Crying means NO!

Alright so this little ditty is also slightly embarrassing on my part but it was my very first attempt at moving on from my aforementioned crappy relationship so I was still "green" so to speak. That said, I figure it's most appropriate to start at the beginning. Here we go...

Within a week of breaking up with the latest ex, we'll call him Oedipus...yes that's not so subtle but dude has some mommy issues. Anyway, Oedipus and I had just broken up and I was desperately wanting to get back at the cheating bastard. Ha. So I call up a guy from my business class who had been trying to..."woo" me the whole semester. Now, in retrospect, I should've just let him "woo" away to really spite that jerk off but, alas, I'm cursed by being a FAITHFUL girlfriend...sucks.

I'm getting off topic. I call up the guy from class (we'll call him London) and announce that I am now officially single. London immediately wanted to make a date that week because, let's face it, London was an easy get. No games, straight forward and constantly undressing me with his eyes. Perhaps the last one should've made me uncomfortable but I'm not above ass flattery or any flattery for that matter. It makes me feel sexy and wanted and sexy...so why not? HOWEVER (gents this is where your ears should perk up and tune in), there is a comfort zone that needs to be recognized with women or human beings in general (we think these things are common sense, but really it needs to be explained to certain people...who have testes). It's okay to push the boundaries to a certain extent, but you better be sure you have an invitation before you cross that boundary into new territory. London had to learn that the hard way.

We planned to meet up on a Saturday afternoon in the city. In my mind I envisioned lunch, drinks, nice conversation, walking around the park, and maybe a little PDA depending on if he played his cards right. London on the other hand seemed to think, "I know! Why don't we make juice with my new juicer and hang out in my apartment with all my sweaty bro-dude roommates and then we can go to my room and watch Eddie Murphy: Raw and THEN I'll put the moves on!"... Now keep in mind that London is not a twelve year old boy, because I would've been confused if I heard that too.

Meanwhile, I had no idea what was going on, so the whole time that he's playing with his juicer (get your mind out of the gutter) I'm looking out the window thinking "when are we leaving?" Allow me to kill the suspense for you, we never leave. But the greatest [sarcasm] part of the whole date (which wound up going on for FOUR HOURS because he couldn't stop replaying his favorite parts of Raw) was when he decided to make the move...

I'm sitting on a couch next to this manchild and first he decides its cuddle time (yay!) so he wraps one of his arms around my shoulder and forces me onto him so now I'm basically resting my head on his man boob (he didn't have man boobs but if he did that's where my head would've been). I was so tense and uncomfortable at this point that I looked like a freaking mummy. I literally had my arms folded across my chest and I kept having to remind myself to breathe. Let me reiterate that this juicer date was my first step into singledom. I honestly had forgotten how to tell someone to f*ck off. Don't worry, I've since regained this ability (as in the day following this date when I tell him off over the phone and ask him never to call me again).

So when London makes the move, It goes something like this:

London: Why don't you just stop talking [as he leans closer towards me with "sexy face" on]

Me: But I'm not saying anyth---------[cut short by London now eating my face]

It was so hot...SO hot in fact that my only reaction was to start crying.

This is the part that I get embarrassed talking about because WHO CRIES!? But now I've rationalized it in my mind and broken the reaction down into this simple formula: bad break up + juicer + Eddie Murphy + petrifying awkwardness + lack of "f*ck off" ability + baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddddd kiss = water works.

It doesn't end there though. Oh no. After I've cried and told him "too much for me right now, can't handle it, so embarrassed" he goes in for ANOTHER kiss! I mean really man? London, France, whatever your name is, you have to be at least partially brain dead not to know that tears are a preeeeeeeeeeeeetty strong indicator that you've crossed into unwelcome territory.

At this point I'm still being polite (idiot) trying to find the quickest exit. So I fake a phone call from my sister: "oh my god! You're dead!? Jeez you know what London, it's been great but my sister needs me for something. Sounds serious." And almost jump out the window, but figuring that might be a bit dramatic I took the stairs and sprinted to the train [think Forest Gump - cue slow mo and dramatic music].

It was too easy though, I had barely made it to the train when I get a text message:

London: "Well at least we got the awkward stuff out of the way. Now we can just have fun."