Houston, He Had a Problem

Well, dear Cupid has gone and back-handed my ego. Because Marky Mark has implemented a level 8 fade out. No call, no text, no message in a bottle thanking me for a lovely evening. This was the mother of all fades.

Apparently I wasn't aware I was only being sold a day pass and was not meant to be a season ticket holder to Pilotville. Perhaps he had too much...baggage. Maybe his call was...delayed. What if his heart was....ok I'll stop.

Anyway, I know I've blown guys off before, so yeah I know it will happen to me too and blah blah blah. What I'd really like to do is just start having exit interviews with suitors who are no longer interested in working for my company.

Or have one of those bumper stickers you see on the back of semis that reads "How's My Driving?" How's My Dating?

But I guess, in the end, the "pretend like we never met" move is info enough. And not to sound like I'm trying to nurse my bruised ego, because there's no denying I got straight up denied, but in the grand scheme of things, we weren't a match made in heaven. I was blinded by his cuteness. And there was something about his innocence that was charming.

But he talked about himself almost the entire time. And he said his entire family hated books.

He's also girl crazy. Like a 13-year-old boy. He told me he was in Vegas earlier this summer with his younger brother, and he saw this line of women waiting for a show, so he dragged his brother over to wait in the line, since it was ALL GIRLS. OMG! GIRLS! Well he said they were all talking to him and he figured they all loved him. (He probably had his pilot's uniform on.) Then he found out they were in line for a Chippendales revue. Although he never mentioned whether they attended...


I'd like to say this experience has made me see the softer side of dating, and perhaps in the future I'll blow guys off in a more sensitive way. But that's just not true. Even though one guy gave me the 'ol heave-ho doesn't mean I should lower my standards so that I avoid future rejection.

While it does suck to be the one denied, I'd be a fool to wallow in one guy's opinion. Therefore, it's time for one obligatory ice cream facial and then I'm on to bigger and cuter things.

It's always exciting to wonder who's around the corner...

The Pilot Episode

So the time comes for my date with Marky Mark. Up to this point, we've chatted on the phone a few times,  and he's slowly opened up. He seemed a little wet behind the ears. If we were in second grade, he'd be the kid at the sleepover who had to go in the other room at bedtime and have his mom put his diaper on because he still wets the bed. Which is so cool because no one notices someone walking in a diaper. Or hears the swishing of the plastic paper against your chubby thighs as you slowly sashay back into the slumber party in your purple Care Bears nightie.

After deciding that blue shorts and a billowy white tank top would be the cutest and most appropriate bike-date apparel, our young pilot called me to say he was in my lobby and would it be ok if he came up to my place for a minute? I asked why, because at this point he could be the guy who screams "bullshit motherf*ckers!" at 3 a.m. in the alley below my apartment, or the Pope and I wouldn't know the difference because I've never seen him. Well in person. He says he doesn't want to tell me why he wants to come up.

So I'm naive and like to piss off my protective brothers by ignoring their tsking in my head and say SURE! Come on up! But don't let the doorman see your meat cleaver and body bag! He comes to my door, and I feel obligated to let him step into the entryway as he hands me a box of......generic brand Popsicles! Apparently he remembered me saying I love purple Popsicles so he brought some. I thanked him for bringing me off-brand frozen treats and we headed off into the night.

The bike ride was a blast. It was a great way to start a first date, because if there's a lull in the conversation you can just pretend like you think someone needs to pass and pull ahead of your date. And if you're nervous you can just speed up and not let them catch up for a few minutes. They should do job interviews on bicycles.

Anyway, we'd gone about 9 miles when he suggested we stop and get ice cream. At this point I have no idea what's going on in his head, but can only assume he's enjoying my company because he's willing to stick around for a cone. So he gets Cookies and Cream and I get a lovely raspberry sorbet, and we walk for about 30 minutes. And I'm enjoying walking around with this cute guy who has a really nice smile.

Although he was kind of dressed like his mom had laid his outfit out before he came out. I mean cargo shorts, a Polo t-shirt and white tennis shoes are bike-appropriate I guess, but he was wearing......a visor. A VISOR. I detest visors. And if you wear one, well throw it out. The last time visors were cool was in 8th grade when they made a short resurgence when Adidas came out with those blue ones with the white logo. And his shoes and socks were stark white.

So yeah, me and the visored one finished our dessert and went back to our bikes. As I put some lip gloss on that has mint in it, he offers me a sip of his water bottle, so I take one. And then he takes one and goes, "Did you put your mouth on this?" Well I nodded and realized my lip stuff makes your lips tingle, so I apologized and explained and he goes, "Oh I don't mind if you put your lips on it, it was just tingling." Umm not sure if he was annoyed or trying to be sexy so I just did a sort of snorting laugh thing. Awesome.

Well he rides me to my door, not like that pervs, and we're standing outside my building and he mumbles something but all I hear is "up" so I asked what he said, and he mumbles something again about "up" so now I'm thinking he's asking if I'm going to invite him up, so I go "What are you saying?" and so he pulls me in and goes, "They're BREAKING UP" and nods toward the couple smoking behind me. So that was cool and worth pointing out.

Anyway then he's just looking at me weird, and asks for the third time when my bedtime is that night, and I just say it's close and I should get to bed. I thank him for the evening and say I had a great time, to which he agrees but just keeps looking at me, so I sort of widen my eyes and say, "Alright, see ya later."

I got into my apartment and wasn't sure I'd see Marky Mark again. Not that I would've minded; he was a gentleman and attractive and intelligent. Was he innocent or just uninterested? Does he always buy generic brand Popsicles or was I not worth the extra $1.25? Seriously who does something sweet (pun not intended) for someone but in the cheapest way?

I bet he gives carnations on Valentine's Day too.

Cheeseburger in Paradise

So after weeks of doing the different-schedules dance, Marky Mark and I have found a night that works for both of us.

He suggested a city bike ride followed by ice cream in the park. Of course my cynical side immediately groans and says "CHEESY!" but whatever, cheesy isn't so terrible. I need to stop being such a jerk.

There are worse kinds of cheesy. Like when a guy rolls up to your apartment in his Roadster, top down, and asks if you've ever seen the city from a convertible, cause it's (as he puts his shades on) "amazing." Or the guy who shows up to play shuffleboard wearing a sweatband, and wants you to put on his wristbands. And no one knows the last time he washed those puppies. Or the guy who wants to fist bump everytime you agree on something. Sit at the bar? Fist bump. Beer? Fist bump. Darts? Fist bump. I'm totally out of touch with women and the fact that people don't fist bump anymore, not to mention women never fist bumped to begin with? Fist bump.

Anyway, we talked for a bit last night and I'm looking forward to hanging out. He did ask if I was worried, since I've never met him and as the guy he's supposed to make sure I'm comfortable when we go out. So he knows boundaries! He also has a hot voice and a funny personality with a hint of naïveté that's really endearing.

I do have a little knot in my stomach, because every time I go to meet a first date, I feel like I'm about to walk on stage at a bachelor auction. Either the crowd will instantly yell bids, or I'll hear crickets.

Shall we start the bidding at $50?

Red Fish, Blue Fish

The wise Paula Abdul once sang, “I take two steps forward, I take two steps back. We come together ‘cause opposites attract.”

As a child, I not only blasted that song out of my silver Sony boom box at least 530 times, but I could be seen performing a dance number to it at many a local talent show. My best friend and I peddled our bit for a total of two school shows and one summer church festival. And I was always in shock and awe as to why our dance moves, including me taking two steps forward while she took two steps back, didn’t dazzle those a-hole judges.

We returned the next summer lip-syncing to Leader of the Pack, and when the motorcycle roared on the track, our secret weapon came out: my cherub-cheeked 5-year-old little brother on his Little Tikes motorcycle. Still didn’t win, even with that crowd pleaser. Jerks.

Anyway, back to opposites attracting. Is this true? Can it work? I’d imagine certain personalities just mesh well, but how below the surface can your oppositions run before things just combust?

For example, Marky Mark confessed to me the other evening that he despises coffee, beer and sushi. I love coffee, beer and sushi. But I don’t think any of those are reasons not to give him a chance. Right?

It’s not like he said he hates babies, sunshine and the possibility of a higher power.

And if he ever did, then I'd gas up that Little Tikes motorcycle and ride off into the sunset.

Highway to the Danger Zone

So Marky Mark and I have been on very different schedules lately, and therefore haven’t been able to meet up. He travels for work and I was on vacation, so I think next week will be the week.

I’ve semi-confirmed that he’s a pilot, although he seems to think that makes him a rock star because he said that some girls he’s met only seemed interested in him after he told them his job title. Or saw him in uniform. Groan.

I say big whoop. Sure, a pilot is a neat job, you don’t meet them everyday, and he gets to wear a cool hat, but I didn’t realize they’re the Warren Beatty of the skies.

Naturally my mother already asked me on gChat if I was going to be his co-pilot.

I will say this about him. He’s cute and he’s friendly, and every time he leaves me a message, he says his full name, and that he hopes I’m having a nice day at work. So he’s pleasant. He also texted me when he was flying to my hometown to let me know the wind was at 6 knots and it was a beautiful day. So he’s useful.

Now we'll just have to see if he's worthy.

What's New Pussycat?

After chatting back and forth with two new guys, I decided it was time to share my phone number with each of them so we could make a date. Correction: dates. This is not an episode of Elimidate.

The problem? They have the same first name. And I don’t know either of their last names. They’re both 27 and live in my city. So when the first one calls, how on earth am I going to know which one it is?

When he says, “Hey it’s Chris,” how does one reply in that situation? “Which one?” “Chris who?” Cause then he’ll just reply, “Slut!” and slam the phone down. (Do people slam phones down anymore? I guess he’d just vehemently push the End button on his cell.)

I do know one Chris loves running, but I can’t be all, “Get any good runs in lately?” and he’s all, “I’m allergic to running,” and I’m all, “Ahhhh haha! Just pulling your chain.”

Chris 1 is the boy from Boston I mentioned a few weeks ago. I keep thinking of my aforementioned love for Mark Wahlberg, so he’ll be Marky Mark. Chris 2 is an engineer who lives downtown. His profile says he’s Hispanic, so naturally we’ll call him Ricky Martin.

So should I just make plans with each, and show up not knowing who I’m going to see?

Perhaps I’m on to something here. Maybe from now on I should only date guys with the same name. I’ll be like those serial daters who call every girl they go out with Babe so they never slip up.

Except I refuse to walk around with my shirt unbuttoned to my navel, wearing a gold chain.