The House Always Wins

Last week my friend Aaron from softball invited me to go to a Sox game with him and a couple of buddies. I weighed the options carefully... I have Fridays off, so I could either stay at home and play Candy Crush or have a fun day with some 35 year old party boys.


My decision was clear.


The morning started off with myself, Aaron and his friend- let's call him Vegas, because he used to live there- all having a few drinks and the two of them bombarding me with stories I could barely keep up with. Tales of drunken debauchery turned into Vegas explaining to us that he had a date with a 20 year old mother after the game... but as he so sweetly put it, "it's strictly a sexual relationship."

I silently put him on my, "he's cute, but no way" list.

Of course, drinking can always change a girl's mind. Over the course of the game (and a few beers) I found myself having a really good time with Vegas. We were cracking each other up, ignoring Aaron and his other buddy almost completely.

After five beers, I let him hold my hand.

After six beers, I let him give me a quick kiss.


By the time we left the ball park, I totally forgot that I had put him on the "no way" list. However, I was quickly reminded when he kicked us out of the car in the middle of the road because he was running late for his date with the 20 year old. As I climbed out of the car, he turned to me and said, "Hey, don't worry. I'm totally going to get your number from Aaron."


I'm pretty sure drunk Nicole said something along the lines of, "Fuck you" and slammed the car door.


Despite my angry outburst, Vegas DID text me the very next day to ask me out. Although I was nursing one hell of a hangover, we agreed that he would come over to my place later that night. But not before I made it crystal clear that I wasn't inviting him over for sex. As I so elegantly put it:

"I know your penis was in a 20 year old last night, and I'm not about that."

With everyone on the same page, he came over an we spent hours watching movies, talking, kissing, and cuddling. I felt so at ease right away with him, which was slightly frightening. Then came something even scarier: "So, are you looking for a boyfriend?"


The. Fuck? I looked at him like he was insane and stumbled over some answer about what happens, happens. Then I panicked. What do you do in this situation? Change the subject? "Oh hi, I now know you are interested in me past a hookup... but what is your stance on waffles?" So I did what I thought polite, and asked if he was looking for a relationship. His response? "Yeah, I am. And you seem a pretty good candidate."

Shit. I mean, I like him... but that's a pretty heavy conversation to be having the second time you meet a person. As a woman, I am constantly trying to find a man who can be more open and up front... who isn't afraid to let me know how he feels. Yet, at the first sign on someone being that type of person I get totally spooked. It's ridiculous.

He left that night explaining that he had a really busy week full of over time ahead of him, and that he would let me know as soon as he had some free time to see me again. And he has kept that promise. He's texted consistently throughout the week, and we have a date set up for Tuesday night. I am excited, yet slightly terrified he may propose- with the rate he is going.




On a separate note, Devil's Snare (who is mentioned briefly in some of my very early posts) reappeared out of nowhere this week. I haven't heard from him in close to three years, yet he suddenly wanted to take me out for drinks. This was honestly as expected as a teenage pregnancy.

I've agreed to get drinks with him (against my best friend's wishes...I think her exact words were "JUST SAY NOOOOOOOO!") mainly because this could get real hilarious, real fast.



So, let's make some Vegas style bets. Who will come out ahead by this time next week? What are the odds that by my next post they are both out of the game?


Time to show your cards, boys.

Summer sizzlers... and fizzlers.

after my brief "Nicole dates around the world" stint with Cokcy and the Iranian, I decided the best was to get some dates under my belt was to do as much as possible as often as possible and get myself out there. I met a man who looked like a Supermodel at an outdoor concert and went on a date with him. He then turned out to be a secret raver, complete with flame paintings on his arms and glow sticks. My mother thought I should look past these things because he opened a car door for me once. I said, "I DON'T WANT TO DATE SOMEONE WHO DOES X ON THE WEEKENDS!" Next, I met a sweet guy while at a bar with my sister who was in town visiting. We went on five dates and it was goinf really well... Then he got so drunk at a party that he started to wrestle every person in the room (except me, oddly enough), demand I tuck him into bed, and then spill water all over both of us. I never heard from him after that night... maybe because he was rightfully very embarrassed? Probably for the best though, as his concept of romance was belting out Dave Matthews lyrics to me. Shortly after, my friend Nicole convinced me to go on a "Grouper" date... which is basically a three way blind date that the magic of the internet sets up. This was innocent enough until one of the guys decided to tell me all about his open marriage... and how his wife's boyfrend stays in their spare bedroom. Then I started Tinder: the new age "hot or not", only there is chatting involved. One guy caught my fancy and he actually came over to my place to watch a movie/ make out like high schoolers. I quickly stopped all communication because all he did was get drunk and text things like: "Hey, girl hey." or "I just want to see your naked body." Ugh. During all of this (and against my better judgement) I have been sleeping with LL. Now, it is inconsistant, but enough to keep me from jumping into the sack with a bunch of randoms. Which is obviously good for my vagina on many levels. So here we are: mid-September. It is officially a year since I left "R". It has been four months since LL left me. And there are a hell of a lot more men in Chicago for me to meet. Bring. It. On.

"International" dating- part two

It seemed only moments after my break up with LL that I suddenly had people telling me of all their wonderful friends I should be dating. My co-worker was one of these said people. As the tale goes, a friend of her's met me at a party and really thought I was charming. The truth? The night I met him I was so wasted that I kept satring at him, trying to figure out if he was gay or a bro. I had assumed he was gay. Either way, I was pretty sure I thought he was cute while under the influence, so I gave permission to pass along my number. A week later; I was standing outside of a resteraunt, waiting to have my first date with an Iranian. Now, the fact that he was Iranian wouldn't have been important at all... except he was REALLY into being Iranian. Like, he had bookshelves dedicated to the subject. And he had some special Persian rug that people weren't really allowed to step on. Anyway... First off, he was 30 minutes late. Which I decided to forgive due to nice conversation and a free meal. But then he asked a weird question: "What are you up to tonight?" Ummm... I'm sorry? Am I mistaken? I thought I was on a date... with you? He proceeds to tell me about some long lost friend who was in town. I honestly stopped listening, because I was bored. But when I tuned back in, I realized he was actually inviting me to some random house party. I admire a man who can multi-task, and I am a roll with the punches kind of gal, so I agree to go. This was a terrible idea. I mean, seriously. Having your first date at a house party where you know NO ONE- not even your date, really... it's like being back in Middle School and no one will eat lunch with you because you have bad hair, a lisp, terrible acne, and you refuse to stop wearing sweat suits. Only booze is involved. So, we make it through this new form of torture called a party and end up at an after hours bar. At this point the Iranian is toasty. He begins to be affectionate, but in the strangest ways... like: 1) Caressing my entire arm 2)Talking about how he missed doing coke 3)Hinting that he wants me to birth his babies 4) Literally running his hands through my hair until it is fully in my face I went home feeling confused. He made me feel weird, but not in a good way. So obviously, I went out with him several more times. They all kind of went the same: him getting drunk and molesting my hair. Except there was that one time when people were doing coke in his bathroom... while he molested my hair. All in all, the slow fade was put into action... and the dating journey was officially on it's way.

"International" dating- part one

Okay, so maybe it is about ONE fun, cheap, easy hook up. Let's preface this with: When LL first left me it felt like I had been punched in the gut. I decided the best thing to do was to find something- ahem- someone.. to take my mind off of him. Enter Cocky. I had actually met Cocky several times in the past, but he really showed his true colors at a birthday party for a dear and mutual friend. After many drinks, he approached me to dance. By approach, I obviously mean he attached himself behind me and proceeded to try and grind on me. Every woman's dream. Still, I found him cute and my friend only had good things to say, so I firted with him. Half was through the night, he looked at me with glazed eyes, "Hey... what's your name?" I informed him that I had already told him my name several times. To just think, it started with an "N". "Hmmm... is it... Narnia?" No sir, I was not named after C.S. Lewis' classic. Later, Cocky would saunter up to me, put his elbow on the table and stare me down. "You are so lucky." When I asked why, he put his arm around me as he said, "Because there is a good chance I might go down on you tonight." Charming. Against all good judgement, I exchanged numbers with him. I quickly knew it was trouble, as all our conversations focused on the subtext of sex. Every statement had a hidden meaning behind it. After one particularly good Hawks game and one too many fireball shots, I decide to maek my move. Within 20 minutes we are at a bar getting a night cap, which quickly turns into us going back to his condo. Now, I had no intention of sleeping with him... but as we all know- sometimes intentions can be bullshit. I tried to let Cocky know I wasn't going to sleep with him by shouting that statement at him often and loudly. Once even while removing my shirt. Unfortunatly, drunk Nicole won that round and bad choices were made. Three times. The saddest part was I wasn't even enjoying myself. I was too dissappointed by my actions to fully have a good time with Cocky... not to mention that a very blatent stereotype that my mother warned me about was right. I will not repeat said stereotype, because I am a classy lady. But it did have to do with his nationality and what he was packing underneath those boxer briefs. The next mornnig we walked to the corner together, kissed goodbye and went our seperate ways (him to work, me to shower the night off of me). As I walked away I knew those would be the last words we said to one another. And I wasn't upset, I was ready to move onto better things.

Update! Update!

It has been nearly three years since my last post. It's been three years since I lived the summer in which I felt in control of the world around me, a femme fatale of sorts who had a whirl of possibilities surrounding me. Oh, how things have changed. But let's back up... last I wrote I had met a guy in a chance beer pong pairing. While this encounter held so much promise, it was actually the beginning of the end. The end of my trust. The end of my confidence. The end of who I had always been. "R" and I dated for two years, and it became an unhealthy cycle of pure joy, love, him cheating on me, me questioning what I could have done so wrong, and eventually forgiveness on my part. After each of these cycles I would sit and wonder why I kept giving him chance after chance. I would ponder if this is what true love was: living and forgiving through the hurt. When I finally realized that there were much bigger issues at hand (mainly addictions), I stood my ground and let the love I had inside of me guide the way. There were some dark days, that's for sure- but there were days of such blinding lovely light that I stuck with it. We planned on getting married. He had already asked my brother's permission and we had picked out a ring (which I would look up online several times a day, imagining it on my finger). It took a huge fight at Emma's wedding to shake me to my core and realize that no matter if he stayed faithful, no matter if he gave up his vices....he would never love or respect me the way I deserved. So; as I filtered "R" out of my life, I did what I had truly been wanting to do for nine years: I called "Lost love" and fully invited him into my life. Life began to blur into something surreal. LL had just moved into the city, a mere mile from my own house and I flooded him with all the yearning I had been holding onto for nearly a decade. I flung the leftover love from "R" at his feet. I attached the misplaced affection for the friends and family I had gained (and now lost) onto him. He was everything I had ever wanted, needed, and looked for. I knew in my heart that there was a reason why I had held onto the shadow of him for so long... and that was to be with him so completely now. LL warned me with words that he did not want a relationship- I accepted that as "he didn't want labels", for we quickly spent every moment possible together. We would wake each morning tangled in each others embraces. We would meet each others brothers. We would tell each other "I love you." I had never felt so at ease and at peace in my life. It was if I was filled with so much happiness I could burst at any moment. And then; a week after my birthday, he began to pull away. When asked, he would answer that he needed more time to himself. That he had to figure himself out. But the truth is it wants someone more "put together" than myself. Someone he won't describe as "crazy." At this moment, I do feel crazy. I feel like every choice I have made has been self-destructive and all the love I have tried to offer has been swatted away like a bothersome fly. The light I used to carry inside of me like a torch has been put out, extinguished by the constant questioning and doubt of: "What is wrong with me?" and "Why can't I be loved back?" I have always heard that the first step to recovering yourself is to identify the source... the need. I long for someone to love me greatly, but continually pick the wrong type of men to satisfy this. From here I will say: no more. I am determined to love myself enough to give myself better. This is no longer about fun, cheap, and easy hook ups. This is about my life.