Scoreboard

So, remember how I said two Sundays ago I had a super awesome time and hopefully I'd be updating you soon? Well, aren't you lucky, because I'm gonna do that now!

As many times as I've tried the online dating thing, and as small as everyone claims my fair city is, I hadn't yet run into anyone I already knew in real life. That is, until the Saturday after Thanksgiving, when I got an e-mail commenting on my love of The Cutting Edge. When I looked at the photo, I realized it was a guy I knew casually from my last job. (One who I'd always thought was kinda cute, so...bonus!) And after a few e-mails back and forth, he asked for my number.

The next day he called and suggested we hang out, and offered to make me risotto. And we had a great night. And then there was date number two- also awesome. So I was starting to get pretty excited, because really, there were a lot of little things about him that I thought were great. Suffice it to say, he was earning points all over the place.

Admit it, people- we all have some kind of internal point system. Your date earns points when they do something good, and you mentally deduct when they do something lame. Even if you don't realize it, you're keeping score. So when he cooked me dinner, remembered mundane details from the stories I was telling, and was rather adorably trying to throw popcorn down the front of my shirt at the movies, the scoreboard was counting 'em up.

A week later, this past Sunday, my mom called and told me to come home, because my grandfather, who has been ill for some time, was probably not going to make the day. He died at 2AM Monday. Because the funeral wasn't till later this week, I came back to work for a couple of days, and yesterday by lunch the emotions and lack of sleep were making me crazy. And so I called him, even though I thought it might be a lot to ask after just two dates, and I asked if he'd come over and distract me. And he said "Sure."

So he rode his bike. To my house. Six miles. And he brought The Cutting Edge on DVD and a Ziploc bag of popcorn, and told me he hoped I had a pot with a see-through lid, because while any lid would work, it was more fun to actually WATCH the popcorn pop.

His season is off to quite a good start, really.

My Rules Suck

So, I had date #2 with the Port Prince. PP called on Wednesday and asked if I would like to go out again. I said yes (I have a 3-date rule, because I know it takes me a bit to warm up to people). Now, I generally take a very honest, almost too honest approach to dating-I tell people I am a homebody, I see no reason to lie and tell men that I'm "spontaneous and always looking for an adventure." This was clearly something PP was intrigued by, as he said "I know it wouldn't be your first choice, but I would like to take you bowling at (club in the city that has bowling)." And he seemed to almost be mocking my homebody-ness with the humor he seemed to find in "making me" go bowling. I was honest that it wasn't something I would choose, but I would be a good sport and go. I also questioned whether or not the city was a good idea on a night we were supposed to get a snow storm. He says he has 4-wheel drive, we'd be all set.

He shows up in his non-4WD car because he'd prefer to take the shit box into the city. We walk 10 minutes in a snow storm, at previously determined destination. Now this entire drive in he's talking about how he didn't think I was going to go and he is going to make sure I have fun (aka I totally don't want to date a homebody, so I'm going to force you to do shit you don't want to do). Now, I'm not a total party pooper-I would enjoy bowling in a group, or with my friends from work etc. However, not for a date and not at a place that has a club atmosphere. So...long part of the story short-PP can't get in, he has boots on and there is a dress code. He has a short meltdown (red flag) and then asks where I want to go. I choose a bar that I know and love around the corner.

I must say, he is talkative, outgoing and and nice, for the most part. However, some highlights of the conversation are as follows (I can't possibly list them all):

None of his friends are in happy marriages, they all forfeited their balls.

He thinks women who won't date a man based on height, education level, intellect, job or income are shallow and stupid (Meanwhile, he would never date a woman with children)

He whispered the word "gay" while telling me he has no problem with homosexuality.

He asked numerous questions about my ex, again.

He asked "what would you do if your ex called...well what if you didn't know it was him and accidentally answered."

He questioned whether or not I really want to pursue a doctoral degree, as I would have to put my life on hold.

And then...on the way home two shining moments:

Well, if you had said you wanted to stay at your place and rent a movie, we wouldn't have had to go into the city for bowling

And had touched my leg twice, both times it felt gross.

So friends, now I'm in a pickle. I have that 3-date rule and while I make it sound awful, it wasn't horrendous, it's just evident we are not a good match. Ugh, I hate my rules and I hate being a rule follower. He has left the planning of a 3rd date, up to me. I think I'm going to force him to see a chick flick.

XX NB

Super Powers!

This really SHOULD be an entry about my Sunday evening. Because, dear readers, it was FAB. It was so fab that I have reverted to my less awesome self who is now sitting around going "Please, please let him call me. No really, pleeeaaase!" But I'm gonna spare you until there's more to say (like, until he calls, or he doesn't).

Instead I'll tell you about an interesting phenomenon I have noticed involving a guy I know, one who I'll call the Toxic Avenger. Why? Because he is most certainly toxic, and he appears to have super powers. Chiefly, the power to know exactly when it's the WORST time to crawl out of the woodwork and try to hook up with me. Again.

I'm partly at fault here. I agree to do this again and again because, hey, it's fun and he's a former massage therapist and has other, um, talents. So what's not to like, at least on the physical level, yes? Except that he's cryptic and odd and makes me feel like I am the moony freshman to his sophisticated senior. Also, I have reason to believe he's not the most honest gent on the planet. Oh, and every time we're together it's like a compliment bomb went off. It's cool the first time, but then you start wondering how anyone could seriously wax THAT poetic about the curve of your hips. I mean, yeah, they look good, but for real?

So of COURSE, in the midst of me being all swoony over Mr. Sunday Night, and arranging a date with another guy who I'd already agreed to go out with, Toxic Avenger pops up on Facebook chat and wants to know what I'm up to Friday.

Me: I have tentative plans, actually. (Complete lie.)
Him: So do I, but I figured maybe you'd want to one-up them.
Me: I wasn't aware I had the power to one-up them.
Him: Now you know. (signs off)

So please, Universe, let me have actual plans for Friday and/or some freaking willpower. If not...I guess at least I get a massage out of it.

Back in the Game

Wow. It's been awhile. I tried to think of a creative way to tell you all where I've been for the last 2 months...Suffice it to say, it was a combination of a U-turn and a strike while trying to recover from said U-turn. The strike is officially over and I went on a real date over the weekend. My first real date since March.

Details: We met on match.com, he has a job, owns a house, has a car, is attractive and his emails were hilarious. The majority of the date went well. He was friendly, talkative and their were no awkward silences, which is always a plus. However, about 3 hours in he started asking a lot of questions about my most recent relationship. I tried to keep it vague: We broke up a year and a half ago, together on and off for 5 years, he's not in my life for a reason, blah blah blah. However, he kept asking questions about it and frankly I got so fed up I finally thought to myself "Fuck it, I'm just going to answer the damn questions and stop being avoidant." So I told him a good portion of the Jerry Springer relationship I was in.

Now, I know talking about exes is gererally a no-no on a first date, but at this point I'm annoyed that he kept asking and knew he would keep going until he would understand why I just didn't want to talk about it. I also have a certain level of understanding that it is a very crazy story and people are generally intrigued by it, so whatever...I told him. Upon hearing the story his response was: "Wow. Well now you make sense to me, I thought you were hard to read...I should probably tell you about my last relationship." Surprisingly enough, he says he's interested in going out again, so I guess the Jerry Springer story didn't freak him out too much. And while the last hour was torture, I am willing to see him again.

Then we come to all of the underlying issues that keep me from dating in the first place. Right now, my head is kind of spinning with the following:
Do I really have the time and energy for a relationship?
What if he gets to know me and hates me?
I am not "smitten" by him, shouldn't I be? (I have movies and television to thank for that one)
I hate getting to know people, I just want the comfort of already knowing someone.

So that's my story...we'll see what happens.

Have a mentioned my ovaries and uterus having been screaming at me to do something about my love life??

xx NB

Dilemma-nade

So it's been five dates. And it's mostly been fun. But there's this one problem.

He's always trying to make out with me and...I don't really care to, much. Yeah, I know. Me. Me, saying, "No thanks, I'll pass on the physical contact." And when we do, inside my head, there's this:

"Well, this is...OK. I mean, it's not BAD. It's not great either but...it's OK. I'll probably grow to really enjoy it, eventually."

Well, no. I probably won't. Boy, do I feel like I SHOULD, because after all, he's very nice. Nothing but nice. But I'm realizing that I can't magically make myself enjoy the time we spend together. So now I am trying to figure out how to end it...and I'm wondering, which is better? To end it over the phone, which seems so insensitive, or to end it in person, which seems more adult but would also be awkward, in the vein of "Hey, I invited you on date #6 just to ditch you! Peace out!"

What say you, readers? How would you want to hear the news?

You: Nice; Me: Totally not sure what to do with you.

It had been long enough, I figured. Not that I had any major grief from which to recover this time, but I guess I figured it had been long enough since my last date because I was getting bored. And when I get bored, the internets come a-callin'.

I decided to experiment with a different site than last time, and I found a few interesting folks. And so I found myself meeting one such person last Monday for Indian food. We had a good time- good enough, in fact, that we were out waaaaay past my bedtime because we had so much to talk about. But it was during the second date that I figured out who I was dealing with, so to speak. You see, ladies, he's a Nice Guy.

He listens. He pays attention. He's respectful of women. Crap, he might actually qualify as a feminist. And here I am, alternately thinking, "I didn't think you EXISTED!" and, "Oh...gee. You're nice. I don't know what to do with nice."

We'll see if NG stays that way- as you know, I've met quite a few men these past few months who went from nice to psycho or coward in less time than it just took me to finish my chai latte. For the time being I'll try to pace myself and learn to enjoy the nice.

Tiramisu

“I’m sorry if I taste like puke.”

“Don’t worry. You taste like tiramisu, sweet with a little bit of alcohol.”

A little bit of alcohol being the understatement of the century.

I have been on complete and utter dating strike since my last minute cancelation on the neuroscientist quite a while ago. He understandably guilt-tripped me as he was frantically ironing his shirt when I canceled just two hours prior to our date. I told him I’d rather be watching Glee and eating guacamole in my sweat pants. Perhaps that was a tad too truthful a response.

Since that uneventful moment several months ago, I have been greatly uninspired in the world of love. I have been completely without any flirtation, crushes, interest. Mind you, not to the detriment of my life as I am quite content currently. However, I can feel the ghost of love life future hovering over my head, chanting “crazy cat lady, crazy cat lady, an entire container of frosting never hurt a crazy cat lady!”

I have at least had the time to become much more Zen about the whole ex-boyfriend-proposing-to-his- girlfriend-of-two- months-then-blocking-me-from-contacting-him-once-I-voiced-my-astonishment debacle. I’ve also managed to break the cycle of craziness somewhat with My Favorite Mistake as now 3 out of 5 conversations actually end on a civil note. Okay, maybe 2 out of 5, but it’s still a vast improvement since our fiery showdown of destruction.

Queue Halloween and everything it entails for someone in their mid-twenties. House parties. Bargain basement costumes prominently featuring sequin leopard print leggings and a matching exposed bra. Too much alcohol, not enough dignity, and just enough inhibition to let the first two come together with disastrous results. In summary, I got really drunk. Freshman in college drunk. Should know better by now drunk. Drunk enough to be witty and snarky…and yet have to recollection of said comments. Drunk enough that when said comments are related back to me I want to ask, “Ha, who said that…Oh, that was me…Uh…sorry?” Drunk enough to call My Favorite Mistake and ask him to come over to the party I did not invite him to because I needed someone to hold my hair back as I embraced the porcelain throne.

More surprisingly, he did. He rode his little scooter cross town to come bring me water and rub my back while I blubbered like a toddler who had been asked to share their favorite toy for the first time. I lurched about, fell off my bed, and even in the midst of this made a pack with god that I was never going to drink again. I then pretty much attacked FM (post brushing teeth thankfully) and he was still gracious enough to tell me that my kisses tasted sweet but a little drunken.

I woke up the next morning and he was gone. He had tucked me in and left in the middle of the night after slipping a note under my door. He told me to pretend it was a dream and to not apologize in the morning. Burrowing in bed for a few more hours, I finally made it to a standing position. I took him out to lunch (as if moderately priced Greek food could be apology enough) and we watched a scary movie later that afternoon. I dropped him off at home later. We said good-bye.

And, oddly enough, we seem to be okay now. We’re not together or apart. We do not expect anything for each other besides showing up when it really matters and maybe a partner to see scary movies. It seems like both an end and a beginning, a little bit sweet and a little bit right.

-Queen of Spades