...and in no particular order... I present the next story: "Everyone should have a stalker"

I just realized that there's really no rhyme or reason to my postings.  But I suppose that's the point.  It's really just the random collection of my mis-adventures in dating.  And speaking of random...

The Stalker Bi-Product:  The Cop.

In my early twenties, I worked at a video store.  You remember those, right?  Not one of the mega-chains like Blockbuster or Hollywood Video with their fancy DVDs and such.  Nooooo... I worked at the local VHS rental store straight out of Clerks.  Which meant, that for the most part, I worked alone.

The video store was in a P.O.S. town filled with hillbillies and me.  I lived and worked there... I was not from there.  (And I made that very clear to anyone who asked).  Anyway, I started noticing this weird guy coming in to browse the videos now and then.  (Nothing really out of the ordinary... it was a video store afterall).  But then I noticed, that he really didn't ever rent anything.  He'd just stand in the back corner and watch the TV - which was constantly playing either Atlantis or Shrek - both of which I think I have fully memorized.  And then I noticed, he wasn't watching the TV at all.  He was watching me.

And once he would leave the store, he'd sit in his car in the parking lot and watch me some more.  Creepy - I know.  My skin is crawling as I write this.  Once this combination of creepiness was realized, I promptly called P.O.S.'s Finest.

The boys in blue showed up, chased the guy and told him not to come back or he would be arrested.  And then the cute one came in to take my full statement.  (A big emphasis on the cute part.)  When all was said and done, I couldn't just leave it at that...

I ran out and made one of my ballsiest moves ever.  I asked out the cop who took my stalker report.  And he said yes.

We went out on our mediocre date, where I got the impression.... let's just say - I don't think I was his type.  Ya know, anatomically speaking.  :-)

What a waste...

It would've been a great meeting story!



Photo Credit:  goodrob13

One of the many reasons I hate "The Mexican Restaurant"...

I'm sure I could launch into literally hundreds of reasons of why I hate "The Mexican Restaurant", but one of the main reasons, is that I have NEVER had a good date experience there.  (Yet I keep trying.... hmmm.... interesting.)

Here's one of those stories...

Tom.

Tom and I actually made it to date number two, which was no small feat.  Said date was at "The Mexican Restaurant", which at that point, was still a place I enjoyed going.  We sipped a few beverages, ate a decent meal, had some good conversation - all part of what one might refer to as a successful second date. 

...and then Tom excused himself to the restroom.

Five minutes go by.  Ten minutes go by.  The waitress comes over to see if I want another drink or something.  I tell her that I'll wait until he gets back - we'll probably have another round.

Fifteen minutes go by.  Twenty minutes go by.  Ok... we are at a Mexican restaurant... we're still in the range of possibility.  Not everyone has a Teflon stomach.

Twenty-five minutes go by.  The waitress comes back.  Yeah... at this point... I'll take the check.

Well over thirty minutes have gone by at this point and I am coming to the realization that my date just ditched me in a restaurant AND stuck me with the check.  I begrudgingly settle up and grab my coat to leave, at which point, Tom comes speeding around the corner with his cell phone glued to his ear.

While still on the phone, mind you, he motions to me to sit back down.  And for whatever reason, I oblige.

He finishes up his conversation and apologizes that he 'had to take that call'.  Now, being a reasonable person, I could conceivably understand the 'important call' excuse.  However, being a girl who has sat alone for the past thirty-some-odd-minutes thinking her date has pulled a dine-and-dash, all reason had left me.  Sorry, but important phone call or not, there had to be some point early on in those thirty minutes that he could have alerted me to the fact that he needed to make/take a phone call (I was never sure how he ended up on the phone in the first place).  But no.  Clearly, common courtesy was not Tom's specialty.

Needless to say, that was our second and last date.

I know it's not really "The Mexican Restaurant"'s fault... but unfortunately, that is not my only bad date story that takes place in their establishment.  Oh yeah... my track record at TMR sucks... worse than their food.

Anyone up for Italian?



Photo Credit:  Glenda Wilburn

But I was a good sport...

While I definitely have plenty of bad first-date stories, I figured I'd touch on a few that weren't exactly terrible.  In fact, this one led to one of my longest relationships to date... in spite of how it went.

Sebastian Something-French-ish.

For our first date, Sebastian picked what I had thought to be this fabulous Italian restaurant in the city.  I'd never been there, but I had heard good things.  It did, in fact, turn out to be a very nice restaurant (I think), but that's about all I remember as far as the restaurant itself is concerned.  The situations that transpired inside said restaurant are much more vivid in my memory...

First of all, as we were walking to the restaurant, Sebastian casually mentioned that his parents enjoyed the food there also.  I brushed it off, thinking that was a piece of Seb-trivia that didn't need to be processed.  But then we walked in the door and lo and behold... who is dining at said establishment tonight as well?  You guessed it - Ma and Pa Something-French-ish.  (To be honest, I clearly wouldn't have known them from a hole in the ground, except for the fact that Sebastian enjoyed pointing out this fact, almost as much as his parents did.)

But that wasn't enough.  There were plenty of empty tables in this establishment, but apparently, the dating-gods (and the hostess) thought they'd get a good chuckle out of sitting us near Seb's parents.  No.  Let me rephrase that.  Not near... NEXT to his parents.  And by "next to", I mean our tables were literally less than a foot apart.  No pressure there.

But I was a good sport.  And I really liked Sebastian... so I put up with it.  It wasn't that horrible, just very uncomfortable - especially on a first date.  But Ma and Pa Something-French-ish left shortly thereafter, so Seb and I actually did have a chance to dine on our own.

And then the bill came.  He gave them his card and every guys' first-date fear started to take place:  DECLINED. 

But I was a good sport.  And I really liked Sebastian... so I put up with it.  (Are we starting to sense a theme here?  Trust me... this should have been the motto of our entire relationship.)

When all was said and done, I had paid the bill, met the parents, and managed to keep my sense of humor throughout the entire evening thinking 'hey, at least we'll have a good story!'

...and we did.  :-)

Photo Credit:  Lucia Restaurant

4 out of 5 dentists agree...

In light of all the crappy first dates I've been on recently, I figured I'd recap some more...

Here's a slight variation on the "Awkward Alan" tale.  Let's call this one...

"The Flosser"

Eww.... even his pseudonym is gross.  The Flosser was cute - don't get me wrong - and we seemed to have a lot to talk about.  And then somewhere along the line, things went horribly wrong.  I'm all about random topics, but all of the sudden our somewhat decent conversation had hit a new level... dental hygiene.  How we even got started on the subject is beyond me.  (Anyone who knows me, would know that 'good teeth' is pretty much tops on my list of requirements in guys I date - but talking about it, not so much).  Well, in this conversation, I learned there is a fine line between good hygiene and OCD and TMI.

Flosser tells me he flosses - get this - FIVE times a day.  Five times a day is too much - I don't care how much corn you eat.  And the details on WHY one would floss five times a day is waaaaaay too much information to share.... with anyone, especially someone you're probably hoping to kiss later.  Not only that, but you probably shouldn't throw out that little nugget of trivia while said future-conquest-hopeful is trying to enjoy her never-ending pasta bowl.  Spaghetti... floss... can I vomit now?

Now I realize, by this point in my story, you are probably thinking "she's just way too picky" but think about it... a mid-dinner, detailed account of how/why someone flosses FIVE times a day.  Maybe it's not even the amount.  Maybe it's just the talking about flossing that made me want to grab a container of Glide and try to hang myself with the world's smallest noose.

So, dinner ends, we get in his car and the "so whaddya wanna do now?" question is raised.  I pull the "Well... I have to get up early.... (yawn)" line.  Classic.  Now we've previously established that while this line sounds like an obvious "I do not wish to continue this date any longer" retort - apparently, to some guys, it's the green light for a 'now or never' initiative!?!?

And he leans in for the kill.  And by kill, I mean I didn't even have time to unbuckle my seatbelt!  Or jingle my keys!  I was trapped!  And Flosser was on top of me - attempting to give me a private oral exam of his own.  I was thoroughly disgusted and managed to end that kiss (if that's what you want to call it) as abruptly as it began... Thank god.

Fast-forward to the next day...  I get the "when can I see you again?" call (which probably would've been an in person thing the night before had I stuck around - but I got the hell out of Dodge).  I'm not a mean girl, so I tried to let him down gently with the good ol' "I just didn't feel a connection" line.  I know... it's cliche.  But it works.  Sometimes.

This was not one of those times, because he replied, "I don't know how you can say that?  What about our kiss?!?!" 

*How I replied in my head:  "Umm.... generally speaking, kissing is team sport.  I'm pretty sure that thing last night was a solo venture.  And really we should just refer to it as your kiss.  There was a reason it was one-sided."

How I actually replied:  "Yeah... no.  Sorry...  Good luck with everything!"  Click. 

Oh man... if talking about flossing wasn't bad enough... trying to give me a first-hand look/taste (eww/shudder) at the product of 5xDaily Flossing is officially the ultimate deal-breaker.

So I hung up the phone... and sat home... alone... again.

...and instantly felt the need to floss.

Photo Credit:  D Sharon Pruitt

Save Yourself!!! (Or "how NOT to have me write about you")

So.... turns out.... a lot of people have a lot to say in regards to my new blog.  So say it!  Here, please.  (not in my private email).  It's easy, I promise!  And guess what?  That's when the fun starts - when you comment here and other people do, too!  A dialogue is made and discussions (and feedback) ensue.

So.... go ahead.... or I'll start writing about YOU.  :-)

Yes, you.

And that's a threat.  *wink wink*

You have to have a good meeting story...

That's a rule.  You have to have a good meeting story.  Whether you meet at prison-like window under duress, ended up getting a call from the friend of a guy you were no longer seeing, go on your first date together three times, or whatever... (all real stories by the way)... it's all about the meeting story.  No one wants their Maid of Honor/Best Man's speech to be something boring.  And we all know how annoying "So how'd you two meet?" can get when your answer is 'at a bar' - or any other equally unexciting response.

So yeah... when a good meeting story happens, it's a good sign.

Current Boy (CB).

Current Boy and I have a good meeting story.  No... not Awkward Alan... don't worry.  CB and just started dating, but I've been dating other people as well (for the time being).  Hey!  It's allowed!  We're not official or anything... yet.  But it looks like it could possibly be headed in that direction, and we do have the story - so that's half the battle.

CB and I were supposed to meet at a restaurant - we'll call it the White Chicken - on a Sunday at 1:30pm for drinks/lunch - pretty much the standard first-date option.  Saturday (the day before said date was to take place - for those of you easily confused), I was at my parent's house for one of their infamous parties.  Mid-afternoon (and clearly mid-drinks), I go check my phone and I have a text and a missed call... both from CB.  And both from approximately 1:45pm.  It was now 2:30ish.

First text:  1:40pm - "I'm standing in the lobby of the White Chicken."

To which I thought, hmmm... that's weird.  Why would he be going to the White Chicken two days in a row?  We're going there tomorrow.  He must really love it!

And then I saw the voicemail notification still blinking... and it clicked.  He thinks our date is today!  ...and that I stood him up.  Eek!

I listened to the voicemail message and my fears were confirmed.  I felt so horrible... but wait!?!?  He was clearly a FULL DAY EARLY for our date!  There was no mistaking our plans.  When we had originally made plans, I told him about the party at my parents house and the fact that we had to meet on Sunday instead... just for that reason.

So either I "stood up" the dumbest guy ever or (more to the point) CB was just so pumped to meet me that he showed up early... very early.  (Don't judge... I like my delusion of the the latter reasoning!)
 
After the confusion was all straightened out, he asked me if I would still want to get together the next day - same time, same place (I'm sure the hostess was excited to see how this all played out as well).  I agreed... hoping he wouldn't try to 'stick it to me' by not showing up...

But he did show up.  And so did I.  And we had a fabulous first date... on Sunday... at 1:30pm... as originally planned.  :-)

Do you know why people "Cheers"? (A story from the "old days")

Sometimes on a blind date, I like to break the ice a little by spouting off one of my favorite bits of trivia (whether or not it's actually true, I really never bothered to check... but I enjoyed hearing it from someone else, so I figure some people might find it interesting as well... and telling said bit of trivia requires drinking - usually something alcoholic - so it's all good to me!)  Here's what I usually say...

"Do you know why people 'cheers'?"  After waiting for the obligatory shaking of the head, I continue.  "Back in ye olden days, when people poisoned each other's drinks, people would bang their cups together (ie. "cheers-ing" - is that even a verb?) as an act of good faith.  This would cause the liquid from both cups to spill into the other - thus proving that they, in fact, did NOT poison each other.  So... Cheers!  I didn't poison you!"

We clink glasses and the ice is officially broken.  Date on.

Except in the case of... (and I really couldn't help the pseudonym here... haha)

Sam.

Sam was yet another awkward dater.  (Aren't we all to some extent?)  But he and I hit it off enough that our date made it past the first drink.  Hell, we made it past the first bar!  So after I ordered the first drink at bar number two, I clearly need to "break the seal" and so I excused myself... and my drink... as I took a trip to the ladies room.

When I returned from what I would assume to be the first of many potty-breaks that night, I started to take a sip of my beer.  Mid-sip, I was greeted with "You know... you should never leave you're drink alone."  Sam continued very matter-of-factly, "You never know if someone might have slipped you something."  ...and I spit my drink back into my pint glass.

Check, please!

If only we had 'cheers-ed' my return from the ladies room!  Huzzah!  (Guess I should've kept my favorite ice-breaker for later on in that date!)

Really, Sam? I understand the point he was trying to make, but maybe when a first date returns to her drink with a relative stranger she's thinking she has at this point built a rapport with, that's probably not the time for him to be giving her life lessons.

***

And would you believe that Sam actually called me later to 'figure out where he went wrong'?!?  Hmm.... alluding to the fact that you may have slipped me a roofie probably wasn't the best move...  Just sayin'...



Photo Credit:  vmiramontes

Something Old, Something New... Let's start with "New"

So I figured I'd make my blog a combination of current and past dating stories.  And after the events of the last five minutes... today's post will be a "current" story.  :-)

Awkward Alan.

We've all been on those awkward dates, right?  You know the ones... where you can't wait to get the hell out of there.  Well I went on one of those dates last week and then decided to give the guy the benefit of the doubt and go out again.  No dice.  Awkward date number two was tonight. 

Let's give Alan a little credit.  He was a VERY nice guy.  And we all love 'nice' guys - don't we, ladies?  But good lord was he boring!  But... he was cute, too.  Quite the conundrum.  However, the nicest, cutest guy in the world still cannot keep my attention if he speaks like a cliche '80s high school teacher (Bueller?  Bueller???).

Fast forward to an hour and a half into boring dinner conversation - he was one of those "I'm funny and sarcastic because I say I am" types (but in reality is not even slightly witty - nor does he probably have a firm grasp on the concept of sarcasm in the first place).  So he asked me what I wanted to do next?  (Um... get as far from you as possible?  Is that an acceptable answer?)  But I smiled... told him I had to get up early... and prayed that was the end of it all.

...And then the most inevitable, awkward point of ANY date comes along.  The end of said date.  He insisted on walking me up to the door of my apartment building, where the following conversation took place:

Alan:  "So when's good for you and I to get together again?"
Me:  "Um."  (Fidgeting)
Alan:  "I mean IF you even want to get together again... haha"  (He laughs... as if this would be an absurd concept - of course I would want to see him again!)
Me:  "Um... to be honest... you're a really nice guy.... but... I don't think we really connect... like that..."
Alan:  "So what your saying... is that I should make my move, huh?"  (He winks and leans in to 'make his move')
**EEK!!!!**
Me:  "Um... no.  That is not what I'm saying at all.  You take care."
(...and I quickly run up the steps... waving goodbye)

I hope my neighbors enjoyed the show and the peel out, courtesy of a pissed-off Alan.

Is there really any way to avoid these creepy exchanges?  This wasn't my first time letting someone down gently.  And not even my first time today.  Seriously... I'm really not a bitch, I swear!... I just know who I DON'T want to date.

But usually not until after I've gone out with them...

And therein lies the problem.

***

On a separate note (sort of related)... How do two people go on the same date and have two DIFFERENT concepts of how said date went?  How was he surprised by my reaction?  I may have been a theater major for a hot minute, but I wear my emotions on my face.  And I'm pretty sure my face was saying "get back in your car."

I wish I could say I was a neo-feminist “Sex and the City” independent woman who doesn’t need a man (but still has plenty of options) in a major city like New York or LA, but alas, I am a small town girl. When I say small town, I mean a blinking yellow light is our version of “traffic control” and the height of fun centers around where a cow takes a dump at the annual town fair. So why don’t I get out and move to the city? Because, rarely does someone escape the clutches of a small town, and if they do, it’s only for a year or two and then only to one of the equally-hopeless surrounding rural communities. At that point, it’s almost better to stay put.


I grew up in one of those sleepy towns in Northern New England stuck in a time warp that’s slowly-but-surely being overrun with breeding yuppies looking to get away from the bustle of city life. Half-million dollar houses are popping up next to 18th-century farmhouses. Needless to say, I am not small-town-born myself, but I was part of the original 1980’s suburban invasion so I consider myself a small town native and I see the new residents as the intruders. I am a hypocrite, apparently.

Before I can give a proper argument as to why I am “still single and this is a bad thing” as opposed to the “you’re young and should enjoy being single” crap I’m fed every day, let me explain my first life. Because maybe that would explain why I’m stuck in my second life. Maybe… but that’s just a theory. (More of a hope, really).

I was a sheltered, small-town girl. 

Need I really say more?

Join me in the constant migraine that is my life :-)