Tag: nicknames

dating, humor, personal writing

retiring that jersey

mycrookedrainbow

So before I even get into any updates on Professor Cute Butt, I just gotta resolve this one thing.

Ok, I’m not a sports person, at all, so bear with me. But I’m pretty sure in sports – you know, like whackball and footbasket, the old standards – the players have jerseys with numbers on them and stuff to tell them all apart. Right? And furthermore, I’m pretty sure sometimes a player is so remarkable that they “retire” his jersey and number when he retires. Yeah?

So yeah. That’s gonna happen with my ex’s text-tone.

Not so fast. “Remarkable” doesn’t mean what you think it means. Remarkable does not here mean Awesome. Just remarkable. You know, like natural disasters or other catastrophes are remarkable.

So anyway it’s been a while – we broke up last summer – okay, okay, you guessed it, I say we broke up like it was all perfectly fine by me. Yeah, no – he dumped my a$$. And you know how it went down, don’t you – maybe you’ve been there too: In that “mutual” this-is-best-for-both-of-us-and-if-we-don’t-want-to-destroy-the-love-we-had-this-is-our-only-option pussyfoot bullsh!t kind of way? Yeah.

Anyway, this guy, I’ll call him Tornado, cuz – lets be real – the post breakup nicknames are far more spot on than the cutesy courtship nicknames they get – Tornado fell hard and fast for me (he always said it was love at first sight) and I fell hard and fast for him. But he ran his life like a tornado blowing through town. Sometimes he’d include me. (Wheeeee, did I feel special!) Other times he just ripped right on past, toppling me and blowing my silly hopes to dust as if I didn’t even register.

In any case, I’d given Tornado his very own text-tone early on so I’d know who the text was from without seeing it. Yeah, yeah, okay, I did get super excited every.damned.time I heard it. I’d hear the little chime and it said, See! he does remember you! You’re not completely forgotten! He’s thinking of you Right Now!

Heartflip!

Then, naturally, the little chimes went silent. As they do when someone suddenly breaks your heart and leaves your life.

Fast forward to a month ago, I was watching a movie, and I heard the little chimes – and my body did one of those adrenaline fire drills. My heart raced, my head and hand went immediately for my phone, and I did – I got excited, just for that nano second before I realized. Spoiler Alert: The chime was *not* him texting me telling me he had finally realized he had made The Biggest Mistake of his life leaving me. Nope. The chiming was coming from inside the TV.

Hearing myself sigh so pathetically, I snapped to – I have to Do Something about this! I have to desensitize myself so I no longer do a stupid heartflip whenever I hear that damn sound.

So I re-assigned the little chimes to my sister – she texts everyday and we have a great relationship! Only positive feelings when she texts! It’ll be no time before I’m totally desensitized! Maybe this is the key to finally getting over Tornado!

It’s been two weeks people, and my heart still does that little flip in the nanosecond before I remember – it’s not him. The little chime now says, Yep, the erasure is complete, you are forgotten, Tornado’s really gone.

So, folks, I think it’s come to this: Imma need to retire this jerkoff jersey. Not cuz that player was so great. No, in fact, it’s more cuz he blew. Hard.

Little Chimes, you are not getting re-assigned to anyone else. You and Tornado can ride off into the sunset together. Hope you have a happy &@/;ing life. Buh-bye!

My sister is reclaiming her old text-tone, the typewriter, and we will all just be on our merry god damn way.

Cha-ching!!

dating, humor, personal writing

professor cute butt

mycrookedrainbow

God help me if we end up in a real relationship because it shall be here-forth known to all of the interwebs that I had a GREAT date with a man whom my BFF and I are calling “Professor Cute Butt.” If you saw his picture on Bumble, you’d understand immediately. (Why am I hearing some crass teenage voice in my head saying, “yeah, don’t look at me like that, you woulda swiped right on his a$$ too.”)

Professor Cute Butt is a professor. Prof. CB does have a cute butt. He is not a professor of buttology or anything, but he could be. That’s what I’m saying, people.

So here’s how it goes down: I have a big interview for a job I am a finalist Friday – the job is OUT OF STATE. Professor Cute Butt is IN STATE, oh yesiree. We met Tuesday, and BOOM. Almost seven hours later, we forced ourselves to part, promising we’d have a second date the day after my interview. It felt like when you try to split a taffy candy with someone. You pull. They pull. The taffy just hangs there, laughing in your face, all “you can’t split taffy, you wanker!” If neighbors were watching us say goodbye, which they very well could have been (DAMN, URBAN LIVING!) they might have had one of two thoughts: 1) Aww, those two! So clearly fond of each other they can’t even say a successful goodbye! 2) GET A F*CKING ROOM.

But what would I do if I got said job AND it actually went somewhere with Professor Cute Butt? You know why I ask this question, don’t you. Yep. That is, just in case you were starting to wonder, how the Universe rolls: “I’ll send you a promising man in one state and a promising job in a different state, all in the same week,” she says, maniacally rubbing her Universe hands together and letting out her Universe cackle.

I see you, Universe, and I am not going to be laughing.

Actually, you probably know me well enough already, dear Reader, to know I actually will be laughing. Because I am quite often finding things very funny. I mean, LOOK AROUND. IT IS ABSURD.

Speaking of laughter, part of the reason I liked Prof. CB so much was because he made me SNORT with laughter. And I made him almost SNARF his beer. I felt more accomplished than I have in a long time. I mean, it wasn’t a successful snarf… yet… but very promising, indeed.

On the other hand: Have I just jinxed both job and man?

I will report back. Maybe I’ll bring the Universe some taffy from the gift shop.

P.S. I do have a nickname, and preferably an emoji too (e.g., glasses + peach), for all the guys. It’s what I do. It’s not something I am super proud of. But guess what, the world is rough and if a man’s gonna make it he’s gotta be tough, and I knew I wouldn’t be there to help you along, so I gave you this name and I said — Oh WAIT, that’s Johnny Cash. Never mind. In any case, you’ll know it’s serious if I drop the nickname. It’s just a handy way to give your poor heart a little buffer and way to laugh and dust itself off if and when it bites the dust hard, again. My heart has bit the dust so many times it’s missing teeth. Nicknames are just little mouthguards for the heart.

Yeah. Uh-huh. Mouthguards for the heart. You heard it here first.