The Sign That Came

I’m going to be honest, i considered stopping this blog after forty-eight hours of “no sign” but a week or so down the line IT CAME.

It was a small one, but it was enough for the Universe to tell me to hang in there. 

Mr. Maybe is married so he’s out of the mix but the past Tuesday as I conversed with a co-worker in the hallway, guess who shows up? MR. X! AND HE INTRODUCES HIMSELF. I wish I could say I handled the situation with grace, but the sad truth is my face turned red, I nervously played with my hair and opened and shut my mouth like i was nemo suffocating out of water. I’m sure he was more than impressed. 

He’s less attractive up close, which just gave me a bigger ego boost, but he was bursting with energy and much friendlier than I had expected (which shot my ego back down to its normal place). My image of the quiet, recluse of a man has been shattered.

In the meantime, i’ve set up a few consultations with plastic surgeons because I want to get breast augmentation surgery before the end of the year. If anyone has had one or knows someone who has, can you please let me know what I should expect in terms of recovery?! 

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The Idiot Didn’t Hush! 

So I should just clarify how much of a master I am at saying I won’t do things then rushing out and doing them.. Which is why yesterday I accidentally got carried away and spilled my thoughts and plans for Mr. X to my closest girlfriends. They had doubts, which honestly shouldn’t mean anything but I make it a hobby to second guess myself every step of the way in life so I went to bed with my head spinning with thoughts. But they all didn’t revolve around Mr. X. 

There might be another Mr. in the Mix. Let’s call him Mr. Maybe. This is a man who I kept bumping into in the building where I worked, he’s an accomplished hedge-fund manager,  attractive and so adorable when he nervously attemped to approach me twice before chickening out. It’s one of those situations where you’re insanely attracted to the way the person looks, I remember joking to a friend about how this chemistry was what office affairs were made of. I didn’t know much about him but we live in a small small world after all.

As I flipped through a friend’s Instagram account last night lo and behold there he was in one of her group pics. Turns out he’s her husband’s brother and from what i’ve heard about them, he was definitely worth a second look into. The small glitch is there’s a wife in the picture, and obviously I wouldn’t ever consider being with a married man, but his behaviour got me wondering if they could possibly be divorced? 

Being the obsessive stalker that I am I managed to find every social media account he and his wife had and managed to note that neither one is following the other on any of them. But that’s about all I could manage to find.. 

Anyway, i’ve overworked myself in the stalking department and i’m exhausted and need a break which is perfect because I have a short beach-filled girls trip planned for next week and I so desperately need it! In the meantime i’m leaving it up to the universe to give me a sign and point me into a direction (or into an elevator for a hot making out session with one of them). 

On a brighter note i’ve lost 2.5 pounds (my goal is to lose 20 more..) and my trainer is coming over again today! I need to hire backup dancers to come into work with me when I reach my target weight because imma twerk and hair flip my way to my desk.

Hush Now, Idiot

Like I mentioned before, I have always been the therapist of the group. The feminist pep-talker who will gladly rush out to meet you for coffee and discuss all your relationship-woes whilst nodding eagerly and agreeing that “of course he was intimidated by you, why else would he bang that hot young blonde?” And “yes, I can see why you’re getting back together even though he banged her sister too..” 

Being that person and also a deeply sensitive human being who almost always takes things personally (fine not almost, i ALWAYS ALWAYS do) i’ve been known to become “affected” by any random comment a person makes at me. 

If I mentioned to my friends my interest in this guy 101 negative comments would be thrown at me, all disguised as “innocent advice” when actually they were thinly veiled messages that said “you’re not cut out to get a guy like that”… “He’s too much of a player” .. “Why don’t you focus on having flings because it would be tragic for us if you got Mr X at your first attempt while we fucked it all up for half a dozen years with worthless losers.” 

At the same time i’m worried about “alerting the pack” of this fresh piece of meat. Why risk it? Also, do I sound insane enough or should I keep talking? 

Either way, i’m making a decision not to include anyone I know in this process so that I can think clearly every step of the way and not do, say, or feel anything solely because of someone elses comment that may or may not have a hidden agenda behind it.

I’ve already been brainstorming a few ideas for my grand plan, but first I need to lay low and do some ground work. More on that in my next post… 

The Type

I should have been working, but instead I was stalking. Google always knows best but in this case it was proving to be unhelpful. Aside from a few business articles, Mr. X was nonexistent. No social media, no pictures, nothing more than an abandoned account with no info other than connections. I went through them, one by one, making a mental note of the women.

There was a type. 

Tall, lean, tanned with light brown hair. 

I on the other hand am average in height, curvy with rosy white skin and striking black hair. 

Coincidentally, i’ve already hired a personal trainer and our first session is today! I need to take this size 10 booty down to a 6! And fast…

T Stands for Temporary and Transformation

In order to get Mr. X, I needed a Mr. Temp. A Mr. T is someone who is close enough to intimidate a new potential yet far enough for him not to be taken too seriously. It’s the guy who’s “been trying so hard to get us together” but at the same time you’re “very hesitant because you think you want someone a little more mature and accomplished…” Enter Mr. X with muscles flexed ready to win you over with his accomplishments. A Mr. T is also used as a distraction to make sure you keep it cool and aloof in the first few months of dating a Mr. X.

Not any man can be a proper Mr. T; choose someone too basic and you risk making yourself seem less desirable, but also choose someone too good and you risk seeming like an ungrateful bitch and Mr. X will worry that you’d treat him the same way.

The formula for a perfect Mr. T is this:  good family (equivalent or even better than your Mr. X) + lots of money – good personality.

And I have (or should I say, HAD) a perfect Mr. T.

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Mr. X, Mr. T and Myself

Let’s start at the beginning. The day I ended up in the emergency room because I had overworked myself on a project for a company I didn’t really like working at in the first place. This company had been home for six years and being a person who hated change or risk, I had clung on to my job regardless of the shit that came my way from it.

Back to the emergency room, my parents paced the floor (they were my emergency contacts) and my phone buzzed with my boss’s name on the screen. I knew why he was calling; the conversation we had prior to me collapsing at work, where he made it rain sexist shit, was undoubtedly making him a little nervous right now.

Out of habit I picked up the phone. Yes I knew he was worried, yes of course I was valued at the company. And yes, I know he didn’t mean it when he said I wasn’t getting the promotion I deserved. I agreed with everything he said and before I hung up I heard myself saying something I didn’t expect to…I quit.

He refused to accept it and insisted we discuss it in his office when I came back. Eventually I did go back, to hand in my official letter and to slam his door on my way out.

You see, I’m always the girl at the dinner table telling her girlfriends they were okay without men. That they should dump their worthless boyfriends and move on. The girl jumping at the opportunity of her girlfriend’s breakups to have a girls trip before they quickly nabbed the next guy. A few years ago, I had a rough break up. YEARS AGO. It only hit me now that the months had turned into years and me telling myself “it was okay to take my time” had long ago overrun its course.

I took a long hard look at myself. My body was a out of shape, my hair always tied up in a messy bun, makeup free all the time and okay with it because “with a killer personality like mine, who needed makeup?”

I was sick of being the girl who only cared about meetings and climbing the corporate ladder. Don’t get me wrong that’s a wonderful thing to be, but I was lonely and worried that I had gotten so deep into my comfort zone I wouldn’t know what a male reproductive part was if it smacked me in the face.

Which brings us to the second part of my story. After several weeks of contemplating life and the choices I made I decided it was time to pursue something else. Happiness, fun, and family were on the top of my list now. If I had to be honest, beneath my unkempt hair, and the minor fat rolls was a major hottie. I just needed to work to undo the damage I had caused myself in the past few years (aka letting myself go up a size, or two, because who’s going to see me naked anytime soon right?) Lucky for me, years of hard work and not going out had given me one advantage, lots and lots of cash in the bank for my “transformation” and all the fun I was planning on having.

It didn’t take more than a few weeks for another company to approach me, offering me twice what I made at my old job. They wined and dined me and I happily signed the contract reminding myself that while I should care about my job I shouldn’t turn it into my entire life again.

Now on to the delicious part. Mr. X.

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