Fricken Good Chicken:Better Than Sour Grapes

I was excited yesterday when I arrived at work. I made sure I would be looking cute for that night. I cut my hair recently and so now when I curl it the layers flip up and look pretty flirty. I was feeling flirty too, even with a long twelve hour double shift ahead of me. They even made us some delicious chicken fajitas for lunch, and I was stoked. In my nerdy little 13 year old-crush riddled brain, twelve hours was nothin', man. Because straight after work Bruno invited me to check out this Brazilian band and dance the samba. With him. Or so I thought. So I rush out of work, change into sexy gear, and invite a few friends to join me as support. No one wants to go. So I go it alone. This is character building, I tell myself. It is fine. A few coats of deodorant, a few wardrobe changes, new lipgloss, piece of gum. Go time.

After a final inspection I change back from jeans to a skirt and go back in to the club in La Jolla. Gulp. I don't really know how to samba, but I am a good dancer. So I draw on that, and go up the elevator. The door swooshes open, and I am drawn into a dark, sultry bar with exotic beats pulsing from within. Candles, people of all colors and shapes dancing and shuffling...my eyes roam until finally I see Bruno's head with a couple of braids in front and hair down his back. He comes over with a big smile and hug and then Poof!! He leaves me for the rest of the night. I try to be brave and dance by myself, but I have been on my feet all day and my bravado and my initial excitement fades fast. Dammit, foiled again! He dances with every other "friend" but me. And I retire to a seat alone and just watch as the thing unfolds. I contemplate leaving without a word, but deem that unacceptable and immature. I decide on a corona, and some time to observe things from a distance.

Then the plain jane Italian guy approaches, and I barely listen to his emphatic speeches about acai (the Brazilian fruit/nut) while I look over his shoulder at Bruno dancing closer with the girl in red. They sit, heads close together and her hand plucks at the back of his sweaty t-shirt while my heart sinks further into the ground and the Italian guy drones on and on. I leave the club after saying goodbye and walk to my car in the dark. It gets darker as I walk, feeling foolish and let down. I guess it is all humbling, but I am tired of being disappointed. I turn out of the driveway and my phone blows up as Bruno and the girl get into his big truck. Sigh. It is Carl, the infamous chef of blogs past. I answer, steadying myself to be kicked while I'm down.

He asks "Hey whatcha doing?" and I tell him I am in La jolla and going home. (He lives in La Jolla). I am trying to flip a bitch but this car is riding my ass and Carl says he's just crawling into bed. The car continues to tail me and I am starting to freak out a little and try to ditch the car in a neighborhood. Every turn the lights follow me and I pull over in a sidestreet. "It's me, you dumbass, I have been behind you this whole time". Jesus fricken christ. I am relieved and apprehensive too. I haven't seen Carl in a long time and there's nothing like adding insult to injury on a night like this. We talk, he's still emotionally unavailable, I go home in 10 minutes, and then the triple whammy. The football player calls, saying "Wish you were here." If a guy wants you, he'll call you and ask you out. He'll make an effort. He might even drop what he's doing to meet you after work. I don't appreciate a drunk dial from a played out bar in PB at 1 am when trolling for ass is dried up and it is last call. TAKE ME ON A DATE! DON'T show up with a girlfriend, and goddamn it DON'T blow me off for a year and then tailgate me through La Jolla. Fricken Good Chicken, man. AHHHHRGGGHH!

So today I actually cried, (but not hard) and felt really frustrated. So I did the best thing I could and went to a kick ass yoga class, spent five hours at the beach, had quality time with Lela before she moves to Maui in a week. I talked to friends, went to work, and had a glass of champers after work before coming home to vent. Sometimes I feel so different than then rest of the world. Like I was born in the wrong century. I try to learn and be kind and open and learn how to give but I always focus on the wrong men. And I have just about had it, man. The Bruno thing was a big let down, just because my expectations were guided to something that apparently is nonexistent. But that doesn't mean I am any less driven to love capoeira... that doens't change a thing. I have been stoked to start the big class and learn more. YEAH-yer.

I do feel retarded, but what am I supposed to think when the guy has taken me to dinner, to cliffs at sunset, to beautiful beaches, to places in his mind, played guitar in the back of my truck, sang to me, thrown feathers in the wind...???? Stretched me over his back and told me to "just melt" and then this? I feel so silly. And so crushed. What's with the warm eyes and smile and hugs... and then the girlfriend? Any advice?

My girls tell me to forget it and not to put anyone on a pedestel. It is kinda hard not to when the person you seek materializes in front of you but you can't have them. I am going to freak out. I am too thin skinned for this bullshit stuff. I want to squish the optimism in my heart that tells me if I exist, then there is a counterpart to me that exists too. Well, that's all my blubbering for one night. There is sure to be more a little later, so I can fully exorcise the demons and act mature and collected on the outside. Yikes! Here's to honesty on the net. Goodnight, friends.