It's been a while

3.5 years to be exact.

What can I say, I've been busy.  I've:

• Gained and lost a roomate
• Lost and gained 20 lbs (twice)
• Run 2 marathons (and am training for a third)
• Run 7 or 8 half marathons (they're all starting to run together...pun intended)
• Written two novels (neither of them published...yet)
• Fallen in love twice
• Had my heart smashed twice
• Watched friends marry and divorce
• Met three of my favorite authors
• Watched a friend gain and lose a television show (but he's back on TV now...)
• Lost dear friends to cancer (LET'S FIND A CURE!)
• Joined the Bone Marrow Registry
• Joined the RWA
• Watched my sister meet the man she'll soon marry
• Survived a hurricane and an earthquake in the same week
• Camped in the woods (never again)
• Camped on the beach (again again!)
• Witnessed a full body apparition
• Went to Texas looking to meet a cowboy (and met a biker instead...NOT the same thing)

Interesting stories, all.  One day I might just tell them.  In the meantime, I'm excited to be back, sharing these little snippits of my life...or something resembling reality.

The language of the kiss? Yeah, more like Kiss Off!

Sigmund Freud would probably have something to say about me having these thoughts on Mother’s Day (Happy, Happy, Mom!), but I swear that was a coincidence. I had these while vacuuming, which, upon reflection, Freud would probably have had something to say about as well. Oh well, I never denied being neurotic.

Nor have I ever denied being romantic. I believe in fairy tales, true love, and perfect kisses. That’s where I tend to get into trouble.

There are a lot of truths in kisses, and I remember the important ones: My first tongue-kiss, on the bus on the way home from the Band Competition; being attacked by “the octopus” in front of my sister and her date at Ring Dance; the crazy near-kiss at Chanco; the one in the Godwin parking lot that cold November night; and the one when I turned my back on one friend and my heart to another. That last one was a mistake, but I’m glad I remember it. It taught me that I should never, EVER do that again and to always be grateful to a friend who knows the power of forgiveness.

I also remember the first kiss I shared with the last guy. The one I initiated, the one with a man I very nearly fell in love with this year...until I realized I was initiating every kiss we had shared during our relationship.

I’ve never been the aggressive type. Sure, I’ve initiated my fair share of kisses, but when we’re both on the same page, the split has been so minimal, that I’ve never really noticed it before. I guess I’ve assumed that it’s 50/50, and if I’m to the point where I’m not interested in kissing someone anymore (it happens), I break it off with a pretty little speech. I don’t leave someone hanging for six months, waiting, praying for me to kiss them, and then playing hot and cold with their psyche -- disappointing them time and time again.

And yet, that’s what happened. I swear, it was like dating me in high school. A very nice person who was connecting emotionally, but refused to connect “physically.” My defense back then was that I was a “good girl.” Still, while I wasn’t giving up the goods, I was giving up enough of the above-the-jaw action to make it clear that I was into the guy. Plus, I was way under 18, and in Virginia “abstinence counted.”

I’m not 18 anymore. I’m also quite cute, skinnier than the average American, have a drawer full of hot lingerie, pushing 30, and at my sexual peak. That means that when I date a guy for six months, I expect to get laid. And yet, he wasn’t even kissing me...A girl could get a complex. Believe me, I seriously did.

It wasn’t halitosis: I brush and floss regularly, and I verified the minty-fresh quality of my breath with trusted friends. It wasn’t smoker’s mouth: apart from an occasional cigar, I never touch tobacco. I have all my teeth, my gums are in the right place, I have no piercings that would be off-putting to anyone who was about to put his tongue in my mouth, I wear normal shades of lipstick, and I (as I said) am pretty damn cute. I also, shall we say, studied French in high school. Believe me, when a man kisses me, he wants to do it again.

And yet, he didn’t. I couldn’t figure it out then, and I still can’t now! Here he was, a perfectly normal guy who seemed to be content with the idea that I was doing all the work!!! Where was the fun in that, I ask you? I already work 50 hours a week!

I couldn’t even ask anyone. After all, his best friend was dating my best male friend. The guru who before had helped me decipher the intricacies of the male mind was suddenly someone I couldn’t talk to for fear that my insecurities would get back to HIM. When I did attempt to talk to my boy, his girlfriend would remind me that HE had been hurt badly in the past and that I needed to tread carefully with his heart.

That part I got. You guys all know I’ve been badly hurt myself. Therefore, I wasn’t going to push him into a physical relationship when he wasn’t ready, and I was going to work to foster the emotional side. Still, the kissing thing continued to bother me, and with no one to turn to, I made a command decision.

I stopped kissing him. Granted, he was in Virginia and I in Maryland, but it was still three or four times from the time I made my grand decision to the last time I saw him. I would hug, I would talk, I would do everything I could to keep the conversation going, even if it meant self-monologuing. I was going to make this work, dammit, I had to. Just trust me.

And I never got kissed.

And so it was over. I devoted exactly enough time to the break-up as I felt he granted to the fostering of our relationship over the course of our six months together. I was satisfied, and I have high hopes for us being friends in the future.

So why am I bringing it up now? Simple: I’m starting to date again, and I’ve found that my confidence has foundered. Instead of being the funny, beautiful, confident girl that I was a year ago, the combination of Phoenix and this last round has made me start to wonder if there is something seriously wrong with me. (Preparing for inappropriate comments now).

I hate when the only type of fuck a guy offers is a mind one. At this point, I’d settle for an elbow ala RHPS!

On second thought, maybe not. Rif Raff had his own neuroses to deal with....

Dating the living is hard enough

By all accounts, I'm a level-headed girl. I have a job that requires analytical thinking, and I'm constantly looking for the most logical, most simple explanation for, well, everything.


When I can't find a logical explanation, however, I am perfectly willing to accept a paranormal one. Let's face it, I'm just a little quirky that way. Plus, if the guy I'm out with turns out to be a total dud, mentioning my personal history with the paranormal is usually enough to ensure they'll never call me again. It's a lot more sanitary than smoking, and if I find myself flailing, I can toss in the fact that my (seriously, non-existent) "spirit guide" sees us having at least five children and a huge church wedding. CHECK, PLEASE!


Sometimes though, it just comes up when I'm not looking for it. The guy could be perfectly nice, truly amazing even, and yet there it is. When it comes up, I present what I know logically, and pray that he isn't completely frightened of me, this cute, sensible girl who just happens to see dead people on rare occasions. What can I say, I believe in being honest.

That's exactly what happened last night. TechGuy was up from VA, visiting a friend in the hospital. Since it's a bit of a distance thing and this week is crazy enough, we decided to grab a drink in Fell's Point. The chosen place had the dubious distinction of being named, "Baltimore's best 'Dive Bar' in 2006," but at least it wasn't Max's. :)

While we were sitting there chatting, barely a few sips into our beers, the lights came blazing on. Slightly strange, but we just figured someone dropped a contact (not that you'd want one back if you dropped it on that floor). Then, when the bartender walked over from the other side of the bar, grabbed the remote that was right in front of us, shook her head, and fired, I started to think something else was up.

Before I realized quite what I was doing or remembered that I was with this awesome guy who I had no intention of scaring off, I opened my mouth: "Any other ways that light could have come on?"

"Nope, and you saw where I was, and where that remote was," she replied.

"What's his name?" I asked - still forgetting that TechGuy was getting an interesting first-time look into my secret life.

Over the next ten minutes or so, TechGuy and I got the full story on BOTH ghosts. One, a sailor shanghaied during the War of 1812 was a fun-loving prankster. The other, a life-long abuser who lived upstairs until he was murdered by his own son in the '80s, well, wasn't. We weren't positive which one we were dealing with, but when the lights came on a second time, and the AC kicked on, we knew we were dealing with something.

Now, I've seen enough episodes of Ghost Hunters to know that provoking a spirit can either be a really good idea or a spectacularly bad one. Either way, it tends to produce results. Since I was still showing no signs of scaring off TechGuy, I decided to go "all in."

"If you were a real man, you'd turn the fan on," I said to the light (now off since it was starting to annoy the other patrons who, trust me, needed all the low lights and beer goggles they could get). "Lights and fan. Come on, you wimp, show me what you've got."

And...Nothing. So much for "guaranteed results."

I still wasn't 100% on how TechGuy felt about this whole situation, but I got my answer soon enough. He was sitting on his chair with no one except me within easy reach. All of a sudden, he pitched forward a little.

"Did you do that?" he asked me.

"Um...no...."

"He's behind me then," TechGuy declared matter-of-factly. "My chair just got bumped."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Here, I thought, was a real man who was just as logical as me about this whole thing. Squee!!!

Apparently, someone else was anxious to prove that TechGuy wasn't the only "real man" in the room. As soon as I shared that thought with him (without the "Squee" of course), the light flared on. Again. And this time, the fan was spinning at top speed -- just like I had demanded.

The bartender showed us the remote, and we could very clearly see that NOTHING was actually turned on. I gingerly reached forward and hit the fan's speed button, anxious to see what would happen if I turned the not-on-now-speeding fan up. I did not, I assure you, touch any other button - much less the one that turned the lights off. But that's exactly what happened. I turned the fan up, and it and the lights turned off. Then, the AC turned back on.

After that, all was quiet. I tried to provoke once more by asking the guitarist (dive bar had one of those!) to sing "Son of a son of a sailor," but it turned out he didn't know it. Bummer. We left the bar shortly after. After all, TechGuy still had to get to the hospital, and I to the cleaning I had abandoned. Still the evening was, if you'll excuse the pun, enlightening.

Voldemort was not a math major

So yesterday, I submitted my resignation to the dating-site-which-shall-not-be-named (but not the one of the religious freaks who reject people for no good reason. I'm not saying for certain it's the other one, but yeah, it totally is).

Not that there was anything wrong, per se, with the dating site in question. It's just that it seemed to me that I'd go out with men from that dating site, and then almost immediately meet a perfectly wonderful guy in the next bar or restaurant I'd walk into. He wouldn't on Voldematch, but we'd still end up hitting it off much, much better than the person to whom I had been introduced via the dating site.

Probably not what they had in mind with their "six month guarantee."

Either way, since things have been going so well in the real world, and I've been extremely busy, I waited until yesterday to actually submit my resignation. The "confirmation message" read something like....

"Thank you for submitting your resignation to Voldematch. Over the next 181 days, please take advantage of our site to think about what you've done because, obviously, meeting men in the real world isn't something we prefer you to do. You should continue to use our site. In fact, we'll help you out with that. We'll charge you for the next six months even though you have like 15 hours left on your current subscription.

Obviously, italics added for translation of actual message.

Still, it made me wonder. It was the last day of my subscription, but why, if they were claiming that I had at least 181 days left were they charging me for the 180 day subscription. Sure it was Sunday, but they weren't going to renew on the previous business day, were they?

One quick check of my bank account revealed they were. Great....

Since I couldn't do anything about it yesterday, I waited until I got home from work to take care of the "problem." I'm pretty sure it didn't help that I had this total idiot calling me every five minutes at work until I finally snatched the project away from her. Yet, I digress. Twenty minutes of searching on Voldematch revealed absolutely nothing regarding a phone number. Google helped, but since it also revealed about 10,000 messages on a BBB site about how horrible the site-which-will-not-be-named is about Customer Service, I was feeling discouraged.

Still, I figured I'd give it a shot. Using my best Southern accent (hoping to speak to a guy, I'll admit, plus, I was calling Texas), I called the Customer Service line, obviously staffed by the twin sister of the woman who called me every five minutes at work today. I explained my math and my position, and she informed me that she'd be happy to refund me a partial refund of $66.

"Sixty-six bucks?" I exclaimed. "But my card was charged, illegally I might add, since 180 days is less than the number given to me when I resigned, over 100!!

"Well, um," the tech-from-hell said. "That's all I'm authorized to do."

"Ok, well, I've met someone offline," I stammer. Here I go, explaining my dating life to someone who really has no business hearing about it. "But let's just say that it doesn't go well (kiss of death = me asking him to teach me to drive stick). How much access to the site would the $40 get me?"

"Oh, we'll shut down your access today," she replies.

If anyone out there doesn't see the problem, I believe that positions are available in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. I was dumbfounded. Again, I explained my logic to her...how, when I cancelled, the confirmation message clearly stated 181 days; how six-months is 180 days; how I'm not going to be using the site; how $40 a day is more than most hookers on Hollywood Boulevard who don't resemble Julia Roberts make; how occasionally hookers that do resemble Julia Roberts find love and they don't need a dating site to do it.

Not that I necessarily resemble Julia Roberts, but I look a lot more like her than your average crack-whore on The Block. I'm just saying.

It was just after the hooker reference when the tech-from-hell announced that she was going to "see what she could do." I was then put on hold for not one, but two full Journey songs. Apparently, Steve Perry is big down in DFW.

Then, Leslie/Jennifer (I still never quite got her name) got on the phone. Leslie/Jennifer announced herself as a supervisor and explained that the tech-from-hell had explained the "entire situation," (no word on whether or not the tech-from-hell actually included the hooker references) and that the company was willing to refund the entire $100 on a "one-time-only basis." Apparently, I had used logic which was inarguable. Well, either that or they were eager to get rid of me since my choice of feminist love heroines was, at best, questionable.

As of 3:30 this afternoon, I will no longer receive emails from uneducated men with 5 kids, 2 ex-wives, and about 15 years on me. Plus, I will get a full refund. Things are looking up.

Someone's got her dating shoes on

I’ll admit it. It’s rather difficult when you’ve had three and a half dates over the past week, and none have them have done anything to warrant the types of posts you all know and love. They were all nice in their own way, but only two made the cut.

Wednesday

A teacher named Phil kicked off the week. Phil didn’t make the cut. Phil was nice, but pretty anonymous. I was carrying the conversation (and not in the best way). Like, at one point, we were talking about music (standard first date “what do you like” convo). He mentioned he played the bass. I asked which type, stand-up or rock. He said rock. AWKARD PAUSE. I continued…are you in a band? Him: Not anymore. AWKWARD PAUSE. He also didn’t seem to know what he wanted. Like, he suggested a hipster bar, and then was making faces when he saw all the tattoos.

At the end of the night, he paid, but I don’t remember if we hugged, shook hands, or just turned and went our separate ways.

Saturday

Was a Public Health Service officer named Dominic (Dom). Some of you got the text about me wondering how long I should give him because I didn’t have his cell phone, and the place he picked to meet had multiple entrances and about a thousand people milling around (in front of the Aquarium). Average wait time: 15 minutes (thanks guys!). He showed up in 8…just after this bird dived bombed me, eliciting a scream from a passer-by. I thought I’d been hit, but it turned out that the man had just seen his cousin.

Dom hikes and camps, and so that’s what we did. All over the Inner Harbor…in heels (me, not Dom – the US Navy frowns on that). Again, I was carrying the conversation, but it was in a much, MUCH different way. Like, I was coming up with topics, and he was actually interacting with me. If he didn’t know much about something, he admitted it, but then he’d say, “What about this?” All good.

Lunch was with the little Italians with cannolis afterwards – all dutch. I had a sugar high and a sunburn by the end of the afternoon. Still don’t have his cell but he’s made the cut for at least a second date. Since he works in DC, I’m thinking that he should pick a place down there…somewhere on the hill, preferably, just after he gets out of work so I can see him in his uniform. He’s attractive (though I believe he wrestled in high school and at BC, so you know what that means for his ears), and you all know my affinity for men in uniform.

Sunday (x1.5)

On Sunday, I woke up to a horoscope that read something like “Today, you’re going to have to do something that’s completely out of line with what you wanted to do. Suck it up and deal.”

Considering that all I wanted to do was veg out in front of the TV (it was one of THOSE days), I wasn’t feeling so great about my date with Brian. I had already rain-checked on him the previous Sunday, though, thanks to my birthday, so I was going to “suck it up and deal.”

I’m so glad I did too…his was the best of the week!! Food was fantastic, conversation was even better (James Joyce). We talked about all those taboo subjects (religion and politics – luckily, we sit on the same side of the fence on both), but our takes on them were completely off the wall. “What was the worst thing you ever did at church?” sparked a good half-hour of laughing fun. We also talked about our worst date (another taboo subject!), and after assuring him that he wasn’t it by far, I described in full, vivid detail, the lonely lawyer (it’s on the blog…let me know if you need the address). He couldn’t believe what I was saying, I told him he should have tried living it.

We’re definitely going out again…fifteen minutes after I emailed him to thank him for lunch, he emailed back asking when I was free. He’s got a roll-out at work (he’s in IT too), but he said he’d make sure that he made time if I was up for it.

Sunday evening was the half-date. Since this was the guy who made me fly half-way across the country, and I hadn’t seen him since his return from Phoenix, I wasn’t so sure. But then, he said it was a party for his football team in my neighborhood, and since it seemed so casual, I thought I’d stop by.

Thank God his friends were cool. I didn’t see Todd most of the evening. In the five or so minutes we actually talked, he was gearing up towards an apology for his previous behavior. Sadly, just like Phoenix, there was no completion of the task. Just so we’re all clear, telling someone you owe them an apology and then not following through on it does not an apology make. He didn’t even introduce me to our host…when I got there, he was on the porch talking to this chick named Christa. I asked if she was our host, and she said she wasn’t…then Todd pointed to the real host, and said, “He’s in there.” Christa gave him a very dirty look and graciously offered to make the introduction to Steve and Chuck (Steve’s roommate), and the various and sundry other guests who all had the same question, “How do you know Christa?” It was all very awkward, but I had a good time once I realized that I was going to have to make my own friends. I did, of course. The porch-dwellers were very cool. One of the guests (Cat) claimed to be living across the hall from Dominic West of the Wire. She also claimed to have dated Drew Carey and be the second cousin of Oliver and Kate Hudson, and a cheerleader in high school. I’m not sure I believe any of it (especially that cheerleader thing), but she was cracking me up.

At the end of the night, I said my goodbyes, and I was getting ready to walk down to my car. Suddenly, Todd appears out of nowhere and starts walking with me. We make it to the car where he tries to kiss me. I did the quick looking-for-the-keys-duck, so he got the top/side of my head, but STILL WTF was he thinking??!!?

Needless to say, he did NOT make the cut (again). I’m thinking of changing his ring-tone (just like I did for crazy-Ben so that I don’t have to answer it). Any suggestions??? ;)

Just another Friday night in Baltimore

It is a truth universally certain that when you have reached your fourth decade, the last place that you should be found on a Friday night is a bathroom stall in a Baltimore bar with your panties in the trash and your shorts in one of the sinks.

Completely. Passed. Out.

The problem of course, is that is exactly where we found the woman at Tysons Pub on Friday night. This, you may remember, is the place that my friend's boyfriend (ok, my friend too) was looking to buy. As they were coming down to meet us, they happened to notice that it was open, so we thought we'd check it out for a drink and possibly get the information that Aaron had been looking for.

Oh, it was open, all right. Turns out that the new owners were celebrating their opening night with a bit of a bang. Not in the good way, of course, the place was pretty dead. Just like we initially suspected the girl in the bathroom to be.

Becca went in first. She noticed the girl and her two drunk friends. She alerted the owners. They told her that they already knew. Nice. Then, I went in, determined that 911 needed to be called, actually called 911, played 20 questions (Heart conditions? Nope. Diabetes? Nope - though I suspected Type 2. Age? I was about to say 21 when her friend goes, "42" -- WTF! Oh, and she had three kids), and advised the women that their friend probably should have her pants on when the cops arrive so that she could avoid an indecency charge. I'm telling you, those wild days at Bar Baltimore trained me well.

All the while, the owner is trying to convince me that it's not a good idea to actually call 911. He can take her to his house. Yeah, that's a good idea. So now, instead of her passing out and dying in the bar, she can pass out and die at the home of someone who will undoubtedly return to the bar upon depositing her on the couch, bed or floor. Considering that she had soiled herself (seriously, can it GET any worse?), my guess was leaning towards the floor.

So, then the firefighters show up and, shortly thereafter, the rescue squad. They agree with my assessment that Patty needs to go to hospital. Not to jail; not to the house. Hospital. They load her up on the stretcher and attempt to wheel her out the front door. But no, the owner still doesn't think it's good for business that this completely irresponsible person is wheeled out the front door. He tries to get them to go through the back -- limited alley access, I believe. Ok, how about a side-door? Still not happening...the stretcher can't make the turn.

So out the front she goes. And her friends STICK AROUND THE BAR. No one's going with her to answer the questions, hold her hand, or protect her from the embarrassment that's sure to come when the doctors figured out that not only was she not wearing clean underwear (mama always said*), she wasn't wearing anything at all. Nope, they've bellied up and ordered another. Oh, and started complaining that it was a waste of the taxpayers money for both the fire department and the ambulance to show up. Definitely weird, but then we get those two final details:

1) she was an employee
2) they had a provisional liquor license. If the cops had figured out that the staff was getting snockered on the first night, they would have been reduced to serving O'Doules and Diet Sodas.

With friends like these....

Can I just say right here and now that I'm grateful for the friends I have? Some of whom also left me on Friday night. However, it was much later and in the company of a perfect gentleman. Who, because it's one of the perils of giving away your blog address too soon, is asking for his very own alias. Problem being that the one he suggested ("Mike") won't really work for various and sundry reasons. So, Shakespeare -- possibly -- Berger -- though, frankly, I'm not sure I can support using the name of a man who breaks up with a girl on a post-it -- is going to be surprised by whatever I finally come up with.

Anyway, as I said, nice guy who claimed to have been intimidated by Cassie. He needn't be, she's very nice and confidential to Christopher Marlowe, SHE WAS JOKING!!! Though, I'm pretty sure you'll never forget her name again.

I have noticed a bit of a disturbing trend already. Both times I've seen him (at Max's and then on Friday), he'll walk away for a moment (drink, lav, back to friends...) which seems to invite a new "friend" to appear at my side and not leave me alone to the point that I'm actually uncomfortable. The first time, it was a Baltimore City police officer who, despite the fact that he kept complimenting me on the fact that he was pleasantly surprised I could write in a bar, wouldn't actually let me do it. Friday, it was this guy who felt the need to share that the reason he was out drinking in a bar is because his wife slapped him. He (bitch-slap) then brought over his friends and they just took over the table like they belonged there. By the time He-Who-Has-Yet-To-Be-Named returned, there were like five rednecks and a Gretchen Wilson wannabe hanging over the table. They provided quite a bit of amusement, and conversation fodder. Not that we needed it. Now, I'm not saying this is a problem that I can't handle, but if it happens again, I may have no choice but to assume that he's actually sending these weirdos over in an attempt to make himself look even better. If he is, I do have to commend him on an interesting tactic. I'll keep you guys posted. ;)

* About the underwear thing. Not that this matters, but there's this guy I went to HS with who is actually a doctor at Hopkins' ER. Really, I'm thinking that the last person who needs to see me in laundry-panties is Dr. McBeachy; after all, he'll talk to Dr. McDoggie (he's a vet from our class) who'll talk to his mom, who'll talk to my mom (they're librarians together) who will talk to me about the sage advice of always having clean undies in case you have to go to hospital and the fact that I didn't follow it on the day that I happened to have been doing laundry and falling down the stairs in my home. Then, I'll be all upset because while the undies will most definitely have been clean, they wouldn't have been cute and my drug-addled brain (assuming painkillers here) won't have any clue where in the telephone-chain screwed up the order and that's not really something you can call up anyone and go "Did you say I wasn't wearing clean undies when McBeachy saved my life? Because I totally was." So yeah, I'm just saying that if I'm ever in a situation where one of you is having to take charge of me after an accident at home, could you make sure that I'm wearing cute undies before the ambulance comes to take me to the ER? It sounds weird, I know, but it would really help my recovery. Thanks.

Satuday's Date

I don't ask for much.

All right, maybe I do, but I don't think I ask for much, at least on a first date. A little coffee, a little conversation, and a little bit of a sense that the person I' m actually caffinating and conversating with actually, you know, plays.for.my.team.

Since we're talking about this, you can probably guess that the person that I went out with on Saturday was "questionable." Unless, of course, I've totally missed a world where a straight man admits that he's obsessed with Broadway Musicals, and wanted to know which ones I was in, and if I was interested in being in his next one.

As far the rest of the conversation, oh wait, there wasn't. Well, I suppose you could count the "interview portion" where he started to realize that he was sounding just a little flamboyant and started grilling me about work as conversation, if I wasn't so scared.

I tried. Really. To steer the conversation into another direction. ANY DIRECTION. Sadly, it was not to be. I talked about Homicide: Life on the Street, which somehow jumped straight over Law and Order and found itself squarely on the door of Rent. Literature launched a decidedly one-sided debate over what was the better show: Phantom or Les Miz. I decided not to go with travel: If we were about to enter an Oklahoma! or South Pacific arena, I knew I wasn't going to be able to withhold myself from running screaming from the coffee shop.

The evening wasn't entirely wasted, though. After I left the coffee shop, I escaped to the bar where I started writing (best way to get noticed: write quietly to yourself in a crowded bar). I met a fellow writer who asked to see some of my stuff and give it a bit of a critique. I sent him the voting story, and I'm debating sending some of the others (like the lonely lawyer). If you've got suggestions, feel free to put 'em in the comments!

Do you believe in Faries?

That bitch owes me big.



Anyone who's seen the Mary Martin version of Peter Pan knows the scene...

"Do you believe?" he cried.

Tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate.

She fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she wasn't
sure.

"What do you think?" she asked Peter.

"If you believe," he shouted to them, "clap your hands; don't let Tink
die."

Many clapped.

Some didn't.

A few beasts hissed.

In case you were wondering, from now on, I will be one of the hissing beasts.



Today was the O's Home Opener, and of course I missed the game. Strangely enough, it was my choice. See, Arizona just got back to town, and while he was gone, he didn't mention anything about the game. Then, the "pajama game" happened, and I thought that he wasn't as into me as I was into him. So I decided to give him up emotionally, but since he was out of town, we didn't exactly have the conversation that completely ended the situation.



But still, in order to have gone to the game, Bea and I would have had to come up with our own tickets. Then we would have done this whole switching around thing where we would have been in the "good seats" for half the game and the "bad seats" for the other half.



Small problem, Bea and I never found tickets.



So, there we were, resigned to not going and making plans to find a sports bar to go watch the game at. Until I got the most random text last night: What's the plan for tomorrow?



Tomorrow? I thought we weren't going! I thought he had completely forgotten about the plan since he hadn't mentioned anything about it in six weeks.



Frankly, I shouldn't have been surprised. After all, this wasn't the first time he had pulled a stunt just like this...tossing out a half plan, ignoring me for an extended period of time, and then coming out of left field with the idea that I had somehow agreed to the whole thing.



Almost immediately, I decided that I wasn't going to play this game again. I was honest: Bea and I never found tickets, and started the debate amongst the group.



At one point, I threw out the idea that "If he was a 'gentleman,' he'd give US the tickets, and let us find cute boys." Imagine my surprise when, just after I hit the "SEND" button, he called with that very idea. Well, not the cute boys part, but he offered to let us sit together, and he'd take the odd-ball ticket on the other side of the stadium.



I was tempted. Very tempted. Then, I started thinking. Would it really be right to take the seats? After all, it wasn't like he was going to get another shot with me. If I took them, he may have interpreted that as a signal that I was willing to play along with his totally screwed up sense of what's supposed to happen when someone shaves her legs and flies 3,000 miles to see someone else.



So again, I was honest: Way too cold to go today. And I started to convince myself of that very fact.



Until, of course, I actually went outside to meet Bea at the bar. The weather was actually gorgeous. A little chillier than the normal start of the season, I suppose, but certainly managable.



So really, it was down to the ethics fairy. She was the whole reason I decided to miss the game.



Does anyone have any bug spray?

He's back...

Ok, seriously, I want to know who gave my blog address to Potter. Oh, since I tend to use aliases, your hint (at least for the Baltimore folks) is -- same first name, same last initial.

Know who it is? Ok, then who's been spilling?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Someone must have because whenever I seem to be going through some inner turmoil about my dating situation, this guy shows up. He's dormant for months waiting, it seems, for me to start doubting the man of the moment. As soon as I do, I get an email from him.

"Just checking in," it says. "How are you doing?"

Usually that's it. And I start to think, how AM I doing? Professionally, I'm doing supremely well. Well enough, in fact, that if I focused on that, I think I could actually talk to Potter. But it's the dating side of it that I don't want to get into. I don't want to let in (even through email), that all is not well in the world of men. Because as much as I don't want to date him, any inkling that he may receive of that would mean a constant onslaught of emails and embarrassing stories where he takes a joke out of context and attempts to "flirt" with me by repeating this out of context joke over and over in situations where I'm trying to maintain a modicum of dignity.

Anyway, he's back. Lucky me. Seriously, if it was you who dished the addy, please prepare for the consequences. Thanks.

Beep Beep!

We've all done it. We may not admit to doing it, but somewhere in our past history, we've all done it.

No, not that. Seriously, get your head out of the gutter!! I'm talking about throwing someone "under the bus" to save ourselves.

Anyone who's read my friend Bea's blog in the last week knows what I'm referring to, but since I've promised her no direct links, let me catch the rest of you up:

Last November, Bea and I went to a party at our friend Ginger's house. Great time. Lots of people. Lots of distractions, if you know what I mean. I hooked up with a friend from the past, Bea made a new friend.

Now, being that I was "otherwise engaged," I can honestly tell you that aside from Ginger's boyfriend, Elle's boyfriend, and my friend from the past, I couldn't pick the guys at that party out of a lineup. Seriously, all hell could have broken loose that night, and I would have been blissfully unaware of my surroundings.

Yes, the party was that good.

So fast forward to Tuesday night. I'm at a meeting and so are Bea and Ginger. Ginger's brought a friend who looks slightly familiar, but I think that it's because he bears a strong resemblance to David Sutcliffe from Gilmore Girls. I introduce myself, and NotChristopher says, "We've met."

Ginger then jumps in with, "Yep, he was at my party in November."

Being slightly embarrassed (I'm great with faces, terrible with names), I'm laughing as I grab Bea and go, "Oh so you must remember Bea too. Bea, this is NotChristopher."

Sure, I guess you could say that I threw her under the bus at that point (I didn't recognize him, maybe she wouldn't either. We'd all have a good laugh and move on). But it wasn't that simple. See, I was thinking it was like a bicycle. Bea, however, saw it more like a mack truck.

Reading her blog on Wednesday, I got the full story. To paraphrase (again, not linking because I promised not to, but I did tell her I was telling this story here, so I'm not tossing her under again if that's what you're thinking):

Last night, ran into a boy I made out with months ago. Linds laughed was laughing as she reintroduced us. That was a nice touch.

Photo by Flickr user Freja McQueen

Seriously. No. Clue. Whatsoever.

I immediately started explaining the laughter to her, and we've gotten some of our own shared-meaning laughter out of the whole situation. I'm just worried about what poor NotChristopher thinks!!!

Dial a Boy

I’m a beautiful, intelligent, funny, girl with that auburn hair/golden eyes combination that reminds men of a certain FBI Agent that they crushed on in high school. I’m easy to get along with, a shoo-in with most mothers, and, in case you haven’t noticed, completely unlacking in the self-esteem department. My nice girl qualities mean that I have a steady supply of nice men in my life who, should I find myself conducting boyfriend-auditions once again, are more than willing to toss on a suit and accompany me to a plus-one affair with no strings attached. After all, we all know what men really think with, and these things usually have GREAT food.

All of which meant Jack-Diddly last night.

It all started Saturday when Kristen told me that the boyfriend was taking her to the O’Malley Inaugural Ball. Interesting, I thought. I figured that the tickets were way out of my price range and were probably all gone. Then yesterday, while at the inaugural in Annapolis, I realized that everyone there was talking about how “inexpensive” they were. Fifty to be exact. Open bar, tons of restaurants, and the chance to see Big Bad Voodoo Daddy live ????? Oh I was so in.

Since I was freezing my butt off in Annapolis, I couldn’t really do anything until I got home. Therefore, my evening pretty much went like this:

4:30 – Arrive home, plan to check email and hit
gym.

4:45 – Get ball ticket.

4:46 – Check email. Realize that all hell has
broken loose while out of office. Decide to forego gym.

5:00 – Get in shower.

5:15 – Get call from Kristen…they have an extra
ticket. Would I like? (Damn!)

5:16 – Thank Kristen. Explain that she is half
an hour too late. Learn she’s calling around. Place request for someone hot and
single. Realize that this is a Democratic Party event. Mentally amend request to
“single and mildly attractive.”

5:30 – Start hair and makeup.

5:45 – Get call from Kristen. She can’t find
anyone. Do I have a friend I can take?

Now, keeping in mind that I do have that steady supply of dial-a-boys, I figured it wasn’t going to be much of a problem. Who cares that we’re meeting in 45 minutes, I thought? Guys have to toss on a suit, make sure they don’t stink, and brush their hair. Free Food. OPEN BAR. This, I thought, was going to be a cakewalk.

Sure, Cakewalk. I sure am a funny girl!!! I started moving down the phone list. Here they are in random order:

1. Practically Engaged
2. Insane – only in phone so I can avoid calls
3. Friend, but way too interested in me to allow him to accompany me to anything where I look hot. ANYTHING
4. Staunch Republican
5. DC
6. Engaged
7. Phone Busy
8. Married
9. See #8
10. Salisbury
11. Co-Worker
12. Forbidden
13. Um, NO
14. Kristen already called him.
15. Drunk
16. Exiled out of state for work
17. Texas
18. See #5
19. He’s still in this phone?
20. See #5
21. Too close of a relationship with #13
22. See #5
23. See #19
24. Awkward would never begin to describe what the evening would be like.
25. Suit was at drycleaners…if he wasn’t obviously interested in me, I’d swear he was "washing his hair.”
26. See # 7 (twice!)
27. See #16 – tried anyway to see if he happened to be passing through. No dice.
28. Other plans.
29. See #19. Ironically enough, I did run into him there.
30. See #16

Yes, folks, that was 0 for 31 (including another one who wasn’t in the phone, but whose number I ended up getting from one of the guys we dismissed earlier).

Then, I tried some, shall we say, “alternative” routes. This included calling my sister and asking her for the number of a guy who she had gone out with when she was living up here. He seemed nice, they didn’t really hit it off, and I figured he’d be able to pick up a few stories for his comedy routine. She refused the goods (“practically engaged” my ass) but began suggesting other people I could try. Note to self: when your sister actually describes a potential date as “I know he’s not Mr. Socially Adept, but he’s a body,” you know she doesn’t quite have your best interest at heart.

For the record, both Julia and Kristen suggested the “head-hunter” who turned the head of HR at my office into my personal dating service. I told them he was quite out of the question.

Then, knowing that we still needed to get rid of the ticket, she suggested that I move on to the girls she used to work with. After all, girls like dress-up events with lots of single successful guys (Judge Reinhold flashbacks be dammed) and a good looks at the Mayor Governor at hand. I agreed that that may have been an option, but we still faced a bit of a challenge: I had spent the entire night calling my boys, and this was Black-Tie event. We were meeting at 6:30. It was 6:15. You see where this is going…. I did call her one friend from work who thanked me and then (though she was way too nice to say it) clearly thought that I must’ve been high to propose this at such a late hour. Yeah, she was probably right.

Considering that I never really expected to have a date for the evening and anyone that I would have come up with would have been strictly platonic, I didn’t let it bother me. I got super-cute, headed to the pre-party, and promptly ran into the two guys from that October incident at Café Hon (one of whom was the guy I cancelled and reinstated the date with three times). Awkward? A little. But I was determined to enjoy myself nonetheless.

And enjoy myself I did!! Food: to die for. Big Bad Voodoo Daddy: hopping as usual. One lady asked me if they were a local band. I pointed her in the direction of “Swingers,” but I fear she may have misinterpreted that as “swingers club.” She moved away, scared. I kept dancing. Side bands: Fun dancy music. We ended up missing Kool and the Gang, but hands down the best band of the night… O’MALLEY’S FREAKING MARCH. They did three songs, and the entire crowd was going nuts. We grabbed our Guinnesses and sang along like we hadn’t heard the band in a year. Which, ok, we hadn’t.

It’s nice to be on the winning team. Even if you can’t find a last-minute date.

Office Politics 101

Quick!!

Name the one thing that's ten-times worse than having a head-hunter call your office and leave a message for you with your boss.

Answer: Having a guy you met at a bar call your office and leave a message for you with your boss that sounds like it came from a headhunter.

Of course, since I'm playing this little pop-quiz, you can probably guess that that's exactly what happened this morning. About ten minutes ago, I got this lovely email from Ginny, the HR Director at my firm:

Hi Lindsay
I received a phone message for you from
Fred Name Redacted
Baltimore Chamber of Commerce
Phone Redacted

He asked that you call as soon as possible.

Instantly, I recognized Fred as the guy I met at the BJAC (Baltimore Junior Association of Commerce for those not playing along regularly -- someone probably wants to fill Fred in on that too, now that I think about it) meeting the other night. Nice guy, didn't make much of an impression, but, then again, I was having an active, interesting, conversation before he walked up and tried to insert himself with the usual new-person-small-talk. "What do you do, Where do you work," you know, those types of things.

Little did I know that the answers to those two questions would land me in my present situation. I mean, you guys know how much of an impression I can make when I'm not even trying. From what I can gather, he took the time to look up the phone number of my firm, and left a nice, succinct message with the HR Director that sounded, unfortunately, like he was looking to steal me away. Oh Goody...corporate suicide. Ironically enough, this isn't the first time that HR has gotten involved in my dating life, and while the "Chocolate Incident" and its associated nightmares is definitely a story for another time, I would have preferred the chocolate again. Yummy, and much easier to explain, by far!

After explaining myself to HR, I think they were relieved. I, of course, am mortified, and these guys don't tend to forget things. They're still asking if I'm still dating the guy (my neighbor) from our Calypso Cruise two years ago. Clearly, I'm not, but then again, I never was in the first place. Our Winter Formal is next weekend, so I'm looking forward to a night full of good-natured ribbing about Ginny being my "social director."

Silver Lining: THANK GOD the message wasn't something like "I'm looking for the hottie with the nice ass that I met out drinking on Tuesday." Because, seriously, while I work hard for my ass, I like my ass employed at a job I actually work harder at. Somehow, I'm thinking that implying that I
spend my Tuesdays bellied-up to a bar isn't going to go over too well when I've sick all week with strep-throat.

Quiz Time

I found this quiz on my friend's blog, and I just had to take it....

The Priss Deliberate Brutal Love Dreamer (DBLDf) Mature. Responsible. Aristocratic. Excuse me. The Priss. Prisses are the smartest of all female types. You're highly perceptive, and confident in your judgements. You'd take brutal honesty over superficiality any time--your friends always know where they stand with you. You're completely unfake. Don't tell me that's not a word. You're also excellent at redirecting internal negative energy. These facts indicate people are often intimidated by you. They also fall for you, hard. You have a distant, composed allure that many find irresistible. If only more of them lived up to your standards. Your exact opposite: The Playstation Random Gentle Sex Master You were probably the last among your friends to have sex. And the first to pretend that you're pregnant. LOL. Though you're inclined to use sex as weapon, at least it's not as one of mass destruction. You're choosier than most about your partners. A supportive relationship is what you're really after. Whether you know it or not, you need something steady & long-term. And soothing. ALWAYS AVOID: The Playboy, The Loverboy CONSIDER: The Manchild Link: The 32-Type Dating Test by OkCupid - Free Online Dating.

So, did you have a crush on me too?

The request that I posted on MySpace earlier today was simple enough...

The year is coming to an end...so as a COMMENT on my page, leave one memory that u and I had together. It doesn't matter if you knew me a little or a lot, anything you remember! DON'T SEND A MESSAGE, LEAVE A COMMENT. Next re-post this bulletin and see how many people leave a memory about you. It's actually pretty cool (and fun) to see the responses. Re-post as "memories of us".

The funny thing is that apparently today is, "Let Lindsay know about your long-lost crush from fifteen years ago" day 2006. I know, I should be totally flattered, and frankly I am, but I think it's funny that the first two people to respond to my request for 2006 memories decided to use their few lines to tell me all about these crushes that they had on me when we were kids.

In response to them I say:

E - I knew. It wasn't a secret crush because a) even Aaron knew and he wasn't that bright and b) you were pretty damn obvious about the whole thing. I'm stoked that you're finally admitting now, I only wish you had done it about six or seven years ago. :( Then again, we weren't talking six or seven years ago so I probably wouldn't have gotten the message.

N - Um, who are you exactly? Best I can tell, you were a freshman when I was a senior, but if that was the case, then you're not who I thought you were (which is a tad disappointing because I thought that guy hated my guts and it would be wonderful to find out that he was actually doing the whole "hating because I care" thing after all this time). Anyway, wanna give me a hint here? Thanks!

Since the ego needs a little stroking (interesting weekend), if YOU had/have a crush on me that you'd like to share, feel free. If you're somewhat local, who knows where it'll get you. ;p

On men and cats

I love the insight that no sleep and a minimal amount of coffee can present on a morning that I'm supposed to be getting things accomplished at work....

I think I finally understand why single women of a certain age are so attracted to cats. I don't dare to call them spinsters because I am the proud owner of one and a half cats (the half is a loaner who will eventually move to NYC), and one day I will no longer be in my twenties. No, I'm not writing marriage off completely, but as I become more and more successful in my own right it's not the priority that it was when I was in college majoring in pre-wed.

Right, so the men and cats thing. I think it's because, deep-down, they are basically the same creature. Don't believe me? Consider this:

1. They ignore you all day, but when you're completely engrossed in something (or someone) else, they demand your attention with a vengeance.


2. They think with one major organ (cats, stomach; men, something else completely) and really don't give a crap if you're trying to get a little shut-eye when they want to meet their needs.


3. They never say much, but when they finally open up to you, you're expected to understand what the hell they're talking about.


4. They keep on bringing the same thing back to you (cats, fuzzy mice; men, "skills"), but you're supposed to fake the same excitement that you faked the first time.


5. They're most attracted to the person who wants nothing to do with them.

See what I mean?

Stupid reasons we dump men

My advertising friends will kill me, but this is cracking me up big-time, and I just had to share. I will happily swear on a stack of Bibles that this wasn't me....

Kept Pitching the Advantages of the Compact Model

20-something girl: I once broke up with a guy because he was too small.
Queer: Yikes.
20-something girl: It wouldn't have been a problem if he could have, you know, made up for it in other ways.
Queer: He wasn't creative?
20-something girl: He was in advertising.

--26th St, between 7th & 8th
via Overheard in New York, Dec 12, 2006

If nothing else, this just illustrates the stupid reasons that girls break up with guys. I'm guilty of it myself, and no, I'm not particularly proud of it.

I think the worst reason I ever broke up with a guy was because he wore clip-on ties. I wasn't in junior high when it happened, either, it was the summer I turned 21. It wasn't the ties in particular that turned me off so much, but the fact that it was the final straw in a long list of immaturities that turned me off of this guy. Frankly, the only reason I stuck around as long as I did was because I found his roommate insanely hot, and I wasn't sure how I was going to finagle seeing the hottie if Clippy was gone.

Sadly, as it turns out I didn't have to worry about it. To this day, I'm still not entirely sure how this came to be, but within a day of me finally offloading Clippy (for some bullshit reason that I'm sure sounded ok but didn't involve clip-on ties or the word "funner"), a message appeared on my answering machine from the hottie...

"Clip on ties, you've GOT to be kidding me. Never come back to our apartment again."Then again, considering that it was a wellness apartment at Vista Way, there wasn't a snowballs chance of that happening. Seriously, what was I thinking?

If you thought that I learned my lesson, think again. Just this year, I dumped a guy for the very reasons that the girl in the quote above ditched her man. Again, I SWEAR this wasn't me because he wasn't in advertising, journalism (mmmm, journalists), or any of the other so-called creative positions. If he had been, it may have helped, but we can't be sure. I did, however, make the mistake of telling my girlfriends exactly why I had dumped him -- a fact that came back to haunt me over dinner with my friend's new boyfriend one night. I was telling K's new boy that the "timing just wasn't right" between old boy and me, when either B or C suddenly went, "Timing, is that what you're calling it?" At first I had no idea what they were talking about; then I did....

I love my friends, really.

My sister makes me laugh

For the record, it hasn't been 4 months.

I accepted a date for tonight, and since my friends always complain that I don't provide details, I decided to issue a "Personal Press Release" just so that everyone's in the loop.

It was clear, concise, and included all of the pertinent information. However, leave it to my personal publicist to edit the release in such a way that she better be glad that I can run fast in heels -- especially since I had downed 96 ounces of water by 10 AM!

Her take on my "event" tonight:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
10.10.06

(Baltimore, MD)—Lindsay F., 28, Single Girl Extraordinaire, today announces relief in her four-month dating drought, with the acceptance of a dinner date from “Jeff.” Jeff (last name withheld), 33, is a Project Manager from Baltimore. The date will take place tonight. For privacy reasons, the would-be couple has withheld the location of the date and asks the paparazzi to refrain from seeking them out.

Ms. F. expressed excitement about the upcoming event, releasing this brief statement: “Thank God Jeff came along. I was about ready to request famine relief aid from Brad and Angelina. I’m going in with an open mind and a cute skirt.”
# # #

EDITOR’S NOTE: Full review and photography will be released tomorrow on Ms. F’s blog http://drama-duchess.blogspot.com/ :)

The publicist got it wrong, no photos are coming. As for the review, we'll just have to see about that, won't we?

Send me a (Hells) Angel

Kelly told me this would happen...

Well, maybe not the hells angel part, but certainly the part about getting free dinners and drinks when you sit alone at the bar in Vegas. No, we don't have to call Bill W. on me or check me in to some sort of program for people who frequent bars on their own. I was out in Vegas by myself -- for all intents and purposes because Julia was working -- and the bartenders were all pretty damn cute. So, there.

The first night in town, dinner was purchased by Lynn. Yes, that's a guy. Lynn was an inventor from Philadelphia who was in town for the National Hardware Show (exciting) and had left his five kids and his wife at home. The reason I got to hear all about the 5 kids and the wife because Lynn asked me where I was staying and then got an immediate guilty conscience. See, I didn't read anything into it, but he kept declaring that he was only a friendly guy making conversation. He probably was, but the fact that he kept getting louder and louder in his declarations of this fact made me a little uncomfortable. Then, his $2 faux coronas kicked in and I got to hear all about his kids and wife 3 or 4 times. Ugh.

So, when my food arrived, boxed thanks to a not-so-secret signal I sent to the bartender, I did what any self-respecting girl would do when faced with a very sloppy, drunk father of 5 who was too far gone to notice the fact that he was repeating himself over and over again, but who had very clearly said (a few times) to the bartender to put everything on his tab....

Not my proudest moment, but I feel I redeemed myself the next night.

See, the second day in Vegas, I found this racket where CBS pays you $50 to watch new shows that they're trying out for the CW network and talk about them in a focus group. The shows are complete dreck, but when you're sunburned and sick of making charitable donations to the State of Nevada, you go for it -- twice. They also give you free drink coupons at The Rainforest Café. Since their maggies aren't half bad in Towson and I needed to stick close to the hotel because Julia and I were going on the ghost tour, I took advantage of it.

I was minding my own business when a man in what can best be described as one of the scariest individuals I have ever seen sat down beside me. He had rings and tats and spiked accessories and a skull on his t-shirt, and I realize I'm in no way giving the imagery justice. Seriously, just go with me on this one. As it turns out, I wasn't being stereotypical, either. This man, "Dax," is an actual member of the world's largest "1% Motorcycle Club," (aka the Hells Angels) but don't worry, he picked The Rainforest Café because he thought it was one of the "prettiest bars he had ever seen." Yeah, I didn't think that that was what I had heard either, but then he repeated himself (this seemed to be a theme in Vegas) and it turned out that it was. Then, he asked if he could buy me a drink, and because Rule #1 that you don't really turn down a member of the Hells Angels, and Rule #2 is always look for good stories, and Rule #3 is that if you're sitting there, you may as well take advantage of a free drink, I allowed Dax to purchase a fruity beverage on my behalf. Because, really, what part of watching a man in a Hells Angel jacket ordering something with an umbrella isn't a lot of fun? In case you're wondering, he ordered a beer for himself -- disappointing, but it did help to partially maintain his street cred.

Despite the scary outward appearance and the fact that he was pushing 50, Dax was one of the most fascinating people I have ever met. We had a great conversation, and I learned quite a bit about the Hells Angel Motorcycle Club. They even have a website now (www.hells-angels.com)! He kept saying that there was a guy in his club (read: motorcycle gang) that was "perfect" for me. While I'm sure Dax's "brother" is a very nice individual, and I know I give off that biker-chick-meets-Laura-Ingalls-Wilder vibe, I'm really not ready for another long-distance relationship. Especially not one that involves me sitting on a hog for more than 20k miles a year!

Nice of him to offer though... :)

Another one bites the dust...

When it comes to guys, I try not to be too picky. I know, it's probably a shock to those of you who really know me because I'll admit that I've broken up or completely with guys for some really interesting reasons.

Now, in my own defense, the guy who was cut for wearing clip-on ties had some other things wrong with him. The clip-on ties were ultimately what his roommates (who were convinced we were perfect together) chose to focus on when they called the apartment to call me out on breaking up with their boy. The fact that the same boy would show up at all hours of the day and night and try to take me out of parties that my roommates and I were throwing meant nothing to them...they were convinced that I was so shallow that I would break up with a twenty-year-old guy for wearing clip-on ties.

Which, of course, I was.

The latest guy was dropped for reasons a little more substantial, at least as far as I'm concerned. Two weeks ago, I started talking to this guy on Match. Let's call him Walt. Walt seemed fresh and funny, and mighty cute on paper. His emails were interesting, and he kept me entertained with text messages while my date for Lisa & Dave's wedding stood me up for three hours (totally other story, and when he finally showed, all worked out). Needless to say, I was intrigued. We made plans to meet up on Monday, and I was supposed to call on Sunday to figure out where and when.

I should have called the whole thing off on Sunday. It would have been much easier since I could tell from the phone call that it wouldn't have worked between us. What, just being picky, you say? The man wanted to meet for happy hour at 3 PM...on a Monday...and not like a holiday Monday, just a plain old every day Monday. Why 3 PM? He claimed he was always "thirsty" at 3 PM! Most people joke about this, he wasn't.

I started to realize that sobriety wasn't one of his primary life skills, but there was no graceful way to get out of the date. So, I went with the knowledge that he would totally surprise me or give me a good story to tell.

Three guesses as to which one this is...

I arrived just a tad early because I wanted to scope out a few stores in Fells' Point. Since they were closed (ha!), I moseyed on over to Max's. I was fully expecting to have a few minutes to myself to check the hair, chat up the bartenders, and make sure that I didn't have lipstick on my teeth. Sadly, that was not to be. As I walked in the door, he was already bellied up to the bar.

Wait a second, I thought, this isn't fair. I should be the one at the bar. I should be checking my hair, chatting up the bartender, and...oh crap, do I have lipstick on my teeth?

I couldn't worry about that because he saw me and waved. The conversation was congenial enough. He told me the same drunken stories from the night before, and I listened...again.

Really, the date wasn't entirely bad. To his credit, after he stopped being a nervous giggler and started telling some original stories, he was starting to turn me.

That was until we got on the subject of high school. Really, I don't know how it happened, but somehow the subject of SATs came up. You know, the SATs that really didn't matter 10 minutes after graduation, so they shouldn't really have mattered 10 years after? He was bragging about his scores. BRAGGING. I was starting to feel self conscious about my own, so I offered the excuse that I took them when I had the chicken pox. Yes, that's true, I took the SATs on Saturday and was sent home from school on Monday with the spots from hell. I finally got curious, so I asked him how high he scored.

And this is where the evening entered what I like to call the "Annie Get Your Gun" phase...Anything You can do I can do Better. For starters, I outscored the boy (with the chicken pox) by over 300 points! Then, he started looking for other ways to demonstrate how smart he was. I kept shutting him down. It wasn't pretty.

I don't think I was being picky at the time, and I even agreed to go out with him again. It was just with every new email and follow-up phone call, he wasn't making his case. Therefore, when I fell off the elliptical machine at the gym and ended up in x-ray on Friday afternoon, it was completely an accident. A very happy accident, but an accident nonetheless.

Ironically, he told me it wasn't a very smart move on my part....

The Lonely Lawyer

Well, that’s $24 and 45 minutes I’ll never get back.

Those were the first thoughts that had crossed my mind when I left the Wine Market after my date with Chris. Yes, for those keeping score, that is now the eight or ninth Chris in my dating career (though the first one this year). This one, like most of the Jims, will never make it past the first date. So sad for him.

If you know the story of how we met, you can skip this part…If you don’t, keep reading…

Chris and I had originally started talking on Match.com. Then, about a month ago, I ran into him at SpeedDating. Of course, I didn’t realize who he was until the girls and I were doing the post-event analysis. It took him two more days, but he FINALLY got a clue, and he asked me out.

The night of our supposed first date, I was working around the clock and cancelled on him. Then, I was ill for two weeks, then he was ill, and needless to say, we kept missing each other. The problem was that we also stopped emailing each other except to set up/cancel the date. By the time we finally settled on last night, I had forgotten who this guy was and why I was even going out with him.

Which brings us to last night…

Since I never know how much time it takes to get anywhere in Baltimore, I arrived 15 minutes early. I did what any self-respecting early-girl would do; I bellied up to the bar and ordered. You can tell a lot about how the night is going to go by the bartender you meet, and this guy had a stick so far up his butt that I knew that the night was in for a bad turn. I ordered my Sangria ($3 at the bar, not sure how much it is at a table, but all in all, pretty good).

Chris arrives, and though I had assumed that we were meeting for drinks as most normal first dates do, he says, “So, do you want to go to the table?”

Oh wait, we’re having dinner!!??!!

The first thing I noticed about him was that he wasn’t moving his right arm. We’re talking Bob Dole here people. Considering that I know people our age who have had strokes, I didn’t comment. However, I kept watching to see if I was being paranoid or if there was really an issue. When he took his coat off, I realized that he wasn’t a stroke victim, he was just lazy.

We sat down, and the complaining started before his rear hit the chair.

First, it was too cold in the restaurant. Then, the wine tastings (Which we weren’t on in the first place) were too expensive…though, his outer/inner monologue kept pressing on with “But at least you get a light meal with that.” Then, he couldn’t figure out what size wine to get. Was 3 oz. too little (standard size is 4 oz for those playing at home)? Was 6 oz too much? I, of course, was too polite to order the super-mag of wine that I needed to get me through this. And why couldn’t he get the Happy Hour wine that I had?? Finally, though he claimed to know wines, and finally ordered a Riesling, he didn’t know how to say it. It wasn’t as bad as ChaBLISS, but it was close, and this is a guy who claimed to know all about wines and the local vineyards!

Side note to those who are planning to patronize the Wine Market in Locust Point: Stay at the bar for the Happy Hour specials. Twenty feet can make a lot of difference.

He started slamming on the people he went to college with. He doesn’t keep in touch with any of them, and I got the sense that he felt superior to all of them – especially the one who works at The Home Depot because he couldn’t find a “real job” after college. He was just going on and on about how dumb this guy was. I was flailing for conversation, so I brought up the Olympics. Though he claimed to like sport, he didn’t know anything about any of the Olympians or the sports. He also accused Home Depot of false advertising in their claims of employing more Olympians than any other company. I even told him where the claim came from (I’m a geek; I looked it up!) and he said it was still false advertising. I started to think he was the dumb one.

Then, Baltimore took a beating. Thankfully, I had been warned about his feelings about taxes from one of the girls who met him at Speed Dating. This meant that instead of getting offended, I spent the time trying not to laugh in his face. I’m sure whomever the rant before heard the exact same text because it sounded like he was reciting from memory!! To sum up…he hates the city in general, the BCPD, the taxes, and the government. He lives in the suburbs of Ellicott City, which is nice and a great place to raise kids (!!!). I started to think he was a little creepy. Really kids, is this proper first date conversation? I think not.

He asked about my job and why Good Morning America was at my house (They were supposed to come interview Jules but ended up canceling. That’s another story.) Then, when I was explaining Airtroductions, he got confused about the basic concepts and called it a “stupid idea,” (which was basically cover-speak for “I don’t get it, and I’m done looking like an idiot”). At that point, I knew there was no going back.

All though this time, we were eating. Well, I should say that I was nibbling because most of the conversation fell to me. He, on the other hand, was chowing down on like Jesus Christ on Holy Thursday. That right arm was active now, and it held the fork that stabbed his fish (hey buddy, they DO kill it before they cook it, you know) and shoved it in his mouth. I’ll admit that I did get some sense that he was trying to get out of there pretty quickly, but to eat with his mouth open was just plain rude. Then, he kept quizzing me about things so I couldn’t eat. Finally, I declared myself full (with only about 3 bites taken), and got the waitress to box it for me. MMMMMM, Lamb for Lunch!!

Finally, the bill arrived. Again, as is common first date polite custom, I reached for my wallet. Normally, I expect a guy to go, “I’ve got this one,” but no, he starts scrutinizing the bill and I…KID…YOU…NOT…goes, “Ok, well, it looks like it’s $18 for you.”

I threw my card down as serenely as possible, and when she brought it back, I put on enough of a tip to cover my 20% and a little extra for all the sympathetic glances she gave me. Then, he goes, “So how much tip are you putting on…” like it’s any of his business! Apparently, in his calculation, he figured his tip into his contribution and expected me to cover all of it. I did some quick math, realized I was being had, and kept on doing what I was doing.

I’m practically RUNNING for the door now, but first we have to traverse the obstacle that is the wine store. In one of his rants (this one about the wine store), he kept claiming that they didn’t have any of the Maryland wines. I was out to prove him wrong and succeeded beautifully. The first rack we got to, I saw three BALTIMORE COUNTY vineyards and told him that. He didn’t believe me until I pulled out the bottles of Basignani, Woodholme and Boordy and showed it to him. “Oh,” he tried to cover, “those are Maryland wines? Are you sure? The only one I know is Linganore.”

I thanked him for a lovely evening, and told him that I’d call him should I ever wish to go out again. Considering that the chances of that happening are about as slim as Mary Kate Olsen being caught eating a hamburger, I’m hoping that he’s not waiting by the phone.