Falling Off the (CGS) Wagon

Of all of the dating insight I've forced down people's throats, what I'm most proud of is defining Crazy Girl Syndrome and coining the CGS phrase.

I think by pinpointing and calling ourselves out on our crazy antics, we grow. Or something. But really - and maybe I'm the only one - I think it's done some good. Clearly I'm no therapist, but recognition seems to be a big step in changing your behavior.

I mean, I've definitely had my moments (episodes, really), and I'll always be a recovering Crazy Girl.

(Sort of like how I'll always be a Recovering Nail Biter - it's a hereditary condition, ask Dolo - but I solved that problem with weekly manicures, a glorious perk of my neighb. Unfortunately I can't hand over a $10 bill to help solve this issue so I've had to use willpower instead. Ugh.)

Luckily I've been pretty CGS free for awhile, but about a month ago I went to meet a friend at a bar and one of her guy friends had brought his roommate. No big deal, he was friendly, I was chatty, two hours later I had a crush. Even though our conversation consisted of how he had just gotten out of a relationship and was dating a lot of girls.

RED FLAG NUMBER UNO.

But he was cute, tall, and liked to ski. And I'm an idiot. We parted ways and he didn't get my number. RED FLAG DOS. (This blog not only teaches you about dating; we're also going to be reviewing our basic Spanish. Today's lesson: numbers! Woo hoo.)

I friended him on Facebook. Acceptance followed by Radio Silence. RED FLAG TRES.

A week or two later, I sent him a message about an upcoming concert that - based on our convo - I thought he might enjoy. He responded that he was interested and for me to call him. (I really really hate talking on the phone, especially with guys, but I pulled up my big-girl pants and did it anyway). The talk was good. Come on baby light my (CGS) fire.

He ended up not being able to make the concert due to a friends' show, but instead came to meet up with us after. We madeout. He seemed to be interested. I love you have my babies. 

I did not hear from him. RED FLAG QUATRO.

The next night I embarrassingly drunk text him from the Standard Bingo. (I apparently am the Benjamin Button of maturity, going nowhere but backward.) RED FLAG CINCO.

Two days later we ran into each other for the aforementioned friend's birthday. He proceeded to spend the rest of the evening flirting with my pretty friend. (Granted his roommate spent the entire time talking to me, but whatever.)

I was upset. Like I wanted to cry. (Jameson was involved, maybe that had something to do with it?) But either way, considering my heart is made of stone, this was very unnatural.

RED FLAG SEIS! (It's been awhile since high school, so I don't know if I can count much higher than this.)

So by this point I was discouraged, but then - like a psycho - I thought that orchestrating a run-in might be a great idea! Perhaps he'll be at Fake St. Patty's Day in Hoboken (notorious shit show) I thought. (Note: This is never a good idea when you're recovering from six red flags and him hitting on your friend.)

ROJO FLAG x 100000!!!!

Gurl, whatever you do, NEVER embrace the CGS. Especially when it involves day drinking.

Instead I had an awesome day at The Standard, a good choice considering the next day my newsfeed deliberately enabled me with pictures of him and (yet another) girl decked out in green. (Technology is cruel.)

This little episode was for the best, maybe like a booster shot or something. Just another reminder that crazy is not a flattering shade on me.

P dot S: Sort of as a refresher course, I borrowed a friend's copy of He's Just Not That Into You. Only took 10 minutes before I was up to speed. (Or felt worse about myself and turned it off.)