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.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
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.
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