skirt, high heels and my pretty, new summer satchel.

Our evening together was a delight.  We ate dinner outside on the patio.  We both ordered colorful fruity martini’s and made sure our waiter kept us up-to-date on the Red Sox game.  Talking with Guy Smiley was easy, although, I have to admit that he was a little bit of a conversation hog…

He was handsome, but, throughout the evening, I sat there and wondered what it would be like to kiss him.  Would he be a good kisser?  Did I see myself kissing him?

Did the fact that I was even questioning it mean that I was not feeling the pull?

I ordered another martini just so I could relax and stop the over-thinking.

Fast forward to the following morning…I receive a text from my friend Justine:

JUSTINE:  How was your date last night?

CARRIE:  Super handsome.  Better in person.  A perfect date.  He was a gentleman.  A little chatty, though.  But, he didn’t kiss me.  He said he doesn’t kiss on a first date?  WTH?  But, he did kiss me on the cheek…then down on my neck.  *gulp* Smart man leaving me in suspense.  He asked if I was interested in a 2nd date.  He did everything right.  EVERYTHING.  And, he’s from NH!!!

OK – stop!!!!!!

Unfortunately, after I sent that text – and the two texts following that to Justine  – I realized that I had actually sent them to Guy Smiley and not to Justine.

How the hell did I do that?

Oh, my God…the humiliation!

After realizing what I had done, I knew there was no way of taking it back and the only thing I could do was just own it.

So, I did…

CARRIE:  Oh, that’s just great…  Now you know how our date went.  Justine asked just asked how our date went – and my Blackberry was still on your text when I replied.  Nice.  I guess nothing is a secret now.  🙂

Further adding to my humiliation, he didn’t reply.  But, I had hope.  I knew we both enjoyed ourselves on the date.  Besides, who can resist me?

I’m fun and funny – easy on the eyes, and funny…

Did I mention I was funny? 

FUNNY!

Three hours later, I got a Match.com email from Guy Smiley.  Once I saw that he was writing through Match.com, I knew what he was about to say wasn’t going to be good.

Hi Carrie,

I got your text messages this morning. I am glad that you enjoyed last night, and it was great meeting you. I do think that what was missing during the course of the evening together was a sense feeling of chemistry between you and I.  It is strange for me to write that because you are, without question, you are a strikingly beautiful woman.

I do wish you the best of luck in your search for love and companionship.

Be well…

Ahhhh jeeze! Back to the drawing board.

NEXT!!!

~Carrie