So…once again dinner with Pretty Ricky did NOT occur as planned. It’s getting a little ridiculous at this point, obviously. Maybe it’s just not meant to happen.

We had talked on Tuesday at the Christmas party and decided on yesterday. On Friday he told me 3 p.m., as noted in my last entry. A little early, but ok. I asked if this was a definite. As in, if we don’t talk before then can I just show up to the spot at 3 and expect him to be there. He was going to NY to see his mother through some surgery, but he said he would be back Sunday morning. He said he’d hit me up the next day and let me know for sure though.

Never heard anything on Saturday, but I assumed that no news is good news.

But I did expect to hear some type of confirmation on Sunday morning. I emailed him around 7:30 to confirm. Heard nothing for hours and started feeling antsy. Around noon when I got home from the gym, I saw that he’d written back at 11:30 to say that he would be leaving by 1 and would be back around 4 and would hit me up when he’s back. So clearly the 3 o’clock wasn’t happening but I checked and found out that the restaurant doesn’t open until 4 on Sundays anyway, so we would’ve been looking dumb. I also noted that it closes at 9, but that wouldn’t be an issue because he should be back in plenty of time.

4 o’clock comes and goes. Well okay… it’s not like I expected him to be back right at 4 on the dot. I was already in the process of getting ready, so I figured by the time I was done I’d hear from him. 5 o’clock comes and goes. I had tentative plans to go see my dad so I figured I’d go ahead and do that since he lives not far from the restaurant anyway. I figured Pretty Ricky might’ve gotten held up but that I’m sure to hear from him soon and at least I’d be in the area already.

He emails me close to 6 to say that he’s still on the road due to bad traffic. Yeah, okay. I email back to ask if he was fairly close.  Of course the whole email thing is gay because I’m not sure how often he checks it and for situations like this, more immediate responses would be better. I tried calling the number he gave me, but as I suspected it would be, the phone was off. Makes sense, being as it’s not his main number. At this point I decide to head down to the restaurant to have a drink at the bar while I wait for word from him. I live 30 minutes from the restaurant, which isn’t the longest drive ever, but I didn’t wanna drive home and then hear from him and have to drive back.

I don’t go to the actual restaurant, but another one right across the way whose mojitos I fancy. I take a seat at the bar and the waiting game continues from there. It’s a little after 7 at this point. I order a mojito and drink it. 7 I never received a reply to my inquiry into his whereabouts, so I email him again to tell him that I’m in the area so it’d be nice to know if he’s going to arrive sometime within the next hour or so. 10 minutes later I follow up to advise him that if we don’t make the original spot, we could always go to another one nearby that doesn’t stop seating until 10. It’s almost 7:30 at this point and I’m starting to realize that I probably won’t be seeing Pretty Ricky.

I order another mojito and an appetizer. A trio of two males and a female enter and take seats beside me. They’re friendly and we get to talking and I’m a little down at this point but they kind of cheer me up. They even buy me another mojito.

8:45 comes. Still nothing from Pretty Ricky and at this time I’m pissed. And I’m buzzed. So I’m like, fuck it, and I dig his REAL number up and I call that shit – twice. No answer. So then I text him. I tell him that I had to utilize his REAL number because I’ve been waiting at a restaurant for over an hour waiting to hear something. Clearly he either did not really leave NY by 1 or he’s just blowing me off. He replies back that his best friend’s daughter died in an accident and he’ll call me in half an hour. I tell him I’m sorry to hear that and will be expecting his call.

As I’m leaving the restaurant at like 9:40, he calls. We talk, no arguing or anything. I bring up the number thing, how it’s kind of insulting that he gives me a number to a phone he hardly uses. He alleges that that is in fact the number he gives his friends, that he hates his main work phone because basically all people call him for is to bitch. I explain that I feel like he keeps blowing me off week after week because it seems like it’s always SOMETHING whenever we plan this outing. And after the fact that I spent a good chunk of my time doing his paper, it should be nothing for him to show his appreciation by taking me out for a few hours. However, I do understand that because of our history maybe he doesn’t feel comfortable. He said that’s not the case and he does intend to keep his word. I emphasize that I didn’t do his paper for him because I wanted something, but because I care about him as a friend.

I don’t know. I guess I’ll just wait until he has time. It seems like he has a lot going on. He alluded to something brewing at work that might lead to him retiring in mid-January, but he wouldn’t say exactly what.

I guess when he has time, he’ll let me know.

And on top of all that, I got home last night, fixed a bowl of cereal, and plopped down on my bed with my laptop…only to spill a good bit of the cereal all over my keyboard. So now my space bar, b key, n key, and question mark are all DOA. If not for the on-screen keyboard to supplement those broken keys, it wouldn’t be worth using. Typing takes excruciatingly long now though. I guess a new laptop is in order…blah.

Night From Hell

Well, first things first, I would just like it known that I knocked Pretty Ricky’s paper out of the park. Not only did it get an A, but it was the SOLE A out of all the papers. He showed me his score and the overall grade breakdown of the whole class. There was 1 A (his), a few Bs, mostly Cs, and a few Ds. So damn, I still got it even 6 years out of college. I got an A on a term paper for a class I’m not even taking. I remained modest by remarking on how the paper was a collaboration, and he told someone else that I “critiqued” it for him and helped him get an A (and I’m not offended by that…I mean, it’s not like I expect him to go around telling people I wrote a paper for him), but clearly it was my creation. It was my research and my writing. From scratch. And it got an A. I’m quite proud of myself. Maybe I should go back to school and get my Master’s. Eh…

So anyway, Tuesday night was my job’s Christmas party. My third one. The first one I went to in 2008 was primarily for one purpose: to try and get friendly with my gorgeous boss who had me enthralled from first sight – Pretty Ricky. Clearly he had his sights set on me as well because as soon as I walked in he beckoned me from across the room to a seat right beside him and I sat there for the whole night. Mission accomplished. Several people were headed to a bar afterwards. I asked Pretty Ricky if he were going and he said he was. I asked if he could drive me because I was a little tipsy. He said yes. He drove us to the bar where we got a little more tipsy, then there we were, driving back to his place. And the rest is history.

Last year, Pretty Ricky and I weren’t on good terms when our Christmas party came around, but I still had feelings for him, feelings that he had fairly recently woken up from hibernation. So I figured this party would possibly give us a chance to smooth things out and rekindle. Perhaps life would come full circle and things would go like they had at the first one. Boy was I WRONG. This time, several other females had his attention for most of the night and that just made me feel like shit. He blew me off whenever I tried talking to him and that hurt me. I never did anything to make a scene, but my longing for his attention was obvious and I basically made a fool out of myself. Not a good look.

And so for this party, I figured that for the first time, I’m going to go and have a good time and not be worried about Pretty Ricky or anybody else. And that’s exactly what I did! It was fun. I wore a red a-line dress and some lacy black stockings. Looking back, the combination of the two ended up looking a little racier than I had intended, but I thought it was cute. I always tend to be overdressed at these things because most of my coworkers wear jeans. I’m always the only one really decked out. But I don’t care, it’s a party and I love dresses.

Pretty Ricky came, of course. We hugged and talked a little and took pictures together. He looked good. He had on a pinstripe suit complete with a pink pocket square, so that helped make me feel less overdressed. He looked good.
We all talked and laughed and drank and ate and had fun. These are the times I love my coworkers like a huge dysfunctional family. There were awards and commendations. It was a good time. I took lots of pictures and talked with lots of people and somehow ended up playing “Flip Cup” with beer even though I don’t like beer at all.

The party only went until 11. Afterwards, like normal, the people not ready to call it a night ventured out to a bar. I was one of them. We went and sang karaoke and drank some more and acted kind of dumb and had a good time. I remember flirting somewhat with the big boss (although his wife was right there) and sitting on another superior’s lap and flirting with him and singing “Shout” by Tears for Fears with a coworker. Good times.

Of course I was intoxicated at some point. Because of this, a coworker, Russian, took my keys to make sure I didn’t leave before I was in driving condition. However, I only found this out after I had left and was getting a ride back to my car, which was still parked at the original party venue. I called Russian and he said he’d put my keys in my mailbox at work. Okay, fine. My ride drove me to my building and I retrieved my keys and I got back to my car.

So then I was driving home and my car felt a little funny. It was pulling a little bit. My ABS light came on. Then I started hearing a grinding noise from one of my tires. Uh oh. Pulled over to the side of the highway and sure enough, my rear driver’s side tire had blown. I should’ve figured something like that would happen sooner or later because about 2 months ago it kept going flat week after week and I kept putting air in it and meant to get it checked for a slow leak, but then it just stopped going flat so I thought maybe it was the temperature changes or something.

So here I am on the side of the highway in the middle of the night in the freezing cold with a flat tire. Fortunately, I just happened to pull over behind a tractor trailer that had pulled over to the side for the night. So then there I was, frantically knocking on the cabin door trying to wake some poor trucker up for help. He came to the window after a few moments and I explained that I had a flat tire and needed help. He put on some clothes and came out. I retrieved my donut and jack out of my trunk for him and he got to work. It was probably like 30 degrees out and I was shivering. The trucker suggested that I sit in my car while he changes the tire. I at first refused, figuring that if he’s out in the cold in the middle of the night changing my tire, I could at least stand out there with him. That determination didn’t last long. I couldn’t take it any longer, so I eventually did go sit in my car. He finished and I thanked him profusely and then went on my way.

By now it was probably after 3 in the morning. I had to be up at 4 for to start getting ready for work, so things weren’t looking good. It was obvious at this point that I wouldn’t be getting a lot of sleep. I made it home, parked, and got up to the main door, only to discover that my freaking door keys weren’t on my ring. I hadn’t noticed before. So now I’m locked out of my apartment – GREAT! I called Russian and cursed him out because he’s the one that was fooling with my keys. He insisted that he put my house keys back in my right coat pocket. I checked all my coat pockets, searched my car…nothing. So now I’m fucking locked out, and time is whittling away. I called Matt at work, hysterical. The first option would be emergency maintenance, but Matt couldn’t find a number for them on the corporation’s website. And I wasn’t going to wake one of my neighbors up at 3:30 a.m. because of my retardation. The second option was a locksmith. Matt calls one for me.

This jackass gets there eventually after calling me twice for directions. He tells me it’ll be $200. HA! I’ll pass. For all that I’ll just wait until the maintenance office opens in the morning. I’ll just have to be late for work. He tells me I have to pay him $30 for coming out regardless. HA! again. I told him I’m not paying him something for nothing. I wasn’t advised of any $30 fee and he talked to me twice. Perhaps he told Matt that and Matt neglected to tell me, but that’s something that should be discussed with the person you’re actually going to service. I mean, really, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to know who he is. He’s dressed in a blue jumpsuit with no identifying information on it, and is driving a freaking U-Haul Van.

It was at this time, while I’m out of my car and in the light, that I happen to glance down at my coat and notice that it’s navy blue. Um, but MY coat isn’t navy blue, it’s black. I have someone else’s coat. And I realize that this coat is a little too big…probably a man’s. UGH. THAT’S why my keys aren’t in the pocket…because it’s not my freaking coat. GREAT!

So meanwhile, the jackass locksmith is threatening to call the police and to have my car impounded and all this and that. I told him to go ahead, and I got back in my car and proceeded to ignore him. He’s still standing idly by making his threats, but once he sees that his bluffs aren’t working, he retreats back to his van. His has his dispatch call me and I explain to them that I’m not paying someone $30 for nothing when I myself was never advised of those conditions. If I had known that was the case, I wouldn’t have had them come out. I hang up with them, and then jackass comes back out of his van eventually and again tries to force me to pay him $30. When his demands were continuously refused, he started on an angry, insult-laden tirade which included “Fuck you, bitch,” and  “You look like a prostitute” and calling me a crackhead, which was hilarious in that it was so random. I could see why he thought I was a bitch and my Christmas party outfit might’ve been a little risque, but I don’t smoke crack at all and I don’t look like I do. I’ve never been called a crackhead before. Pure comedy. Surely he was able to conclude that if I wasn’t paying him even BEFORE he cursed me out, then he definitely wouldn’t be getting shit after that. He left.

Thankfully, one of my neighbors was coming out for work, and I told him I was locked out. He had his wife call emergency maintenance for me. By this time, it’s close to 5:30 a.m., when I’m supposed to be leaving for work. So it was obvious that I was going to be late. I tell Matt to let my supervisor know for me and then I settle into my nice warm car to sleep until maintenance shows up.

A maintenance man knocks on my car window, maybe close to 6:30 a.m. He lets me in my building and my apartment. Problem solved. I had to pay a $35 fee, but that’s a $35 that I definitely didn’t mind paying after the horrendous events of the past several hours. It can be considered a stupidity tax.

I was a little over an hour late for work. I think my supervisor thought my situation was bullshit at first after hearing it from Matt, probably figuring that I was just hung over or whatever. I was tired as hell, but not hung over in the least. I thank water for that.

There was still the issue of who had my coat and thus, my keys. My maintenance man was nice enough to produce another set for me to use as spares since I was now using my original spare set (perhaps it’d be wise to give my spare set to someone else to hold onto instead of keeping them in my apartment since that didn’t help matters). As it turns out, the navy blue coat belongs to one of my coworkers, and he has mine, complete with keys. I guess I took his by mistake some time during my drunken adventures. He’s on vacation so we have yet to swap, but I’m just glad I know where it is. I like that coat. And now I can get my original keys back at least. So I have two spare sets. Cool.

And this is all why getting drunk on work nights is never a good idea.

On a completely random note, Pretty Ricky told me yesterday that he’s 46. I had no idea he was that old, I thought he was 42. And I thought that because on his Facebook page (that is, when I could actually see it…no longer a possibility since he’s had me blocked for like a year and a half) he had put his date of birth as 1968. I was absolutely stunned that he’s actually 46. He’s an amazing looking 46-year-old.

Our dinner, which has gotten canceled twice now, is supposed to be tomorrow. Yesterday he said he’d like to meet up at 3:00 p.m., so that’s not really a dinner. It’s more like a linner or a dunch. But whatever.

I Should’ve Known

Dinner with Pretty Ricky was supposed to be tomorrow night and was still a go as of Saturday. However he sent me a text not too long ago saying that he may have to drive up to NY after his final tomorrow because his dad is in the ER with some type of bleeding. Blah.

If that’s really true, then I feel bad for selfishly wallowing in my own disappointment in the wake of his dad’s health issues. If that’s not really true (and a tiny part of me suspects it isn’t), then obviously he’s just blowing me off. There’s no reason to believe that it isn’t true, but the fact that this is now the second time he’s canceled is annoying me slightly and that helps to cast a negative light on the situation.

Of course, I didn’t let that reflect in my responses to him. He had also added that he’s stressed about the final. I offered him kind words regarding both his dad and the final. I mean, I really do want his dad to make out okay and I want him to do well on his final as well, but I was really looking forward to going out with him. I took a 1/2 day off tomorrow so I’d have ample time to unwind and get ready, and then the whole day off on Wednesday just so I wouldn’t have to worry about having to get up at the ass crack of dawn for work and/or a possible hangover.


Stallion came to visit me today. I happened to text him just to say hi and then he happened to have the afternoon free and suggested it, and I wasn’t doing anything so he came through. Along the way he picked us up some food from a local restaurant and some wine. We ate and drank and watched E.T. We laid on my couch together and I eventually ended up with my head on his chest. He caressed my shoulder most of the time and it seems like he was trying to migrate to more intimate places at certain points but he was a good boy for the most part, with my help. He’s been in some long-term training and cut his hair really low for it and I thought it actually looked better than his regular do. It makes him look younger – boyish. But…still not feeling any intimate vibes at the moment. Maybe later. I’ll keep him on reserve.

After E.T. I was kind of tired and wanted to kick him out, but I felt bad so I let him stay a little longer. Not long after that I got Pretty Ricky’s text and thus was blown so I just went on ahead and kicked him out then. I gotta work my 1/2 day tomorrow so I still have to get my beauty rest anyway.

Curly still believes that he can just invite himself over whenever he wants. I have no idea why. First of all, from Facebook interactions between them and their behavior at that wack party, I’m lead to believe that he and a coworker of mine are involved. That normally wouldn’t be an issue, however I happen to be cool with her and would rather not step on any toes if that’s the case. I asked him a few days ago if he was doing her, but he wouldn’t say. That clearly means that he is…otherwise he’d just say no.

That hasn’t stopped him from hitting me up several times in the last few days, trying to come over. Yesterday I was talking to him and he asked what I had to drink and I told him vodka. He said he wanted some and that he’d call when he’s close? Um…excuse me? I told him I’m not home. I actually was, but I wanted to prove a point. You don’t just dictate to me when you’re coming over. That’s ridiculous.

Today he sent me a text asking if I were home. This was while Stallion and I were watching E.T., and my phone was in my bedroom, so I didn’t get it until almost an hour later. I replied with an affirmative, and was waiting for him to advise me that he was coming over (so I could inform him I have company already), but he never did. Good.

These silly boys…