I decided to give HOTTT one last chance. OK, I really just wanted to make out with him one last time before giving up trying to make this work. So sue me. It’s not like I’m going to have sex with him (that’s your punishment for not showing enough interest in me – no handcuffing to sleigh beds and no sex. It’s a harsh sentence, trust me). Here’s how it happened: I texted everyone I knew a pic of this brownie plate I made. Here, this is the awesomeness that is me.

I got a ton of texts back asking for some, including HOTTT.

HOTTT: Me likey!

Zoogie2: I’ll have to make you some one of these days

See how I smoothly gave a subtle intro into asking him out again? Of course, I had hoped he would ask me. I wasn’t expecting much since this guy almost never replies and never asks me out. Way to fuck with my self esteem.

HOTTT: If you do you may never be able to get rid of me

WHAT? Holy meerkat babies! Ohhhhh now I get it. A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach – as in, they can’t say no to food. Well, a little too little, a little to late. There are plenty of men who would text me daily to eat my brownies (literally and figuratively).

I asked what day works for him and he said “tomorrow”. The Rules say I should counter with a new day at least three days out, but don’t The Rules go out the window when you give up on someone? So I said yes. Of course that’s the same day I work 8a – 5p and then a meeting with my non-profit from 5:30p – 8p. Fuck! But screw it, so what if I have a 12 hour day? I can hastily drive home, finish cleaning up my place, shower, dress up, look adorable and drape myself over the chaise just in time for him to knock on the door. Simple, yes? Other than the speeding, potential vehicular manslaughter, cold shower because waiting for hot takes too long and stuffing a bunch of shit under my bed…I figured it would have to work. Because I’ve been soaking my lips in moisturizing chapstick for the past week. I clearly have a lot invested in this.

So I invited him over for dessert and a movie. Then I called Evelyn and begged her help to think of a dessert. I’ve made brownies four times in the past two weeks, I’m over it. Cookies are so…typical. Cake? Too much. Anything custard-y or exotic…no clue how to make it.

“Uhhhh cupcakes dude. Yes! Come over to my place, we’ll scope out the Irishmen and bake cupcakes.” Evelyn has good ideas. So I shrugged and headed over. Immediately Evelyn shoved me out of the kitchen and had me stand there doing nothing. Mmmmmkay. Then she started going a little crazy.

We were supposed to make chocolate rum cupcakes with a homemade butter cream frosting. Yummy, yes? Suddenly Evelyn pulls out pecans and candies them then dumps them into the mix.

“Uhhhhh OK. I like pecans.” Then she pulls a cup of chocolate chips out of thin air and throws them in.

“Where did those come from? I thought it was just going to be chocolate rum?” She waved me away. Suddenly she’s pouring almond extract into the butter cream. Where the hell did she even get a bottle of almond extract? It was not in her hand two seconds before. When she pulled out the canister of coconut, I interjected. “Dude? Too many flavors. I’m pretty sure I heard that one chick from Top Chef recommend simple flavors done well, if you add coconut how the hell will you taste anything? It will be like when you try to paint with too many colors and it turns out gray.”

“Dude? You’ll thank me.” Then we proceeded to have a short wrestling match where I got some chocolate across my cheek and chest, and I left a butter cream hand print on her arm and a little in her hair. It was like mud wrestling, but yummier. I won the fight and she only got a smidgen of coconut into the mix, but only because Evelyn was too afraid of hurting me to really try. Sucker!

I forgot how intense she gets when cooking or baking. I wasn’t even allowed to scoop the cupcakes into the tin, “because something might go wrong”. What? Maybe I have some sort of nefarious unbalanced cupcake plan. Whatever. Suddenly the doorbell rang. EP apparently has a sixth sense about baked goods and just showed up. We all crowded into the kitchen laughing and catching up. Evelyn threw the cupcakes into the oven while I explained why we were making impromptu cupcakes.

“Uhhhh and when he asks if you made them?” EP asked skeptically.

“I helped. I would have done more but someone has control issues.” I said, eyeing Evelyn.

“I’m trying to get you laid, remember?”

“That’s not the goal anymore. I’d only sleep with him if we were in a relationship, which clearly isn’t working. I really just want to make out. Is that so wrong?”

“No, but it seems like a lot of effort if you just want to make out with him. This is more like a seduction.” EP said, licking butter cream off of a spoon.

“No, I just have pride in my culinary presentation. No way can I just pick up cookies at Ralphs or buy premade batter.”


“I’m still on the HOTTT train, hence why I’m trying to get her laid.” Evelyn said, slapping my hand away when I tried to carry one of the trays to the oven.

“Fuck you both.” Since I’m still on a diet, I didn’t try the cupcakes, but the little bit of frosting I licked off of my finger was divine.

The Next Day…

I took my MP3 player to work since my computer has been messing up my playlist. I threw it on random and was shocked to find that Every. Single. Song. Was a fucking love song. No joke. I didn’t even know I had that many Eagles songs on this damn thing.

I desperately tried to get through my work early so I could leave and hopefully go clean up a bit before my non-profit meeting. But of course it didn’t work out. Everyone and their mother and their mother’s mother needed something. I planned on racing out at 5 and telling my non-profit group that I had a family dinner to get to so I couldn’t stay late. Yes, a teeny tiny lie, but I-have-a-date-with-a-guy-I’m-probably-not-going-to-see-again-so-I-need-to-use-this-opportunity-to-make-out-and-maybe-a-little-oral doesn’t have the same ring as my-family-misses-me. Seriously, too long since I got laid. Clearly. I mean I’m lying to people who help small children just so that I can get a little something something. What I need? Either a boy toy or a boyfriend.

I’d like you all to note that the only guys I’ve found who’ve applied to be my boy toy were taken. Cheating on their girlfriends or wives. And since I have morals and standards, I said no.

So there I was sitting at my desk running through a few chaise lounge fantasies when…oh damn, training is over. Regular, not mandatory. The rest of the story will have to wait so I can go back to work…(yea, I’m going to be that bitch that leaves you on a cliffhanger. Now you know how I felt watching Days of Our Lives as a nanny…)