The worst is when married friends believe the single girl to be so unhappy that a set-up seems like the last resort. And so it begins. Dinner at said-friend's house and Drew Carey as the other guest. One can only wonder why canoeing was such a popular topic of conversation. And yes, your mind should jump to the double entendre...
Would I ride in his canoe (haha)? NO. Will I use the paddle? NO. Don't I like canoes? NOT THIS TIME FREAK.
Two PAINFUL hours later and I'm appreciating the one-woman kayak. At least dinner was free.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Friday, March 26, 2010
"I Pity The Fool" - Mr T.
And unfortunately, that fool would be me. Enter Mr T. This whole experience was so traumatic that somewhere repressed in my subconscious is how we actually met, but I'm not willing to unbury that bad memory. Now, I know what you're picturing...large African American man with bulging biceps, a mohawk, and some really horrible gold jewelry. You're pretty close, except that this Mr T is short with greasy slicked back hair, not so many muscles, lots of chest hair (and apparently not so good at buttoning up his shirt), but definitely equal amounts of gold jewelry. Oh, and Colombian. Have I not yet learned my lesson about sticking to dating in English?! Apparently not. I never really wanted to go on this blind date, so when I didn't see him right away at Starbucks, I got all ready to grab my coffee and go. Unfortunately, I stopped just long enough to read the front page headlines of the paper, and out walked Mr T...who had apparently been at a table in the back and around the corner. A BRILLIANT place to wait for someone you've never met before. That should have been a sign. And so started some of the most awkward conversation ever. And this is how I know it was awkward: at one point he said, "so, girl with the beautiful eyes..." And I literally almost spit my coffee out all over him, I was laughing so hard. Here's what made it even worse...the WHOLE time (and by time, I only mean the 30 minutes I could stand to be in the same room with him) he was talking he had his hand down his shirt. I do NOT want to know what he was digging for. And when I really thought it couldn't get any worse, he invited me to go back to his place. We had known each other exactly 30 minutes. What kind of creepy lunatic...?!?! "Well, would you look at the time..." I practically ran out to my car. And if this hadn't already proved the need to start dating in English, as a very cultural custom (which I'm fine with in ANY other circumstance), he leans in to kiss me. EW. So I stick out my hand awkwardly (but it worked to avoid the lean), shake his, and get into my car, wishing I had some hand sanitizer. Even worse than the date itself, is that I was so repulsed and icked out on the way home that I stopped to get gas and in my state of desperately needing a shower to remove the ickiness, I put diesel in my car. Yeah, last time I checked I'm not driving a semi. Shit. But because I was so embarrassed about the diesel, I drove to ANOTHER gas station to finish putting regular gas in my car. All I can say is, maybe I could have used some of the crap from Mr T's hair for an oil change...SO. DISGUSTING. Maybe next time I'll stick to dating the real Mr T; after all, it definitely couldn't be much worse.
The First Juan (pun intended)
You would have thought that by now I'd know better than to let someone set me up on a blind date, but I'm apparently a slow learner. So, when a family friend told me she had "just the guy", I figured it certainly couldn't get any worse. Enter Juan. As I'm typing this, it's finally occurring to me (YEARS later...I really must be a slow learner) that he might have just been looking for a green card...but I digress. So, Juan is given my phone number and Juan calls me. And Juan's very first comment to me is "Just so you know, I'm looking to get married." Eh, okay, why not. Enter hours and hours of phone conversations, mostly in Spanish, and yet we never seemed to quite be on the same page about anything...a problem WAY worse than a language barrier, which we coincidentally also didn't have. But perhaps that's because his favorite topic of conversation revolved around "anyone who had a name that ended in 'ez' mean that they were Jewish!" Uh, good to know, I guess, but how many times is that conversation necessary?!? And so things continued, but mostly because I had nothing else going on anyway. Then one night we went out for coffee, and not even Juan Valdez or all the coffee in Central America could have redeemed that experience. So we sat across the table from each other at Starbucks, while he told me his entire life story which involved large quantities of drugs and alcohol. Because nothing says "I'm a quality guy" like "I used to be a drug addict". Good grief. And when he was finally finished and I was feeling sufficiently awkward and uncomfortable, he launched into a tirade about my not telling him everything I've ever done wrong, and clearly that makes me not a genuine person. Excuse me, what?! "Well, would you look at the time..." So the most awkward man on earth follows me out to my car, tries to hug me and says "let's do this again sometime." Oh yeah, that's definitely gonna happen for you. RIGHT! And yet, he just kept calling and calling and calling. Let's think about this smart guy...you TOTALLY insult me and then can't figure out why I don't want to marry you (yeah, that apparently was still on the table for him!)...WOW. I guess Juan is going to have to find his green card elsewhere. And I swear of blind dates, AGAIN.
Monday, January 25, 2010
More Internet Junk and an Unintentional Speed Date
Enter the Internet Trial number 4… we might as well call him Army 2. Taking advantage of a free communication weekend, we correspond for three whole days. In the spirit of putting myself out there, I give him my email and he sends me his phone number. I know absolutely NOTHING about Army 2. Really, literally. I know his name and that he’s in the Army. I haven’t called yet. A girl can only put herself out there so much, you know?
And then there was J., also a product of the internet...where, as it turns out, he should have stayed. We emailed a little bit, but his emails were flat, dry, and BORING and that should have been a HUGE red flag. But, he liked basketball. And as it turns out, so do I. Plus, how bad could he be since he went to my church. So, we made plans to have coffee, but ONLY between the hours of 7:30 and 8:00pm. His philosophy: first dates should be short. My philosophy: a first date should be long enough for me to at least be able to fill up my coffee cup. But, what the hell. So, we meet for coffee. Well, at least that was the goal. But his opening line should have sent me running: "THERE'S NO TIME FOR COFFEE!!" Uh, OKAY. So, I sit and proceed to be interrogated for the next twenty minutes - worse than any job interview I've ever had. No matter what card I played (figuratively, although card playing might have helped make the 20 minutes more tolerable), I could not get J. to converse. Prior to this disatrous date, no guy has ever turned down hearing about living in a sorority house full of college girls! After twenty PAINFUL minutes (where the next question was asked before I could even finish answering the one before it!), he jumped up from the table, I breathed a sigh of relief, and then I suggested that things weren't going to work out. "I'll call you!" J. yelled over his shoulder as he practically ran out of the coffee shop. I'm not sure he ever heard me laughing, but I'm pretty sure he got the hint when I never answered the phone again! AWKWARD...no wonder he's still single. Heck, if this is what I've got to choose from, no wonder I am still single!
And then there was J., also a product of the internet...where, as it turns out, he should have stayed. We emailed a little bit, but his emails were flat, dry, and BORING and that should have been a HUGE red flag. But, he liked basketball. And as it turns out, so do I. Plus, how bad could he be since he went to my church. So, we made plans to have coffee, but ONLY between the hours of 7:30 and 8:00pm. His philosophy: first dates should be short. My philosophy: a first date should be long enough for me to at least be able to fill up my coffee cup. But, what the hell. So, we meet for coffee. Well, at least that was the goal. But his opening line should have sent me running: "THERE'S NO TIME FOR COFFEE!!" Uh, OKAY. So, I sit and proceed to be interrogated for the next twenty minutes - worse than any job interview I've ever had. No matter what card I played (figuratively, although card playing might have helped make the 20 minutes more tolerable), I could not get J. to converse. Prior to this disatrous date, no guy has ever turned down hearing about living in a sorority house full of college girls! After twenty PAINFUL minutes (where the next question was asked before I could even finish answering the one before it!), he jumped up from the table, I breathed a sigh of relief, and then I suggested that things weren't going to work out. "I'll call you!" J. yelled over his shoulder as he practically ran out of the coffee shop. I'm not sure he ever heard me laughing, but I'm pretty sure he got the hint when I never answered the phone again! AWKWARD...no wonder he's still single. Heck, if this is what I've got to choose from, no wonder I am still single!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Uncle Sam Wants You!
Enter, blind date. At the mercy of my boss, I agree to go out with a friend of her husband. Six months previously she had given him my phone number. He never called. Whatever. And suddenly, one bad date with Bart and I get a phone call from Army. You can guess how Army gets his name. Actually, I didn’t even know who Army is. I listen to his message. And listen again. And one more time. Oh, right. Boss’s husband’s friend. Okay, we’ll go out.
And we do, and I look good. And he’s wearing cowboy boots. Okay, I can keep an open mind. Oh wait, Army’s not really good at the conversation. By the time we drive the 15 minutes to park, I have now asked every question I can think of. Crap. Army tells me that my boss suggested a restaurant, but Army doesn’t really know where it is. I’m up for walking. And we walk. And we walk. And we walk. And walk. And walk. And I wonder if we’re going to have to stop for food and water. And this restaurant is nowhere to be found. So, we go somewhere else. That’s fine…see Army, I’m so flexible…I can roll with the punches. What a great catch, I am! Dinner is fine, there’s joking, there’s laughing, there’s eating and lots of water. And Army stands up, “I’m going to the bathroom. Hopefully I’ll be back soon.” Umm, I don’t want to know what you’re going to be doing in the bathroom! Army returns, and we walk. And walk. And walk. And I’ve exhausted any question I can possibly think of. We seemed to be having a decent time, though, and on the way back to the car, there’s definite flirting, and I’m hoping for some serious lip action. I mean, he may not be much for conversation, but this guy’s got pipes! (DRAG YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER…I talking biceps!)
So, we pull back up to my place and he uses the line: “Do you mind if I come in and grab a glass of water.” Grab away, my friend, I think to myself.
As it turns out, the restaurant my boss had suggested hasn’t existed in several years, and there was no lip action. Bummer. But there was hugging and more flirting and a promise to call. Can we say potential?
As it turns out, he didn’t call (typical, right?) and all I was left with was feet full of blisters from all that walking.
On to the next date. Oy vey.
And we do, and I look good. And he’s wearing cowboy boots. Okay, I can keep an open mind. Oh wait, Army’s not really good at the conversation. By the time we drive the 15 minutes to park, I have now asked every question I can think of. Crap. Army tells me that my boss suggested a restaurant, but Army doesn’t really know where it is. I’m up for walking. And we walk. And we walk. And we walk. And walk. And walk. And I wonder if we’re going to have to stop for food and water. And this restaurant is nowhere to be found. So, we go somewhere else. That’s fine…see Army, I’m so flexible…I can roll with the punches. What a great catch, I am! Dinner is fine, there’s joking, there’s laughing, there’s eating and lots of water. And Army stands up, “I’m going to the bathroom. Hopefully I’ll be back soon.” Umm, I don’t want to know what you’re going to be doing in the bathroom! Army returns, and we walk. And walk. And walk. And I’ve exhausted any question I can possibly think of. We seemed to be having a decent time, though, and on the way back to the car, there’s definite flirting, and I’m hoping for some serious lip action. I mean, he may not be much for conversation, but this guy’s got pipes! (DRAG YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER…I talking biceps!)
So, we pull back up to my place and he uses the line: “Do you mind if I come in and grab a glass of water.” Grab away, my friend, I think to myself.
As it turns out, the restaurant my boss had suggested hasn’t existed in several years, and there was no lip action. Bummer. But there was hugging and more flirting and a promise to call. Can we say potential?
As it turns out, he didn’t call (typical, right?) and all I was left with was feet full of blisters from all that walking.
On to the next date. Oy vey.
Enter the World of Online Dating
Enter, the Internet. Welcome to the world of online dating. I had reached a new low. I wondered to myself, how pathetic does a girl need to be to resort to dating over the internet. But, why not? Nothing else had worked so far, and I certainly didn’t want the life of the single girl forever.
Internet Trial number 1…Mike. First impression…looked at picture. EWWW. I know, right? I can’t afford to be picky. I’m getting old! And we’re done with that match.
So, in the spirit of I can’t live forever with my parents (although it’d be nice), I move out. Buy my first place, and think surely, now that I’m independent and capable, now I’ll find Mr. Right.
Lesson #2: WRONG!
Internet Trial number 2….Trey. And yes, names have been changed, although none of these men are innocent enough to deserve protection! Trey and I email. We have nothing in common. We decide to meet for coffee. We have nothing in common. Trey likes to bike. I hate to bike…makes my ass hurt. Trey likes history. Uh…the war of 1812 happened in 1812? Trey likes living with roommates to build him up. I like living alone so no one messes up my house. Trey likes traditional. I like modern. We have nothing in common. Date ends. Trey closes me out and lists “I don’t feel the chemistry”. No shit, Sherlock.
Internet Trial number 3…Bart. I’m smitten. Bart’s profile is so funny I spit out my coffee ice cream when I read it. I decide to email him and be all witty. Dang, I’m funny. Bart and I email. And email. I laugh at his emails. I write witty emails. I laugh. We email. And email. And email. We’ve got everything in common. And I think to myself, this has got to be it. And I tell everyone I know that if Bart is half as funny in person as he is over email, I’ll be in love. Bart and I decide to meet for coffee. There is no chemistry. And to make matters worse, I have to pay for my own coffee - what's that about?! Bart is not as funny in person as he is over email. Scratch that, Bart is not funny at all in person. AT ALL. And we’re done.
Internet Trial number 1…Mike. First impression…looked at picture. EWWW. I know, right? I can’t afford to be picky. I’m getting old! And we’re done with that match.
So, in the spirit of I can’t live forever with my parents (although it’d be nice), I move out. Buy my first place, and think surely, now that I’m independent and capable, now I’ll find Mr. Right.
Lesson #2: WRONG!
Internet Trial number 2….Trey. And yes, names have been changed, although none of these men are innocent enough to deserve protection! Trey and I email. We have nothing in common. We decide to meet for coffee. We have nothing in common. Trey likes to bike. I hate to bike…makes my ass hurt. Trey likes history. Uh…the war of 1812 happened in 1812? Trey likes living with roommates to build him up. I like living alone so no one messes up my house. Trey likes traditional. I like modern. We have nothing in common. Date ends. Trey closes me out and lists “I don’t feel the chemistry”. No shit, Sherlock.
Internet Trial number 3…Bart. I’m smitten. Bart’s profile is so funny I spit out my coffee ice cream when I read it. I decide to email him and be all witty. Dang, I’m funny. Bart and I email. And email. I laugh at his emails. I write witty emails. I laugh. We email. And email. And email. We’ve got everything in common. And I think to myself, this has got to be it. And I tell everyone I know that if Bart is half as funny in person as he is over email, I’ll be in love. Bart and I decide to meet for coffee. There is no chemistry. And to make matters worse, I have to pay for my own coffee - what's that about?! Bart is not as funny in person as he is over email. Scratch that, Bart is not funny at all in person. AT ALL. And we’re done.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
The Rise and Fall of Winston, and I don't mean Churchill
And yet there was always Winston, who would keep me up for hours and hours on the phone, who shared EVERYTHING with me, who was starting to talk about how many kids we’d have…
And I moved out of the sorority house and in with my parents. No quicker way to shoot down the dating life I didn’t have (but still thought I maybe wanted).
And there was Winston, who called me, wrote to me, told me he missed me, thought of me, wanted me to move near him….all the things that were happening (and supposed to be happening) in the romance novel of my brain. And Winston and I talked and talked and talked, and I considered myself one of the luckiest somewhat-single girls ever to have found a man that would talk to me for hours on end and share everything – every single girl’s fantasy.
And Winston came to visit and meet my family. In fact, Winston drove 16 hours, and through a tornado no less, to get to me. I thought I was going to burst with happiness. We played golf, tennis, drank coffee, and almost – so close – kissed on the couch. But, like all good things coming to an end, Winston left. And I cried for days.
But, then one day Winston asked me to move to his city and find a job so that we could be together. Everything was working out just as I had planned! So, I gathered my resources and called in favors, and began talking with people about jobs. And Winston was so supportive. And that should have been a million red flags! No one gets to be this happy and no man is this perfect! (I should know!) And the day when I thought my life was going to go just as I had planned, and my fairy tale was about to come true, Winston, over AOL IM, tells me we need to talk.
I’m not dumb, although I might have been then, but I knew the bomb was about to drop, the earth about to shake, the car about to crash (feel free to add in any other bad analogies here)…I shouldn’t be so morbid, after all, Winston wasn’t the mortician! And Winston announces with gusto (or that’s how I imagined it was happening since it was all online) about how he had met someone. Annie. And I would LOVE her.
WHAT THE HELL?! How am I going to love the woman that had stolen my man? Okay, well, he wasn’t exactly my man, I mean, we weren’t dating, but for crying out loud, we had our honeymoon planned!
Annie. And was I terribly upset, he wanted to know. Me, upset? NO! I cried for a week, I couldn’t go back to work (uh yeah, smart boy told me this on my freaking lunch hour at work!), I was devastated. But wait, this isn’t how it works out in the movies, the beautiful girl (yeah, that’s me) always gets the handsome prince (okay, balding a little, but we aren’t getting any younger!).
And in my twisted girl-like world, I held out hope that he would come back to me. Back to me? He wasn’t ever really with me. Or at least I know that now.
And a little over a year later, on Thanksgiving, after almost 8 months of not talking to him and no contact (both of our doing, not just his, although mostly mine), I get a phone message. “you may or may not have heard but Annie and I got married.” Holy *&^%. He did what? And I’m supposed to be thankful for this on Thanksgiving? How about an emotional mess?? And who would I have heard that from? Uh, let’s think here Winston. So much for my happy, fairy tale ending. And the space ship came crashing back to earth.
And, a year later (or maybe it was two...I mean, it WAS fairly traumatic), I had finally recovered, and committed my life to moving on from him. Although I sure wasn’t dating. I mean, how could I?
Yeah, no bitterness here.
And I moved out of the sorority house and in with my parents. No quicker way to shoot down the dating life I didn’t have (but still thought I maybe wanted).
And there was Winston, who called me, wrote to me, told me he missed me, thought of me, wanted me to move near him….all the things that were happening (and supposed to be happening) in the romance novel of my brain. And Winston and I talked and talked and talked, and I considered myself one of the luckiest somewhat-single girls ever to have found a man that would talk to me for hours on end and share everything – every single girl’s fantasy.
And Winston came to visit and meet my family. In fact, Winston drove 16 hours, and through a tornado no less, to get to me. I thought I was going to burst with happiness. We played golf, tennis, drank coffee, and almost – so close – kissed on the couch. But, like all good things coming to an end, Winston left. And I cried for days.
But, then one day Winston asked me to move to his city and find a job so that we could be together. Everything was working out just as I had planned! So, I gathered my resources and called in favors, and began talking with people about jobs. And Winston was so supportive. And that should have been a million red flags! No one gets to be this happy and no man is this perfect! (I should know!) And the day when I thought my life was going to go just as I had planned, and my fairy tale was about to come true, Winston, over AOL IM, tells me we need to talk.
I’m not dumb, although I might have been then, but I knew the bomb was about to drop, the earth about to shake, the car about to crash (feel free to add in any other bad analogies here)…I shouldn’t be so morbid, after all, Winston wasn’t the mortician! And Winston announces with gusto (or that’s how I imagined it was happening since it was all online) about how he had met someone. Annie. And I would LOVE her.
WHAT THE HELL?! How am I going to love the woman that had stolen my man? Okay, well, he wasn’t exactly my man, I mean, we weren’t dating, but for crying out loud, we had our honeymoon planned!
Annie. And was I terribly upset, he wanted to know. Me, upset? NO! I cried for a week, I couldn’t go back to work (uh yeah, smart boy told me this on my freaking lunch hour at work!), I was devastated. But wait, this isn’t how it works out in the movies, the beautiful girl (yeah, that’s me) always gets the handsome prince (okay, balding a little, but we aren’t getting any younger!).
And in my twisted girl-like world, I held out hope that he would come back to me. Back to me? He wasn’t ever really with me. Or at least I know that now.
And a little over a year later, on Thanksgiving, after almost 8 months of not talking to him and no contact (both of our doing, not just his, although mostly mine), I get a phone message. “you may or may not have heard but Annie and I got married.” Holy *&^%. He did what? And I’m supposed to be thankful for this on Thanksgiving? How about an emotional mess?? And who would I have heard that from? Uh, let’s think here Winston. So much for my happy, fairy tale ending. And the space ship came crashing back to earth.
And, a year later (or maybe it was two...I mean, it WAS fairly traumatic), I had finally recovered, and committed my life to moving on from him. Although I sure wasn’t dating. I mean, how could I?
Yeah, no bitterness here.
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