Monday, February 25, 2008
When there's nothing worth running for
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man who claims to not play games will inevitably, play games.
I debated long and hard about whether or not to call Ted the Trainer. I am inherently leery of personal trainers as they generally tend to be players (no offense intended to any personal trainers out there, this is just something that I have found to be true here in NYC, but there are exceptions to every rule). So, I called on Wednesday, a few days after our initial encounter. He was pleased to hear from me and claimed to have been “waiting for my call”.
I told him I’d like to take him up on his offer of training, but warned him that I was suffering from an ankle injury and wouldn’t be able to work out for about a week or so. He offered to meet for lunch the next day so we could discuss things and he could take a look at my ankle.
The next day, he came and met me at my office and we discussed my ankle. He gave me tips on how to help it heal and offered to buy me bandages and massage it for me. I believe his words were, “I’ll take care of you.”
He asked me out. For that night. Then for the next day at lunch. And didn’t stop until he found a time when I wasn’t previously engaged. Saturday night was agreed upon and he said he would call around 2:00 and told me to keep the night open for him.
He also told me I had beautiful lips and beautiful features. He was intense about me in a way that I haven’t seen in a while, and I will admit that it turned my head.
Friday I received a text from him, asking about the ankle and letting me know he was thinking about me.
I haven’t heard a word from him since.
Which I actually predicted would happen, but everyone else was convinced it would be otherwise. To this, I say: Tsk, Tsk. Surely all y’all should have realized that I am the biggest douchebag magnet on the planet.
Yesterday I was at lunch with Nicole and one of her relatively attractive friends, Martin. When I made a moderately dirty joke, he turned to me and said, “You’re my kind of girl.”
I replied by saying, “Eh. They all say that. Chances are you’re going to be a complete douchebag, so don’t waste my time.”
And the train has officially pulled into Bitter Central. Welcome, friends.
Today's Title from: When Your Mind's Made Up by The Frames
I debated long and hard about whether or not to call Ted the Trainer. I am inherently leery of personal trainers as they generally tend to be players (no offense intended to any personal trainers out there, this is just something that I have found to be true here in NYC, but there are exceptions to every rule). So, I called on Wednesday, a few days after our initial encounter. He was pleased to hear from me and claimed to have been “waiting for my call”.
I told him I’d like to take him up on his offer of training, but warned him that I was suffering from an ankle injury and wouldn’t be able to work out for about a week or so. He offered to meet for lunch the next day so we could discuss things and he could take a look at my ankle.
The next day, he came and met me at my office and we discussed my ankle. He gave me tips on how to help it heal and offered to buy me bandages and massage it for me. I believe his words were, “I’ll take care of you.”
He asked me out. For that night. Then for the next day at lunch. And didn’t stop until he found a time when I wasn’t previously engaged. Saturday night was agreed upon and he said he would call around 2:00 and told me to keep the night open for him.
He also told me I had beautiful lips and beautiful features. He was intense about me in a way that I haven’t seen in a while, and I will admit that it turned my head.
Friday I received a text from him, asking about the ankle and letting me know he was thinking about me.
I haven’t heard a word from him since.
Which I actually predicted would happen, but everyone else was convinced it would be otherwise. To this, I say: Tsk, Tsk. Surely all y’all should have realized that I am the biggest douchebag magnet on the planet.
Yesterday I was at lunch with Nicole and one of her relatively attractive friends, Martin. When I made a moderately dirty joke, he turned to me and said, “You’re my kind of girl.”
I replied by saying, “Eh. They all say that. Chances are you’re going to be a complete douchebag, so don’t waste my time.”
And the train has officially pulled into Bitter Central. Welcome, friends.
Today's Title from: When Your Mind's Made Up by The Frames
Labels: Ted
