Rejection is God's Protection

CONFESSION: I have some numbers in my phone...  "Don't Answer", "Don't Pick Up", "NO!"

"Can I get your number?" "I'd like to take you out sometime." "I saw you from across the room..."

If you are single and interested in the guy... YES. YES! YES!!!

If you are not?  Sometimes it seems like there is NO other answer than, "I am heading for the airport with my passport, indefinitely... after I finish this drink."

In college and somewhat beyond, I felt SO terrible rejecting someone who had the courage to ask me out. I totally empathized with them for all the times I felt rejected. I would care more about their feelings in the moment than my own! Ridiculous. What's even more ridiculous? Giving them my number... but the wrong name! Hey, sometimes they call you or text you in your presence!! A wrong number would produce the most awkward moment ever! The wrong name in a text or a voicemail however, instant red flag. I remember one time my senior year of college, I had a guy friend record the outgoing message on my voicemail, "Hey, this is Collin. Leave a message." That was fun explaining to Mom!

In the moment you think all that nonsense worked. Then the calls and the text messages, that you could have avoided had you not given out your number, start rolling in like thunder. So annoying but not their fault. I should have had that feature that plays music instead of a ring tone to the caller; I would have chosen the Eagles, "Desperado".

Then there is the "Find me on Facebook" strategy. Translation: I am not sold on you, probably no. Remind me what you look like when my whiskey ginger goggles are gone. Let me investigate whether you're a Democrat or a Republican. Educated? Does he have his head literally next to a pair of giant (and probably drunk) ta-tas in every pic from the past weekend? Facebook is your bodyguard, private investigator, and "passport" to an undisclosed location should you need to hide.

So then I decided to be polite but blunt. Very straight forward. No, thank you. "I just got out of something and am not open to anything right now." Guys don't hear no from that?! "I can only offer friendship." FAIL. Their time is then spent convincing you why they can be your "friend". Then you say no thank you, and later they come back saying, "Hey, I didn't get your number." You're right you didn't, and I'm sorry, but the fact that you think I'm too stupid to realize it wasn't by accident??? Walk away... One time I got chewed out via text after being straightforward from the get go. I was too nice and entertained his "friendship" via text but when it felt like I was texting with a 13 year old girl who would send me poems and bitter song lyrics he had written.... shoot me.

























Looking back on these text's, it's repulsive that I put up with it for so long! I should have sent him some Midol and a training bra.

Cringe!!! Shake it off... moving on!

"Can I get your number?" and "Can I buy you a drink?" are not contingent on each other. They do not always have the same answer. My mom taught me that if a man buys you dinner, he didn't "buy" you. Dinner is dinner, not a bartering system. Same goes for drinks. I do however think you should only accept a drink if you can drink at least half of the drink in his company. It's not necessary but it's courteous. Courtesy is a lost art, and selfishness isn't. This does not mean when you part his company you should feel compelled to give your number if you are not comfortable with it.

Guys want you to be honest, and yet they want you to lie. I think they would be happy if they believed that every time they were rejected, that it was because they hit on a lesbian. Actually even then, I don't know that that would be sufficient.

My advice: Carry your passport! You might just have a one way ticket to Yemen... but finish your whiskey ginger first.


Cheers,

Whiskey Ginger Girl

The Bar Method. Horoscope or Horrorscope?

CONFESSION: I know my way around a bar. Not so much behind it, but in front of it.

I was always that girl that would never have a clue what to order. I would stand in line and when it was my turn to order a drink, I must have looked dumb-founded, would waste too much time and get passed by. For those that can't make a decision, I highly recommend the "lean, squeeze, and smile." Good posture and solid lean across the bar, no hunching,  and shoulders back! Propping yourself up on your elbows with enough squeeze to enhance the "cleav"and a warm smile. The smile is huge.  Smile trumps cleavage. Most girls, I'd say, forget to smile! I have found that when in doubt ask, "What should I be drinking?" or "What do you like to make?" Chances are if they like to make it, they make it really well.

Sure you can order all the vodka red bulls and AMF's in college that you can stomach, but those drinks are so novice and as classy as the Jersey Shore. After a while the drinks start to define you as much as your horoscope. They send a message to those around you, to the bartender, to the guy beside you, to the guy approaching you offering to buy you another drink.

• Vodka Tonic: Unoriginal, tradition, missionary (dare I say?) 
• Vodka Cranberry: Fighting off a (potential) UTI
• Gin and Tonic: Depends on the gin, although if it has a lime in it... not the best gin... cheapo
• Martini: Risky business, potential spiller and not always made well. You could attract someone who thinks it's funny to ask you, "shaken or stirred?"
• Anything with Malibu Rum in it: After 2, those "hot" spring break pics from 7 years ago will be shown. Wet Tshirt contest pics really attract the attention of Mr. Right.
• Beer: Reserved. Excuses to go to the "Ladies" frequently. A true brew is the exception, ie. Chimay, Delirium Tremmins, etc.

What do I recommend? Isn't it obvious???

You may be wondering why I'm a Whiskey Ginger Girl? Aside from being an Irish, faux redhead?... It is the perfect drink for women on the prowl or on a date to order, and let's face it, it's typically one or the other if you're single in LA.

Why is it the perfect drink?

Whiskey and Scotch are generally considered a man's drink. They are always impressed, and I rarely say always, even if it's loaded with ginger ale. Jack and Ginger is an easy, great first impression. There's a sense of a challenge (in a good way) with a  woman who orders whiskey. There is intrigue because it is rare. There are hundreds of songs singing about "my little whiskey girl" for good reason. Over time, you'll be able to taper off the ginger ale, like you taper off the sugar in your coffee. I now drink Maker's on the rocks (and that's my well drink). You can taste the alcohol, not the sugar. Less sugar, less waistline. More alcohol flavor, the easier it is to pace one's self.

**Here is my word of caution**


Sloppy is Sloppy is Sloppy.

Don't be that aggressive, stumbling, slurring girl. Yikes! Guys like to find out at the end of the night that they are your babysitter, like they like to find out, "Surprise! You're the father!" on an episode of Maury. You spent so much time showering, doing your hair and makeup, putting together the perfect outfit, only to end up looking like Sloth from Goonies, screaming for a Baby Ruth.


This is just Step One.

Be good or be good at it!



Cheers,

Whiskey Ginger Girl

Obituary Of A Crush

10 years, probably since high school, was the last time I had a crush. Sure I have had strong attractions to certain fellas, or been excited about giving my number to a charming guy, but it had been ages since I had a truly authentic crush!

In February, I was working on the set of a TV show that I was a wardrobe stylist for. I was having a typical "LA" conversation of where home is and dogs with our production manager, "A". Somehow with such a simple conversation and actually "seeing" him for what felt like the first time... INSANE CRUSH! His kindness, his smile, I'll spare you the endless list, I was hooked. I loved the idea of having a crush. Harmless, unattainable, someone to dream of, especially since I had recently had the WORST relationship of my life ( we'll visit that another time...), there was no danger of getting hurt. He had a girlfriend I was told by my friend on set, but there seemed to be a spark between us, an easy chemistry. I figured it was all in my head... and that was fine. Wistful. Safe.

There were a series of events and wonderful circumstances where we were able to be in each other's company. Sweet moments of sharing goldfish crackers, sushi, tacos and coca-colas in glass bottles, laughs, a million glances and smiles. We wrapped the show, and I was hopeful I may have gained a friend. I found out the next day, that he had ended his relationship. 2-3 weeks later he asked me out to a movie. He said, "we'll make a thing of it." I didn't know if this was a date or a polite follow through of an idea over tacos late one night. I was so nervous, so excited. Neither of us had been so bold as to confirm bluntly our feelings or attraction. 

He took me to see The Artist and then after to Bar Chloe for tapas and drinks. It was a perfect first date. It was my favorite first date. Through our fun and easy conversations we decided, after discovering a mutual love of Disney and Delirium beer, that we would go back to his place to watch Lady and the Tramp. We fell asleep cuddled up together. The next morning, I feared I had over stayed my welcome, and just when I thought I should go, he asked if I wanted to get breakfast. Everything was beautiful. We strolled down Montana Ave to Blue Plate. It was a gorgeous Santa Monica morning and we got the last table in the sun, and the last to receive food since the kitchen had just lost power! We felt so lucky together! After we walked back and shared hours of snuggles, giggles, and kisses ( hours of kissing can be out of character for me if you were to consult several of my exes.) It became a 24hr date. It was amazing. Luckiest girl in the world. 

Over the next couple months, we walked in the rain, had movie marathons, went surfing, biking, wandered a flea market, countless breakfasts, lunch, and dinners. We had "our spot" at our favorite sushi place for happy hour. We had an unwritten list of adventures yet to be had that we wanted to share together. A long day being "kids" at Disneyland. A road trip up the coast to Portland, spending the 4th of July on surf boards by the pier watching fireworks, trips to Vegas, camping in Yosemite and Catalina. Recipes, movies, bike rides, dinner dates. A trip to South America, or anywhere else neither of us had been, where we would back pack with little but just enough. I found everything I had ever wanted in someone.

It's hard to find truth, loyalty, and commitment in Los Angeles. There is always a grand story or image someone is trying to sell. A true gentleman in Los Angeles is about as easy to find as a real Louis Vuitton in the LA Fashion District. Knock offs and fakes galore. "A" proved  to be a true gentleman.  Pulling out chairs, opening car doors, waiting to sit until you sat, always asking if he could get you anything. He would say sweet compliments, hold my hand, even across the table, walk on the street side of the sidewalk. His mother should be proud of the sweet, compassionate, smart son she raised.

Even the way he broke up with me, he was a gentleman. Yes, that's right... ended our relationship. Dumped. Terminated. Fin. Finito.
Gentleman.
He professed all the feelings and affection he had for me that a hopeless romantic girl, (dare I do it??? Dare I abbreviate to HRG?!), would want to hear... aside from those 3 words. Unfortunately, it ended with I just can't be with anyone right now. We had a lovely day together after that, aside from the occasional tears. We drove up the Pacific Coast Highway and stopped at the Getty Villa, had dinner at The Inn of the Seventh Ray while we watched the solar eclipse, ate dessert down by a private creek where we were serenaded by frogs and crickets. He held my hand the whole time, kissed me, it was like I was in a dream. What snaps you out of the dream? Standing in the ladies room with a bride and her maids.... torture. What's even more torturous?? Holding each other, not knowing when to say goodbye, and Florence & The (bloody) Machine plays  "Never let me go"... Cue the heaving sobs.

Over the course of our last day and night together, "A" said that this wasn't the end for us, that these weren't our last kisses, that he still wanted to do all of our adventures we had planned together, that he couldn't imagine me not in his life. I told him to not say such things if he didn't mean them. He said he meant them and he kissed me goodbye. I don't know if that means weeks, months, years.... I do not know. He left me with hope.

How do you move on with hope?

You let him go. You give him what he asked for. You let him be George Valentin if that's what he chooses, and you continue to be Peppy. Keep smiling, charming, dancing, winking.

I will miss him.

Peppy said, "Out with the old, make way for the new, that's life." George then said from behind her, "I've made way for you."

Cheers,

Whiskey Ginger Girl