Tag Archives: men

They do exist!

1 Jul

Ladies and gentlemen, we are pleased to present to you proof that the men in Penny’s mind do exist. She and Circe met a vest-wearing specimen this weekend – in a bar of all places.

Exhibit A, texts from Saturday night.

Penny: It was nice meeting you! Thanks for coming to [BAR] with us, despite the lack of DJ.
Vest: It was nice meeting you. Maybe we can get together soon and have a drink.
Penny: Love to! Hope you find your friends… Sorry we had to leave.
Vest: Yea I’m with them now.
Vest: We can discuss game theory over a gin and tonic… or some other intellectual conversation. It’s so rare to find a woman who is attractive but not dull…
Penny: Funny you should say that. I was just thinking the same about men.
Vest: Agreed. The average “modern” man is troglodyte.
Penny: And the women merely Paleolithic?
Vest: No. Just misinformed, I suppose. I can only speak for myself, but I’m into a different type of woman than most guys.
Penny: Good.
Vest and Penny have a date for Tuesday night. We’ll keep you updated!

He does exist. They DO exist! *mutual swooning*

Don’t I know you?

25 Apr

As previously established, I am the most awkward ever. Prior confirmation of this fact does not, unfortunately, stop me from accruing further oh-so-damning evidence. Take, for example, last evening and the case of the Wicked-hot Army Capitán.

While getting changed after work into my fitness “gear”, I had a premonition that yesterday would be a good day to not wear my standard gym uniform of ratty old t-shirt and shorts from high school, so I was feeling fairly cute – my hair was back in a decently attractive ponytail, my pasty-pale legs glowed nicely against the grey of my running shorts, and my shoulders well-displayed by a racer-back top.

Cute, that is, until I walked into the fitness center and stared straight into the eyes of Wicked-hot Army Capitán. Or, straight into his eyes in the mirror, which is essentially the same thing.


Shit shit shit.

You have to understand, WhAC isn’t just a new Gym God for a new gym. WhAC and I met waaaaaaaay back in February in a bar when I was sober and he was not and my friends were making out with his friends while I waited for them to be ready for me to drive them home. (Yes, this was the night of the arm-crossing.)

Another hot one I’d never see again. Better luck next time, Penny!

Then sometime last month I made the connection between the attractive guy from the fitness center who kept looking at me oddly and the mixed-race (Mexican and Native American. DEAR ZEUS, THE CHEEKBONES.) Wicked-hot Army Capitán who courteously got me water so I’d have something to hold and would stop crossing my arms. We’ve since been doing a pretty stellar job of limiting encounters and just all-around pretending to notice everyone but each other.

Then last night he was at the adjustable pulley machine thing… which happens to be right next to the leg lift machine with which I begin my weight routine.


So what did I do? I turned up my iPhone, ignored his existence per previously established routine, and went about awkwardly lifting and lifting and wishing I’d shaved above my knee or not decided to wear shorts.

Awkward enough for you? Just wait – it gets better. Continue reading

On Being an Assistant (The Pencident)

11 Apr

What to do when the boss-man isn’t the one making the demands?


“Penny, I need 50 copies.”

“Penny, my computer is frozen.”

“Penny, the printer is jammed and I am too lazy to open the paper drawer.”


What to do when the boss-man isn’t the one making the demands?


I smile.

I nod.


What to do when the boss-man isn’t the one making the demands?



A presence, slinking down the hall.

I look up; he’s there, the one from two doors down.


What to do when the boss-man isn’t the one making the demands?


“Do you have a pen?”

“Yes… they are in that cup there.” In which you’ve already rooted.

With expectant silence, he waits.

“Oh, did you want this pen here that I have open on my notebook and was using? This pen?”


Do you have a PEN?

Previously, On being an assistant

Death (to love) by salad

22 Mar

Monday, Penny met a boy walking home from the subway stop.

Tuesday, Penny and Subway Boy went out for drinks, played pub trivia, and were mutually mediocre at pool.

Wednesday, Subway Boy asked Penny if she had plans for the weekend; they set a date for Friday night.

Thursday, Penny received the following picture message:


Greek salad. Soooooo much Greek salad.

Friday, Penny had a “family emergency”. (Because it is always too soon for pictures of your food.)

When he won’t stop texting

20 Mar

(Or, apparently Drunk Penny makes quite the impression.)

Strapping Marine (SMS): What’s up Penny? This is Strapping Marine, we met in [CITY] about a month ago. You were awesome, I’m back in town, we should hang out.

Penny: Circeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee <<huge breath> eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Circe: Yes, Penny?

Penny: Apparently the ignored texts and unreturned voicemail weren’t enough of a hint. Strapping Marine is back in town. I don’t have to respond, right? This is ridiculous. Wait. Can we go somewhere for the weekend?


Drunk me is not a feminist

19 Feb

Bar-bar did have a surprisingly good Sauvignon Blanc. I will remember this.

Drunk me never fails to mystify sober me. (Do drunk selves ever make sense to sober selves?)

A quick snapshot of things drunk Penny did/said Friday night, with commentary:

  1. “I just want a boy to tell me I’m pretty.” (To be fair, sober me also said this.)
  2. Encouraged Strapping Marine to buy me drinks. (Hey, even sober me is all about the free things.)
  3. Allowed said Marine to introduce me as his wife to some random chick at the bar. Why he felt the need to do this, I am a tad unclear. (While amused that a 28-year-old Marine would feel the need to hide behind my figurative skirts, sober me would have definitely taken this, along with the repeated offers to visit him in his city alllllll the way across the country, as a RED FLAG.)
  4. Refused another beer and asked for a pint of water (GO DRUNK ME!); was talked into a shot of whisky 15 minutes later (peer pressure is a bitch).
  5. Allowed Strapping Marine to pick me up outside the bar; proceeded to make out with my legs wrapped around his waist. (What can I say? I am a sucker for tall, strong men being tall and strong. Blame the romance novels/the patriarchy/alcohol.)
  6. Wisely refused Strapping Marine and friend’s offer to help us find our way home, hailed a cab and was home by 12:30. (GO DRUNK ME!)
  7. Folded and put away my scarf. (Awesome.)
  8. Left jeans and shirt on the floor, next to the hamper; socks made it in. (Still, mostly a fail.)
  9. Washed face (well done!) but didn’t brush teeth? (Grosssssssssssss.)
  10. Charged phone (verrrrrrrrrra nice) but didn’t set alarm? (Thank goodness the furniture delivery men called BEFORE they showed up at 7 am is all I can say.)

The only conclusion I can draw from this is that drunk me is not nearly so feminist (or logical) as sober me. Because sober me would never have been okay with Strapping Marine’s blatant macho maneuvers and conversation (grabbing my ass in combination with the patronizing nickname “Girly” would earn him a scathing set-down from sober Penny).

But damn, drunk me had a good time Friday night. Continue reading

Yellow (Ball so hard)

1 Feb

I didn’t do it.

And from 6 – 7:15 p.m. EST on Thursday, 30 January, this was really not at all my fault. The fates had spoken; Gym God’s beautiful physique was not gracing the gym or, subsequently, my presence. (Phew.)

But then at 7:15 I crunched up to the left on my bright red exercise ball, and there he was. Back down and up again to the right: he made his gorgeous way from the entrance to the mens’ locker room.

This is where I went wrong. I could have chosen to pick up the pace on my crunches then loiter outside the locker rooms like the goob I am inside my head, awkwardly given him my number, and left the gym in an ambivalent haze of disbelief and pride (ostensibly composing a self-congratulatory post in my head). Instead, I continued with my core routine and determined that I would give him the slip of paper with my number if the stars aligned and our paths crossed. (Because that was going to happen.)

(Aside: Does this make me a coward? Or just socially conscious enough to not want to be a stalker? I am not entirely sure. HOWEVER, I can’t help but think that if roles were reversed and a slightly better than average-looking man cornered an off-the-charts me while I was going about my own business being sweaty at the gym, well… it would definitely rate higher on the creepy scale than the flattering scale.)

And just so you understand the extent to which the universe was disgusted by my passivity, this (WARNING: NSFW) shuffled on my iPhone immediately after Gym God entered my vicinity (#irony):

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