Tag Archives: women

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 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.

Harrumph.

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

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:

Woo?

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?

Circe:

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):

CLU – Latte Boy’s Alternate Universe

22 Jan

In a universe that looks not unlike this one, but is in actuality quite quite different, a Latte Boy met a Girl who always ordered a very large black, iced coffee. One morning Latte Boy screwed up his courage and gave Girl his number. They went for drinks and Latte Boy immediately friended Girl on every online social network he could find.

During their next meeting, Girl listened to Latte Boy’s Love in the Time of an Ex-Wife woes and offered a flimsy excuse about another guy and really they should just be friends. Girl returned once or twice to the coffee shop as a sign of good faith before buying a Keurig, waited a month, and unfriended Latte Boy on the many social media outlets he had invaded.

Many months later, Latte Boy discovered that he and Girl were no longer friends on the Book of Faces. How could this be?! he thought to himself. Surely there has been some sort of accident – a technological glitch! I must refriend her!

In a universe that looks not unlike this one, and is in fact this one, Penny stared incredulously at her phone on Monday afternoon. Not now, she instructed Facebook. Not ever.

When your ex texts… Personalized Holiday Greetings Edition

2 Jan
Sorry, but this is how it is.

Sorry, but this is how it is.

Poopface (SMS): Merry Christmas, Penny!
Penny (SMS): Thanks, Poopface! Happy holidays. I hope you’re enjoying the white Christmas.
Poopface (SMS): I’m enjoying that y’all get to have one.
Penny (SMS): I thought there was a really bad storm in Bumblefuck Middle America.
Poopface (SMS): Not where I am. Southwest of me. We may get an inch or two later.
Penny (SMS): Ahh, sorry! It’s all a bit of a blob to me. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you!
Poopface (SMS): I’d love just a little bit haha.

A public service message to everyone with an ex: RESIST THE URGE TO TEXT. Whether it is a major holiday or just a random Thursday afternoon when something on the radio reminds you of that time the two of you went to wherever and had fun, DO NOT TEXT.

Until the unlikely day this blog goes viral and Poopface finds himself an anonymous Internet celebrity and alters his texting habits accordingly: Here’s to another year spent wondering what the fuck is going through Poopface’s head when he decides to send holiday and/or random greetings because, honestly, why is he thinking about me today/at all?

I am, as mentioned previously, an insatiably curious person. I have always wanted to know why and whenever someone says because I counter with a yea, but…

It doesn’t matter whether or not I am over Poopface Continue reading

Gift giving – a gene that passes most men by

20 Dec
Too bad it's so expensive.

This. She DEFINITELY wants this.

Brother-in-Law: (SMS) Do you think your sister would like to go to a Bon Jovi Concert?

Penny: (Internal reaction) AHH haaha HAahahha bahahahahahahaha. Have you met your wife? (Actual SMS) Ummm. I have never heard her say anything about Bon Jovi, so probably not? What does he sing?

Sister: What’s that face for?

Penny: Uhhhhh noooooooooothing.

BIL: (SMS) Ok. It’s My Life, Wanted Dead or Alive, Livin’ on a Prayer.

Penny: (Internal reaction) Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh so this is a gift for you. (Actual SMS) Hmmm. For what? I’m not sure concerts are really her thing (they’re kinda loud and it’s hard to hear). I know she likes intimate venues like that one where you saw Sara Bareilles.

Sister: Seriously. WHAT is that FACE? Continue reading

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