Can't Hardly Date

Much Ado About Nothing

2011-08-30T15:15:00.000-07:00

So, a few weeks ago I wrote about a man who thought kidnapping was a fun idea for a first date. AKA go see a concert in the next state over. Well, I put the kibosh on him and his stupid idea and never heard from him again.

Mind you, we never met in person. We only spent the standard 30 minutes appraising the small collection of profile photos we each posted of ourselves, looking our most fabulous. Do you ever wonder why people do that? I mean I’m guilty of it as well, but come on. Why don’t people just cut the crap and post a photo they took of themselves when they first woke up (does anyone do that)? Or when they’re bedridden with the flu? Or after several beers in the August heat after a rousing football-season tailgate where they may have made the unfortunate decision to pose making a peace sign with a bunch of sailors and perhaps their right sleeve may have been the victim of a drive-by drink spilling. Because chances are, if you end up dating them, you’ll be witnessing all of these looks. It's all downhill from the profile pic, am I right?

Plus, if you can take his bed-head or her makeup-less face and that adorable pillow imprint in her cheek, you know it’s ON.

Anyway, back to the kidnapper. I was out at noon today, about to make the most important decision of my Tuesday, staring up at the Au Bon Pain menu, when I sensed someone looking at me. Naturally, I turned to find out if someone was looking at me. And someone was. There, in a striped button-down and grey slacks (guys look so cute in business casual; it’s like they’re playing dress up in their dad’s closet) was a cute, somewhat familiar-looking brunette man who quickly turned away from me, but then looked back quickly and looked away again.

Immediately I thought, “How do I know you?” For the next couple of seconds, we played eye-contact ping pong. I’d sneak a peek, and then turn back to the sandwich board above our heads, and then he’d sneak a peek, back and forth. Finally, it hit me. HE’S THE CONCERT GUY!!!

So now I was trying not to laugh, because it was completely awkward. He asked me out, I blew him off, and we’ve never been in the same room ever, but know each other.

I stepped up to order my sandwich, and then made my way to the soda fountain. He followed, and I had this tiny urge to say something, but then he got on his Blackberry, and the moment passed.

He was cute. But then again, so was Ted Bundy. And we all know how that worked out.

Still, I experienced a brief “what if?” moment on my walk back to the office, the turkey sandwich in my hand the only thing we'd ever experience together. "What if" moments are like bikes without wheels. They won't get you anywhere.

Since he’s the first person I’ve seen IRL who I met online but never went on a date with, I’m not sure what the protocol is. If you both recognize each other, do you say hello? Do you just play dumb and pretend you don’t know who they are?

Someone call me a witch doctor, 'cause I'm clearly knee-deep in a dry spell.

Male Briefs

2011-07-07T08:45:00.000-07:00

While nothing daytime-Emmy worthy has happened in the last 5 days, here's a quick update:

Due to a scheduling conflict, my date with computer-consultant guy has been postponed until next week. Do to a common-sense conflict, my date with the filmmaker has been postponed until forever.

I realize I told him, after politely declining his concert date in another state, that I would call him this week to set something else up, but, well, I lied.

The second I feel of tinge of “ick” when thinking about calling a guy back, it’s over.

But computer-consultant guy did text me over the weekend to see if I was having fun with the fam. So that was thoughtful. (Just when I typed that, “The Greatest Love of All” came on my iPod.)

Anyway, he’s into charity and shit. Haha just kidding, he’s a philanthropic person who organizes fundraising happy hours for young professionals in his spare time.

And he likes to play golf and is training for a marathon. So he might be one of those people.

If by those people I mean those who enjoy physical exercise with a side of charitable goodness and a healthy lifestyle sauce, then yeah.

What a dish! Hopefully I want seconds.

I'm looking forward to meeting him next week. I haven't been out on a first date in...a while. We don't need to do the math.

So I'm excited to jump back in the pool.

Let's swim.

Kidnapper's Delight

2011-06-29T14:59:00.000-07:00

Most of the guys I’ve met, online and in life, usually propose a public meeting place for the first date. Occasionally a guy has offered to pick me up, which I always politely decline, but the majority understand that I’m not about to get in a stranger’s automobile and drive to his torture chamber in the woods.

Growing up I was always waiting to be kidnapped. I just knew it was coming. With all the after-school specials about missing children and every adult within earshot telling me I should never talk to strangers who offered me candy, it’s no wonder I was a paranoid mess. And it didn’t help that my father told me, during the Reebok craze, that all bad guys wore black tennis shoes. Not picking up on his sarcasm, I found myself paralyzed whenever a pair of black sneakers came on my radar, until I was about 17.

Anyway, I’m not about to make that premonition come true. Which is why I’m always a little turned off when a guy is dumb enough to suggest any first date idea that involves being alone in his car for any unspecified amount of time.

So I was a little disappointed when a cute filmmaker I met a few weeks back called today to ask if I wanted to go see the Black Keys concert next Wednesday. In Milwaukee.

“It’s only an hour away,” he said.

That's 60 minutes of me, staring out the window, nervously making small talk while casually scanning the backseat for rope and and a pair of pliers. And making sure we don't take any sudden detours down unmarked dirt roads. Plus, what if he sucks? Then I’m stuck in WISCONSIN with this bonehead for an entire evening.

I told him I wasn’t available that evening (I’m really not) but that I’d call him after the weekend to set up a meet and greet. But IDK. Call me crazy, but I don’t really want someone with their head up their ass.

Besides, I’m meeting a cute 31-year-old consultant that night, for drinks and ~~head~~ board games. And after talking to him on the phone the other night, I'm quite looking forward to it. He has a great sense of humor. And I like that's he's a few years older.

Game on.

Super Freak

2011-06-28T09:00:00.000-07:00

You'd think by now that I'd know better than to assume a date is going to be great fun. That I'd know by now that the times I assume everything is going to be peachy keen is when it's going to be a disaster. Case in point: I was supposed to meet Superman for drinks a week ago. And I was really looking forward to it.

So the day rolls around, and I get a text from him that says, “Hey love, may have to reschedule.”

Um, I beg your pardon? Love? You’re not LL Cool J, so don’t call me Love. And yes, I’d let LL Cool J call me Love, and would be totally fine with it.

Anyway, I replied with, “Love don't live here anymore.” Just kidding. But I wanted to. I said, “No worries. Keep me posted.” Not even sure what that means, but he thought it was hilarious, because he replied with, “lol. Tx will do.”

He’s a school teacher and he texts like a tween.

Anyway, I figured that was that, and went on with my day. Well, that was certainly not that. Because around 3 p.m., my phone buzzed and I had a new text from Superman (which, I’m beginning to think I was a little generous with that name, guys).

So I opened up my phone and found this little gem: “want to go to that one place?”

Well yes, I’d love to go to that one place. Who doesn’t want to go to that one place? That one place is great!

Pretty confident he was trying to make plans with someone other than myself, I replied with, “Sure.”

Ten minutes later, after assumedly pacing around his classroom trying to figure out how to politely tell me he meant to invite someone else, Superman replied with the obligatory “lol” followed by, “sorry wrong person.”

Oh, I’m aware. At no point did I think the invitation to that one place was meant for me. A minute later, he texted again. “Friend in town for the night, ie: why I canceled. How’s next week?”

There were just so many things wrong with that message, I couldn’t reply. But he wasn’t done. A little after midnight, I was interrupted from my beauty sleep by a buzzing phone, and presumably a buzzing Superman.

He must have been out at that one place, and felt the need to text me, “what’s up.”

Weeknight booty call from a stranger? Get bent, Clark Kent (oh snap!).

I deleted his number and went back to bed.

NEXT!

You're Outta Here!

2011-06-14T08:14:00.000-07:00

In our last episode, I introduced you all to engineer extraordinaire, Lex Luthor. Well we had made plans to get drinks last week on a patio, but then I canceled because it was a Tuesday night and the start of my beach volleyball league. But now the ball’s in my court, and I’m not so sure I want to even meet this man. Because I’m getting the feeling that he’s kind of....a douchebag.

The first time we chatted was via text convo. Which is pretty lame, if you ask me. What happened to days of yore, when the boy called the girl’s house, holding his breath, sweaty palms clutching his post-it containing his conversation points, praying her father didn’t answer, or that the breathing on the other line wasn’t her nosy little brother listening in on him ask her to the movies, his ego and street cred all on the line for 10 little words.

Anyway, Lex texted me to say that I should pick a day and we’d meet at this beer patio in between our ‘hoods and have some drinks. And he added, “Because I’m pretty busy and see no point in texting back and forth if only to meet and not hit it off.” Umm okay. I get that you don’t want a pen pal. Fine.

So I said that sounded good, and to tell me what his schedule was like.

Well this was right before Memorial Day weekend, and we both had fam coming to town, so he said, “Let’s try for June.” So Memorial Day comes and goes, and on the second of June I get a text from Mr. Luthor, asking if I could meet that following Tuesday. Not realizing that my league started that night, I gave him the green light for our first date.

Four days before the big date, I realize my scheduling error (how could I forget beach volleyball??!!) and texted Lex with the news. He replied with, “Sure. I’m pretty busy so shoot me a date and we’ll make it happen.”

Well I went on my merry way through the weekend, not really thinking much more about the convo. Three days later, I shot him a text saying, “Wanna reschedule?” to which he replied, “So you’re telling me there’s a chance?” Thinking he was referencing Dumb and Dumber, I jokingly replied, “I’m tellin’ you there’s a chance!”

I don’t think he got the joke, because his text tone was as sour as a jar of lemon juice. “Okay. Well I’m really busy so you just tell me a date and we’ll make it happen. Good luck to you!”

Wait, what? Good luck?

He’s kind of a pissypants, if you ask me. So I replied, “You too!” not really knowing why we were wishing each other luck, but not one to deal with passive aggression via text message.

Last night he asked me what my week looked like, and I haven’t replied to him yet. Idk. I get a bad vibe from him. If he’s this short and douchebaggy with a total stranger, what’s he going to be like to a girlfriend?

Whether he’s just a big fat jerk, or jaded from the dating scene, I don’t really care. I do not need to waste my time finding out.

But just in time, a super cute teacher who works with kids who have special needs and coaches baseball has come up to bat. We're getting together for appetizers this Thursday.

So he's changing kids' lives and basically saving the world every day. I'm pretty excited about breaking bread with Superman.

Batter Up!

2011-05-25T17:39:00.000-07:00

There couldn't be a better time of year to be on the dating scene. The temperature is rising, the sun is finally coming out of hibernation, and that familiar, warm summer wind is seeping through the city streets, luring all the single people out of their sky caves to the beer gardens, beaches and bike paths. It's ON!

So what better way to get things poppin’ then to step back up to the dating plate. Let me get you up to speed on what’s happened in my love life in the past few weeks:…………nothing. While some of you thought I was busy seeing someone, I in fact was busy seeing something. Something called Operation New Job. I was like the Bond of the job boards and kids, I’m pleased to say, mission: accomplished.

And with this wonderful turn of events has come a wonderful turn of the seasons, and I’ve hit the dating ground running. And although April showers have come and gone, in my world it’s apparently raining men. Well, maybe it’s more like sprinkling men. Whatever. There’s precipitation.

First we have a gentleman who lives in the city and is an engineer. More like enginerd! Jk. He’s tall with glasses and has a sarcastic sense of humor (hey now!) and I have agreed to hang out sometime soon. He’s a friend of a friend of a friend, so if he ends up being a total weirdo and I excuse myself to the restroom and flee through the window, I won’t have to worry about offending my friend. It’s always nice to have a mutual friend, because it’s like having a reference. An instant background check.

Anyway, Lex Luthor* asked me to drinks next week. I just hope he doesn’t show up with three phones, a Bluetooth and his iPad. And a pocket protector.

As for my elevator beau Heaven on Seven, sigh, I haven’t seen him in a few weeks. Alas, I fear our hero has perhaps moved on to newer high rises and roomier elevators. But apparently my building has no shortage of cute men, because I got on last night to find two tall drinks of water speaking to each other in French. FRENCH GUYS!!! Then I heard one say, “basketball.” MANLY FRENCH GUYS!!! That’s like the holy grail.

Five minutes after our rendezvous (although it was really more like me trying to interpret what they were discussing), I got a text from a major blast from the past. Does the Traveling Salesman ring a bell? The man who thought our first date should involve beers and a hot tub.

I haven’t spoken to that man since last July, and he leads with, “What up?”

What up?? Who says that to someone they a.) hardly know, and b.) haven’t spoken to in almost a year?

What up is you looking for a booty call. Homey don’t play that. Delete.

There is another gentleman who I met via the world of Internet dating a few months ago, but he has been one state away finishing up his MBA program and will be moving here in a few weeks. So we’ve never met in person. I’m like one of those women who write to men in prison.

Anyway, after investigating his Facebook profile and partaking in several Gchats, I’ve found him seemingly adorable and intelligent. And totally cute. And he’s asked me to help decorate his apartment. So he’s a strong candidate.

But we’re still taking applications.

*Nickname courtesy of my big bro who, conveniently, is a computer engineer and speaks fluent Nerd. Today’s lesson: Lex Luthor is the ultimate evil engineer and recently won Best Engineer in Comic Books of All Time.

A Little Slice of Heaven

2011-03-30T12:33:00.000-07:00

So I ended up working a bit late last night, and got home about an hour before my date a la web cam with Julia Roberts. I was waiting for the elevator, holding my phone with one shoulder talking to my mother while opening a Comcast bill, when out of the corner of my eye I saw the front door open.

I turned my head and looked up to see Heaven on Seven in all of his fine blonde glory. Wearing a baby pink button down, dark jeans and wool coat, he was tilting his head to the side and looking at me curiously and somewhat amused. I did a semi-wave/smile combo and he smiled and disappeared around the corner to get his mail.

So now Mom's talking about baby carrots, and I see him come back around the corner, so I tell her I need to get going. The elevator arrives, and we both step in, as my mother asks what I'm making for dinner. I quietly mumble, "I don't know." She couldn't hear me because I may as well have mimed it, so I said it louder. And at that moment, the elevator dings and I look up to see we've arrived on his floor.

We exchanged a quick closed-mouthed ~~kiss~~ smile and away he went. Leaving me still wondering what his NAME is, what he deems his favorite flavor of ice cream, and if he wants to spend the rest of his life with me.

Next time I see Seven, I'll just introduce myself. Easy enough...right?

Casting Couch

2011-03-29T13:20:00.000-07:00

Alright people, we have a CHD first. Something I've never done, but thought about doing. And now I am extremely nervous. Because Julia Roberts has suggested we have ourselves a little video chat.

Which in a way is genius, because we'll know in a few minutes whether or not we want to even bother meeting over a drink or whatever. However, that first meeting is always so weird because you're immediately judging him. Of course I'll look over what he's wearing, if he's shaven in the last 2 weeks and whether his apartment has seen a mop, ever. It's like an animated profile picture.

In that first 5-second scan, you've decided whether or not you want to have this person in your life any further. If you do, suddenly you're consumed with wonder and worry as to whether he shares the interest, and if you don't, well, you're busy trying to hatch an escape plan.

It is nice to know I can always just x-out of the chat window and block him from my life forever if he's a total weirdo. You'd think that after exchanging a few emails, I'd know if he was a complete maniac, but you'd be surprised. Sometimes the craziest people are the best corresponders.

Of course he could be thinking the same thing. Perhaps he'll find me hideous and would rather get a perm than talk to me for one more second. Then suddenly we're like Billy the Kid and Annie Oakley, twirling our shotguns, kicking some brush, waiting to see who x's the other out first. Hopefully it doesn't come to that, and we can end our convo with plans for the future or a polite sayonara.

What do you even wear to these things? It's not like you put on some scandalous black number and when he hops online you're all giggly and "Oh hey Brad, I wasn't expecting you!" as you lay on your bed and flip through Ladies Home Journal. It needs to be casual. Like a sweater and a beverage of choice, sitting on the couch with the appropriate amount of lamps turned on so I'm not Casper but I'm also not lurking in some creepy love cave.

If he rings in at 8, I'll know by 8:01 whether we're going to pursue this past a web chat. I wonder if he's nervous. Maybe he'll be over in his apartment pacing around a bit staring at the laptop sitting on his bed, then do a few quick push-ups, stretch his neck side to side, look in the mirror and say, "Let's do this thing!"

Here goes nothing.

The Reader

2011-03-25T10:25:00.000-07:00

Last night I was shopping at my local CVS, picking up some new hair ties and the like, when I looked up and there Heaven on Seven was, in his dark grey wool coat, floating by on a cloud of hearts. And he was carrying a very thick black book. Which piqued my interest, because it looked identical to the fourth Twilight novel. (Team Edward 4 Life.)

So now I had to know if my superfine neighbor was a studious scholar or a Stephanie Meyer fan. Sink or swim time, man. I can't date a guy who spends his evenings quietly turning the pages of a teenage/vampire romance novel.

Hair ties in hand, I sauntered toward the register where he was checking out. He still didn't know I was behind him, and I don't know his name, so I had to be that creepy girl just standing behind him. Naturally I took advantage of this time to try and see the title of his book. But he set it on the counter when he went to pay and I couldn't see anything!!

Twilight or not?! Manly man or total wimp?!

Heaven on Seven picked up his bag and slowly turned to go, when he noticed someone was behind him. He did a double take and said, "What's up?" He pulled the book up under his arm, and all I could see was the shiny black jacket. Stop moving your book!

My heart was pounding at this point as I casually replied, "Not much, how are you?"

I could feel my face get hot and the room seemed to disappear. Gone were the two girls in line behind me buying wine, away went the tired-looking cashier who was probably close to his break. It was just me and him. And the mystery novel.

"Good, good. Ready for the weekend."

"Yeah, me too. Long week," I replied.

"I hear ya. Well have a good night!" he said.

"You too." And call me. And make me breakfast in bed. And flash me another one of your contagious smiles.

He smiled and walked out, and I was out of the Heaven haze and back in CVS. I scrambled to see if I could get another glimpse at his book, as I handed my hair ties to Walter. No luck. And now I'll never know. But my head was spinning from the endorphins. If I was in high school, I'd go home and stare at his picture in my yearbook.

But I don't even know his name. So that's probably should be the priority at this point. The problem is that once you start running into someone and you never actually introduce yourselves, it starts to get super awkward. You know each other but you don't know each other.
So that's the next step. Introduce myself. Oh boy. Deep breath.

Why can't we all wear name tags? That should be a law. People would be much friendlier. Can you imagine how much nicer the world would be if you needed to get around someone on the street and could say, "Excuse me, Dawn"? Or if that homeless woman who lives on the corner by my train stop said, "Hey Julie, got any change?" I might feel more compelled to give her the 3 quarters in my purse.

And Heaven on Seven would be Dave or Kevin or Luke. But for now he's just the cute guy on the 7th floor who may or may not read Twilight.

I need to know more.

Betty on the Side

2011-03-19T08:30:00.000-07:00

What a Man's Drink Says About His SOUL! (cue the organ music)

Going Up!

2011-03-16T12:15:00.000-07:00

Oh me, oh my. So I ran into my building boyfriend from the 7th floor again. You guys, he's so cute.

It was Saturday, early evening. I was returning from the bar after a few St. Patrick's Day brewha's, quite pleased with the work that was put in at the bar that afternoon, and decided to grab my mail. Then I turned the corner,and the elevator was starting to close, when an arm reached out to hold it for me.

I stepped on the car and looked up to see all 6'3"ish of him, looking like a joyous leprechaun had just exploded all over him. Before I could thank him, he said, in an I've-been-at-the-bar-too-long volume, "Heyyyyyyy!" and held up his hand to high five me.

I laughed at him and he said, "Don't leave me hangin' now." So I gave Heaven on Seven a high five and smiled at him.

"Alright," he said, drunkenly smiling and nodding. It was hilarious. And it was nice to see that he was a happy drunk. You can tell how your past, present and future will be with a guy by his attitude after a few adult beverages. Alcohol is like the Magic 8 ball of dating.

"You have fun today?" he asked, still smiling at me.

"Yeah, I had a lot of fun. You?" I replied, half laughing at his infectious happiness.

"Oh yes ma'am. Great day. Great, great day. Good times," he said, still smiling.

At this point, in our deepest conversation to date, we got to his floor.

He started walking off and said, "Well see ya later," smiled and wandered off.

Um, heck yes. I will see you later. You delicious green monster.

Me and Heaven on Seven?

I-rish.

Drive Me Crazy

2011-03-09T11:40:00.000-08:00

I'm as happy as a lark. By the way, who came up with that phrase? Who decided the lark was happy? Did anyone ask the lark? Is the lark never allowed to have a case of the Mondays?

Anyway, I've been rolling through a field of PMA lately and it's quite fun. And it's delightful. First there's Julia Roberts. We've been exchanging emails for a few days and I like what I've seen thus far. He's nice and I'm thinking he's a funny guy because he mentioned his friends want him to try out for Second City. So he has to be at least a little bit funny. Telling someone to join an improv troupe is a lot different than a pity laugh at your lame joke.

So I just replied to his latest email about plans for St. Patrick's Day and told him I'm not sure what I'm doing yet. But I refuse to meet up with him on the one Saturday of the year where to entire city is at the bar. That's a recipe for disaster so I'll just stay out of that kitchen.

Then we have a slew of new faces, including a 34-year-old surgeon who's very tall and very cute, and a salesman with dark brown hair and olive skin who is training for a triathlon in his spare time.

And that's just on the internet. Last night, I was walking home carrying a few grocery bags, when I stopped at my building's front door to try and find my keys while holding said bags. Before I could open my purse, a deep voice from behind me said, "I got it."

I turned around and looked up to find a very cute blonde man in a grey wool dress coat pulling out his keys to open the door. He held it open for me, and, wanting to get another look at this gentleman, I looked into his eyes and smiled and said, "Thanks." So smooth.

Then we both walked to the mailboxes, and in silence opened our boxes. I felt like we should be having a conversation since we'd sort of interacted already, but instead I just reached in to find zero mail. But he was still going through his pile and blocking the doorway so instead of saying excuse me, I bent down and looked into my mailbox like there was something in the very back. There wasn't and I had nothing to pull out and feign interest in opening, so I just slowly stood up and took way too long to close and lock the box.

I stood there awkwardly for 5 seconds, and then he closed his mailbox and started to walk toward the elevators. We got on the same one and he asked what floor I was on. I told him and thanked him again. Then we stood in silence, waiting for the elevator to move. Finally he muttered, "I hate how slow this elevator is."

I laughed and said, "I know." Say something else! Keep the conversation going!

So I came back with, "I thought they were supposed to replace this one." That's half true. I did hear rumblings.

"Oh really? That would be fantastic."

"Yeah I know. It's the worst on the weekends when people are moving in."

"Yeah, last Sunday was terrible. I think half the building was moving."

I laughed even though it wasn't funny, but I needed to fill the silence with some sort of sound. All the while trying to play it cool and not let on that I thought he was adorable. But our convo was so vanilla, I wasn't going to read into anything. Except the fact that he was quite the gentleman.

We reached his floor, and he walked out and turned and said, "Well, have a good night."

I smiled and told him to do the same. With that the door closed on our love. And I would've smiled and sunk to the floor like Kate Hudson does in her movies after she meets the cute neighbor who volunteers at an animal shelter and loves his mother, but the doorman doesn't need to watch a chick flick on the security camera.

So we'll see what happens next. I'm like a bus driver swerving through the streets of Singleville. I don't know who's getting on next, who's getting off (hey now) or where my route will take me.

But I am certainly enjoying the ride.

Pretty Man

2011-03-04T07:21:00.000-08:00

I hopped online this morning and checked my dating inbox for the first time in a few days. I had the flu on Monday and Tuesday, and the last thing you're thinking about while you lay in bed with a two-liter of ginger ale at your side and a roll of toilet paper in your hand, is going on a hot date. Anyway, I found a handful of messages. Delete, delete, delete, ooh he's cute.

So I open an email from a tall blonde who apparently is in sales, has a cute smile, and apparently isn't afraid to wear pink. Nice. Below one of his photos he has the quote, "Don't forget I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her," from Notting Hill. So he's funny. Me likey.

I reply to his message and look forward to hearing back from Julia Roberts.

Once back in my inbox, I see I have two messages from a 26-year-old architect. I'd responded to an email from him over the weekend, but didn't really think much of it. Apparently he did, because instead of just replying once, he was on repeat mode. So email one asks how my weekend was. Fine. Email two, sent 5 hours later than email one, asks how I'm doing and if I'd like to meet him at the driving range on Thursday to hit some balls in the snow. I like the idea but not the aggressive approach.

I don't reply, delete both messages and decide that I'd like to get back into golfing.

Last but not least, there's an email from a bearded man who is tilting his head in his photo and making bug eyes and looks like a total maniac. But I click on his profile anyway and his photo caption says something about how his beard is always crazy but always clean. Gross. That's just so gross!

I delete a few other emails and sign off. A job well done.

Hopefully it pays off. In an email. From Julia Roberts.

Someone's going to read this and be so confused.

The Blind Side

2011-03-02T14:34:00.000-08:00

Being set up on a blind date by a friend is like eating dinner at a pal's house in elementary school. Sure everyone's excited and it's something new, but if her mom hands you a plate of crusty, overcooked casserole with what you think smells like canned tuna and resembles what you vomited after your tenth birthday party, with a glass of room-temperature whole milk, you have to just smile. And hide as much in your napkin as possible. Especially if your friend happily slurps hers down and asks if you want seconds.

So when a gal pal of mine said I should have drinks with this guy she works with, I of course asked for this man's rap sheet. What's his story, what does he do, is he cute? It's sort of pointless to ask these questions, because by her initiating the setup means she fully endorses him as a candidate for my company. But it's still fun to hear.

I trust my friend, I know she has my best interest in mind, and if anything it's another dating adventure I can catalog under dreamy or disaster. I needed to find out.

So I gave her the go-ahead and she passed him my number today. Am interested to see if he's a caller or a texter. There's something quite foul about a guy asking a girl out via text. Pick up the phone, you wimp.

Betty on the Side

2011-02-23T10:28:00.001-08:00

Signs He's a Keeper: A Dater's Road Map

Painted Love

2011-02-21T15:00:00.000-08:00

What do you think about dating someone who works in the same industry as you? Considering my background is in advertising, I've been surrounded by professionals who are my age and a little older. And the writers are usually a little whiney. And most art directors are ~~running~~ riding their scooters around town in The Cure t-shirts and skinny jeans. Although some of them were pretty hot in the face, I just don't do that tortured artist type. You know, the kind who will defend that Helvetica font they've used for the headline of your banner ad when you asked for Arial. And thinks the shadow he used around the beer bottle in that new ad reminds him of Miller Lite's 1998 print campaign that swept the CLIO awards.

So when I got an email from a cute graphic designer this weekend, I was slow to respond. I guess growing up surrounded by guys who were very traditional has steered me away from the trendy, artsy types. I've always leaned more toward All-American types in jeans and Polo sweaters. I think if I brought Trendy Tony home, in his tight grey cords and high tops, my father would take one look, scrunch his face and then pull me aside to ask why my boyfriend was wearing women's pants.

But since this man was wearing a white tee with a plaid shirt and had some light scruff on his face, I decided maybe he's a manly artist. A guy who sketches an ad campaign sitting in the front row of a cage fight using a pocket knife and some canvas before riding out to his family's ranch to break in some new colts. And then bake an apple pie with his mom. So I decided to reply to the Brawny Man's email.

Hmm...me and an artist? I'll see where this goes. I wouldn't want to...draw any conclusions.

I Want Candy

2011-02-14T13:26:00.000-08:00

Well, it's Valentine's Day. So, after reading a card from my mother and eating a Valentine's Reese's that looked more like a camel toe than a heart, I thought I'd open up the ol' V-Day Vault.

When I was a freshman in high school, I started "going out" with a boy named Tim. Well, Tim was best pals with my friend's boyfriend, so she and I decided it would be fun to make Valentine's Day dinner for the boys and then make out in her basement. With our boyfriends, not each other.

Anyway, we spent hours heating up some Ragu and boiling noodles, and then wrapped gifts for the loves of our current lives. At that point in time, Tim and I had only been seeing each other for a week or two. Since it was a new relationship, my first really, I decided to get him a teddy bear and a silver necklace. I don't even know why I thought that a necklace was appropriate, let alone one made of silver balls and hemp.

So I wrapped up my gifts and the boys arrived for the big night. While her parents watched TV, the four of us quietly sat around the dining room table in the next room. I was so nervous about the fact that I was on a date with a boy that I lost my appetite. I just picked through my spaghetti, eyes narrowed like I was discovering plutonium at the bottom of my plate.

As dinner commenced, we decided to exchange gifts. Well the boys each pulled out boxes and put them on the table, and our eyes lit up with delight. My friend had been dating her boyfriend for about 5 months, so you know they were like totally serious and said they loved each other and he was thinking about moving his stuff into her locker and whatever. She opened her present to find a pretty heart-shaped silver necklace. This is it! I thought. My first boyfriend and now my first piece of jewelry from a boyfriend!

Slowly, I pulled the red ribbon off the little pink package, trying to moderately conceal my excitement. I peeled off the tape along the crease to pretend that I unwrapped gifts like a mature adult, and quietly unfolded the paper. Inside was a white cardboard box. Not typical jewelry store packaging.

I looked up at Tim and smiled. You sly devil, I see what you're trying to do. You want me to think this isn't a heart-shaped necklace that I can wear to school on Monday so every girl knows I have a boyfriend.

Anxiously I opened the box, lifted a piece of green tissue and then I saw it. A bag of Jelly Bellies.

Wait...what? Where was the necklace? Where was the ring? I can't wear a plastic bag full of tiny colorful beans! I can't bring it to Algebra Monday morning to show everyone that I'm involved with someone. And now my friend and her boyfriend were laughing, because while they were getting necklaces and watches, I was getting cavities.

I smiled at Tim, but I probably looked more like I'd just smelled a dirty diaper than I was grateful for the candy. He smiled back and said something about his mom buying them for him. Oh great, he didn't even shop himself. So while he probably remembered my gift as he was running out the door and his mom tossed him a gift a co-worker gave her, I was at the mall buying him expensive, meaningful hemp jewelry.

And what was worse, he had to now open my awesome gift while I sat in front of jelly beans.

So I sat there, totally shafted, as he pushed pieces of purple tissue paper aside and reached in the gift bag to pull out the fuzzy brown bear. He smiled and thanked me. And seemed genuinely pleased with the gift. I stubbornly muttered there was more. Moron. So he reached back in to discover his first and only piece of jewelry. He thanked me but seemed really uncomfortable. But instead of feeling awkward I just hopped up and helped him put it on.

A few weeks later, we were in gym and I asked Tim why he wasn't wearing my necklace. He said he'd lost it and tried to change the subject. But his friends were all snickering and it finally came out that Tim actually had taste and hated it. Thus began my first boyfriend fight.

Ahhhh, young love.

Anyway, speaking of gifts, let's bring things back to the present. Heyohhhh. While I've been talking to a few gentleman as of late, there's no one in town I wanted to spend the most romantic holiday with.

My V-Day plans include hitting the gym, heating up some Mexican meatball soup my dear mother made and then cleaning out my closet. And probably exchanging a flirtatious email or two with the cute young pilot I've been chatting with. (Yes, another pilot.)

What about you?

I'm Baaaaaaaack!

2011-02-10T15:01:00.000-08:00

In the summer before my senior year of college, my pal Julie and I were at the bar when a trio of cute guys starting talking to us. Since we had the same name, naturally we decided to tell these guys that we had the same birthday and it was THAT DAY! Well, hook, lie and sinker. Because after we shared that gem the shots were flowing in our honor for the rest of the evening.

So after our birthday party commenced, we all decided to head down the street to their friend's party. And I was chatting with this adorable guy named Brian who was that shy bad boy. You know, like if he was in a boy band, he'd be the tattooed white guy with cornrows who came in during the instrumental and in a soft voice said, "Oh girl, don't leave me this way. I love you girl. Baby. Please. Much love. Foreva." and that was his only role in every song.

Anyway, Backstreet Boy and I were walking and talking a few feet behind the rest of the pack. Which was kind of nice because then we could finally converse without screaming over the bar noise. And then the group was a full block ahead of us. And then two blocks. It was at this point I realized he was walking really slow and nervously scanning the sidewalk like it was covered in hypodermic needles. So then I stopped walking and said, "Are you okay?"

He looked at me like I was crazy, led my eyes down to the pair of impeccable white K-Swiss shoes on his feet, stepped over a puddle and kept going. I'm surprised he didn't ask me to take off my overcoat, lay it over said puddle and hold his hand as he crossed.

I don't want to shock you, but things didn't really work out between me and this man. Homeboy was a freak about keeping his kicks immaculate. Between his shoe OCD and the fact that he'd said he was in law school but I found his school ID to the local community college in the seat of his car. He just pulled it out of my hands like I was handing him a stick of gum and calmly turned left at the light. Oh and he called me a week later when he was out with his boys and interrupted our chat to yell, "Skeet, skeet, skeet" at a female who he said was walking by.

I don't even know what I was thinking hanging out with him multiple times. I think my brain was off at summer camp because I was a fool. Especially for his blue-green eyes. Sigh.

I guess that's just what happens sometimes. In the beginning it's easy to ignore the little things because his smile makes the world around you look like Pee Wee's Playhouse. He asked you to split the tab? Sure! He's got dimples I could drink milk out of. He likes trance music? Party on! He's got eyes like honey.

So while I'm not paranoid, I'm just trying to be a little pickier as I come off my dating hiatus. Not that it was a planned break, things just got busy in my world for a bit. I'll never leave you again. Unless my career as a popstar takes off.

Crazier things have happened.

Fling Cleaning

2011-01-25T11:57:00.000-08:00

Earlier today I was cruising the wonderful world of Facebook when I noticed my "friend," aka Bob Loblaw, had been tagged in some photos. Since I tired of his need to call me "Babe" and I lied and said I was busy the handful of times he asked to hang out, I haven't spoken to our hero.

To be honest, I could never figure that man out. He seemed to have a good sense of humor, was well educated and from the way he spoke he was close with his family. But then he'd do something weird, like ask me if I'd go with him to a party, for our first hang out mind you, to celebrate his passing the bar, so that his family and friends could "finally meet the gorgeous girl" he'd been talking up. I just scrunched up my face writing that.

Anyway, since I've never met him and would probably pass him unknowingly on the street (I'm totally lying. I'd probably see him walk by, remember he's a man I exchanged pleasantries with via text message but never met in person, pull my scarf up to my nose and cross the street, only to steal a few more glances before I walked away assessing whether or not he was cuter in person.) I looked through the Facebook photos that he'd been tagged in.

I walked away with two conclusions.
1. Bob's still got in goin' on. There's no denying this boy is very cute.
2. Bob keeps...interesting company. In the plethora of photos of this boy out on the bar scene, nary a photo lacked a girl with stringy extensions, orange skin, black eyeshadow and her girls peeking out of some low-cut shirt. Let's just say Bob never learned to take out the trash. In fact Bob swan dove right into a Hefty bag.

So after creeping around on his social diary for a bit, I stopped and thought, "Well, I dodged a bullet!" Which led me to wonder why I was still "friends" with this stranger. What's the etiquette of online dating and Facebook? Isn't it weird that I have this "friend" who can scan my photos (guilty, I know) and see what kinds of guys I've been seeing socially or read a wall posting from a friend about what bar we're all headed to that Friday night?

I mean, I defriended my ex because I didn't need him trolling around my profile, waiting for the first sign of new meat and then writing something like "last night was so special" or "hey thanks for ruining my life" on my wall.

I decided it was time for the boot and told our online friendship to take a long walk off a short pier.

Yankee Swap

2011-01-10T09:23:00.000-08:00

You know how sometimes you're presented with a situation that you just know is going to be thoroughly entertaining no matter what the outcome? Like watching a girl fight outside of the cafeteria in high school or asking your mom if she ever smoked pot?

So I got into work, already pleased as punch because I'm wearing a new outfit and it's sunny outside, and I found an invitation in my Gmail box that read "Stranger Danger." Naturally I thought it was one of those forwards about always carrying mace at night and not listening to your iPod on a dark street.

But this was so much better. It was an invitation to a party, with a few simple rules:
1. Be unattached. Okay, that's not a problem.

2. Bring someone of the opposite sex who is unattached. Okay, well now I need to think of my most eligible male friend. If my life was starring Jennifer Aniston, I'd bring some smoking hot man who I'd known all my life, and I brought him to the singles' mixer and noticed him laughing across the room as I tilted my head and slowly ladled some red punch, and he'd look up at me and we'd lock eyes and everything would suddenly make sense. Anyhoo that ain't happening, but I do need to select a quality guy that I can stamp with my approval. I mean, you wouldn't show up to a party with a box of Franzia and help yourself to a glass of 1952 Chateau d'Yquem. Snort.

But is this not a fantastic idea?!

I'm intrigued. Now I just have to pick a male pal to ~~swap~~ invite along.

Oh the possibilities...

Daters Anonymous

2011-01-05T13:43:00.000-08:00

For our first official post of DA, we have this little episode from "Hairy Larry." Yeah.

Take it away, Larry...

"In high school, I once took a girl out who's father was head of the state's FBI office. With this in mind, I was on my best behavior when I picked her up and met her father. His handshake was strong as a vice, and his eyes said that I could be killed with a single phone call. I promised to have his daughter home by 11 p.m. and got the hell out.

I was the perfect gentleman, took her out for dinner and a movie, and rolled into her driveway at 10:30pm, a full half hour ahead of schedule. My mind was working through dropoff maneuvers -- hug, kiss, or just "good night" -- when I noticed a large figure standing on the front porch in the dark. Her father. Like a statue. He didn't wave or move or anything. Just watched us in the car. Thirty minutes before we were due home. Had he been standing there since we'd left? Did he have a gun?

This was way too creepy for me. No walk to the door, no good night kiss, no second date. I said goodbye and squealed my tires out of the driveway. I don't think her dad moved an inch the entire time."

Betty on the Side

2011-01-04T07:57:00.000-08:00

Meet Market: A Single Gal's Guide to Looking for Love

What Was I Thinking?

2010-12-31T10:06:00.000-08:00

One more flashback on this last day of 2010. Oh how far we've come, friends. Happy New Year to all...don't do anything/anyone stupid tonight. But, if you do do something/someone stupid tonight, make sure you tell me all about it.

P.S. New Year's Steve is in town. Oh me, oh my.

X-Rated

So last night I was chatting with Dick Butkus online and all was going decently well. Until he asked me what I look for in a man.

Well apparently I think I'm quite the comedian, because I replied, "Confidence, a sense of humor and a huge bank account."

However, I didn't realize the dating site x's out words it deems inappropriate. And I have no idea who does the deeming, because my message popped up on both of our screens like this:

"Confidence, a sense of humor and a huge xxxx xxxxxxx."

By the time I looked up and realized what had just happened, he was typing.

"Huge what?" he asked.

Oh my gosh I could only imagine what he was imagining. I stared at those 11 x's trying to figure out if there was a dirty phrase that fit. Huge...man cannon. Huge...twig and berries. Huge...trouser snake? He probably thinks I'm this Internet sex pervert who was just cutting to the chase.

With the press of the Enter button I'd inadvertently turned this light and airy convo into a NC-17 porn fest.

I tried to explain that what I said wasn't inappropriate and I wasn't sure why it had been bleeped out.

Unfortunately, when they didn't bleep out his message when he said "shit" in a sentence, it didn't really help my case. If they let shit fly, what smut did he think my little fingers were typing out?

I laughed it off, but I was red in the face. I know I tried to explain myself, but he'll always wonder what dirty filth I really said.

I made a huge xxx of myself.

What Was I Thinking?

2010-12-29T18:50:00.000-08:00

As I continue to review the year in dating (aka laying around eating Christmas cookies and drinking wine with the fam), I found this gem from June.

Aunt Jemima

The other day my mother told me that I'm flipping men like pancakes.

Well. I'm pretty confident that she'd move on from the guys I've dated lately as well. Take Mr. Nice Guy?. We only hung out twice, but in the time we spent together I'm pretty sure he went....#2...three times. Unless he was redoing the wallpaper in there.

Act 1 Scene 1: we’re having drinks on our first date, when he exits stage left to use the restroom. So I call my Dad, chat for a bit, then throw a few darts by myself, pretend to care about the soccer game on TV, refill my beer, and finally just sit down and zone out. By now it’s been a bit of time and I’m wondering where on earth this kid is, but I’m having fun so I don’t want to assume he’s doing THAT.

Then, we’re hanging out with his friends, enjoying some pepperoni thin crust and playing Wii, when he quietly exits the room. For all I know he’s in his room blogging about how crazy I am, because he doesn’t tip toe back into the room for several minutes. And I swear I caught a tiny whiff of something foul. It’s just natural. He’s a sweet guy. Maybe he had McDonald’s for lunch.

By the third time, I’m realizing my new friend needs to rethink whatever he’s putting in his body. We’re at my friend’s condo getting ready to head to the game, and shocker! He shuffles into my friend’s bathroom, which is right off the kitchen. The rest of us are getting our stuff together, placing glasses in the dishwasher, tossing the leftover appetizers, putting the wine in the fridge. And he’s STILL in there. All I can think about is the burrito he ate before our date that night.

Finally twinkle toes comes out of the bathroom and closes the door behind him. And I’m staring at him thinking, Hey Poopy Pants, there's a time and a place.

He did say he wants to go into gastroenterology, so maybe he's down with the bowel movements. I get that it's part of life, I did grow up with two brothers, but it's a little early in the game to be getting so cozy with the toilet seat when I'm on the other side of the door.

Anyway, I've been emailing with a cute Bostonian and he asked if I'd want to meet for coffee sometime so I just sent him my number. Perhaps it's my long-standing thing for Matt Damon and Mark Wahlberg, but the idea of a Boston guy seems exciting.

How you like them apples?

What Was I Thinking?

2010-12-28T09:45:00.000-08:00

As the year comes to a close, I took a look at some of my old posts. After 30 minutes of cringing, I decided to pull some pieces so we can all reminisce and ask the same question. Seriously, WHAT was I thinking?

Exhibit A:

Out of Bounds

Everyone has their deal breakers. He's not funny, he's unemployed, he sits cross-legged on the couch, he only asks you out via text message.

Whatever the reason, the more superficial it is, the less interested you already were before discovering this tidbit about him. You can't be that into a guy if he *gasp* ties his sweater around his waist and you immediately feel like you're 13 and going to the movies with your parents; your eyes constantly darting around the theater hoping your crush isn't sitting two rows back with Becky, that slut who just got her braces off and grew into her training bra overnight.

Anyway, a big no-no for me is when a guy has no idea of boundaries. I think when you're first getting to know someone, you should be aware of boundaries and want to make the other person feel comfortable. Especially if you're a guy.

Which is why I didn't even reply to Ricky Martin when he invited me to his condo for our FIRST meeting, to cook me dinner and have some wine on his rooftop. Easy Ted Bundy. We haven't even met yet and you want me in your home?

Well, apparently everyone's living la vida loca, because when I asked the 28-year-old salesman/swimmer what he wanted to do on our first date, he said "Hopcat and hot tub." Hopcat being his favorite bar, hot tub being the one in his hotel where he was staying during a recent business trip. Ew. Ew ew ew ew ew.

So I asked our Traveling Salesman if he was kidding, to which he replied, "I was.....but I would if you wanted to."

I politely stopped replying to his emails, and moved on to greener, less sleazy pastures.