Much Ado About Nothing

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

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

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

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!

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!

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

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

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

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

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