Readers! It's been months. We all knew that this might happen. At some point, I would meet a great guy and my misadventures would come to an end. I tried to tell myself, "No way. Even if I do meet someone, funny things will still happen. I'll still have plenty to write about." But, here we are six months later and holy drool in a bucket, I'm boring. I mean, my last weekend consisted of laundry, movie night, and a compelling trip to Homegoods to buy a new coat tree. I own a coat tree. I have a silent battle with my fella over which way the toilet paper rolls. (Side note: I just called him "my fella". WHO AM I?) Anyway, I let it fall over the roll. And then, during my next trip to the bathroom, SOMEONE has flipped it around to falling under the roll. The scamp! I have a cat and a dog and the four of us collapse into bed at 9:30 p.m., so that we can all watch the Friends rerun that we DVRed. I almost just fell asleep in mid-type. Even the way that we met is boring. We've known each other since we were teenagers, had secret crushes, and reconnected through facebook. Yawn.
We're not without our funny moments. Fella can be quite outspoken. Sometimes it's humorous. Sometimes I feel like a sixteen-year old whose dad just busted out into the Electric Slide during a prom court coronation. But, I'm always entertained. Fella's dismay at the hipster trend in my city is always good for a laugh. One time, while entering a local music venue, Fella exclaimed, "What the f*ck is with all the grizzly BEARDS?? You guys look RIDICULOUS!" That's when I knew I loved him.
Our shacking up is new, but so far, it's great. I love coming home to him. He treats me like the way people treat Mariah Carey in her imagination...making me my coffee in the morning, pouring me a glass of wine at night. He's unknowingly creating his own homegrown grown-up Veruca Salt, but let's keep that a secret, lest the pampering stop. He handled it well when I had my first menstrual meltdown in front of him after I had spent hours making ravioli from scratch, only to have it taste like what I imagine landfill tastes like. He held me until I stopped crying and then ordered Thai. I've always thought that I would have issues with sharing my bed, my bathroom, my television, my leftovers, etc. But, it's weird that that doesn't seem to matter when you're sharing it with the right person. So, yeah all in all, things are pretty copa-partridge-freaking-family-cetic.
My last entry was about just wanting to find a guy who hasn't done prison time, and I've gotten that and so much more. I'm quite lucky. However, you...you're not so lucky if you like to read this blog because it's going to go downhill faster than paperboys chasing Lloyd Dobler for two dollars. So we're left to Mosby's choice...finding happiness with my Mother (ok, that didn't come out right) or being able to tell great stories. For now, I'm choosing the happiness.
Showing posts with label Dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dating. Show all posts
Friday, January 16, 2015
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
I'd Just Like to Find a Nice Guy Who Hasn't Done Time.
My close friends always seem to share a common theme when discussing my dating life. They always ask the same question, "Why do you waste your time with these losers?" The truth is most of the time, I have no idea that they're losers. You wouldn't either. The stats on the back of their bachelor team card are usually pretty high...well high enough. I don't find out that they're losers until it's too late.
For example, there was one time when someone whom I knew when we were kids found me on facebook. I was excited to hear from him as I had a huge crush on him when we were young and we had spent a lot of time together during our childhood. After a few facebook messages back and forth, we exchanged phone numbers and started texting each other. We texted for the entire day and I was really into him. Then six p.m. rolled around, and he texted, "Sorry, I have to go." I responded, "Ok, no prob. Are you going to be around later?" His answer was, "I'll be back tomorrow. I'm in a work release program and I have to turn in my phone and go back to the prison." That's a true story.
Recently, in a conversation with my sister, Lori, I told her that I was going to stop being a "junior cougar". That is, I was going to focus on having a serious adult relationship with someone, and I was going to stop making out with 25 year olds, no matter how adorable and attractive they were. I was inspired! The universe would sense that I was ready and send me a mature, successful, intelligent man with whom I could finally settle down.
The next day, as I was walking home from a show, I passed a gorgeous guy working the door at a local bar and he waved me over. He was 6'2", clean-cut but rugged, handsome, and as I learned later, only 24 years old. My earlier conversation with Lori briefly flashed in my head. But, the universe had spoken. It had rebelled by sending me an irresistible model man. So what if he happened to be born in 1990? Lots of great things came from the 90's. Seinfeld. Laser background school photos. The phrase "Talk to the hand". Dream Phone.
After talking to the Bouncer for a bit, he asked if he could walk me home, and I said sure. And then we made out like teenagers.
Now, I was serious in what I said to Lori about being ready for a relationship. And I am. But, if I'm going to meet an interested, hot 24 year old, then I can put that on hold for a bit while I have a short fling. Right? The following day, I decided to do some research on the Bouncer and so I googled him. We all know that I'm a bit of a stalker.
And this is why I do it, guys:
It turns out that the Bouncer has been in the news before. For being a college star athlete, you ask? Nope. For saving a little girl's cat from a burning building? Uh-uh. For championing an intiative for the equal rights of bar and club bouncers everywhere? Oh no...no, no. Not for any of these things. Apparently, the Bouncer was arrested a couple of years ago for breaking into his 80-year old neighbor's house (who, by the way, suffers from Alzheimer's) and stealing her ATM card so that he could support his oxy addiction. I never would have guessed that about him. How was I supposed to know that a clean-cut good-looking guy like that steals from sick old ladies?
And so, my friends, I have come to the conclusion that maybe I do pick the wrong men. I have a pattern of being attracted to petty criminals. Hopefully, I will be able to break this pattern soon. And if not, I can only hope that he'll be an outlaw in a heroic sense, kinda like Robin Hood.
For example, there was one time when someone whom I knew when we were kids found me on facebook. I was excited to hear from him as I had a huge crush on him when we were young and we had spent a lot of time together during our childhood. After a few facebook messages back and forth, we exchanged phone numbers and started texting each other. We texted for the entire day and I was really into him. Then six p.m. rolled around, and he texted, "Sorry, I have to go." I responded, "Ok, no prob. Are you going to be around later?" His answer was, "I'll be back tomorrow. I'm in a work release program and I have to turn in my phone and go back to the prison." That's a true story.
Recently, in a conversation with my sister, Lori, I told her that I was going to stop being a "junior cougar". That is, I was going to focus on having a serious adult relationship with someone, and I was going to stop making out with 25 year olds, no matter how adorable and attractive they were. I was inspired! The universe would sense that I was ready and send me a mature, successful, intelligent man with whom I could finally settle down.
The next day, as I was walking home from a show, I passed a gorgeous guy working the door at a local bar and he waved me over. He was 6'2", clean-cut but rugged, handsome, and as I learned later, only 24 years old. My earlier conversation with Lori briefly flashed in my head. But, the universe had spoken. It had rebelled by sending me an irresistible model man. So what if he happened to be born in 1990? Lots of great things came from the 90's. Seinfeld. Laser background school photos. The phrase "Talk to the hand". Dream Phone.
After talking to the Bouncer for a bit, he asked if he could walk me home, and I said sure. And then we made out like teenagers.
Now, I was serious in what I said to Lori about being ready for a relationship. And I am. But, if I'm going to meet an interested, hot 24 year old, then I can put that on hold for a bit while I have a short fling. Right? The following day, I decided to do some research on the Bouncer and so I googled him. We all know that I'm a bit of a stalker.
And this is why I do it, guys:
It turns out that the Bouncer has been in the news before. For being a college star athlete, you ask? Nope. For saving a little girl's cat from a burning building? Uh-uh. For championing an intiative for the equal rights of bar and club bouncers everywhere? Oh no...no, no. Not for any of these things. Apparently, the Bouncer was arrested a couple of years ago for breaking into his 80-year old neighbor's house (who, by the way, suffers from Alzheimer's) and stealing her ATM card so that he could support his oxy addiction. I never would have guessed that about him. How was I supposed to know that a clean-cut good-looking guy like that steals from sick old ladies?
And so, my friends, I have come to the conclusion that maybe I do pick the wrong men. I have a pattern of being attracted to petty criminals. Hopefully, I will be able to break this pattern soon. And if not, I can only hope that he'll be an outlaw in a heroic sense, kinda like Robin Hood.
Friday, June 27, 2014
It's a Game Boy; It's a Game, Boy.
The Waiter and I never actually made it out on a date. He blew me off...twice. I didn't respond to give him a third chance. I was shocked that he had flaked on me. And as I thought about that more, I realized how silly that was. He was an absolute stranger. We had literally said seven sentences to each other since we met...literally. I had absolutely no idea what any of his personality flaws were and I was surprised when one of them turned out to be flakiness? Why did I think that I knew him enough to think that this was out of character for him?
The answer is simple. I blame the internet.
In the days leading up to our date, it concerned me that I didn't know anything about this guy. I didn't know if he was a good age for me. Or if his actual career was being a waiter, or if he had other things that he was working on. Or if he allegedly had ever used a machete to hack a woman up into tiny morsels and bury those morsels under his shed. I needed a balance of normalcy. I had to find out something about him before we went out...at least his last name, so that I could send an e-mail to my sisters saying, "I'm about to go out on a first date with so-and-so. If you never see me again, tell the police to start there." So, I consulted a trusty little website known as facebook.
I knew his first name and I knew the restaurant that he worked at. So, I typed in "Men named [Waiter] who work at Union Bar" and what do you know, up he popped. You know how sometimes, you'll stumble across someone's profile and the entire thing is set to public?!?!?! The choir sings Hallelujah and little pieces of confetti in the shape of computers fall from the sky.
By studying his facebook profile, I convinced myself that we were meant to be. Yes, he was only 28 years old. But, he was a musician! I play music! He "liked" the hit musical RENT! I like the hit musical RENT! We even had the SAME quote from Word Porn on our timeline. 'It's been an ugly day,'she said. 'Tell me something beautiful?' And he said her name".
[Side note: When I mentioned this to Andrea, she called shenanigans. "I refuse to believe that a 28-year old man has that on his facebook timeline."]
It was clearly fate. I was already planning what song we would sing together at our wedding reception. Obviously, it would be something from RENT.
Now, the reality is that none of this was evidence that we were compatible. This is a man that I met in one of the most hipster cities in the country. Of course he's a musician. They all are. And even though he's a musician, he plays the Game Boy. Yes, the Game Boy...
This one...
And yes, he loves Rent, but who doesn't? If you like music, you like Rent. And the Word Porn pic, I'm willing to chalk up to coincidence. Anyway, I had built him up in my head to be this person and already felt close to that person and that person wasn't even real. That's what the internet does to us.
A friend of mine was telling me about how on her first date with someone from okcupid, he wanted to be one of those couples who sits on the same side of the booth. On their first date! That's weird. The other day, I friend requested Tahmoh Pennikett on facebook. I'm friend requesting C-list celebrities on facebook. That's crazy. Would I ever go up to a C-list celebrity in real life and say, "Would you like to be my friend?" Creepy... How do we feel that close to someone who is essentially a stranger? How do we get there? The internet. It lulls us to a false sense of intimacy.
[Note: I'm deliberately not taking responsibility for being a facebook creeper, or as I like to call it Facebook Detective. You use the tools that are at your disposal. Say, someone gets in a car accident. If they didn't have a car in the first place, the accident never would have happened, right? They can't be held liable!! ....ok, they can. Bad example. Actually, there really aren't any good examples. Forget it! I'm NOT TAKING RESPONSIBLITY FOR THIS!]
Even though the Waiter ditched me twice, there is some good in all this. All of this has led me to believe that the internet is not to be used for evil. And by evil, I mean making up imaginary relationships in my head. I feel as though I've really grown in the past few minutes. And I have the Waiter to thank for it. Plus, since I thought that he had chickened out, I coined the fabulous phrase "motherclucker", which I'm now going to incorporate into my urban vernacular.
The answer is simple. I blame the internet.
In the days leading up to our date, it concerned me that I didn't know anything about this guy. I didn't know if he was a good age for me. Or if his actual career was being a waiter, or if he had other things that he was working on. Or if he allegedly had ever used a machete to hack a woman up into tiny morsels and bury those morsels under his shed. I needed a balance of normalcy. I had to find out something about him before we went out...at least his last name, so that I could send an e-mail to my sisters saying, "I'm about to go out on a first date with so-and-so. If you never see me again, tell the police to start there." So, I consulted a trusty little website known as facebook.
I knew his first name and I knew the restaurant that he worked at. So, I typed in "Men named [Waiter] who work at Union Bar" and what do you know, up he popped. You know how sometimes, you'll stumble across someone's profile and the entire thing is set to public?!?!?! The choir sings Hallelujah and little pieces of confetti in the shape of computers fall from the sky.
By studying his facebook profile, I convinced myself that we were meant to be. Yes, he was only 28 years old. But, he was a musician! I play music! He "liked" the hit musical RENT! I like the hit musical RENT! We even had the SAME quote from Word Porn on our timeline. 'It's been an ugly day,'she said. 'Tell me something beautiful?' And he said her name".
[Side note: When I mentioned this to Andrea, she called shenanigans. "I refuse to believe that a 28-year old man has that on his facebook timeline."]
It was clearly fate. I was already planning what song we would sing together at our wedding reception. Obviously, it would be something from RENT.
Now, the reality is that none of this was evidence that we were compatible. This is a man that I met in one of the most hipster cities in the country. Of course he's a musician. They all are. And even though he's a musician, he plays the Game Boy. Yes, the Game Boy...
This one...
And yes, he loves Rent, but who doesn't? If you like music, you like Rent. And the Word Porn pic, I'm willing to chalk up to coincidence. Anyway, I had built him up in my head to be this person and already felt close to that person and that person wasn't even real. That's what the internet does to us.
A friend of mine was telling me about how on her first date with someone from okcupid, he wanted to be one of those couples who sits on the same side of the booth. On their first date! That's weird. The other day, I friend requested Tahmoh Pennikett on facebook. I'm friend requesting C-list celebrities on facebook. That's crazy. Would I ever go up to a C-list celebrity in real life and say, "Would you like to be my friend?" Creepy... How do we feel that close to someone who is essentially a stranger? How do we get there? The internet. It lulls us to a false sense of intimacy.
[Note: I'm deliberately not taking responsibility for being a facebook creeper, or as I like to call it Facebook Detective. You use the tools that are at your disposal. Say, someone gets in a car accident. If they didn't have a car in the first place, the accident never would have happened, right? They can't be held liable!! ....ok, they can. Bad example. Actually, there really aren't any good examples. Forget it! I'm NOT TAKING RESPONSIBLITY FOR THIS!]
Even though the Waiter ditched me twice, there is some good in all this. All of this has led me to believe that the internet is not to be used for evil. And by evil, I mean making up imaginary relationships in my head. I feel as though I've really grown in the past few minutes. And I have the Waiter to thank for it. Plus, since I thought that he had chickened out, I coined the fabulous phrase "motherclucker", which I'm now going to incorporate into my urban vernacular.
Monday, June 9, 2014
The Perceptive Waiter
Warning to my mother: Some of this is about a pregnancy scare.
For a week or so, I had been sick to my stomach in sudden waves that passed after a few minutes, faster than a Taylor Swift relationship. Any woman in her 30's who has been nauseous for a week straight...well, it's safe to say that her first thought is, "Sonofabitch, I'm pregnant." The actuality of me being pregnant is highly unlikely since I'm a big proponent of wrapping it before tapping it, even though I know that condoms aren't 100% effective, and it is on the box, Ross Geller. In complete denial, I had decided to ignore the nausea (and the fact that my period was two weeks late) and continue to drink bottles of wine, hoping that both the nausea and the lateness were being caused by stress.
At the end of this week, my friend, Sarah and I headed over to Union Bar and Grille for dinner. Right away, when the waiter came up, my first thought was, "hell to the yeah." I shamelessly flirted with him through our initial drink order and appetizers.
But, then my duck rigatoni came. It looked delicious. But, the smell...and I ran to the bathroom. After that, my mood completely changed, as I finally accepted the realization that I might be pregnant. I discussed my concern with Sarah, and while doing so, I started to cry discreetly in the restaurant. Sarah, being the good friend that she is, told me that after dinner, we would hit CVS because I needed to know for sure. And I agreed. It was hard to focus on my food after that, but I made it through dinner. I had forgotten about the waiter, but I tried to lighten the mood by making awkward jokes that Sarah laughed at because we both enjoy awkward jokes. Small sample: related to bridesmaid dress shopping that weekend, I muttered, "Should I even buy the dress now? I won't fit in it by October" and when Sarah commended me for being able to eat at least some of my dinner, my response was, "Well, I am eating for two."
When it came time for dessert, Sarah and I ordered the sorbet. The waiter looked right at me and said, "I just want to tell you that the sorbet has cream in it." I realized, with horror, that he had seen me run to the bathroom earlier and had noticed that I stayed in there for longer than number one. As he walked away, to put in our sorbet order, Sarah said to me, "That was really nice that he said that. A little weird...but more nice than weird." And I had to agree. Even with our ominous task looming ahead like the Shadow of Mordor in my own Lord of the Flings story, I thought that it couldn't hurt to flirt a little more, you know...before I started to show.
We enjoyed the sorbet, and when he brought the check, he looked right at me and said, "By the way, my name is [the Waiter]. It really was a pleasure serving you. I hope you come in again." Sarah said to me as he walked away, "you need give him your phone number. He's been flirting with you all night." My thoughts were, "He can't be interested. One, it's his job to flirt. He wants a tip. Two, he thinks that I was attacked by lactose, so he probably finds me disgusting. Three, if he had been that observant of me throughout the night, he had most likely witnessed me sobbing for ten minutes. None of this is attractive." But, Sarah said, "what do you have to lose?" ("Except never being able to show my face in Union Bar again," I thought).
Anyway, I had been trying to be more assertive when attracted to someone. And so I left my number with my name and a "you should call me."
The next day, Saturday, I received a voicemail message, "Hi Melissa, it's the Waiter. I received a note from you saying to call. So, I'm following instructions. Call me back." And we have a date this week. We're already off to a good start...according to the vm message, he's a man who does what I tell him to do. He's seen me at my absolute worst. And one day, he may be telling the grandkids about the day we met, "I saved your grandmother from too much dairy." That's romance!
By the way, I took the test. I tried to buy it covertly, but the CVS self-checkout machine outed me by bellowing, "WELCOME!!! TO START, PLEASE SWIPE YOUR EXTRACARE CARD!" in a silent drugstore. Turns out that I was not pregnant (just stressed), and Sarah and I celebrated with much rejoicing and vodka.
For a week or so, I had been sick to my stomach in sudden waves that passed after a few minutes, faster than a Taylor Swift relationship. Any woman in her 30's who has been nauseous for a week straight...well, it's safe to say that her first thought is, "Sonofabitch, I'm pregnant." The actuality of me being pregnant is highly unlikely since I'm a big proponent of wrapping it before tapping it, even though I know that condoms aren't 100% effective, and it is on the box, Ross Geller. In complete denial, I had decided to ignore the nausea (and the fact that my period was two weeks late) and continue to drink bottles of wine, hoping that both the nausea and the lateness were being caused by stress.
At the end of this week, my friend, Sarah and I headed over to Union Bar and Grille for dinner. Right away, when the waiter came up, my first thought was, "hell to the yeah." I shamelessly flirted with him through our initial drink order and appetizers.
But, then my duck rigatoni came. It looked delicious. But, the smell...and I ran to the bathroom. After that, my mood completely changed, as I finally accepted the realization that I might be pregnant. I discussed my concern with Sarah, and while doing so, I started to cry discreetly in the restaurant. Sarah, being the good friend that she is, told me that after dinner, we would hit CVS because I needed to know for sure. And I agreed. It was hard to focus on my food after that, but I made it through dinner. I had forgotten about the waiter, but I tried to lighten the mood by making awkward jokes that Sarah laughed at because we both enjoy awkward jokes. Small sample: related to bridesmaid dress shopping that weekend, I muttered, "Should I even buy the dress now? I won't fit in it by October" and when Sarah commended me for being able to eat at least some of my dinner, my response was, "Well, I am eating for two."
When it came time for dessert, Sarah and I ordered the sorbet. The waiter looked right at me and said, "I just want to tell you that the sorbet has cream in it." I realized, with horror, that he had seen me run to the bathroom earlier and had noticed that I stayed in there for longer than number one. As he walked away, to put in our sorbet order, Sarah said to me, "That was really nice that he said that. A little weird...but more nice than weird." And I had to agree. Even with our ominous task looming ahead like the Shadow of Mordor in my own Lord of the Flings story, I thought that it couldn't hurt to flirt a little more, you know...before I started to show.
We enjoyed the sorbet, and when he brought the check, he looked right at me and said, "By the way, my name is [the Waiter]. It really was a pleasure serving you. I hope you come in again." Sarah said to me as he walked away, "you need give him your phone number. He's been flirting with you all night." My thoughts were, "He can't be interested. One, it's his job to flirt. He wants a tip. Two, he thinks that I was attacked by lactose, so he probably finds me disgusting. Three, if he had been that observant of me throughout the night, he had most likely witnessed me sobbing for ten minutes. None of this is attractive." But, Sarah said, "what do you have to lose?" ("Except never being able to show my face in Union Bar again," I thought).
Anyway, I had been trying to be more assertive when attracted to someone. And so I left my number with my name and a "you should call me."
The next day, Saturday, I received a voicemail message, "Hi Melissa, it's the Waiter. I received a note from you saying to call. So, I'm following instructions. Call me back." And we have a date this week. We're already off to a good start...according to the vm message, he's a man who does what I tell him to do. He's seen me at my absolute worst. And one day, he may be telling the grandkids about the day we met, "I saved your grandmother from too much dairy." That's romance!
By the way, I took the test. I tried to buy it covertly, but the CVS self-checkout machine outed me by bellowing, "WELCOME!!! TO START, PLEASE SWIPE YOUR EXTRACARE CARD!" in a silent drugstore. Turns out that I was not pregnant (just stressed), and Sarah and I celebrated with much rejoicing and vodka.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
God, I hate Bob Seger.
Warning to my mother: Some of this is about sex.
When I started this blog, I didn't really expect people to read it. So, I didn't think twice about what happens when you're dating someone and you want to write about them, until my friend, Brian, expressed that he would have trouble dating me, knowing that there's a chance I'd be chatting with the internet about our relationship.The truth is that if these guys are facebook friends, which some of them are, they probably read it. (And hey look, Brian, we're not even dating and I'm still chatting with the internet about our relationship.)
There are some un-Brian-like guys who, even if I'm completely blasting them as human beings, actually like that I write about them. It's an ego thing, I believe. Coop has made it known that he reads it. I know that Mr. Writer/Personality is a "silent follower". Even Trivia Guy has made a couple of comments to me about a few entries. I suspect that there are others out there who keep their readership a secret.
I love people's reactions when they read it, especially when they laugh. It makes me feel really great. It's also gained me some exposure and has presented me with opportunities to write for other blogs (and even become an editor for a dating short story website, a job that I'll be starting later this month). It's an extremely rewarding hobby.
But, there are cons. There's Brian's Argument. And then, the problem of, when I do like somebody and I write about it, I'm playing my hand, which is dating homicide. While I wear my heart on my cardigan, it's the maintenance of romantic surprise that keeps the beginning of a relationship interesting.
Most recently, I went out with a guy who let me know right away that he reads the blog. He also let me know that he didn't mind if I blogged about him. And all in all, this leads me to the biggest benefit of all...when a guy blows you off, you get to Taylor Swift him. I wrote this story earlier in the week last week, right after our date. And then, later in the week, I asked what he was up to, and he told me he was "really busy". So, I changed my tone. My post-blow-off comments are in bold:
"This guy and I met last summer. I was volunteering backstage at a music festival. He was playing guitar for one of the bands. Let's call him Les Paul. [Let's call him CC DeVille.] He's one of the most talented guitarists I've ever heard. And I loved that he was as into music as I am. We talked for a couple of hours that day. We had an obvious connection, but kept it platonic..and about music. What bands we were into. The first concert that we ever went to. He told me about his first AC/DC concert. I told him that I can drum most of AC/DC's catalogue but only because the beats are the same on 90% of the songs. It was revealed later that we were both seeing other people at the time, which is why it stayed a platonic conversation. But, the connection was clearly there and we exchanged numbers with the ruse that we would let each other know about upcoming shows.
Over the past year, we kept in touch. In the meantime, I had become single and as I found out later, so had he. One night, a few weeks ago, I caught him by text on the road. They weren't playing that night and he was just hanging out in a dive bar in Madison, WI playing pool. I was getting over a cold and I was having trouble sleeping. We exchanged some flirty texts and finally made a date with each other. Since he was coming back from his tour and he lives an hour and a half away [and is a lazy ass], I agreed to come down to his hometown.
He was down the street at a neighbor's house when I arrived, and he told me to feel free to let myself in. He has two gigantic adorable dogs that were happy to see me. His home was really cozy and welcoming. He came in a few minutes later. He was adorably nervous [and high] in the beginning, but simmered down after a while. We laughed so much and had so much chemistry. We shared a kiss in his kitchen about one hour into the date and just really enjoyed getting to know each other.
I had been watching the clock since it was a Sunday night and an hour and a half drive home. And so had he. He said to me, "I'm not ready to let you go yet. Just stay here. My roommate's away and you can sleep in her room. I'm just not ready to say goodbye." I was resistant. I knew that if I did stay over, it wasn't very likely with the amount chemistry that we had that I would be sleeping in his roommate's room. But, earlier that night, while we were discussing musicians in general, I had playfully accused him of having a woman in every city. He had told me that I had the wrong idea about him. That he wasn't into one-night stands. That he was a relationship-type guy. He said, "I think you're falling for me" and I said, "I think YOU'RE falling for ME" and he responded, "I fell for you the day I met you". And a voice [probably his] told me to trust him. And so I stayed.
In the morning, he held me until it was time for me to go. He told me to text him so that he knew that I got home safe. And I drove home, recapping the night in my head with small smile. I couldn't wait to see him again [until he blew me off.]"
Me, again. Now, I'm sure you could have predicted what was going to happen. I realize that I was being naive. A man who wants to sleep with you can make anything sound good. Hell, Bob Seger's "We've Got Tonight" is a whole song about it. Of course I know that everything that he said to me that night was a line. I'm positive that if I hadn't spent the night that night, there would have been no bold writing here. I just was feeling hopeful, that after the time that we had spent together, just this once, this one guy would be different. For once, a man would feel as connected to someone after having sex with them as he did before, like a woman does.
But, let me be clear that I also realize that none of this is a "me" problem. This is all a "him" problem. And this is something that I hope everyone thinks about themselves when they're the "dumpee". The best way to get over someone, no matter how brief your relationship, is to focus on their flaws. Everyone has them...EVERYONE. With CC DeVille, obviously, he has trouble facing his problems head on. In the past year or so, he has shown me some insecurities that I think would get tiring after a while. And, I know that I would always be the one to initiate plans and that I would have to provoke attention from him, unless I gave him beer. But, his biggest flaw of all...not realizing how freaking awesome I am. My sense of humor can be very self-deprecating, but the reality is, I have a pretty high opinion of myself and rightfully so. I'm beautiful, incredibly talented, so so smart. I'm kind and I care about others' feelings and I always try to be as considerate as possible. I'm blessed enough to have a good sense of myself. I know who I am and I'm very lucky to be me. And woe to CC DeVille for letting me go.
When I started this blog, I didn't really expect people to read it. So, I didn't think twice about what happens when you're dating someone and you want to write about them, until my friend, Brian, expressed that he would have trouble dating me, knowing that there's a chance I'd be chatting with the internet about our relationship.The truth is that if these guys are facebook friends, which some of them are, they probably read it. (And hey look, Brian, we're not even dating and I'm still chatting with the internet about our relationship.)
There are some un-Brian-like guys who, even if I'm completely blasting them as human beings, actually like that I write about them. It's an ego thing, I believe. Coop has made it known that he reads it. I know that Mr. Writer/Personality is a "silent follower". Even Trivia Guy has made a couple of comments to me about a few entries. I suspect that there are others out there who keep their readership a secret.
I love people's reactions when they read it, especially when they laugh. It makes me feel really great. It's also gained me some exposure and has presented me with opportunities to write for other blogs (and even become an editor for a dating short story website, a job that I'll be starting later this month). It's an extremely rewarding hobby.
But, there are cons. There's Brian's Argument. And then, the problem of, when I do like somebody and I write about it, I'm playing my hand, which is dating homicide. While I wear my heart on my cardigan, it's the maintenance of romantic surprise that keeps the beginning of a relationship interesting.
Most recently, I went out with a guy who let me know right away that he reads the blog. He also let me know that he didn't mind if I blogged about him. And all in all, this leads me to the biggest benefit of all...when a guy blows you off, you get to Taylor Swift him. I wrote this story earlier in the week last week, right after our date. And then, later in the week, I asked what he was up to, and he told me he was "really busy". So, I changed my tone. My post-blow-off comments are in bold:
"This guy and I met last summer. I was volunteering backstage at a music festival. He was playing guitar for one of the bands. Let's call him Les Paul. [Let's call him CC DeVille.] He's one of the most talented guitarists I've ever heard. And I loved that he was as into music as I am. We talked for a couple of hours that day. We had an obvious connection, but kept it platonic..and about music. What bands we were into. The first concert that we ever went to. He told me about his first AC/DC concert. I told him that I can drum most of AC/DC's catalogue but only because the beats are the same on 90% of the songs. It was revealed later that we were both seeing other people at the time, which is why it stayed a platonic conversation. But, the connection was clearly there and we exchanged numbers with the ruse that we would let each other know about upcoming shows.
Over the past year, we kept in touch. In the meantime, I had become single and as I found out later, so had he. One night, a few weeks ago, I caught him by text on the road. They weren't playing that night and he was just hanging out in a dive bar in Madison, WI playing pool. I was getting over a cold and I was having trouble sleeping. We exchanged some flirty texts and finally made a date with each other. Since he was coming back from his tour and he lives an hour and a half away [and is a lazy ass], I agreed to come down to his hometown.
He was down the street at a neighbor's house when I arrived, and he told me to feel free to let myself in. He has two gigantic adorable dogs that were happy to see me. His home was really cozy and welcoming. He came in a few minutes later. He was adorably nervous [and high] in the beginning, but simmered down after a while. We laughed so much and had so much chemistry. We shared a kiss in his kitchen about one hour into the date and just really enjoyed getting to know each other.
I had been watching the clock since it was a Sunday night and an hour and a half drive home. And so had he. He said to me, "I'm not ready to let you go yet. Just stay here. My roommate's away and you can sleep in her room. I'm just not ready to say goodbye." I was resistant. I knew that if I did stay over, it wasn't very likely with the amount chemistry that we had that I would be sleeping in his roommate's room. But, earlier that night, while we were discussing musicians in general, I had playfully accused him of having a woman in every city. He had told me that I had the wrong idea about him. That he wasn't into one-night stands. That he was a relationship-type guy. He said, "I think you're falling for me" and I said, "I think YOU'RE falling for ME" and he responded, "I fell for you the day I met you". And a voice [probably his] told me to trust him. And so I stayed.
In the morning, he held me until it was time for me to go. He told me to text him so that he knew that I got home safe. And I drove home, recapping the night in my head with small smile. I couldn't wait to see him again [until he blew me off.]"
Me, again. Now, I'm sure you could have predicted what was going to happen. I realize that I was being naive. A man who wants to sleep with you can make anything sound good. Hell, Bob Seger's "We've Got Tonight" is a whole song about it. Of course I know that everything that he said to me that night was a line. I'm positive that if I hadn't spent the night that night, there would have been no bold writing here. I just was feeling hopeful, that after the time that we had spent together, just this once, this one guy would be different. For once, a man would feel as connected to someone after having sex with them as he did before, like a woman does.
But, let me be clear that I also realize that none of this is a "me" problem. This is all a "him" problem. And this is something that I hope everyone thinks about themselves when they're the "dumpee". The best way to get over someone, no matter how brief your relationship, is to focus on their flaws. Everyone has them...EVERYONE. With CC DeVille, obviously, he has trouble facing his problems head on. In the past year or so, he has shown me some insecurities that I think would get tiring after a while. And, I know that I would always be the one to initiate plans and that I would have to provoke attention from him, unless I gave him beer. But, his biggest flaw of all...not realizing how freaking awesome I am. My sense of humor can be very self-deprecating, but the reality is, I have a pretty high opinion of myself and rightfully so. I'm beautiful, incredibly talented, so so smart. I'm kind and I care about others' feelings and I always try to be as considerate as possible. I'm blessed enough to have a good sense of myself. I know who I am and I'm very lucky to be me. And woe to CC DeVille for letting me go.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Tales from France, Part II: The Tale of the Dutchman
Notwithstanding the misadventures in customs, I was so excited to be in Paris. I had never been before and on the way to hotel, I was out the window like a teen in a rom com during a music montage.
My friends were there for a work thing. Our first day, my friend, Jeff came back from his meeting and said to me, "There's a co-worker of mine here that is soooooooo your type. You are going to love him." I had already been familiar with some of Jeff's co-workers, having attended holiday party/happy hours with him in the past, but I had never met this one, the Dutchman, since he's based in the Netherlands. That night, we met up with all of the co-workers for dinner. I could feel Jeff's "I-told-you-so" gaze on me, when I shook the Dutchman's hand in introduction and my eyes lit up. I believe that I stumbled a bit. It was mostly a blur. It was like meeting Conrad Birdie.
On the walk to the restaurant, I maneuvered my way next to the Dutchman and engaged him in conversation. When we got to the restaurant, I made sure that we were sitting next to each other. It would have been nice of me to sit next to my friend, Jeff, the one who had actually invited me to Paris, but this was not a time to be nice. I was on a mission. And when you're on a mission, you're rude.
During dinner, I laughed at all of the Dutchman's jokes. I made coy moves like touching his arm at times, sharing my food with him, tucking my hair behind my ear in what I hoped was an adorable fashion while praying that my fingers wouldn't get caught in my wind-blown knotty curls ruining the whole move. I conveniently ignored the other 11 people sitting at the table. The only time I looked away from the Dutchman's eyes was in confusion when the restaurant started inexplicably blasting Blurred Lines on their speaker system while they brought out a cake with sparklers on it for Jeff's birthday. Oh, did I mention that I was ignoring my friend who invited me to Paris on his birthday? I'm not proud of my behavior, but I knew that Jeff, as a true friend and wingman, would understand.
The Dutchman seemed charmed and as engaged with me as I was with him. I learned later that the whole table was interested in watching this romance bloom. At one point, the Dutchman asked me, "So what is the story with you and Jeff?" Now, here was the dilemma. Jeff isn't in the closet by any means, but he also doesn't broadcast details about his personal life. And this is not just a work thing. I'm one of his best friends, and will only learn about a new guy that he's dating about three to four months into the relationship and that's only if I ask, "Are you seeing anyone?" I didn't want to "out" him. But, I didn't want the Dutchman to think that there was any possibility that Jeff and I had a thing, or that he would be interfering with any form of relationship.
So, I said, "Jeff and I are just friends."
The Dutchman looked skeptical, "A friend who brings another friend on a work trip to Paris?"
Oy..
So, I said, "I'm not exactly Jeff's type," with a meaningful look.
The Dutchman got it right away, looked surprised for a moment, and then his face relaxed, "Well, that's good news for me, then," he said.
After dinner, everyone hung out in the hotel bar for a while, and then one by one decided to go to bed. The Dutchman and I figuring that the night was still young and so were we, decided to go out on the town. We ended up chatting in a cozy bar near the Champ Elysees, and on the walk home, he finally kissed me. It was incredibly romantic. He was a little bit concerned that he was being unprofessional, until I told him that Jeff had essentially pimped him out.
There's nothing funny about this story or weird about the Dutchman. It was a night of romance and just what I needed to get my mind off of Coop. It was a perfect night. Here's the Dutchman's version of it:
"I drank a lot of wine in Paris and ended up hooking up with one of my co-worker's friends. The end."
Stay tuned for Part III and my experiences in Gay Paris...literally, I hung out in a bunch of gay clubs in Paris and I'm going to tell you about it.
My friends were there for a work thing. Our first day, my friend, Jeff came back from his meeting and said to me, "There's a co-worker of mine here that is soooooooo your type. You are going to love him." I had already been familiar with some of Jeff's co-workers, having attended holiday party/happy hours with him in the past, but I had never met this one, the Dutchman, since he's based in the Netherlands. That night, we met up with all of the co-workers for dinner. I could feel Jeff's "I-told-you-so" gaze on me, when I shook the Dutchman's hand in introduction and my eyes lit up. I believe that I stumbled a bit. It was mostly a blur. It was like meeting Conrad Birdie.
On the walk to the restaurant, I maneuvered my way next to the Dutchman and engaged him in conversation. When we got to the restaurant, I made sure that we were sitting next to each other. It would have been nice of me to sit next to my friend, Jeff, the one who had actually invited me to Paris, but this was not a time to be nice. I was on a mission. And when you're on a mission, you're rude.
During dinner, I laughed at all of the Dutchman's jokes. I made coy moves like touching his arm at times, sharing my food with him, tucking my hair behind my ear in what I hoped was an adorable fashion while praying that my fingers wouldn't get caught in my wind-blown knotty curls ruining the whole move. I conveniently ignored the other 11 people sitting at the table. The only time I looked away from the Dutchman's eyes was in confusion when the restaurant started inexplicably blasting Blurred Lines on their speaker system while they brought out a cake with sparklers on it for Jeff's birthday. Oh, did I mention that I was ignoring my friend who invited me to Paris on his birthday? I'm not proud of my behavior, but I knew that Jeff, as a true friend and wingman, would understand.
The Dutchman seemed charmed and as engaged with me as I was with him. I learned later that the whole table was interested in watching this romance bloom. At one point, the Dutchman asked me, "So what is the story with you and Jeff?" Now, here was the dilemma. Jeff isn't in the closet by any means, but he also doesn't broadcast details about his personal life. And this is not just a work thing. I'm one of his best friends, and will only learn about a new guy that he's dating about three to four months into the relationship and that's only if I ask, "Are you seeing anyone?" I didn't want to "out" him. But, I didn't want the Dutchman to think that there was any possibility that Jeff and I had a thing, or that he would be interfering with any form of relationship.
So, I said, "Jeff and I are just friends."
The Dutchman looked skeptical, "A friend who brings another friend on a work trip to Paris?"
Oy..
So, I said, "I'm not exactly Jeff's type," with a meaningful look.
The Dutchman got it right away, looked surprised for a moment, and then his face relaxed, "Well, that's good news for me, then," he said.
After dinner, everyone hung out in the hotel bar for a while, and then one by one decided to go to bed. The Dutchman and I figuring that the night was still young and so were we, decided to go out on the town. We ended up chatting in a cozy bar near the Champ Elysees, and on the walk home, he finally kissed me. It was incredibly romantic. He was a little bit concerned that he was being unprofessional, until I told him that Jeff had essentially pimped him out.
There's nothing funny about this story or weird about the Dutchman. It was a night of romance and just what I needed to get my mind off of Coop. It was a perfect night. Here's the Dutchman's version of it:
"I drank a lot of wine in Paris and ended up hooking up with one of my co-worker's friends. The end."
Stay tuned for Part III and my experiences in Gay Paris...literally, I hung out in a bunch of gay clubs in Paris and I'm going to tell you about it.
Monday, March 17, 2014
There are Two Too Many Hands in my Pockets.
Since Coop (the Ross to my Rachel) and I are "on a break" and since I don't think we'll get together again until the end of the series, and that's if I actually make the decision to get off the plane, I went on a brief hi-date-us. However, one romantic night in Paris with a Dutchman later, I am now back in the game.
This past weekend, I had a first date with a younger guy. Now, I generally date men who are about 5-7 years older than I am. I tend to click with the maturity of the men in the next high school generation. I've never really understood the concept of cougars and why they would want a younger guy, although my sister, Lori, put it in perspective for me. ("They do it because they want someone who will allow them to go out, have a good time, and make out with young men...and you already do that".)
Anyway, this particular young man is incredibly sweet and very smart and seemed like a good person to end my dating-waiting period. We decided to meet up in a bar in Harvard Square. I strategically planned this as my favorite Huey Lewis and the News cover band, Power of Love, was playing at the Sinclair and I had made plans to go. I figured if the date didn't go well, later plans would give me a Get Out of Date Free card, and if it did go well, he could come with me.
When we first met at the bar, he seemed really nervous. So, I suggested that he have a glass of wine, hoping that that would put him at more ease. I began to rethink this decision when he told me about his past "partying problems", and how as a result, he doesn't drink much. As an aside, it's very hard for me to judge the level of alcohol tolerance of others. Mine is extremely high. I could probably polish off a bottle of beaujolais by myself and then perform an appendectomy. But, I realize that there are people out there who have one or two glasses of a full-bodied wine, and next thing you know, they are getting into the back of a delivery car, because they think it's a cab.
And I happened to be out with one those people.
When we got to the concert, I introduced him to my friends and all seemed well. However, as the concert went on, it was like he forgot where we were: not in his bedroom, not in his car, not in a closet. He kept turning my head toward his and I would kiss him, but pull away before it got too passionate. I'd be moving his hands away from certain areas. It was like I was in some modern dance routine. I didn't know quite what to do. So, I gave him a talk, "Hey! I like you, but I'm not a really a PDA type person, so maybe we can slow it down a bit?" He said, "Sorry! You're right." And then five minutes later, it was like the conversation never happened and he was back to kissing my neck. Finally, he went to the restroom and I was able to breathe. The first thing I did was whisper to my friend Kristin, "he's so handsy." And she said, "yes, he's all over you. We've all dubbed him Hands Across Melissa". We didn't have much time to talk about it because he and his handsy hands were back.
I think that my friend, Ryan, could tell that I needed a bit of a break, so he asked if I wanted to go do a shot with him at the bar. He said to HAM, "we'll be right back" and he told me later that by the look on HAM's face, HAM wasn't that happy about not being invited along. As Ryan and I had a shot, we got into a conversation about plans for his upcoming wedding and next thing I knew, I got a text from HAM that said "Good night. Sorry you didn't have a good time. Best of luck to you." Well, I felt terrible. I didn't think we had been gone that long, and I thought that HAM would be ok and take my absence as a chance to get to know my friends better. When I showed the text to Ryan, he said, "He's tricking you". But, I still texted back. I smoothed things over, and he wants to give it a second chance, so we planned a second date.
All of this leads me to why I wrote this entry in the first place: I date older men for a reason. They're not still in a place where they miss making out on the dance floor of a frat party. They don't think you've ditched them when you've left for a few minutes and they realize that your disappearance is a good time to get some intel from your friends. And they can handle their liquor. So, while I'm interested to see where this goes...since he's smart, cute, funny, and gets both my Saved by the Bell and Seinfeld references, I'm not sure that a younger man is for me. I guess we'll wait and see. I do know that on the second date, I'm suggesting that he have a Coke.
This past weekend, I had a first date with a younger guy. Now, I generally date men who are about 5-7 years older than I am. I tend to click with the maturity of the men in the next high school generation. I've never really understood the concept of cougars and why they would want a younger guy, although my sister, Lori, put it in perspective for me. ("They do it because they want someone who will allow them to go out, have a good time, and make out with young men...and you already do that".)
Anyway, this particular young man is incredibly sweet and very smart and seemed like a good person to end my dating-waiting period. We decided to meet up in a bar in Harvard Square. I strategically planned this as my favorite Huey Lewis and the News cover band, Power of Love, was playing at the Sinclair and I had made plans to go. I figured if the date didn't go well, later plans would give me a Get Out of Date Free card, and if it did go well, he could come with me.
When we first met at the bar, he seemed really nervous. So, I suggested that he have a glass of wine, hoping that that would put him at more ease. I began to rethink this decision when he told me about his past "partying problems", and how as a result, he doesn't drink much. As an aside, it's very hard for me to judge the level of alcohol tolerance of others. Mine is extremely high. I could probably polish off a bottle of beaujolais by myself and then perform an appendectomy. But, I realize that there are people out there who have one or two glasses of a full-bodied wine, and next thing you know, they are getting into the back of a delivery car, because they think it's a cab.
And I happened to be out with one those people.
When we got to the concert, I introduced him to my friends and all seemed well. However, as the concert went on, it was like he forgot where we were: not in his bedroom, not in his car, not in a closet. He kept turning my head toward his and I would kiss him, but pull away before it got too passionate. I'd be moving his hands away from certain areas. It was like I was in some modern dance routine. I didn't know quite what to do. So, I gave him a talk, "Hey! I like you, but I'm not a really a PDA type person, so maybe we can slow it down a bit?" He said, "Sorry! You're right." And then five minutes later, it was like the conversation never happened and he was back to kissing my neck. Finally, he went to the restroom and I was able to breathe. The first thing I did was whisper to my friend Kristin, "he's so handsy." And she said, "yes, he's all over you. We've all dubbed him Hands Across Melissa". We didn't have much time to talk about it because he and his handsy hands were back.
I think that my friend, Ryan, could tell that I needed a bit of a break, so he asked if I wanted to go do a shot with him at the bar. He said to HAM, "we'll be right back" and he told me later that by the look on HAM's face, HAM wasn't that happy about not being invited along. As Ryan and I had a shot, we got into a conversation about plans for his upcoming wedding and next thing I knew, I got a text from HAM that said "Good night. Sorry you didn't have a good time. Best of luck to you." Well, I felt terrible. I didn't think we had been gone that long, and I thought that HAM would be ok and take my absence as a chance to get to know my friends better. When I showed the text to Ryan, he said, "He's tricking you". But, I still texted back. I smoothed things over, and he wants to give it a second chance, so we planned a second date.
All of this leads me to why I wrote this entry in the first place: I date older men for a reason. They're not still in a place where they miss making out on the dance floor of a frat party. They don't think you've ditched them when you've left for a few minutes and they realize that your disappearance is a good time to get some intel from your friends. And they can handle their liquor. So, while I'm interested to see where this goes...since he's smart, cute, funny, and gets both my Saved by the Bell and Seinfeld references, I'm not sure that a younger man is for me. I guess we'll wait and see. I do know that on the second date, I'm suggesting that he have a Coke.
Friday, February 21, 2014
The Trivia Guy
I enjoy going to pub trivia and it's something that I do on a frequent basis. A couple of years ago, I began a flirtquest with a cute guy from another team. He's not typically someone I would go for. He's 5-6 years younger than I am. He's what my friends and I call a "yo-yo, naw-naw boy." Like, when you ask him a question, his answer is typically, "yo, yo, yo...naw". He wears oversized t-shirts, gold chains, and his hat cocked to the side on his head....and he's white. But, he's hilariously funny and very cute and I enjoyed flirting with him.
When he asked for my number, I gave it to him. He texts me every once in a while to see how I'm doing, but we've never actually met up for a date. One day, he became my facebook friend.
I began to notice that the same girl tagged him in a bunch of her statuses. "Happy Valentine's Day"--with [Trivia Guy]. "Snow Day Movie Marathon!"-- with [Trivia Guy]. So, I decided to question him about it. And I have transcribed the text conversation for us all because I think it's hilarious:
When he asked for my number, I gave it to him. He texts me every once in a while to see how I'm doing, but we've never actually met up for a date. One day, he became my facebook friend.
I began to notice that the same girl tagged him in a bunch of her statuses. "Happy Valentine's Day"--with [Trivia Guy]. "Snow Day Movie Marathon!"-- with [Trivia Guy]. So, I decided to question him about it. And I have transcribed the text conversation for us all because I think it's hilarious:
TG: Hey
Me: Hey... so, do you have a girlfriend?
TG: Huh?
Me: Do you have a girlfriend? [Note: Clearly, in the context of text messages, his "Huh?" probably was more of a "what are you talking about?" then a "What did you say?", but I thought it would be funny to repeat myself.]
TG: Why do you say that?
Me: That's not really a yes or a no
TG: No.
TG: What are you talking about?
Me: Who's [Girl's name]?
TG: Are you stalking me?
Me: Nope, she called me [Note: This wasn't true.]
TG: What?
Me: She called me from your phone. Is she your gf?
TG: When?
Me: Is she your gf?
TG: When?
Me: [silence]
TG: Yes.
Me: [silence]
*Missed call from TG
*Missed call from TG
*Missed call from TG
TG: What did she say?
TG: ?
TG: She's my gf, but I think she's leaving me.
Me: Oh. :( because you cheat on her? *sarcastically sympathetic nod
There was some more conversation after that. I don't think we'll be talking much anymore. He might be a little bit worried that I'm going to contact her and he doesn't have to worry about that. That's not my style. I'm much more of a "post it on the internet so that we can all enjoy" type girl.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Wanting to DTR and Not Being DTF.
Part of the reason that I've been Ross and Racheling it with Coop is that despite my attempts to get him to do it, he refuses to define the relationship. So, I began to think about why it's so important to me to have a definition while it's seemingly as important to him as the question of how many seasons 2 Broke Girls is going to last.
For starters, let's run through your usual definitions of relationships and what I take them to mean:
1.) Talking to each other. The very beginning of a relationship. You haven't really gone out on a full-blown date yet, but you're aware of each other's interest and know that the date most likely is going to happen soon.
2.) Seeing each other. You've started the dating process and you've gone out a few times and stay in touch. You're not at the point where you're introducing each other to your friends and family, but those people know that you're "seeing someone" and have noticed that this particular person has come up in conversation more often than the people that you're just "talking to".
3.) Dating. You've been seeing each other for a few months at this point. You're starting to meet some friends and family and gauging how the other person interacts with them. Side note: Sometimes this definition is used for "seeing each other" and vice versa.
4.) Boyfriend/Girlfriend; Girlfriend/Girlfriend; Boyfriend/Boyfriend. You're in a relationship. Everyone knows that you're in a relationship. There's no question that you're in a relationship.
5.) Significant Other or as the kids say "Sig O". Word that people use when they think "boyfriend" is too juvenile, "husband" is too antiquated and patriarchal, and "partner" is too "I'm trying too hard to be politically correct."
6.) Booty call. Strictly a sexual relationship that only takes place betweeen the hours of 1 a.m. and 5 a.m.
7.) Friends with benefits. Much like a booty call in that you hide the sexual relationship from your friends. But, in this situation, you actually kind of like the person as a person even though there's no romantic involvement. It's a continual relationship, but there are never strings attached.
So, why is it so important to me that I fall into one of these categories? Well, when you don't have a definition, as I've learned, there is no good answer to the following question: "Is that your boyfriend?" I've been asked this a number of times, typically in a hushed voice, when Coop and I go somewhere together, as soon as he walks away. The answer that I usually give, in an equally hushed voice, is this: "Well, we are friends, except we have a deeper connection than most friends and we were dating, but we're not now, but we like each other as more than friends, but he's not my boyfriend. Is there a word for that?" To make it more confusing, our friends have started to treat us like we're a unit..."Mel and Coop". They make plans with us by talking to one of us, and the expectation is that that one will just sorta bring the other one along to the outing. And I've kind of started to expect that too.
I think that definitions help so that you know how to act when you're around each other. It makes a difference. If we're just friends, well then, I won't make out with you...or show up drunk at your house unannounced...or make you mix tapes with angsty "will they or won't they" music because that would just be weird. If we're seeing each other or dating, then drunken pop-ins and mix tapes are too much. But, if we're boyfriend and girlfriend, then it's just right. And if you act like it's just right, it means that you're comfortable being my boyfriend, so then why are you saying that you're not my boyfriend. Confused? So am I.
And to make all of this even MORE confusing, when I ask Coop about how he would define the relationship, his answer is "Well, we don't need to define it because it's obvious." For crying out loud to Jenna Hamilton.
I've ultimately come to the conclusion that if you can't define the relationship, it means that you just aren't in one...in the normal sense of the word. And that's not really a conclusion at all, is it?
For starters, let's run through your usual definitions of relationships and what I take them to mean:
1.) Talking to each other. The very beginning of a relationship. You haven't really gone out on a full-blown date yet, but you're aware of each other's interest and know that the date most likely is going to happen soon.
2.) Seeing each other. You've started the dating process and you've gone out a few times and stay in touch. You're not at the point where you're introducing each other to your friends and family, but those people know that you're "seeing someone" and have noticed that this particular person has come up in conversation more often than the people that you're just "talking to".
3.) Dating. You've been seeing each other for a few months at this point. You're starting to meet some friends and family and gauging how the other person interacts with them. Side note: Sometimes this definition is used for "seeing each other" and vice versa.
4.) Boyfriend/Girlfriend; Girlfriend/Girlfriend; Boyfriend/Boyfriend. You're in a relationship. Everyone knows that you're in a relationship. There's no question that you're in a relationship.
5.) Significant Other or as the kids say "Sig O". Word that people use when they think "boyfriend" is too juvenile, "husband" is too antiquated and patriarchal, and "partner" is too "I'm trying too hard to be politically correct."
6.) Booty call. Strictly a sexual relationship that only takes place betweeen the hours of 1 a.m. and 5 a.m.
7.) Friends with benefits. Much like a booty call in that you hide the sexual relationship from your friends. But, in this situation, you actually kind of like the person as a person even though there's no romantic involvement. It's a continual relationship, but there are never strings attached.
So, why is it so important to me that I fall into one of these categories? Well, when you don't have a definition, as I've learned, there is no good answer to the following question: "Is that your boyfriend?" I've been asked this a number of times, typically in a hushed voice, when Coop and I go somewhere together, as soon as he walks away. The answer that I usually give, in an equally hushed voice, is this: "Well, we are friends, except we have a deeper connection than most friends and we were dating, but we're not now, but we like each other as more than friends, but he's not my boyfriend. Is there a word for that?" To make it more confusing, our friends have started to treat us like we're a unit..."Mel and Coop". They make plans with us by talking to one of us, and the expectation is that that one will just sorta bring the other one along to the outing. And I've kind of started to expect that too.
I think that definitions help so that you know how to act when you're around each other. It makes a difference. If we're just friends, well then, I won't make out with you...or show up drunk at your house unannounced...or make you mix tapes with angsty "will they or won't they" music because that would just be weird. If we're seeing each other or dating, then drunken pop-ins and mix tapes are too much. But, if we're boyfriend and girlfriend, then it's just right. And if you act like it's just right, it means that you're comfortable being my boyfriend, so then why are you saying that you're not my boyfriend. Confused? So am I.
And to make all of this even MORE confusing, when I ask Coop about how he would define the relationship, his answer is "Well, we don't need to define it because it's obvious." For crying out loud to Jenna Hamilton.
I've ultimately come to the conclusion that if you can't define the relationship, it means that you just aren't in one...in the normal sense of the word. And that's not really a conclusion at all, is it?
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
The One
The time has come for me to tell you about "the one". The one who inspired the blog. The one who led so many people to say to me, "You need to tell that story to the world". The one who compels me to use language that Andrew Dice Clay would be appalled to hear.
There are a few reasons that I've held off telling this story until now:
1.) "The one" is a complete narcissist. He has read the blog in the past and if he read this, he would be wearing this post like a badge of honor. And frankly, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. So, I had to wait until his interest in me had subsided, which it seems to have done.
2.) I wanted to build up my readership. I try to make this blog funny and amusing to my readers and not to sound like a bitter, jaded, ex-girlfriend. But, it's hard to find that voice when telling this story because this guy is just so damn shitty.
3.) It was hard to narrow down which parts of the story to tell. He's done so many crappy things to me that if I wrote about all of it, the tome would rival War and Peace and blogger would kick me off for taking up all the storage space on their server.
But, all things considered, I think that I am finally ready to tell the story...the Story of Douche.
When I first met Douche, he introduced himself to me as "John". A few months into the relationship, he admitted that his name was actually "Mark". And then a few months after that, I found out that his name was actually "Mike". For the sake of simplicity, I will refer to him as to how he's listed in my contacts to warn me not to answer when he calls: "Douche".
We clicked right away. We went out to dinner and had amazing conversation and a great time. He was a perfect gentleman. He paid for dinner. We had a lovely good night kiss and he ended the night with "When can I see you again?" He was smart. He was fun. And he gave me a lot of attention. Everything that I had been looking for. However, after a few months, when I still hadn't been to his place, or met any of his friends, I started to get a little suspicious that maybe he hadn't been telling me the truth about his life.
I kept telling myself that he spent way too much time with me to be involved with someone else. He would stay over at my house. We always went out to dinner in public. He would stop by my office. But, something was not right. My intuition was telling me that he wasn't being straight. I brought it up a few times. His answer would always be accusatory. "Why don't you trust me?" "Are you going to always have these walls up?" "Will you just let me in?" "You googled me? What are you? Some kind of stalker?" It was my lack of trust that led me to wait a few months before being intimate with him. And not sleeping with him just added to my confusion, as I continued to tell myself, if he were cheating on someone with me, he would be insisting that we have sex. It's "secret lovers" not "secret dinner companions". So, I continued to ignore my intuition.
After about three months, he took me out to lunch one day and told me that he really wanted me to trust him. He said that I was right and he hadn't been completely truthful with me. His name was really Mark. He was married to a woman named Heather. They had a two-year old daughter. I was devastated. I didn't want to be right about this. I almost walked right out of the restaurant, but it was Bertucci's pizza and really, who can walk out on the Bertucci Menucci? He said that he had filed for divorce, but he didn't want to leave the house because he didn't want to give up custody of his daughter. He also said that if his wife found out that he was dating she would do her best to make sure that he didn't get custody. This all sounded a little fishy to me.
But, he was a born salesman. And he sold me.
Knowing that I was exceptionally proficient at facebook stalking, he covered all his bases with his story. I found his divorce complaint in the court records. I found his wife's facebook page where there was a daughter, but no trace of any husband in any of the photos. That would be consistent with his story. The story seemed true. I continued to date him.
While all of this was happening, I had picked up a couple of SAT tutoring clients. One of them lived out in Western MA, and I would go to his house on Saturday mornings to give him lessons. One Saturday morning, I was leaving the lesson and driving down the street. And I saw Mark, walking a black lab, seeing my very recognizable car, and looking extremely freaked out. Now, this was already odd as Mark lived in Ashland, MA. At the time, we were in Hopkinton. I pulled over to the curb and he opened the door and sat in the passenger seat. Both of us said, "What are you doing here?" at the same time. I responded first, "I had a tutoring session down the street. Now, you go. You don't live here. Why are you walking your dog through this neighborhood?"
That's when he told me everything. Heather and Mark were getting a divorce. They did have a two year old daughter. What he neglected to tell me before was that he wasn't Mark. He had stolen Mark's whole story. His name was Mike. At my insistence, he showed me his driver's license. He had two sons. He was married. He had no intention of getting divorced. But, he "still wanted to see me." I entertained a vision of him being blasted out of my passenger side door, hitting a tree, and sliding down the trunk like a cartoon character. Alas, my car, though awesome, did not come with a passenger side ejection seat. I settled for yelling at him to "Get the fuck out of my car" and left him in a cloud of adulterous dust after he did so. I've been ignoring his calls ever since. For about six months after I ended the relationship, he called me and sent me texts and tried to get me to speak with him. I never did understand why he wanted the relationship to continue.
The way he got caught is too much of a coincidence. And now I hold a strong belief that nature has a way of balancing everything out. I do try to help it out a little bit by telling this story to every single person that I have a longer-than-ten-minute conversation with in the hopes that some day it will get back to his wife.
The good news is that I learned two important lessons from all of this. Guilty men always get mad at you for not trusting them. They will accuse you of being "crazy" or "trying to sabotage the relationship." The non-guilty men will laugh it off. They will say you're being silly and you'll believe them. That ties into the second lesson: Always trust your instincts.
So, that's the story. The story of the shittiest shitheads of all shitheads. I apologize that this entry was a lot darker than my other ones. And I promise that next time I'll be funnier. But, I think that this story is a good insight into why I am the way I am (freaking amazing) and the choices that I make today (better ones). Thanks for reading, all.
There are a few reasons that I've held off telling this story until now:
1.) "The one" is a complete narcissist. He has read the blog in the past and if he read this, he would be wearing this post like a badge of honor. And frankly, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. So, I had to wait until his interest in me had subsided, which it seems to have done.
2.) I wanted to build up my readership. I try to make this blog funny and amusing to my readers and not to sound like a bitter, jaded, ex-girlfriend. But, it's hard to find that voice when telling this story because this guy is just so damn shitty.
3.) It was hard to narrow down which parts of the story to tell. He's done so many crappy things to me that if I wrote about all of it, the tome would rival War and Peace and blogger would kick me off for taking up all the storage space on their server.
But, all things considered, I think that I am finally ready to tell the story...the Story of Douche.
When I first met Douche, he introduced himself to me as "John". A few months into the relationship, he admitted that his name was actually "Mark". And then a few months after that, I found out that his name was actually "Mike". For the sake of simplicity, I will refer to him as to how he's listed in my contacts to warn me not to answer when he calls: "Douche".
We clicked right away. We went out to dinner and had amazing conversation and a great time. He was a perfect gentleman. He paid for dinner. We had a lovely good night kiss and he ended the night with "When can I see you again?" He was smart. He was fun. And he gave me a lot of attention. Everything that I had been looking for. However, after a few months, when I still hadn't been to his place, or met any of his friends, I started to get a little suspicious that maybe he hadn't been telling me the truth about his life.
I kept telling myself that he spent way too much time with me to be involved with someone else. He would stay over at my house. We always went out to dinner in public. He would stop by my office. But, something was not right. My intuition was telling me that he wasn't being straight. I brought it up a few times. His answer would always be accusatory. "Why don't you trust me?" "Are you going to always have these walls up?" "Will you just let me in?" "You googled me? What are you? Some kind of stalker?" It was my lack of trust that led me to wait a few months before being intimate with him. And not sleeping with him just added to my confusion, as I continued to tell myself, if he were cheating on someone with me, he would be insisting that we have sex. It's "secret lovers" not "secret dinner companions". So, I continued to ignore my intuition.
After about three months, he took me out to lunch one day and told me that he really wanted me to trust him. He said that I was right and he hadn't been completely truthful with me. His name was really Mark. He was married to a woman named Heather. They had a two-year old daughter. I was devastated. I didn't want to be right about this. I almost walked right out of the restaurant, but it was Bertucci's pizza and really, who can walk out on the Bertucci Menucci? He said that he had filed for divorce, but he didn't want to leave the house because he didn't want to give up custody of his daughter. He also said that if his wife found out that he was dating she would do her best to make sure that he didn't get custody. This all sounded a little fishy to me.
But, he was a born salesman. And he sold me.
Knowing that I was exceptionally proficient at facebook stalking, he covered all his bases with his story. I found his divorce complaint in the court records. I found his wife's facebook page where there was a daughter, but no trace of any husband in any of the photos. That would be consistent with his story. The story seemed true. I continued to date him.
While all of this was happening, I had picked up a couple of SAT tutoring clients. One of them lived out in Western MA, and I would go to his house on Saturday mornings to give him lessons. One Saturday morning, I was leaving the lesson and driving down the street. And I saw Mark, walking a black lab, seeing my very recognizable car, and looking extremely freaked out. Now, this was already odd as Mark lived in Ashland, MA. At the time, we were in Hopkinton. I pulled over to the curb and he opened the door and sat in the passenger seat. Both of us said, "What are you doing here?" at the same time. I responded first, "I had a tutoring session down the street. Now, you go. You don't live here. Why are you walking your dog through this neighborhood?"
That's when he told me everything. Heather and Mark were getting a divorce. They did have a two year old daughter. What he neglected to tell me before was that he wasn't Mark. He had stolen Mark's whole story. His name was Mike. At my insistence, he showed me his driver's license. He had two sons. He was married. He had no intention of getting divorced. But, he "still wanted to see me." I entertained a vision of him being blasted out of my passenger side door, hitting a tree, and sliding down the trunk like a cartoon character. Alas, my car, though awesome, did not come with a passenger side ejection seat. I settled for yelling at him to "Get the fuck out of my car" and left him in a cloud of adulterous dust after he did so. I've been ignoring his calls ever since. For about six months after I ended the relationship, he called me and sent me texts and tried to get me to speak with him. I never did understand why he wanted the relationship to continue.
The way he got caught is too much of a coincidence. And now I hold a strong belief that nature has a way of balancing everything out. I do try to help it out a little bit by telling this story to every single person that I have a longer-than-ten-minute conversation with in the hopes that some day it will get back to his wife.
The good news is that I learned two important lessons from all of this. Guilty men always get mad at you for not trusting them. They will accuse you of being "crazy" or "trying to sabotage the relationship." The non-guilty men will laugh it off. They will say you're being silly and you'll believe them. That ties into the second lesson: Always trust your instincts.
So, that's the story. The story of the shittiest shitheads of all shitheads. I apologize that this entry was a lot darker than my other ones. And I promise that next time I'll be funnier. But, I think that this story is a good insight into why I am the way I am (freaking amazing) and the choices that I make today (better ones). Thanks for reading, all.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Strip T's to the rescue: Part 2
There we were, the Strip T's staff and I waiting for Mr. Could-Be-Sloth to walk through the door. I had just received a text saying "Where are you? Inside." Jonathan and I looked quizzically at each other. Strip T's is not that big of a place. It's essentially the size of a D'Angelos. (Side note: When (and notice I say "when", not "if) you go to Strip T's, take a trip to the bathroom. You will feel like you just came down the beanstalk to wreak havoc on peasants. It's an experience.)
Making me even more nervous was the fact that, during one of our texting conversations, Mr. Could-Be-Sloth had told me that I was only the second person that he's met online to date. The first...he arrived at their meeting place, saw her, and in his words, "ran like a cheetah." I almost broke the date off when he told me that story, but he explained that it had nothing to do with her looks, he just freaked out, and he called her later to apologize. Whether or not his version is true, I don't know, but a free meal at Strip T's was at stake, and I didn't really want to give that up, so I gave him the benefit of the yay-I-get-food doubt.
As Jonathan and I scanned the room, Jonathan asked what Mr. Could-Be-Sloth looked like. I told him that all I knew was that he was bald, with a goatee, and Middle Eastern. Jonathan, then became busy with restaurant stuff, such as like, you know, running it, so I decided to take a look outside. I looked to my right, down the sidewalk, and saw a gorgeous bald, bearded man round the corner. He glanced at me and smiled....and then started walking in the other direction. For a split second, I thought "cheetahs run faster than that," but quickly realized that that wasn't the person I was waiting for.
I looked to my left and a tiny man was walking toward me. He wasn't bald (I'm not sure where I got that). He had a very nice smile. And he came up and hugged me hello. So I assumed that it was Mr. Could-Be-Sloth, who while attractive, wasn't really my type physically. However, not one to judge a kindle fire by its electronic title page, I was still looking forward to getting to know him because he seemed like a very sweet guy. As far as the confusion over his text saying that he was in the restaurant, here is where punctuation is important, guys. Without it, your message becomes, "where are you. inside" instead of "where are you? Inside?"
My Waiter Crush sat us at what Strip T's calls, the "Mafia Table". It's a corner table that faces the entire dining room and it's where I expect I'll receive my business if I ever have any and happen to be eating there.
I was trying not to feel self-concious that, sitting down, we looked like Jack Sprat and his wife, but even at 5'5", I felt as though I was towering over him...even though he insists to this day that he's 5'7". Waiter Crush took our drink order and left to grab them.
I turned to Mr. Could-Be-Sloth and said, "so nice to finally meet you! How was your day today?" "My day was good," he responded. *Silence*
"What is it that you do for work?" I asked. "Operations," he responded. *Silence*
"What kind of business does your company do?" I asked. "Hospitality," he responded. *Silence*
"Oh cool, that's what my company does too!" I said, hoping that this would spark up the conversation. "We run the laundry facilities in dorms and apartment buildings and hotels." I continued. "I see," he responded. *Silence*
Now, a few things were running through my mind. One, oh my GOD this is BRUTAL. Two, is the whole dinner going to be like this??? Three, is it too soon to sneeze and get the check? But, I thought maybe he's just nervous. Or it might be that he's not interested? So I gave him an out by saying, "if you're not hungry, I don't mind just grabbing a small plate and a drink or something." And in his longest response yet, he stated, "No, let's eat a meal." and grabbed the menu.
The conversation went on like that for our whole dinner. During the times when I was just tired of the responsibility of carrying on the conversation, I sat there with my elbows on the table, and my chin in my hands, in classic boredom pose, like a kid who's been told she can't have dessert until she finishes her peas. I kept catching the eye of Waiter Crush and sending him silent "help me" signals, which I could tell he understood. But, with f-ing delicious food also comes painstaking care, meaning I wouldn't be seeing our entrees soon enough and there was nothing he could do.
Our food did come out soon after though, and my food was ten times more interesting than my date! The amazing thing about Strip T's is they basically go to the farm and get the ingredients for the menu which changes daily. I'm not being sarcastic...they literally go to the farm and get ingredients. They cure their own meat. They make their own vinegar. The flour for their bread and pasta is milled the day before. So, not only is the food interesting and cooked perfectly, but it's practically the best quality you can ask for.
That night, I ordered for Mr. Could-Be-Sloth, whose only instruction was "I like spicy," which I conveyed to Waiter Crush who suggested that he have the roasted skate wing, with spicy 'nduja sausage, kale, potato and leeks. Mr. Could-Be-Sloth ok'ed that with an "ok". Me, on the other hand, I knew exactly what I wanted. Oysters Ouefs Brouilles, and the Anne Fish Tautog with lobster sauce, fiddleheads and home fries. And in a down-to-the wire decision, encouraged by Waiter Crush, I got the seared pork belly small plate. Yet another reason that I love Strip T's...whenever I'm on the fence about ordering something, the waiters always give me a "no big deal" go ahead, which makes me feel like I'm not being gluttonous, just appreciative of what's on the menu.
Anyway, back to my disaster date: I still took the time to enjoy my food and wine, but once that was gone, I wanted to be!! I excused myself to go to the restroom, and on my way back from Lilli-pot, I went by Jonathan who asked, "Are you sneezing?" To which, I responded, "God, yes." Over comes Waiter Crush, who again subtlely steered us in the right direction by saying, "You guys are too full for dessert?" Before Mr. Could-Be-Sloth could answer with a one-word "no" response, I said, "Yeah, I'm stuffed."
Waiter Crush: Just the check, then.
Me: Yep.
Once Waiter Crush dropped the check off, I offered to pay, and Mr. Could-Be-Sloth took the billfold and said that it was on him (which was nice), and then he proceeded to put it on the bench next to him... So, we sat there in silence for another ten minutes (or was it a year? hard to tell), while Waiter Crush kept glancing at the table, trying to see if he could help me make my escape by speeding along the payment process.
Finally, (and I literally breathed an audible sigh of relief) Mr. Could-Be-Sloth slipped his card out of his wallet and into the billfold and Waiter Crush took it, bringing it back processed a second later. I said goodbye to all and Mr. Could-Be-Sloth walked me to my car where I gave him a hug. He told me to text when I got home and I said ok. When I got into my car, I saw a text from Jonathan, "At least the food was free. :)"
I texted Mr. Could-Be-Sloth when I arrived home and he asked, "Be honest. What did you think?" And I replied, "It started out good! I just thought that there were a lot of awkward silences," thinking that there's no way he could disagree. He responded, "I didn't think they were awkward, but oh well." This leads me to question my own dating style, and I would love it if you'd let me know what you think. To me, if you're having silences on the first date, they're prima facie awkward. You should have plenty to say when you don't know anything about each other. The silences come after you've been together for a while, then it becomes a comfortable silence.
Anyway, I haven't heard from Mr. Could-Be-Sloth, so I think he realized that it wasn't a match. But, the silver lining around my dinner plate...man, those oysters and that pork belly were F-ing Delicious.*
*I'm trying to get Strip T's to adopt that as their slogan. I'm not optimistic.
Making me even more nervous was the fact that, during one of our texting conversations, Mr. Could-Be-Sloth had told me that I was only the second person that he's met online to date. The first...he arrived at their meeting place, saw her, and in his words, "ran like a cheetah." I almost broke the date off when he told me that story, but he explained that it had nothing to do with her looks, he just freaked out, and he called her later to apologize. Whether or not his version is true, I don't know, but a free meal at Strip T's was at stake, and I didn't really want to give that up, so I gave him the benefit of the yay-I-get-food doubt.
As Jonathan and I scanned the room, Jonathan asked what Mr. Could-Be-Sloth looked like. I told him that all I knew was that he was bald, with a goatee, and Middle Eastern. Jonathan, then became busy with restaurant stuff, such as like, you know, running it, so I decided to take a look outside. I looked to my right, down the sidewalk, and saw a gorgeous bald, bearded man round the corner. He glanced at me and smiled....and then started walking in the other direction. For a split second, I thought "cheetahs run faster than that," but quickly realized that that wasn't the person I was waiting for.
I looked to my left and a tiny man was walking toward me. He wasn't bald (I'm not sure where I got that). He had a very nice smile. And he came up and hugged me hello. So I assumed that it was Mr. Could-Be-Sloth, who while attractive, wasn't really my type physically. However, not one to judge a kindle fire by its electronic title page, I was still looking forward to getting to know him because he seemed like a very sweet guy. As far as the confusion over his text saying that he was in the restaurant, here is where punctuation is important, guys. Without it, your message becomes, "where are you. inside" instead of "where are you? Inside?"
My Waiter Crush sat us at what Strip T's calls, the "Mafia Table". It's a corner table that faces the entire dining room and it's where I expect I'll receive my business if I ever have any and happen to be eating there.
I was trying not to feel self-concious that, sitting down, we looked like Jack Sprat and his wife, but even at 5'5", I felt as though I was towering over him...even though he insists to this day that he's 5'7". Waiter Crush took our drink order and left to grab them.
I turned to Mr. Could-Be-Sloth and said, "so nice to finally meet you! How was your day today?" "My day was good," he responded. *Silence*
"What is it that you do for work?" I asked. "Operations," he responded. *Silence*
"What kind of business does your company do?" I asked. "Hospitality," he responded. *Silence*
"Oh cool, that's what my company does too!" I said, hoping that this would spark up the conversation. "We run the laundry facilities in dorms and apartment buildings and hotels." I continued. "I see," he responded. *Silence*
Now, a few things were running through my mind. One, oh my GOD this is BRUTAL. Two, is the whole dinner going to be like this??? Three, is it too soon to sneeze and get the check? But, I thought maybe he's just nervous. Or it might be that he's not interested? So I gave him an out by saying, "if you're not hungry, I don't mind just grabbing a small plate and a drink or something." And in his longest response yet, he stated, "No, let's eat a meal." and grabbed the menu.
The conversation went on like that for our whole dinner. During the times when I was just tired of the responsibility of carrying on the conversation, I sat there with my elbows on the table, and my chin in my hands, in classic boredom pose, like a kid who's been told she can't have dessert until she finishes her peas. I kept catching the eye of Waiter Crush and sending him silent "help me" signals, which I could tell he understood. But, with f-ing delicious food also comes painstaking care, meaning I wouldn't be seeing our entrees soon enough and there was nothing he could do.
Our food did come out soon after though, and my food was ten times more interesting than my date! The amazing thing about Strip T's is they basically go to the farm and get the ingredients for the menu which changes daily. I'm not being sarcastic...they literally go to the farm and get ingredients. They cure their own meat. They make their own vinegar. The flour for their bread and pasta is milled the day before. So, not only is the food interesting and cooked perfectly, but it's practically the best quality you can ask for.
That night, I ordered for Mr. Could-Be-Sloth, whose only instruction was "I like spicy," which I conveyed to Waiter Crush who suggested that he have the roasted skate wing, with spicy 'nduja sausage, kale, potato and leeks. Mr. Could-Be-Sloth ok'ed that with an "ok". Me, on the other hand, I knew exactly what I wanted. Oysters Ouefs Brouilles, and the Anne Fish Tautog with lobster sauce, fiddleheads and home fries. And in a down-to-the wire decision, encouraged by Waiter Crush, I got the seared pork belly small plate. Yet another reason that I love Strip T's...whenever I'm on the fence about ordering something, the waiters always give me a "no big deal" go ahead, which makes me feel like I'm not being gluttonous, just appreciative of what's on the menu.
Anyway, back to my disaster date: I still took the time to enjoy my food and wine, but once that was gone, I wanted to be!! I excused myself to go to the restroom, and on my way back from Lilli-pot, I went by Jonathan who asked, "Are you sneezing?" To which, I responded, "God, yes." Over comes Waiter Crush, who again subtlely steered us in the right direction by saying, "You guys are too full for dessert?" Before Mr. Could-Be-Sloth could answer with a one-word "no" response, I said, "Yeah, I'm stuffed."
Waiter Crush: Just the check, then.
Me: Yep.
Once Waiter Crush dropped the check off, I offered to pay, and Mr. Could-Be-Sloth took the billfold and said that it was on him (which was nice), and then he proceeded to put it on the bench next to him... So, we sat there in silence for another ten minutes (or was it a year? hard to tell), while Waiter Crush kept glancing at the table, trying to see if he could help me make my escape by speeding along the payment process.
Finally, (and I literally breathed an audible sigh of relief) Mr. Could-Be-Sloth slipped his card out of his wallet and into the billfold and Waiter Crush took it, bringing it back processed a second later. I said goodbye to all and Mr. Could-Be-Sloth walked me to my car where I gave him a hug. He told me to text when I got home and I said ok. When I got into my car, I saw a text from Jonathan, "At least the food was free. :)"
I texted Mr. Could-Be-Sloth when I arrived home and he asked, "Be honest. What did you think?" And I replied, "It started out good! I just thought that there were a lot of awkward silences," thinking that there's no way he could disagree. He responded, "I didn't think they were awkward, but oh well." This leads me to question my own dating style, and I would love it if you'd let me know what you think. To me, if you're having silences on the first date, they're prima facie awkward. You should have plenty to say when you don't know anything about each other. The silences come after you've been together for a while, then it becomes a comfortable silence.
Anyway, I haven't heard from Mr. Could-Be-Sloth, so I think he realized that it wasn't a match. But, the silver lining around my dinner plate...man, those oysters and that pork belly were F-ing Delicious.*
*I'm trying to get Strip T's to adopt that as their slogan. I'm not optimistic.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Strip T's to the Rescue: Part 1
First of all, I just want to mention that I posted twice in a week a couple of weeks ago, and was really excited to get momentum back. And then the Boston Marathon bombing happened. As you know, Boston is my hometown, and I really struggled with what I would say on my next post. I knew that I had to say SOMETHING, but this is supposed to be a humor blog. So, I kept procrastinating, trying to figure out a way to reconcile what I was feeling with the usual tone of this blog. Because I was just too sad.
But, then it dawned on me: it's important to laugh! It doesn't take away from remembering what happened or mourning the loss of such young and vibrant lives. It strengthens our resolve to carry on and show these horrible people that their actions do not affect us, our democracy, or our freedom to speak. I don't have any sniper training and I hate guns and violence, so I can't root out the bastards. And while the spy life looks glamorous, I'm way too much of a blabbermouth to work for counterintelligence. ("Melly, what do you do for work?" "I'm a spy...uh, I mean, a Coors light promo girl, obv.") But, betcha by golly, wow, I can make people laugh (I hope). So, I said to myself, you write that blog about awful men buying you delicious food. And you do it for AMERICA!!! And so, without further ado:
Let's talk about online dating profiles and pictures. Typically, I skip over the profiles that don't have any pictures. I immediately think they're either married or look like Sloth.
FYI, that's true hardly ever. One of the best looking men that I've ever dated didn't have a picture on his dating profile simply because he was a professor, and he didn't want to encounter any of his students. And a gorgeous female friend of mine didn't have her profile picture up because she felt like she was always being judged on her looks and she wanted someone to date her because she was intelligent and kind. But, that's where my mind goes when I'm contacted by a guy who has no picture.
Imagine my skepticism when I received a message via match that stated that we seemed to have a lot in common and that he'd like to take me out, but he had one dealbreaker: I couldn't ask for a picture because he wouldn't send it to me. According to Mr. Could-Be-Sloth, he would much rather just meet for dinner or drinks in person. Initially, I thought that was a bit weird, but after a few messages back and forth that seemed to go ok, I gave him my number so that we could text as it's easier. At first, I wasn't sure if we were a match, but he did grow on me as the week went on. He finally asked if I would meet him for dinner, and he suggested that we go to Strip T's in Watertown
Now, here's a little background on Strip T's. It's f-ing delicious and has topped pretty much every "Best of Boston" list since it opened. So, I knew that he had good taste in restaurants. On the other hand, the general manager, Jonathan, is also an old friend who I've known forever. I'm talking we carpooled to Hebrew school together when we were kids. And, I had JUST been to Strip T's the week before for dinner with Andrea and her husband, where we had eaten them out of building and restaurant. I ultimately decided though that, even with the danger of bringing a man who could look like Sloth to my Hebrew school carpool-mate's restaurant and the danger of becoming known by the staff as a foodie groupie, it was a good place to go because as to first point, it's f-ing delicious.
Strip T's is very hard to get into without a reservation. So, I had mentioned to Mr. Could-Be-Sloth that he should make one. On Sunday, the night before our date, I received a text, "Were you serious about a reservation? How busy could it be on a Monday?" I'm not sure why this irritated me as much as it did. I think sometimes I have a tendency to be too hard on people when they don't do as I say. But that's only because I'm a genius and always right.
Luckily I could shoot a quick text to Jonathan and ask if he had any openings for a table for two for Monday night. In a text dripping with wisecrack (or so I imagine), J responded, "You mean for your date?"
Me: Yes! He didn't believe me when I said we prob needed one.
J: Well, make sure he pays.
When I arrived the next night (early as always so that I could get settled in before the fun started), I walked in to meet Jonathan at the door. Here's another reason that Strip T's is so awesome. Not only do they have delicious food, but Jonathan had provided the staff with instructions that I was on a blind first date, so that if I looked like I wasn't having a good time, they needed to get me the hell outta there fast. That's above and beyond typical restaurant service, you have to agree.
So, here we are at the "big reveal", let's run down the reasons that I was nervous about this date:
1.) My date could look like Sloth
2.) He never made a reservation, so seemed like kind of a slacker.
3.) I have a crush on the Strip T's waiter that was going to be serving us. So, I was nervous about making a fool of myself by continuously mentioning that this was a "first" date and a "blind" date, in order to give the appearance that I was still available.
As I stood there with Jonathan and the staff, and as we all ran down the plan ("People, if I sneeze, it means it's a total disaster and come over with the check even if there's still food left. No veal left behind! I will box it up!"), I got a text from Mr. Could Be Sloth..."Where are you? I'm inside".
Was Mr. Could-Be-Sloth actually Sloth? Did he even show up?? Did the unbelievably well thought-out and sophisticated sneezing plan work? Tune in next post and see!
But, then it dawned on me: it's important to laugh! It doesn't take away from remembering what happened or mourning the loss of such young and vibrant lives. It strengthens our resolve to carry on and show these horrible people that their actions do not affect us, our democracy, or our freedom to speak. I don't have any sniper training and I hate guns and violence, so I can't root out the bastards. And while the spy life looks glamorous, I'm way too much of a blabbermouth to work for counterintelligence. ("Melly, what do you do for work?" "I'm a spy...uh, I mean, a Coors light promo girl, obv.") But, betcha by golly, wow, I can make people laugh (I hope). So, I said to myself, you write that blog about awful men buying you delicious food. And you do it for AMERICA!!! And so, without further ado:
Let's talk about online dating profiles and pictures. Typically, I skip over the profiles that don't have any pictures. I immediately think they're either married or look like Sloth.
FYI, that's true hardly ever. One of the best looking men that I've ever dated didn't have a picture on his dating profile simply because he was a professor, and he didn't want to encounter any of his students. And a gorgeous female friend of mine didn't have her profile picture up because she felt like she was always being judged on her looks and she wanted someone to date her because she was intelligent and kind. But, that's where my mind goes when I'm contacted by a guy who has no picture.
Imagine my skepticism when I received a message via match that stated that we seemed to have a lot in common and that he'd like to take me out, but he had one dealbreaker: I couldn't ask for a picture because he wouldn't send it to me. According to Mr. Could-Be-Sloth, he would much rather just meet for dinner or drinks in person. Initially, I thought that was a bit weird, but after a few messages back and forth that seemed to go ok, I gave him my number so that we could text as it's easier. At first, I wasn't sure if we were a match, but he did grow on me as the week went on. He finally asked if I would meet him for dinner, and he suggested that we go to Strip T's in Watertown
Now, here's a little background on Strip T's. It's f-ing delicious and has topped pretty much every "Best of Boston" list since it opened. So, I knew that he had good taste in restaurants. On the other hand, the general manager, Jonathan, is also an old friend who I've known forever. I'm talking we carpooled to Hebrew school together when we were kids. And, I had JUST been to Strip T's the week before for dinner with Andrea and her husband, where we had eaten them out of building and restaurant. I ultimately decided though that, even with the danger of bringing a man who could look like Sloth to my Hebrew school carpool-mate's restaurant and the danger of becoming known by the staff as a foodie groupie, it was a good place to go because as to first point, it's f-ing delicious.
Strip T's is very hard to get into without a reservation. So, I had mentioned to Mr. Could-Be-Sloth that he should make one. On Sunday, the night before our date, I received a text, "Were you serious about a reservation? How busy could it be on a Monday?" I'm not sure why this irritated me as much as it did. I think sometimes I have a tendency to be too hard on people when they don't do as I say. But that's only because I'm a genius and always right.
Luckily I could shoot a quick text to Jonathan and ask if he had any openings for a table for two for Monday night. In a text dripping with wisecrack (or so I imagine), J responded, "You mean for your date?"
Me: Yes! He didn't believe me when I said we prob needed one.
J: Well, make sure he pays.
When I arrived the next night (early as always so that I could get settled in before the fun started), I walked in to meet Jonathan at the door. Here's another reason that Strip T's is so awesome. Not only do they have delicious food, but Jonathan had provided the staff with instructions that I was on a blind first date, so that if I looked like I wasn't having a good time, they needed to get me the hell outta there fast. That's above and beyond typical restaurant service, you have to agree.
So, here we are at the "big reveal", let's run down the reasons that I was nervous about this date:
1.) My date could look like Sloth
2.) He never made a reservation, so seemed like kind of a slacker.
3.) I have a crush on the Strip T's waiter that was going to be serving us. So, I was nervous about making a fool of myself by continuously mentioning that this was a "first" date and a "blind" date, in order to give the appearance that I was still available.
As I stood there with Jonathan and the staff, and as we all ran down the plan ("People, if I sneeze, it means it's a total disaster and come over with the check even if there's still food left. No veal left behind! I will box it up!"), I got a text from Mr. Could Be Sloth..."Where are you? I'm inside".
Was Mr. Could-Be-Sloth actually Sloth? Did he even show up?? Did the unbelievably well thought-out and sophisticated sneezing plan work? Tune in next post and see!
Friday, April 12, 2013
Crazy Pete two-ups Mr. Writer (A Mini-Story)
You may remember that one time I was so upset with one of my guys that it prompted me to create a flow chart. You may be surprised to find out that he's still on the fringe of my life. We talk every once in a while and see each other every so often. Stacy has changed his name from Mr. Writer to Mr. Personality, which I think suits him better for sarcasm's sake, as he's quite reserved when you meet him. She baptized him after we ran into him at the airport one day when we were returning from Los Angeles and he was flying out.
Anyway, while drinking at Second Glass's Wine Riot last weekend, I received this text:
The text took me by surprise as we had just been talking the week before about my moving to his neighborhood next month and his feeling that I was "invading his territory". So, it was out of the sky blue. Right away*, I took the normal action and obviously posted it to facebook so that my friends could see it.
Not to be outdone, three minutes later, I received this text from Crazy Pete:
Anyway, while drinking at Second Glass's Wine Riot last weekend, I received this text:
The text took me by surprise as we had just been talking the week before about my moving to his neighborhood next month and his feeling that I was "invading his territory". So, it was out of the sky blue. Right away*, I took the normal action and obviously posted it to facebook so that my friends could see it.
Not to be outdone, three minutes later, I received this text from Crazy Pete:
*It took thirty minutes to show everyone that I was with, and be taught how to make a screenshot on my iphone.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Why I'm still single
Happy VD!!! (and that can stand for whatever you want it to...) In honor of VD, I decided to take a good, hard look at myself and answer the question that I often get asked, for better or worse, "Mel, why are you still single?" I think that it's a combination of things for a variety of reasons: character flaws, life choices, just plain dumb luck. But, I've compiled this list of the five major reasons, in my belief, that I haven't found Mr. Right-For-Me yet.
1.) I talk about computer games like they're real. I've realized something this week. I've been way too harsh on role-playing gamers who dress up like elves or fairies or whatever and have pretend battles in middle-school soccer fields. I do it, too! Well, not the pretend battle thing. But, after playing so many Nancy Drew computer games, I actually problem-solve like I'm Nancy Drew to figure things out now. And I think about Ned, and my best friends, Bess and George, and how much I miss them when I don't get to talk to them and...I digress. Bottom line is that I'm not that different from Eolain the Elder, or Jobias the Wizard, or Brian the Farmer or whatever.
2.) I start fights with people on okcupid. If it hasn't come across in my writing, I can be a bit sarcastic. And I also have a bad habit of not being able to let things go, as I've mentioned before. So, every once in a while I come across a dating profile and I can't help but write to that person and make some joke about why it sucks. For example, the other night, I came across a profile where the guy didn't have anything really to say about himself, but just had a bunch of links to youtube videos of awful music that he's made. Of course, this prompted me to send him a message that said, "Is this your dating profile or your music promotion page? Tough to say." To which I received a pretty nasty response, too juvenile to repeat here. Admittedly, I probably deserved a nasty response. But, why can't you just promote your horrible music on bandcamp or something and leave us daters alone? Anyway, if I stop spending my time instigating internet arguments, I may be able to find the right person.
3.) I have a Seinfeld and/or Saved by the Bell reference for any given situation. At a speed dating event recently, I had a conversation kinda like this:
Date: So, we only have 8 minutes! I have a very important question. What's your favorite cookie?
Me: Oh! I have to say chocolate chip. What's yours?
Date: I'm partial to the black and white.
Me: (thinking that he's bringing this up to see if we connect over Seinfeld) Aren't you worried about ruining your vomit streak?
Date: (with a blank stare) ...
Me: (thinking that I may be wrong) You know. Seinfeld? 'How's your stomach?' 'I've got David Duke and Farrakhan down there.'?
Date: (looking at me as if I had gotten his number from an AIDS walk list) Oh. I don't watch Seinfeld.
Me: ...oh. (muttering under my breath) where is that guy with the whistle...
That was the first time that I started to think that maybe it was me? As Elaine says, "Is it possible I'm not as attractive as I think I am?"
4.) I hang out a lot one-on-one with straight-acting gay men. One of my very best friends happens to be male and happens to be gay. However, unless you have extremely attuned gaydar, you wouldn't know that he was gay unless you had an extensive conversation with him, in which he brings up how many guys he's banged. We do a lot of things together. Go to concerts. Go out to dinner. Go to Red Sox games. And we see a lot of friendly and cute men...and I'm beginning to think that these friendly and cute men may mistake us for a couple. The next time we go out, I may ask my BF (dammit, best friend, not boyfriend!) to wear hot pants and a tank top, so that there's no room for error.
5.) I denounced an entire religion for ten years based on a very small sample size. I would say about 77% of the words that come out of my mother's mouth are either, "wish", "settle", "down", "nice", "Jewish", or "boy". She wanted me to go to college, so that I could be independent. But, I think that she secretly was hoping I would end up with both a BA and a MRS degree. And so, she did everything within her power to push me toward Brandeis where all her dreams would come true. However, I had been to our temple. I had the mistaken view that all Jewish men were "not my type". And I fell in love with Tufts during a campus visit and went there instead (although Tufts and Brandeis probably aren't that far apart in the "we have Jews" competition). I never wanted to date a Jewish guy. I avoided the Hillel Center. I shunned any "Jewish singles" events that happened during college and throughout my 20's. And then I learned...that Gabe Kapler existed:
1.) I talk about computer games like they're real. I've realized something this week. I've been way too harsh on role-playing gamers who dress up like elves or fairies or whatever and have pretend battles in middle-school soccer fields. I do it, too! Well, not the pretend battle thing. But, after playing so many Nancy Drew computer games, I actually problem-solve like I'm Nancy Drew to figure things out now. And I think about Ned, and my best friends, Bess and George, and how much I miss them when I don't get to talk to them and...I digress. Bottom line is that I'm not that different from Eolain the Elder, or Jobias the Wizard, or Brian the Farmer or whatever.
2.) I start fights with people on okcupid. If it hasn't come across in my writing, I can be a bit sarcastic. And I also have a bad habit of not being able to let things go, as I've mentioned before. So, every once in a while I come across a dating profile and I can't help but write to that person and make some joke about why it sucks. For example, the other night, I came across a profile where the guy didn't have anything really to say about himself, but just had a bunch of links to youtube videos of awful music that he's made. Of course, this prompted me to send him a message that said, "Is this your dating profile or your music promotion page? Tough to say." To which I received a pretty nasty response, too juvenile to repeat here. Admittedly, I probably deserved a nasty response. But, why can't you just promote your horrible music on bandcamp or something and leave us daters alone? Anyway, if I stop spending my time instigating internet arguments, I may be able to find the right person.
3.) I have a Seinfeld and/or Saved by the Bell reference for any given situation. At a speed dating event recently, I had a conversation kinda like this:
Date: So, we only have 8 minutes! I have a very important question. What's your favorite cookie?
Me: Oh! I have to say chocolate chip. What's yours?
Date: I'm partial to the black and white.
Me: (thinking that he's bringing this up to see if we connect over Seinfeld) Aren't you worried about ruining your vomit streak?
Date: (with a blank stare) ...
Me: (thinking that I may be wrong) You know. Seinfeld? 'How's your stomach?' 'I've got David Duke and Farrakhan down there.'?
Date: (looking at me as if I had gotten his number from an AIDS walk list) Oh. I don't watch Seinfeld.
Me: ...oh. (muttering under my breath) where is that guy with the whistle...
That was the first time that I started to think that maybe it was me? As Elaine says, "Is it possible I'm not as attractive as I think I am?"
4.) I hang out a lot one-on-one with straight-acting gay men. One of my very best friends happens to be male and happens to be gay. However, unless you have extremely attuned gaydar, you wouldn't know that he was gay unless you had an extensive conversation with him, in which he brings up how many guys he's banged. We do a lot of things together. Go to concerts. Go out to dinner. Go to Red Sox games. And we see a lot of friendly and cute men...and I'm beginning to think that these friendly and cute men may mistake us for a couple. The next time we go out, I may ask my BF (dammit, best friend, not boyfriend!) to wear hot pants and a tank top, so that there's no room for error.
5.) I denounced an entire religion for ten years based on a very small sample size. I would say about 77% of the words that come out of my mother's mouth are either, "wish", "settle", "down", "nice", "Jewish", or "boy". She wanted me to go to college, so that I could be independent. But, I think that she secretly was hoping I would end up with both a BA and a MRS degree. And so, she did everything within her power to push me toward Brandeis where all her dreams would come true. However, I had been to our temple. I had the mistaken view that all Jewish men were "not my type". And I fell in love with Tufts during a campus visit and went there instead (although Tufts and Brandeis probably aren't that far apart in the "we have Jews" competition). I never wanted to date a Jewish guy. I avoided the Hillel Center. I shunned any "Jewish singles" events that happened during college and throughout my 20's. And then I learned...that Gabe Kapler existed:
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Melly J., Reality TV Star!! Extra, Part 3
So, there I was, sitting at the Brahmin, waiting for speed dating to start. The Drunkie's recent outburst made me begin to question what I was actually doing there. However, it did seem to break the tension in the room. We began to laugh at the whole situation and how absurd it was. I goofy-smiled back at Goofy Smile guy. The guys, armed with rum-soaked courage, began to mingle amongst the ladies and sit across from us. We all determined that the Drunkie's tantrum was her own show for the cameras, the joke being on her because they weren't actually on yet. I was praying that neither Townie 1 nor Townie 2 would move their seats over to my table, and my prayers were answered as they were too involved in calling out for more shots and high-fiving each other.
By this point, I was exhausted. It was now coming up to 8:15 p.m. and I was getting sleepy and tired of just sitting around. The only thing stopping me from curling up on the booth bench and taking a nap was a vision of the remnants of vomit and sweat lurking on the vinyl.
And then, a tall, handsome man walked in. He was dressed impeccably. He flashed a killer smile at me as he walked by. He clearly knew the two bartenders, as they said hi to him when he arrived, and he walked over to say hello to them. I couldn't tell if he was there for the speed-dating event, or just to hang out. After speaking with the bartenders for a couple of minutes, he came back over and looked at the food spread (kept minimal so as not to soak up our alcohol content for the show). Then, he came over and sat next to me and said, "Hi, I'm Dre". Dre obviously had also been drinking, and when I questioned him about it, he admitted that he had been to the Bruins game earlier that day and had consumed large amounts of tequila since then.
Dre was charming and handsome, but I very quickly realized that he was the African American equivalent of Crazy Pete. He was very open about sharing facts such as "the number of women I've banged", "how many drinks I've had today", and "the amount of money I've dropped". As I find Crazy Pete-like antics endearing, this was not a complete turnoff for me and I found it more amusing than anything. But, I definitely didn't see any romance in our future.
Since Black Crazy Pete was so drunk in public, I assumed that he was in his 20's. I asked him how old he was and was shocked when he said 41. I asked what he did for work, and he told me that he was a bartender. Imagine my surprise, as the night went on and he admitted that he had gone to Brown. SCREEECH! Back it up. "Why on earth would you waste $250,000 to go to Brown and become a bartender. You can get a college degree anywhere and become a bartender." His answer: Full Academic Scholarship.
Ok, so Black Crazy Pete was growing on me. I hate to think that it was because I realized that he was smart, but I think that's what it was. I dig smart guys. However, I do not dig playboys, and it was clear that that's exactly what he was. He kept telling me that I seemed "proper" and "rigid". That I should give him a shot in the bedroom. He asked me hypothetically speaking, if I were his wife...he would need sex every night. Could I provide that? I get tired of talking to guys when it seems that all they want is in my pants, so after about an hour of speaking with Black Crazy Pete (It's now 9:15 pm, if you're keeping track), I finally yelled out to the Camera Guys that Be and said, "What time are we going to start this thing?" Sensing that I was very close to walking out and that a lot of the girls would be with me, the Camera Guys that Be all answered at once with remarks such as "Thank you so much for your patience." "We're almost all set here" "Just another couple of minutes."
But, you see, even though we actually did start a few minutes later, we were at an awkward impasse. We had all been talking to each other for about an hour and a half. Anything that we were going to learn in 8 minutes, we already knew. And as I mentioned before, the guys had been taking full advantage of the open bar (maybe from nervousness about their television debut), to the point where some were having issues forming coherent sentences and some focusing their eyes in one direction. To make matters worse, when the Date and Dash guy announced that we would be starting soon, Black Crazy Pete yelled out, "What if you've already found your soul mate?" and looked at me. And all the guys said, "awwww." All of the sudden, I was Slater at the Bachelor Auction after Jessi Spano threatened all the girls so that no one would bid on him. So, I finally admitted to myself what I had known all along...this was not going to be a successful speed dating experience.
We went through the motions of speed dating. I spoke with Goofy Smile guy who was weirded out by the whole night and everyone in the room. Lumberjack Flannel tried to fix me up with his friend. Stylish Tall Guy in Awesome Sweater was drunkenly rambling about Elvis and the South or something...I couldn't really follow it. And my last date of the night...Black Crazy Pete.
I ended up giving Black Crazy Pete my phone number, but as I made it quite clear that I don't jump into bed with random guys, I doubt that he will be calling. (It's been a week and a half and he hasn't yet). I did a little bit of googlegating and found out that not only is he a "bartender", he actually owns the bar that he tends at. It's a well known bar in Faneuil Hall and explains the Brown education (and subsequent MBA).
As I left the room, I passed Townie 1 who said, "Hey! I didn't get a chance to talk to you!" And I tossed an "Aw, shucks" over my shoulder.
The night wasn't a total loss however....the Date and Dash guy walked me out and said, "You're so nice. Thank you so much for putting up with all this. I also have a matchmaking business and I'd like to set you up with someone"...so I did get a date out of it, just not the way that I planned.
Boston's Finest premieres on Feb. 27 on TNT, and if you tune in, at some point in the series, you might catch a glimpse of me, scratching my nose or sitting on a bench or something equally exciting. Or, you never know, like Black Crazy Pete, Boston's Finest may leave me on the cutting room floor when they decide there's nothing they can work with.
By this point, I was exhausted. It was now coming up to 8:15 p.m. and I was getting sleepy and tired of just sitting around. The only thing stopping me from curling up on the booth bench and taking a nap was a vision of the remnants of vomit and sweat lurking on the vinyl.
And then, a tall, handsome man walked in. He was dressed impeccably. He flashed a killer smile at me as he walked by. He clearly knew the two bartenders, as they said hi to him when he arrived, and he walked over to say hello to them. I couldn't tell if he was there for the speed-dating event, or just to hang out. After speaking with the bartenders for a couple of minutes, he came back over and looked at the food spread (kept minimal so as not to soak up our alcohol content for the show). Then, he came over and sat next to me and said, "Hi, I'm Dre". Dre obviously had also been drinking, and when I questioned him about it, he admitted that he had been to the Bruins game earlier that day and had consumed large amounts of tequila since then.
Dre was charming and handsome, but I very quickly realized that he was the African American equivalent of Crazy Pete. He was very open about sharing facts such as "the number of women I've banged", "how many drinks I've had today", and "the amount of money I've dropped". As I find Crazy Pete-like antics endearing, this was not a complete turnoff for me and I found it more amusing than anything. But, I definitely didn't see any romance in our future.
Since Black Crazy Pete was so drunk in public, I assumed that he was in his 20's. I asked him how old he was and was shocked when he said 41. I asked what he did for work, and he told me that he was a bartender. Imagine my surprise, as the night went on and he admitted that he had gone to Brown. SCREEECH! Back it up. "Why on earth would you waste $250,000 to go to Brown and become a bartender. You can get a college degree anywhere and become a bartender." His answer: Full Academic Scholarship.
Ok, so Black Crazy Pete was growing on me. I hate to think that it was because I realized that he was smart, but I think that's what it was. I dig smart guys. However, I do not dig playboys, and it was clear that that's exactly what he was. He kept telling me that I seemed "proper" and "rigid". That I should give him a shot in the bedroom. He asked me hypothetically speaking, if I were his wife...he would need sex every night. Could I provide that? I get tired of talking to guys when it seems that all they want is in my pants, so after about an hour of speaking with Black Crazy Pete (It's now 9:15 pm, if you're keeping track), I finally yelled out to the Camera Guys that Be and said, "What time are we going to start this thing?" Sensing that I was very close to walking out and that a lot of the girls would be with me, the Camera Guys that Be all answered at once with remarks such as "Thank you so much for your patience." "We're almost all set here" "Just another couple of minutes."
But, you see, even though we actually did start a few minutes later, we were at an awkward impasse. We had all been talking to each other for about an hour and a half. Anything that we were going to learn in 8 minutes, we already knew. And as I mentioned before, the guys had been taking full advantage of the open bar (maybe from nervousness about their television debut), to the point where some were having issues forming coherent sentences and some focusing their eyes in one direction. To make matters worse, when the Date and Dash guy announced that we would be starting soon, Black Crazy Pete yelled out, "What if you've already found your soul mate?" and looked at me. And all the guys said, "awwww." All of the sudden, I was Slater at the Bachelor Auction after Jessi Spano threatened all the girls so that no one would bid on him. So, I finally admitted to myself what I had known all along...this was not going to be a successful speed dating experience.
We went through the motions of speed dating. I spoke with Goofy Smile guy who was weirded out by the whole night and everyone in the room. Lumberjack Flannel tried to fix me up with his friend. Stylish Tall Guy in Awesome Sweater was drunkenly rambling about Elvis and the South or something...I couldn't really follow it. And my last date of the night...Black Crazy Pete.
I ended up giving Black Crazy Pete my phone number, but as I made it quite clear that I don't jump into bed with random guys, I doubt that he will be calling. (It's been a week and a half and he hasn't yet). I did a little bit of googlegating and found out that not only is he a "bartender", he actually owns the bar that he tends at. It's a well known bar in Faneuil Hall and explains the Brown education (and subsequent MBA).
As I left the room, I passed Townie 1 who said, "Hey! I didn't get a chance to talk to you!" And I tossed an "Aw, shucks" over my shoulder.
The night wasn't a total loss however....the Date and Dash guy walked me out and said, "You're so nice. Thank you so much for putting up with all this. I also have a matchmaking business and I'd like to set you up with someone"...so I did get a date out of it, just not the way that I planned.
Boston's Finest premieres on Feb. 27 on TNT, and if you tune in, at some point in the series, you might catch a glimpse of me, scratching my nose or sitting on a bench or something equally exciting. Or, you never know, like Black Crazy Pete, Boston's Finest may leave me on the cutting room floor when they decide there's nothing they can work with.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Melly J., Reality TV Star!! Extra, Part 2
When we last left our heroine, she was sitting at Table Number 3 at the Brahmin, in front of the camera crew for TNT's Boston Finest, waiting for the speed date to begin. The event was supposed to start at 7:30. If you've never been to a speed dating event, here's what happens. The girls sit at a numbered table. Then, they put a guy at each table. You "date" for 8 minutes, someone blows the whistle and the guys all move down one table. At the end of the night, each person writes down who they were interested in, and if there's a match, the speed dating people exchange your information. It typically doesn't take more than an hour. I figured that I'd be home by 9:30 and in bed by ten.
Because I was there a bit early, I was able to sit back and peruse the "merchandise" as it walked in the door. A couple of the guys were cute and looked like really nice guys. There was Adorable Goofy Smile guy. Lumberjacky Guy in Flannel with Beard. Stylish Tall Guy in Awesome Sweater. I was looking forward to meeting them. As they walked in, they all assembled near the bar area across the room from us. The two groups, guys and girls, kept stealing glances at each other, but we weren't mingling or talking to each other. It was like an awkward middle school dance, except there were also five or six guys holding television cameras milling around.
I began a conversation with the girl sitting next to me. We made small talk. She asked if I knew anything about the show and we shared the knowledge that we each had (which wasn't much). As it was already 7:45, she asked if I had done speed dating before and if it usually started late. I told her that I had and it didn't. We surmised that they may be waiting for more people to show up before they start.
We were curious about who the girl was that they were filming. We hadn't seen the cameras pointed at anyone yet. We were also still a bit suspicious about why we were really there. The TV people had been a little too forthcoming with the information that we did have. All of the sudden, two blondes walked in the door. The first walked in with confidence and the camera guys seemed to jump to life, so I assumed that this was our TV star. She sat next to me at Table 4. My stomach flipped a little bit when I thought that I would definitely be in the camera shot the whole time if this was the girl. But, then, she leaned into me and said, "Are you the girl cop?" I realized very quickly by her breath that her confidence was all liquid and if she was asking me if I was the cop, then this couldn't be the girl.
I began to become more suspicious of what we were doing there. We had now been sitting around for a half-hour. This girl next to me was clearly wasted. The camera people were all sitting around and watching us. The guys were on one side of the room and the girls were seated at the other. Maybe this was some kind of weird psychological experiment? How long would we wait around for before we got fed up and stormed out? Would the genders ever start mingling together? What if there was an endless amount of alcohol? Just what would these crazy people do?? I mean, THAT sounded like a great reality show.
To add to my suspicion, at this point, two guys, who I will refer to as "Townie 1 and Townie 2" came in a few minutes later. When you think of the typical Boston guy persona, these are the guys that fit it. There was a "business casual" dress code for this event. They came in wearing ratty t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers, all of which were three or four sizes too big. Townie 1 was the "mouth". He led the way and yelled, "Let's get this pah-ty stah-ted!"as he walked into the room. Townie 2 didn't say a word and stood next to him with a blank, empty look on his face. Townie 1 and Townie 2 walked up to the bar, did a couple of shots and then ordered two jack and cokes and sat across from the Drunkie Next To Me and her friend.
At this point, we were coming up on 8:15. We had been sitting there for 45 minutes waiting for this to start. The girls were getting impatient. The guys were getting drunk. No one was saying a word and the only sound was the house music playing in the lounge. Suddenly, the Drunkie Next To Me yelled at Townie 1, "How could you say something like that to me??? F*** you! F*** YOU!" and got up and marched to the door. She turned back to her friend, who was sitting there open-mouthed, and yelled, "Get my purse." The friend sat there stunned. "Get my F***-ING purse!!" she yelled one last time and stormed out. We all turned to the friend to see what she was going to do. The friend sheepishly and silently grabbed the purse on the bench and followed her out.
I turned to the girl on the other side of me and said, "There's definitely something fishy going on here." Was the Drunkie's tantrum all an act? Will we ever get to speed-date? Will any of the guys be sober enough to talk to? Tune in for Part 3...
Because I was there a bit early, I was able to sit back and peruse the "merchandise" as it walked in the door. A couple of the guys were cute and looked like really nice guys. There was Adorable Goofy Smile guy. Lumberjacky Guy in Flannel with Beard. Stylish Tall Guy in Awesome Sweater. I was looking forward to meeting them. As they walked in, they all assembled near the bar area across the room from us. The two groups, guys and girls, kept stealing glances at each other, but we weren't mingling or talking to each other. It was like an awkward middle school dance, except there were also five or six guys holding television cameras milling around.
I began a conversation with the girl sitting next to me. We made small talk. She asked if I knew anything about the show and we shared the knowledge that we each had (which wasn't much). As it was already 7:45, she asked if I had done speed dating before and if it usually started late. I told her that I had and it didn't. We surmised that they may be waiting for more people to show up before they start.
We were curious about who the girl was that they were filming. We hadn't seen the cameras pointed at anyone yet. We were also still a bit suspicious about why we were really there. The TV people had been a little too forthcoming with the information that we did have. All of the sudden, two blondes walked in the door. The first walked in with confidence and the camera guys seemed to jump to life, so I assumed that this was our TV star. She sat next to me at Table 4. My stomach flipped a little bit when I thought that I would definitely be in the camera shot the whole time if this was the girl. But, then, she leaned into me and said, "Are you the girl cop?" I realized very quickly by her breath that her confidence was all liquid and if she was asking me if I was the cop, then this couldn't be the girl.
I began to become more suspicious of what we were doing there. We had now been sitting around for a half-hour. This girl next to me was clearly wasted. The camera people were all sitting around and watching us. The guys were on one side of the room and the girls were seated at the other. Maybe this was some kind of weird psychological experiment? How long would we wait around for before we got fed up and stormed out? Would the genders ever start mingling together? What if there was an endless amount of alcohol? Just what would these crazy people do?? I mean, THAT sounded like a great reality show.
To add to my suspicion, at this point, two guys, who I will refer to as "Townie 1 and Townie 2" came in a few minutes later. When you think of the typical Boston guy persona, these are the guys that fit it. There was a "business casual" dress code for this event. They came in wearing ratty t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers, all of which were three or four sizes too big. Townie 1 was the "mouth". He led the way and yelled, "Let's get this pah-ty stah-ted!"as he walked into the room. Townie 2 didn't say a word and stood next to him with a blank, empty look on his face. Townie 1 and Townie 2 walked up to the bar, did a couple of shots and then ordered two jack and cokes and sat across from the Drunkie Next To Me and her friend.
At this point, we were coming up on 8:15. We had been sitting there for 45 minutes waiting for this to start. The girls were getting impatient. The guys were getting drunk. No one was saying a word and the only sound was the house music playing in the lounge. Suddenly, the Drunkie Next To Me yelled at Townie 1, "How could you say something like that to me??? F*** you! F*** YOU!" and got up and marched to the door. She turned back to her friend, who was sitting there open-mouthed, and yelled, "Get my purse." The friend sat there stunned. "Get my F***-ING purse!!" she yelled one last time and stormed out. We all turned to the friend to see what she was going to do. The friend sheepishly and silently grabbed the purse on the bench and followed her out.
I turned to the girl on the other side of me and said, "There's definitely something fishy going on here." Was the Drunkie's tantrum all an act? Will we ever get to speed-date? Will any of the guys be sober enough to talk to? Tune in for Part 3...
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Melly J., Reality TV Star!! Extra, Part 1
I received an e-mail from Date and Dash asking me if I wanted to attend a free speed-dating event. I saw "free" and immediately said yes. When they sent me the details of the event, I scanned through and my eyes stopped at one sentence: "This will be filmed for a television segment." WHAT?? I started to freak out a bit. This was taking an already stressful event and skydiving it parachute-less into a lion-surrounded, piranha-covered, anthrax-powdered, burning ring of fire. What if I was signing up for a reality show? What if it was like one of those shows where you think you'll be speed-dating, but then they offer you $1000 to eat an elephant testicle or something? I didn't want to look stupid(er). I almost backed out. But, then I started to think...what if it's not any of that? What if it's actually Dateline or 20/20 or Good Morning America. And they're doing a segment on dating. And then they become so engaged by me after interviewing me and realize that the camera LOVES me so much, that they decide to turn it into a docu-series, starring me and I become an overnight sensation and end up trading witty banter with Ellen DeGeneres, and then some movie producer sees it and believes that he's looking at the next America's Sweetheart and I blow up and a year from now I'm accepting my Oscar. I decided that it was worth a shot.
I arrived at the The Brahmin and the Date and Dash guy met me at the door. He signed me in and then called over the television people. They took my picture, had me sign a release, and told me about what would be happening that night. Yes, it was a reality show. No, they didn't care about having me on it. It was called Boston's Finest, premiering on TNT next month, produced by Donnie Wahlberg, and it was following a female police officer in Boston who was "looking for love". The guys would all be miked and they would be the ones on the show, as they would be "dating" the girl that the show was focusing on. The girls would all be in the background. While I was a little bit disappointed that I may not get a shot at film success, I was a bit relieved as well. The potential for me to say something ridiculously dumb on national television was eliminated. It was up to the men for that.
When we went down the stairs into the lounge area, where the numbered tables were set up, they sat me down at number 3. And here is when my first suspicion about reality television was confirmed. They get you liquored up on purpose. They gave us all drink tickets. Typically drink tickets are good for beer or wine or cheap vodka only. Our drink tickets were good for anything behind the bar. A double of Johnnie Walker Blue? Sure, did you want that neat or on the rocks? Dom Perignon White Gold? I have some chilling right over here for you. Because the more you drink, the dumber you act, and the better television it makes.
Also, I had always suspected that reality television was scripted. I just didn't know HOW scripted! They do re-takes. If it doesn't come out the way they want it the first time, they film it again. The Date and Dash guy had to go through his "how we speed-date" speech twice and we all looked interested like he was saying it for the first time, both times. They even had the guys re-do their 8 minutes of dating a few times.
But, I'm getting ahead of myself. The "reality" is that while this thing was supposed to start at 7:30, around 9:00, it still hadn't begun. The boys had been enjoying their drinks a little too much and were so hammered by this point, that I didn't even really want to talk to any of them. The atmosphere was awkward as we weren't sure whether we were supposed to mingle, or wait for the official speed date to start. So, we all just sat there looking at each other. When people get drunk and impatient and feel awkward, it breeds drama. Tune in for Part 2 to watch the drama unfold...
I arrived at the The Brahmin and the Date and Dash guy met me at the door. He signed me in and then called over the television people. They took my picture, had me sign a release, and told me about what would be happening that night. Yes, it was a reality show. No, they didn't care about having me on it. It was called Boston's Finest, premiering on TNT next month, produced by Donnie Wahlberg, and it was following a female police officer in Boston who was "looking for love". The guys would all be miked and they would be the ones on the show, as they would be "dating" the girl that the show was focusing on. The girls would all be in the background. While I was a little bit disappointed that I may not get a shot at film success, I was a bit relieved as well. The potential for me to say something ridiculously dumb on national television was eliminated. It was up to the men for that.
When we went down the stairs into the lounge area, where the numbered tables were set up, they sat me down at number 3. And here is when my first suspicion about reality television was confirmed. They get you liquored up on purpose. They gave us all drink tickets. Typically drink tickets are good for beer or wine or cheap vodka only. Our drink tickets were good for anything behind the bar. A double of Johnnie Walker Blue? Sure, did you want that neat or on the rocks? Dom Perignon White Gold? I have some chilling right over here for you. Because the more you drink, the dumber you act, and the better television it makes.
Also, I had always suspected that reality television was scripted. I just didn't know HOW scripted! They do re-takes. If it doesn't come out the way they want it the first time, they film it again. The Date and Dash guy had to go through his "how we speed-date" speech twice and we all looked interested like he was saying it for the first time, both times. They even had the guys re-do their 8 minutes of dating a few times.
But, I'm getting ahead of myself. The "reality" is that while this thing was supposed to start at 7:30, around 9:00, it still hadn't begun. The boys had been enjoying their drinks a little too much and were so hammered by this point, that I didn't even really want to talk to any of them. The atmosphere was awkward as we weren't sure whether we were supposed to mingle, or wait for the official speed date to start. So, we all just sat there looking at each other. When people get drunk and impatient and feel awkward, it breeds drama. Tune in for Part 2 to watch the drama unfold...
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Chapter 7
I've mentioned that a male friend of mine has expressed that he would be concerned about dating me for fear that he'd end up in the blog. It's that sort of attitude that makes me hesitate before bringing it up when I'm dating someone new.
But, back when this was a book idea rather than a blog idea, I found myself talking about it on a first date. Looking back, I'm not quite sure what I saw in this guy in the first place. He was a smoker. He was unemployed. He had an affinity for Hawaiian shirts. And by "affinity", I mean that he wore one every single day. That's not hyperbole...he literally wore a Hawaiian shirt every single day. And so, for the sake of this story, let's call him Magnum, P.I.
Magnum, P.I. and I were discussing our hobbies, and I mentioned that I like to write and, at the time, was working on a book about unusual dating experiences. I stopped short in midsentence, thinking that this would not lead into good first date material. But, Magnum, P.I. surprised me by saying, "That is cool! Maybe I'll end up being in your book someday." To which I replied, "Yeah, who knows, you might be Chapter 7." And we laughed and laughed.
Magnum, P.I. was definitely fun to talk to, and he was very cute, so for the moment I was willing to look past the Hawaiian shirt, smoking, and lack of employment. We made our second date for trivia at his local bar.
The day that we were to get together for our second date, Magnum, P.I. called me on the phone. He told me that he had been doing a lot of thinking and had a really great idea that he would tell me all about when he saw me later that night. I couldn't wait to hear all about it.
I arrived first and grabbed a seat at the bar. Magnum, P.I. followed five minutes later, reeking of cigarettes, and wearing yet another Hawaiian shirt. After we made small talk for a little while, I said, "So, I can't wait to hear about this idea of yours!" Magnum, P.I. took a deep breath and said,
"I've been thinking a lot about your book idea. I think it's a good idea. In fact, I think it's a GREAT idea. I have a lot of marketing experience and I have a proposal for you. What if we wrote the book together? We could kind of do it as a dating 101 book. What to do and what not to do. And we could do it from 'his perspective' vs. 'her perspective. I think this book could be really big!"
Instead of thinking what I should have been thinking, which was "This guy has a lot of dreams for something that was my idea. And he might just be borderline delusional," I was thinking "Wow, this guy must really be interested in me if he's trying to make this into a long-term relationship of some sort. I think I'm interested in him too."
Over the course of the next couple of weeks, I dated Magnum, P.I. I say that "I" dated him, rather than "we" dated because I think I was the only one of the two of us carrying through the dating action. Everytime we'd see each other, I would ask him more about his family, his life, his hopes, his dreams. And he would ask me more about whether I thought we should include a chapter on picking people up in random places, or just stick to what happens after you've gotten the date. It was when he told me that he had bought Dragon Voice Recognition software so that he could transcribe his writing ideas more quickly that I began to really think... He was awfully serious about this book thing. I mean, I had been "writing a book" for the past five years. But, within two weeks, he had actually gone out and gotten a voice recorder so that he could put his thoughts into words faster. And why did he talk about the book non-stop? Wasn't he curious about other things that were happening in my life? Was it possible that Magnum, P.I. was only into me for the book?
I began to pay closer attention to what was happening when we were together. And I noticed that he was all about the book all the time. Instead of e-mailing me, asking about my day, he was e-mailing the latest chapter that he had just finished. Whenever I called him, he would make me listen to endless rambling about past dates he had had and would ask whether I thought they were book-worthy. One day, I couldn't bear it anymore. I just came out and asked him. "Magnum," I said, "it seems to me that you're more interested in writing this book with me than actually dating me." He looked down for a second and then said, "Yeah, I think that's probably true. I'm just not ready for a relationship. I really enjoy my single life. I need to stay that way. And it's tough for me to feel an emotional connection with women. But, I think the book is a great idea for a business venture and I want to stay friends, so that I can write it with you."
I was floored. I half-joking when I said that it seemed that he was dating me for an unwritten book. But, here he was telling me that I was right on the money! He was actually keeping the relationship going for a book that I probably was never ever going to write because I'm too lazy. I told him that I would think about it, but the more that I did, I realized, I didn't want to share my book with him! One, he was a horrible writer. Two, as he was unemployed, he didn't really have anything else to do, and I think he saw this as a meal ticket. Three, that was weird. The writing was just a fun hobby that I picked up to entertain my friends. I was never thinking that I was going to cash in and become the next Carrie Bradshaw. And I began to think that Magnum, P.I. may not have been playing with a fully stringed ukulele.
So, the next day, I e-mailed this to Magnum, P.I.:
"I gave a lot of thought last night about continuing to co-author the book. To be honest, I'm just not ready to be in a committed business relationship. :( I really enjoy being a single writer and I think for now, I need to stay that way. It's just tough for me to feel an emotional connection to the book like you do. I hope you can understand and I really do want to still be friends."
Magnum, P.I. did not take this well. We went back and forth over e-mail for a while. "Melly, you're not being fair. You are crushing my lucrative profitable dreams." "Magnum, you can write your own book." After a couple of days, the pleading stopped. And besides one desperate attempt to connect with me on linkedin and become one of his seven connections, I haven't heard from him since.
And what do you know, he became "Chapter 7" after all.
But, back when this was a book idea rather than a blog idea, I found myself talking about it on a first date. Looking back, I'm not quite sure what I saw in this guy in the first place. He was a smoker. He was unemployed. He had an affinity for Hawaiian shirts. And by "affinity", I mean that he wore one every single day. That's not hyperbole...he literally wore a Hawaiian shirt every single day. And so, for the sake of this story, let's call him Magnum, P.I.
Magnum, P.I. and I were discussing our hobbies, and I mentioned that I like to write and, at the time, was working on a book about unusual dating experiences. I stopped short in midsentence, thinking that this would not lead into good first date material. But, Magnum, P.I. surprised me by saying, "That is cool! Maybe I'll end up being in your book someday." To which I replied, "Yeah, who knows, you might be Chapter 7." And we laughed and laughed.
Magnum, P.I. was definitely fun to talk to, and he was very cute, so for the moment I was willing to look past the Hawaiian shirt, smoking, and lack of employment. We made our second date for trivia at his local bar.
The day that we were to get together for our second date, Magnum, P.I. called me on the phone. He told me that he had been doing a lot of thinking and had a really great idea that he would tell me all about when he saw me later that night. I couldn't wait to hear all about it.
I arrived first and grabbed a seat at the bar. Magnum, P.I. followed five minutes later, reeking of cigarettes, and wearing yet another Hawaiian shirt. After we made small talk for a little while, I said, "So, I can't wait to hear about this idea of yours!" Magnum, P.I. took a deep breath and said,
"I've been thinking a lot about your book idea. I think it's a good idea. In fact, I think it's a GREAT idea. I have a lot of marketing experience and I have a proposal for you. What if we wrote the book together? We could kind of do it as a dating 101 book. What to do and what not to do. And we could do it from 'his perspective' vs. 'her perspective. I think this book could be really big!"
Instead of thinking what I should have been thinking, which was "This guy has a lot of dreams for something that was my idea. And he might just be borderline delusional," I was thinking "Wow, this guy must really be interested in me if he's trying to make this into a long-term relationship of some sort. I think I'm interested in him too."
Over the course of the next couple of weeks, I dated Magnum, P.I. I say that "I" dated him, rather than "we" dated because I think I was the only one of the two of us carrying through the dating action. Everytime we'd see each other, I would ask him more about his family, his life, his hopes, his dreams. And he would ask me more about whether I thought we should include a chapter on picking people up in random places, or just stick to what happens after you've gotten the date. It was when he told me that he had bought Dragon Voice Recognition software so that he could transcribe his writing ideas more quickly that I began to really think... He was awfully serious about this book thing. I mean, I had been "writing a book" for the past five years. But, within two weeks, he had actually gone out and gotten a voice recorder so that he could put his thoughts into words faster. And why did he talk about the book non-stop? Wasn't he curious about other things that were happening in my life? Was it possible that Magnum, P.I. was only into me for the book?
I began to pay closer attention to what was happening when we were together. And I noticed that he was all about the book all the time. Instead of e-mailing me, asking about my day, he was e-mailing the latest chapter that he had just finished. Whenever I called him, he would make me listen to endless rambling about past dates he had had and would ask whether I thought they were book-worthy. One day, I couldn't bear it anymore. I just came out and asked him. "Magnum," I said, "it seems to me that you're more interested in writing this book with me than actually dating me." He looked down for a second and then said, "Yeah, I think that's probably true. I'm just not ready for a relationship. I really enjoy my single life. I need to stay that way. And it's tough for me to feel an emotional connection with women. But, I think the book is a great idea for a business venture and I want to stay friends, so that I can write it with you."
I was floored. I half-joking when I said that it seemed that he was dating me for an unwritten book. But, here he was telling me that I was right on the money! He was actually keeping the relationship going for a book that I probably was never ever going to write because I'm too lazy. I told him that I would think about it, but the more that I did, I realized, I didn't want to share my book with him! One, he was a horrible writer. Two, as he was unemployed, he didn't really have anything else to do, and I think he saw this as a meal ticket. Three, that was weird. The writing was just a fun hobby that I picked up to entertain my friends. I was never thinking that I was going to cash in and become the next Carrie Bradshaw. And I began to think that Magnum, P.I. may not have been playing with a fully stringed ukulele.
So, the next day, I e-mailed this to Magnum, P.I.:
"I gave a lot of thought last night about continuing to co-author the book. To be honest, I'm just not ready to be in a committed business relationship. :( I really enjoy being a single writer and I think for now, I need to stay that way. It's just tough for me to feel an emotional connection to the book like you do. I hope you can understand and I really do want to still be friends."
Magnum, P.I. did not take this well. We went back and forth over e-mail for a while. "Melly, you're not being fair. You are crushing my lucrative profitable dreams." "Magnum, you can write your own book." After a couple of days, the pleading stopped. And besides one desperate attempt to connect with me on linkedin and become one of his seven connections, I haven't heard from him since.
And what do you know, he became "Chapter 7" after all.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Anyone Can Be a Detective
It's probably new to no one except me that Google has a reverse image search function, meaning that you can plug the image into the search bar, and if that picture is anywhere on the internet, Google will be able to find it. I learned that from Nev on Catfish.
This week, I decided to go Encyclopedia Brown on this guy's ass. "Kevin" had contacted me online a few years ago and sent his picture. We spoke for a few days, and then he started getting weird. He had a ridiculous obsession with girls in boyshorts. And would inexplicably send me pictures of girls...in boyshorts, most of them of a female "friend" of his. I started to get creeped out and stopped talking to him.
After my radio silence, he sent an email telling me that he had sent me a fake picture, and he actually wasn't who he said he was. He had sent a picture of his friend. My response was, "Well, can you fix me up with that guy," because he was pretty cute. And he answered, "Yeah, I guess I can ask if he'll talk to you." About a day later, I received a message from a "Mike". I was pretty sure that it was the same guy as "Kevin", but at this point, it was kind of amusing.
Needless to say, I stopped talking to both Kevin and/or Mike within a day or so because he and/or they were just plain weird.
Going through some old emails for blog material, I came across the Kevin/Mike exchange and the guy's picture. Wondering who this guy might be, I plugged his image into Google. And his linkedin picture came up. [Just a note: no fairy-tale ending here, the real Kevin/Mike is married.]
Let's break down the facts, ma'am. Fake Kevin/Mike had about 8 pictures of this guy, and the female friend, AND the two of them together. So, it had to have been someone who had access to these pictures somehow. It was most likely someone that he knew. Doing a little bit more research from the name on the linkedin profile, I discovered real Kevin/Mike's facebook page and that he was married to the "female friend". Now, here was the dilemma. I would want to know if someone was sending my picture to strangers on the internet and claiming that it was me. I would especially want to know if he was sending pictures of my wife! But, I would also be kind of creeped out if some random girl Ace Ventura-ed me.
Not usually one to be embarrassed, I believed that the right thing to do would be to let real Kevin/Mike know about fake Kevin/Mike. And so, I sent him this:
"Hi! You don't know me personally. This is very weird and random, but I thought that you should know. I know I would want to! A couple of years ago, I met a guy online. He told me that his name was Kevin and he sent me your picture AND a picture of your wife. As we talked more, he sent me more and more pictures of you two, so I think that it must be someone that you know. We only talked for a couple of days because he started to seem sketchy, so I ultimately stopped talking to him.
I reversed google image searched you so that I could tell you because I think that if a friend of mine was sending out my picture and pictures of my wife to random strangers on the internet, I would want to know that. I can give you more information if you need or want it. Or you can just ignore this message which is ok too. I just wanted to let you know."
I'm not sure if I'll hear back from the real Kevin/Mike. But, hopefully, I have rid the world of one more lying liar. I can't help but think that real Kevin/Mike's wife in her boyshorts is smiling at me from somewhere else...or maybe she's horrified by the whole ordeal because her husband is showing her racy pictures to all of his friends.
This week, I decided to go Encyclopedia Brown on this guy's ass. "Kevin" had contacted me online a few years ago and sent his picture. We spoke for a few days, and then he started getting weird. He had a ridiculous obsession with girls in boyshorts. And would inexplicably send me pictures of girls...in boyshorts, most of them of a female "friend" of his. I started to get creeped out and stopped talking to him.
After my radio silence, he sent an email telling me that he had sent me a fake picture, and he actually wasn't who he said he was. He had sent a picture of his friend. My response was, "Well, can you fix me up with that guy," because he was pretty cute. And he answered, "Yeah, I guess I can ask if he'll talk to you." About a day later, I received a message from a "Mike". I was pretty sure that it was the same guy as "Kevin", but at this point, it was kind of amusing.
Needless to say, I stopped talking to both Kevin and/or Mike within a day or so because he and/or they were just plain weird.
Going through some old emails for blog material, I came across the Kevin/Mike exchange and the guy's picture. Wondering who this guy might be, I plugged his image into Google. And his linkedin picture came up. [Just a note: no fairy-tale ending here, the real Kevin/Mike is married.]
Let's break down the facts, ma'am. Fake Kevin/Mike had about 8 pictures of this guy, and the female friend, AND the two of them together. So, it had to have been someone who had access to these pictures somehow. It was most likely someone that he knew. Doing a little bit more research from the name on the linkedin profile, I discovered real Kevin/Mike's facebook page and that he was married to the "female friend". Now, here was the dilemma. I would want to know if someone was sending my picture to strangers on the internet and claiming that it was me. I would especially want to know if he was sending pictures of my wife! But, I would also be kind of creeped out if some random girl Ace Ventura-ed me.
Not usually one to be embarrassed, I believed that the right thing to do would be to let real Kevin/Mike know about fake Kevin/Mike. And so, I sent him this:
"Hi! You don't know me personally. This is very weird and random, but I thought that you should know. I know I would want to! A couple of years ago, I met a guy online. He told me that his name was Kevin and he sent me your picture AND a picture of your wife. As we talked more, he sent me more and more pictures of you two, so I think that it must be someone that you know. We only talked for a couple of days because he started to seem sketchy, so I ultimately stopped talking to him.
I reversed google image searched you so that I could tell you because I think that if a friend of mine was sending out my picture and pictures of my wife to random strangers on the internet, I would want to know that. I can give you more information if you need or want it. Or you can just ignore this message which is ok too. I just wanted to let you know."
I'm not sure if I'll hear back from the real Kevin/Mike. But, hopefully, I have rid the world of one more lying liar. I can't help but think that real Kevin/Mike's wife in her boyshorts is smiling at me from somewhere else...or maybe she's horrified by the whole ordeal because her husband is showing her racy pictures to all of his friends.
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