All the Single Ladies

Alternate titles for this post:

• SCOOOOOOORE
• Touching All the Bases
• Grand Slam
• Grad School and the Single Lady, but also before I left, I Touched All the Bases

We obviously have a lot to talk about.

First, I will catch you up on the boys from previous posts who I wrote about so that when we boned, you’d have a little history on them. Well, I didn’t bone them.

Mr. Luxe: Kind of a douche? Not terrible, and still very hot in the face and body regions, but not a hard worker, which I found very off-putting. Especially when his not-working directly influenced my need to work harder. But Shauna apparently still wants to hit it, so more power to you, my friend. Mr. Luxe! What a good nickname. Someone should bone him, just for that. Also, keep in him mind, as he turns up later in this post….

Tony Almeida: Ugh. That dude could have boned me like a brazillion times, and despite obvious, arm-touching hair-twirling cleavage-boosting body language from this girl, he never actually asked me out. And frankly, I don’t have that much sympathy/patience for shyness. Not when I’ve cleavage boosted for you. At my going away party, at the bar where I have known him for a year, he did not say a single word to me. And you all are thinking that it’s because he actually does not like me, that he is not into cleavage boosters, but I know what I know. He should have met me halfway on the cleavage boosting.

Okay, on to Fresh Meat!

Longtime readers know how I feel about organized sports. I am happy to report that after playing on several softball teams, a kickball team, a football team, and… that might be it… trivia? … I finally had the athletic romance I’ve always known I’m capable of.

I was on a co-ed softball team this summer with Shauna of the good-luck-with-Mr.Luxe-Shaunas. There were boys on the team. No one outstandingly hot, but the more we hung out with them, the more I fell in love with them collectively and individually, but mostly collectively. You know? Like, I just really felt that the bromance among them (they were mostly high school buds) was just so refreshing and lovely, and I was a voyeur into male friendship. Or something.

The other girls on the team were wimpy girlfriends who did not come out drinking with me, Shauna, and the boys, so it really was nine guys and us two gals basically tagging along.

I developed a crush on one of the guys [naming men on this site is really starting to bum me out — mostly because I cannot think of one for this guy] … fuck it. I am calling him Short Stop because that is a position he sometimes played, but he was more of a rover, if you must know. There is no metaphor here.

Anyway, Short Stop. I was nursing a little crush for about a month, nothing even worth mentioning to anyone, and then we had our last game. The other team didn’t show up, so we scrimmaged ourselves. This scene is totally going in the romantic dramedy of my life: I kept hitting the ball to him. Not on purpose. Really. But it got to the point that it was really ludicrous. I am a very slow runner, so he threw me out every time. Romantic!! Swoons!!!!

That was a Sunday. The following Friday, he was having his going away party, as he is a Law Student at a Very Nice-Sounding University We’ve All Heard Of. I was hoping to hook up, not even necessarily with him! Just in general. Wore a booby dress, high heels, eye makeups: the works!

We got to talking. We played shuffle puck. We played some more shuffle puck. You know what rhymes with shuffle puck? Duffel muck! Why, what were you going to say?

Drinks were consumed.

Mr. Luxe showed up (Twin Cities: Small Town/s?). In other weeks, I might have attempted to tap that or facilitate Shauna tapping that, but I was already hip deep in Short Stop, so I paid him little attention.

Drinks were consumed.

Shauna was there, obvs, and our other friend, A Lady. Unrelated dramz led my gfs to head to another bar. Other people left? Timelines blur?

Drinks were consumed.

Major necking at the bar. Like a goddamn amateur. Eh. There’s a reason people neck at bars: it’s fun, and we live with our parents. But also, we’re waiting to settle our tab, and the necking just sounds like a good idea.

So eventually, we are on the street, texting our friends to see who has a couch/air mattress they are willing to sacrifice in the name of love softball hookups. Shauna pulled through.

We were deep in each others’ tonsils when Shauna got home to let us in, that we might consummate our love softball hookup. She was so sweet and was like, can I get you guys anything? Blankets? Water?

And I said, in a scary monster-from-the-deep voice, “THANKS SHAUNA BUT GO. TO. BED.”

Gracious guest am I.

Short Stop and I, we boned.

It was honestly, for being pretty drunk, the sweetest bone that ever boned. Much cuddling ensued. Then more sweet boning, then more cuddling.

This person graduated from the Spooning Academy of St. Spooner, by the by. Advanced spooning, with minor in Ignoring-Asleep-Limbsology. Because for real. I was comfy as a spoon being spooned, but his arm must have been numb.

Cue sunrise, 6 am-ish. I get a little hivey when I am ready to be alone in my bed and actually sleep, when I am with a guy. Sometimes, I just want to fart and not care that I am being spooned. I know you know what I’m talking about.

But the advanced spooning! I did not want to waste it. It’s like when you’re at a restaurant and your food is so good, but there’s so much, and you’ve already eaten enough that you feel sick. It will probably taste terrible reheated! There is no chance for a doggy bag! When will you have a meal this good again? Never! Maybe! Clean your plate! Spoooooooooons!!!

10:00 am. Text from Shauna in her bedroom 15 feet away: Are you guys still here? Do you want to get breakfast?

Me: This is a perfect excuse for me to get out of here. We will be gone in 15 mins.

Because no, at that point, I wanted to eat Corn Chex at home, read the paper, and go back to bed. My bed. Alonetimes.

So that’s what we did. Short Stop left the next day for lawyering. We parted ways with a peck and a “This was fun! So fun! See you… around? Thanksgiving? Maybe? No big.”

Since then (and it’s been three weeks now), we’ve been in touch almost every day via text or gchat.

Promises of visiting at school have been made.

I backed out once I realized how long it would take, but he is looking into coming here. To my school. Where I am a student.

Kids, I feel like I really didn’t sign up for this. Do you know how many of the Single Ladies I talk to on a daily basis? Or any of my other delightful, cherished friends? My own dear Mama? None.

Also, I am now at school, where there are awesome beefcakes on every corner. Je suis stifled by this hookup. I did not sign up for a relationship. If Short Stop comes over, let’s say for the weekend, that total time commitment will be about four times as long as all the time we’ve ever spent together combined.

Boned people’s problems, amirite?

More talk about grad school hotties to come, don’t you worry.