Chase (v): To follow rapidly in order to catch (this could pertain to my career), to go and follow in pursuit (I think I’ll assign this to love)

I wish I had a PhD in life, unfortunately I don’t. It’s a hard thing to do and being an independent woman in Boston doesn’t make it any easier; I’m a triple A, work till I drop, laugh a lot because I can, walk fast, talk fast kinda girl. I do it all and I do it in 5 inch heels.

You would think navigating a career and a new relationship while breaking the age barrier of 30 would be as easy as getting home in a timely manner during a sox-yankees series (this ladies and gents is sarcasm at its finest). However it is not and I am stumbling through this cray cray life one day at a time with a iPhone in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

These are my daily musings; my everyday observations. I am here to rave, rant , tell my stories and perhaps laugh at those times when wine and over priced shoes, tears just aren’t enough.

So what happens after you caught Prince Charming? You could say I’m still Chasing Boston.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Episode 1: The Talk

I so wanted to start this blog on a good upbeat note, but then I decided what fun would THAT be!!

It finally happened, it was just like in the movies; the phone rang it was McSport and he sputtered out the all too common phrase of “I think you’re a great girl, but I don’t see this going anywhere” (girls this means “I like sex, and I like sex with you, I just don’t like YOU) UGH! I had survived 28 years without this ever being said to me and here I was cellular face to cellular face with the phrase from hell on my Sunday night.

This had been 2 months in the making, I had met his friends, we had spent New Year’s together, and we had great sex, amazingly hot and steamy uninhibited sex. Unfortunately we didn’t have anything else, and by that I mean, to him I did have anything else. The truth is he made me laugh and he gave me butterflies but apparently an OCD, hotter than hell (I had to give myself some props) classically trained in French Horn, party planner with a closet full of shoes wasn’t his type.

I thought this was it, maybe not the one, maybe not love, but closer than I have been in a long time and here he was giving me “the talk” and let’s not forget the clinch last line of “I don’t want to sound cliché, but I have a great time with you so don’t be a stranger, I’m up for drinks or whatever (aka, anytime you want to hook up, I’m here)” my response “EAT SHIT” my real response; “yeah, would love to, I’ll keep that in mind.” Paging Courtney’s balls……anyone seen them?

What happens next is pretty cloudy, I think I stopped breathing only to impede any tears from forming, to which I said, “Ok, sooo not really sure what to say, but High 5, cool…..yeah
High 5?!?!?! Who am I? Kimmy Gibbler?? GAWD pull yourself together girl!

I immediately did what any girl would do, got in my hottest dress, opened a bottle of wine, decided that was a bad idea, promptly closed the bottle of wine, took out a box of velveta shells and cheese, put back said box of no good caloric wasteland, sat on the kitchen floor and cried…..and then…..I put on Gaga and I danced. 1 hour and 16 songs later I was exhausted, sweaty and void of any emotional ties.

Our little, we shouldn’t see each other anymore conversation on Sunday didn’t stop him from sending out the booty call on Monday night, and that didn’t stop me from answering it-a girls got her needs and a Monday Night sex sesh was just the thing for a Tuesday pick me up.

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