Precious P!nk problem... potentially

I went to see the Ting Tings and P!nk in concert on Monday at the Patriot Center. What did you do on Monday night? Probably nothing. You probably sat on your couch and looked at your TV and then commented "How come there's nothing good on TV on Mondays? Maybe I should just watch the new Two and a Half Men. Sighhhh." Meanwhile, I was watching the gay couple in the row behind me get drunk, dance wildly, and eventually fall halfway down the bleachers.

But this blog entry is dealing with a specific issue that occurred Monday night, and I'm not sure how to handle it. You see, Pink came on to me. In front of the entire stadium! It was so public and embarrassing and I'm not sure how she expects me to react! Pink was on stage with her dancers, singing to the entire crowd. I was enjoying the show and fun acrobatics, when things took a turn for the surreal. Quite abruptly, she turned to my side of the stadium and pointed.

Right. At.Me.

It was unmistakable. Everyone around me gasped and turned to look. I was flush with confusion. "Don't you have a boyfriend?!" I screamed down at her.

"I guess I just lost my boyfriend," she hollered back at me. Her gaze unwavering. "I don't know where he went!"

"Well, then maybe you shouldn't be looking for a new relationship so quickly," I called out. "These things take time and they can be both emotionally and financially complicated!"

"I'm gonna spend my money!" she immediately shot back, her brow furrowed in frustration at my resistance. "I'm not gonna pay his rent!"

I was, of course, sympathetic towards her. "Well, no! You shouldn't be expected to pay his rent! You need to separate yourself from a toxic atmosphere."

"I got a brand new attitude," Pink insisted to me. She was pleading, really. "And I'm gonna wear it tonight!"

"Look," I tried explaining to her. "The connection between us is pretty obvious. I mean, the entire stadium can see the spark." Everyone in the Patriot Center nodded in agreement. "But the timing just seems off. Won't your boyfriend get angry if we start dating right away?"

"I'm gonna get in trouble," she agreed with me. But after a long pause, she seemed to have made up her mind. "I... I want to start a fight!"

"Oh, Pink! My precocious Pink! That's sweet of you (in a strangely violent way), but I'm just a small-town boy and you're a big city girl! A celebrity!"

"So what?!" she screamed at me, stung by my rejection and fighting back the tears. "I'm still a rock star!"

So I guess we left things on confused note. I'm not sure how to proceed. Do I call her? Should I wait for her to call me?! Are we technically dating now, or are we still just friends? I don't want to take things to the next level with her and lose our friendship, which I value so much. Maybe I should wait a few days and then send her a long email. Gosh, rock stars are so moody and complicated. I need a nap.

Garters galore!

I've gone to a lot of weddings. I've been a groomsman multiple times (and a groom twice before, but let's keep that hush-hush). For some reason, as soon as my collective group of friends graduated from college, they all decided to get hitched and start having babies. Immediately. At 26, the vast majority of my friends are all married. This is confusing, because shows like Friends, How I Met Your Mother, and basically every other sitcom all seem to indicate that people don't find true love until well into their 30s. Is it possible that television is lying to me?

Anyways, I've noticed that a higher power seems to be sending me a message at all these events. I have caught the garter at FOUR different weddings. That's a lot. And let me also stress that I'm not diving across crowded tables to catch these airborne metaphors of future commitment. They fly through the air and land gracefully in my hands. One of them even struck me in the face.

So at this most recent wedding, I again had the garter go soaring in a tidy arc and land with a little plop into my outstretched palm. I never even moved from my initial spot on the floor. The hand of fate, perhaps? Anyways, what typically happens in a reception at this point is that the man who catches the garter puts it on the leg of the woman who caught the bouquet. As ancient legend goes, the higher you place the garter, the better luck the bride and groom will have in their marriage. It's basically a transparent opportunity for men to feel up the leg of a pretty girl. I personally find this ritual abhorrent, but I am nothing if not a traditionalist. So with a heavy heart, I resigned myself to the unwanted task of sliding a garter up a bridesmaid's leg. Curses!

But then, to my surprise, the crowd dispersed and the band started up again. I was confused. And when I get confused, I cry easily. Fighting back the tears, I ran up to the bridesmaid. "What's the situation? Are we going to partake in this time-honored tradition in just a few minutes?" is the sentence that formed in my head. But what I really said was, "WHAT THE FUCK?! Why am I not touching you right now?!" My date glowered at me from a corner as she slipped a knife up her sleeve and began moving towards the bridesmaid; murderous intent glinting in her darkened eyes.

Fearing for the bridesmaid's life at the hands of my delightful (though occasionally violent) lady companion, I went up to the bride herself to get to the bottom of this mystery. Sheepishly, the bride informed me that they weren't doing the whole "slide the garter up the leg" bit. I was shocked and appalled. This is the conversation that followed:

Connor: So... I'm not going to put this on anyone?
Bride: No, we decided not to do that.
Connor (brief pause for mental processing): So, what should I do with this?
Bride: I don't know. Whatever you want.
Connor: What would I want with your garter?
Bride: Ummm... I don't know.
(Long awkward pause.)
Connor: So... do you want it back?
Bride: Uh. Ok.

My new gf/wedding date

So some of you may be aware that I'm going to a wedding this weekend. That is to say, anyone who's anyone will be at this wedding. What's that? You didn't get an invite?! Oh no! You must not be as popular as you once thought. I got an invitation and a "plus one", no big deal.

Anyways, I'm going to this kickass wedding BUT, in a shocking twist, I will not be going stag! I can almost hear a collective groan from all the single ladies and predatory cougars who will be attending the reception. Sorry, but I'm off the market. So who is this woman that managed to lasso this lone wolf? Here she is:

You may recognize her from some hit TV documentary series she says is on NBC. Her name is Pam. She keeps insisting that her "real name" is Jenna, but that's just a little joke we have between us. I know better. So Pam and I are a hot item now. You'll probably see us on the cover of the next People magazine. You might wonder why I have a beard in the picture above. That's because Pam likes me with lots of facial hair. She braids it with beads like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean.

And look at that face she has in the picture above. Sheer delight. She's so happy that she finally landed a real man and not that whiny Jim dude that works in her office. It's actually kind of a sore subject between us, so please don't bring him up at the wedding.

Anyways, THIS is the woman that I've been spending so much time with in the past 6 or 7 weeks. We've been going out in Chicago a lot, but I think we're going to buy an island in the Caribbean and move there. It's a secret island that only extremely beautiful people know about. So if you haven't heard about it, just look in the mirror and there's your answer as to why.

Crisis averted

The second preseason game of the Washington Capitals is tonight! I'm delirious with excitement now that hockey season has resumed! The sun seems to shine a little brighter. I've been skipping down the streets of Arlington. I find myself humming songs in the shower. And by "humming" I mean "screaming loudly until the next door neighbors bang on the wall."

Tonight, the Caps are playing against the Chicago Blackhawks. I was getting dressed today and decided to go with a daring fashion combination consisting of jeans with a brown t-shirt (I saw a model in GQ wearing something similar). As I walked past the full length mirror in my bedroom and gave myself  a little wink and a head nod, I abruptly noticed that I had haphazardly thrown on my Chicago tee!

O.
M.
G.

I almost betrayed my own sports team by wearing apparel for the away team! And why? Just to wear some t-shirt that I bought to impress a girl?! I don't even remember her name. I think it was Michelle Obama.

Anyways, in a fit of fury I tore the shirt off and burned it. And now I'm wearing a less controversial shirt that depicts a cartoon about Israeli settlements in the West Bank. Crisis averted.

Chicago: A city of murder, crime, intrigue, and piers

Guess what? This is Navy Pier. It's kind of a Chicago landmark. You might not know that if you haven't been to Chicago. I have. Many times. Are you jealous? Probably. I would be... that is, if I hadn't already been to Chicago. Many times. Loser.

Let me tell you a story about this photo. It was a warm September afternoon, and the sun smiled brightly on our beautiful faces. We're beautiful people, btw. You probably see us all the time on Perez Hilton or in the tabloids. Suzie and I had just finished donating blood to underprivileged orphans, and we were strolling along the pier eating ice cream from Haagen-Dazs.

Suddenly, a purse snatcher went tearing through the crowds (having just recently snatched a purse, obvi). Being good citizens, Suzie and I commandeered a vehicle and pursued him with due haste. An epic high speed chase commenced, which culminated in the thief's grisly death in a wood chipper. (Just between you and me, btw, it was no accident. Suzie pushed him in there.)

We celebrated this gruesome bloody massacre among the throngs of cheering "lesser people" by taking a picture of the Navy Pier sign and guzzling the last of our cookies and cream milkshakes. The end. The moral of the story? Don't steal purses, or else Suzie will brutally murder you.

Pressure cooker

I'm here with Suzie and tonight I will be meeting all her friends. In fact, her friend Rita is here right now. The pressure is on to be funny and delightful. But I'm worried that the anxiety has gotten to me and I'll crack. I mean, look at this blog post! It's not even clever. Maybe things will turn out ok and the next post will be "How Connor Got His Groove Back."

What do I do with this "Rita" person? Should I fake hit on her? What if she takes it the wrong way?! What if she takes it REALLY the wrong way and flirts back?! Then I need to tell Suzie that her friend Rita is trying to get in my pants. Damn my symmetrical features and attractive personality!! It is a blessing AND a curse. Or should I be kind of stand-offish and let them open up to me?

No! Go big or go home. I'm going to solve this the way that I should have long ago: heavy drinking. Nothing helps bonding like intoxication. Let's just hope that nobody judges me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to chug a Zima while the ladies are in the other room...

Tuesday: Mission Accomplished!

My big accomplishments today? Well, first you should know that I'm sick so I spent all day laying on the couch in sweats, chugging DayQuil until I got lightheaded, and slowly eating everything in my fridge. Gretchen is even making me homemade chicken noodle soup. But, we were about to discuss my major accomplishments today so let's not get sidetracked. Even though I'm an invalid laying in my sick misery (which my mother is convinced is swine flu, naturally) I can still achieve giddy heights.

So today I... updated my facebook profile! I added "Dexter" to my favorite shows. BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY... I changed the order of the shows so that each show was on its own separate line. For example, I don't want "Flight of the Conchords" to display as:

"Flight of the"
"Conchords"

I've been attempting to make this happen for like 8 months, but it was too hard so then I gave up. But today there's one less major life goal that I need to accomplish before I turn 30.

Upstaging the bride and groom? No big deal.

I'm going to a wedding in September. "Oh, Connor!" you might say. "Going stag to a wedding... again?!"

Haha. No, you cruel blog-stalking bitches. I'm not going stag. Not this time!! I'm going with a stone cold fox. I'm not even sure what her name is. She's some pretty young thing that I picked up at a local Greyhound bus station.

She came to the big city with a head full of smiles and a pocket full of dreams. But soon her luck ran out, so she started exotic dancing just to make ends meet. After a week long vodka bender, she woke up in the bus station where our fates intersected.

Sure, she's not exactly the type that you take home to momma, but whatever. I like her. Anyways, here's a picture of us. We're cute. Cuter than you, in any case. Burn!