Sloppy Seconds

Since I put the kibosh on Mister Darcy's panty party, I've been pretty low key on the man front.

Although I did hear from Mr. D the other day. It was a typical Tuesday night, lying on my bed in my fave white silk nightie with some champagne like any modern girl does, when an instant message popped up from him. I always forget to block post-axing.

Anyway, he told me he had two questions. One, did I have any cute, loose friends? And two, what's the URL for my blog? (I mentioned it once in a moment of sheer stupidity when I had that whole lame "honesty" thing going.)

I told him I had cute friends but they aren't loose. And then I lied and said my site is down and I can't access it. You know, because I can't give out a URL unless the site is up and running. And this site certainly isn't...

He LOL'ed and I told him to keep it real.

Then I blocked him faster than you can say wanker.

Off With His Head!

After not hearing from Mister Darcy for two days, he emailed me Friday morning to see how my week was going. I ignored the small talk and asked him to call me or let me know when he was online next because I needed to tell him something.

Not the smoothest message I’ve ever written, and I probably totally freaked the guy out. If a guy told me he had to tell me something, you better believe my mind would be racing with thoughts. He’s married. His real name is Lucifer. He has leprosy. He’s going to steal my identity.

Anyway, he came online a few minutes later, so I decided he’d chosen his mode of communication and therefore I could tell him via Gchat that the milk is most certainly not free in this pasture, and he should move on to less monogamous ones.

He was very polite and said he understood. He didn’t argue or try to convince me otherwise, which made things verrrry easy. So I was happy with the way things were ended. He did ask if he could swing by on Sunday to get his game, but said he’d meet me in the lobby. I was mildly disappointed that I was no longer the new owner of a Boggle game.

Sunday around 11 a.m. he called. After I answered and said hi, he said something but my phone cut out, so I had to be annoying and say, “What?!” and then he said, “How was your weekend with your parents?” at the volume you talk to your great aunt whose hearing aid keeps going out.

I told him about their visit, in 10 words or less, and then he asked if he could drop by in an hour before the Bears game. I got off the phone and wondered if I should at least put on some mascara. Nah. I decided to stay in my yoga pants and sweater. He was past tense.

So I strolled down an hour later when he buzzed, and I have to say he looked super cute. He was in this grey zip-up sweatshirt and dark jeans, and started smiling when he saw me get off the elevator. Why do the devilish ones have to be so cute?

There were a few other people in the lobby, which provided lots of noise and didn't make me feel awkward. Like if we met on a quiet street or something. I didn't feel like he was going to pull a Tiny T and lunge at me for a sloppy, emotionless goodbye.

I handed him the bag with his goods and a pamphlet from Planned Parenthood, patted him on the butt and reminded him to "wrap it up!"

Jk. I gave him his stuff and said, “Have fun!” followed by a mumbled goodbye and we went our separate ways. It was very fluid. And for as adorable as he looked, I didn’t doubt my decision for a second.

I pushed 12 on the elevator and the door opened. Onward and upward!

Free Bird

Saturday afternoon my mother called to tell me to have fun that night on my third date with Darcy, and to “watch the kissing.” I immediately groaned and said that I’m a classy lady to which she replied, “Well classy people kiss too.” Ooookay.

So, in honor of my dear mother, this is how the date went: He came over, we played Boggle, and then *****************************************************.

Just kidding.

Anyway, Mister Darcy said he’d be over around 8 p.m. So you can imagine my distress when I was half-dressed, trying to choose a top in my closet at 7:57 p.m., there was a knock at the door. I straightened up and panicked. Crap, I’m not ready!

I scurried over to the door and looked through the peephole to see him staring at the door. I awkwardly yelled through the door, “Just a second I’m getting dressed!” and heard him laugh as I dashed back to my closet. I pulled a black sleeveless number on and ran to the bathroom to apply some bronzer. But the combination of being surprised and a little nervous made my hand shaky, causing me to look like Edward Scissorhands at the MAC counter.

I gave myself the once-over and then opened the door and said, “Sorry I was getting dressed.” And I swear he mumbled something like, “You shouldn’t have bothered." I was still a little flustered so I just ignored it and welcomed him in.

He set a shopping bag on the kitchen counter and pulled out some red wine, Boggle and his Official Scrabble Dictionary (NERD ALERT). I was doing most of the talking while I got us each a glass of wine, and it made me feel uncomfortable. He was just watching me pour the wine and  half smiling, so something was entertaining to him, but I couldn't tell you what because he doesn't VERBALIZE ANYTHING.

He did get better as the night went on, and he can be quite funny, but I just don't know. It's kind of like having a dog. You talk to it and they look like they understand you and sometimes they wag their tail or raise their ears, but you don't really take much from the conversation.

So we played a few games of Bananagrams (creamed me) and then a few of Boggle (creamed him). Overall the evening was extremely PG and he left around 11:30 (p.m.). It was a good time had by all. I mean, sure the conversation was bleak, mainly filled with overplayed sh*t-talking one liners about not cheating and how bad the other was going to lose. Yawn.

Since then, we’ve chatted a few times. And I was open to possibly hanging out again. But now I have to dump him.

You see kids, after hanging out three times, Mister Darcy decided to lay his cards on the table last night via Gchat. And he basically said it’d be great if we hung out for the next few months while he’s in America and be booty buddies. Oh and could we meet up at my flat on Sunday for an hour or two before he heads to the Bears' game? Um, gross.

I will say this: we all knew he was leaving eventually and he was at least honest with what he was looking for. And I’m sure there are plenty of women in the city who would be down for a no-strings-attached fling (if that’s you, email me. I’ll set you up.) It's not a bad thing if that's what you want. It's just not my bag, baby.

Anyway, I’m not sad about it, which says a lot. I am, however, nervous about telling him because I dread confrontation. Plus, he pulled the OLDEST trick in the book: He “forgot” Boggle and his dictionary at my place. You guys, we were sitting right in front of my coffee table right before he left. How dumb does he think I am that he just wooshed out the door without thinking about the large red box in front of his face?

So I hate confrontation and prefer the men I'm no longer interested in just drop off like needles on a thirsty Christmas tree, however I know they have feelings too. Plus I have his game and dictionary. So I think I'll go the ol' dial-a-dump route. Quick ring on the telly. I mean it's not like we dated for that long, and he did proposition me via Gchat. So it's okay if I just tell him over the phone that we’re not singing the same tune and I can mail him the game, right?

I need some input. Please give me your two cents.

Better make that a sixpence.

Play Date

So Mister Darcy and I have talked a buttload since our movie date. I think the fact that his time in the U.S. is limited has eliminated 80 percent of the pressure, allowing me to stop nitpicking and just have fun. Major coup.

He's really quite enjoyable to speak with. When I was home for Thanksgiving he asked what games my family was playing, and I mentioned Boggle. He said he loves Boggle. You guys, I love Boggle. My family is Boggle. Just kidding. But seriously when we play, there's usually a shouting match and there have been tears. I have cried over a word my little brother used for 6 points. It's bad. But awesome.

Then, the next day he tells me, "Right, I played a game today that I would definitely beat you at, called Bananagramme." Umm marry me? After telling him it's called Bananagrams (gramme...so cute) and it's one of two games I own, we decided to have a game night this Saturday. At my flat.

He's bringing Boggle and a bottle of whatever I "fancy." To my home. Which is just a whole new world because I haven't had a coed game night in my studio apartment since I moved in June. It's really not a big deal, except that it is because it's like having a boy up to my bedroom. Only this time we're not sneaking into my best friend's parents' liquor cabinet with an empty Aquafina bottle and filling it with a little of everything. We called it swamp juice. Pure class.

Anyway, we'll see how this plays out. It's not like I'm going to dim the lights, turn on Barry White and answer the door in my bathrobe. I do that on date six.

It's really quite perfect because it's so cold out, and I'd prefer to stay in anyway. Plus we're on my turf.

Booze and Boggle. And Bananagrams. And British boys.

Brilliant.

Bird of Prey

So everybody’s favorite British bachelor and I decided to meet Saturday night for a good old-fashioned romp. Just kidding, we went to a movie. I walked into the theatre lobby, looked around and realized I was there before him. And it was in that moment that I realized I was nervous.

Considering we’d spoken several times in between our inaugural meeting and this one, I’d assumed I’d be loose as a goose. But once I was standing on the lobby's gaudy multi-color firework show of carpet, I realized my heart was beating a little faster.

I was staring up at a poster for that movie Megamind, which looks really funny if I may say so, when I heard a familiar voice mumble, “Right then – I thought about standing you up.” Awesome.

I looked up and Mister Darcy was standing in front of me wearing a cream sweater, dark jeans and a devilish grin.

So we headed up another escalator and into the theatre, and the feelings of nervousness and excitement hung in the air around me as thick as the smells of salt and butter from the concession stand.

Once we’d settled into our seats, we made more small talk. He’s a little quieter in person, but then again we hardly know each other. He wasn’t as nervous as he was on our first date. In fact from what I’ve learned so far about Mister D, he’s extremely confident but also has a sense of humor. Oh confidence, how I love thee.

Well the movie starts and the lights dim. This is when you start multi-tasking. Oh wow, Russell Crowe’s pretty hot, oh wow this plot is already thick, oh wow what’s going on in Darcy’s world?

I was still feeling a little nervous when I, possibly subconsciously, clasped my hands together in my lap.  It was at this very second I saw his hand heading toward my seat. And I just watched out of the corner of my eye as he realizes my hand is unavailable, swoops his down and casually slides it back to his lap. I felt kind of bad (not at all) that I was amused, but I wasn’t laughing at him, more at the fact that he’d shot a total air ball. Let's see how the Duke of Confidenceshire handles this one.

New handholding ETA: as soon as I unclasp my hands. We sat there in silence for a few minutes and then my phone started buzzing, which was a perfect opportunity to unclasp. And then,  I settled back into my seat with my hands just resting on my lap. I was dangling the bait.

Just like clockwork, Mister Darcy’s hand slides over onto my seat and coolly into my hand. And it was really kind of cute. Simple but sweet. Like instant brownies. I'm happy to say it was a creep-free, clam-free hold. 

After the movie we walked around downtown for a little while and settled on a small bar to grab a few drinks. At this point I was feeling a lot more comfortable and I could tell he was too. And he looked really cute in his beige parka. Thumbs up on the style--so far.

Over a few beers he taught me the rules of cricket, we talked about our families, and shared stories about dumb things we did in high school.

After three drinks I was tired and it was time to be a lady, curtsy and bid him adieu. Plus it was late. Since he bought our movie tickets, I offered to pay for the drinks but he scoffed at the idea. He said that he wouldn’t feel right letting me pay, he’s old fashioned and his father would be so disappointed if he found out he’d made a girl pay. Golf clap.

We walked outside and he hailed me a cab. And then he put his hands on my shoulders, paused and then went in for the kill. Right on the lips. Uh, yes sir may I have another? Then he told me I was a "cute bird."

I went home, fuzzy in the head from the buzz of the beer and the bliss of the boy.

He’s a dangerous bird.

Film Frenzy

Between your great feedback, my instinct and the fact that Mister Darcy said “Bugger” last night, I’ve decided to go on a second date with him. We’re going to see The Next Three Days Saturday night.

I’m genuinely excited about this, but I’m kind of nervous because he was so nervous last week; so I’m nervous he’ll be nervous. Why was he so uncomfortable? I intimidated him? It’s his natural disposition? He’s on the lam? His ripcord wasn’t responding? This is confusing.

Nerves are like yawns. They’re contagious. So we’ll be stiffly sitting in our seats, minding our personal space, and then we’ll put our hands in the popcorn bucket at the same time and then look at each other and pull our hands out as fast as we can. The popcorn dance is tricky. It’s always a power play to see who removes their hand and who proceeds to take a handful.

Everyone has a movie date story. When I was 15 I went to see Armageddon with this totally hot older guy (think 18 not 45), but when I turned left to look at him, he was staring at the wall. And he didn’t move for several minutes. So finally, I tapped him on the shoulder, pointed at the screen and said, “The movie’s that way.” He looked at me, didn’t say a word, and turned back to the wall. Apparently he watched movies with a side eye.

My older brother once took a girl to the movies and said he kept looking over at her because he thought she was crying. The next day she told the entire grade he was a huge creep who stared at her the entire movie. So that went well.

We’ll see how round two goes. Meanwhile, Bob Loblaw hasn’t called me Babe in over 24 hours, so maybe he’s in Babe rehab. And when I got home from work last night, an attractive brunette was moving in next door.

I smell a sitcom!

You Can Find Me in Da Pub

So Friday night I met my friend for her birthday happy hour, and got to the bar around 7:30 p.m. Mister Darcy had called to say he'd be there around 9, so I had some time to relax.

Of course as the minutes ticked closer to the time I began staring at the door. And then telling myself to stop staring. And then staring some more. I'd seen photos of him, but I still panicked a few times when a semi-cute dirty blonde walked in. Then I saw a guy who was not my type at all, and we had this weird eye contact exchange because I was staring at him hoping he wasn't Mister Darcy. He caught me, looked away, and looked back and I looked back and met his gaze and for some reason I couldn't look away.

It wasn't him. So then, it gets to be 9:05 and there's no sign of him. I started to wonder if maybe he walked in, saw me, and was pealing off in his car at that moment. At this point, the group was heading down the block, so I figured I'd just tell him we left if he called.

The second we got to the bar down the street, Mr. D. called. So now I knew it would be about 60 seconds before we met face to face. And my heart started racing. What if he was awful? What if he thought I was awful? Was this going to be a trainwreck?

All of your optimism goes out the window in moments this like and all you feel is sheer terror.

I was talking to the birthday girl when a cute dirty blonde walked past me and then did a slow turn and gave me the side eye and then we made eye contact. This had to be him.

He walked up to me and I took a deep breath and said hi. He said hi and just stared at me until I spoke again. So I mumbled something and he said, "What?" So I repeated my question and then he answered but his accent made it hard to understand everything he said, so I said, "What?"

This was going to be grrrrrreat.

He was wearing a green sweater with a white button down underneath and dark jeans. But I forget what his shoes looked like and now that's driving me crazy!

Anyway we sat at the bar and made small talk while we observed each other. He seemed a little nervous, but I'm sure he thought the same thing, because I was doing my talk-too-fast-ramble-and-repeat number and he was just trying to understand something that came out of my mouth.

Finally I asked if he was okay because he seemed really jumpy, and he said that he was nervous his car was going to get towed because after circling the block for 15 minutes, he finally just parked in a tow zone. My friend and her fiance had just gotten to the bar to meet us, but there was a line, so the four of us left and moved his car, and then ended up at a tiny, quieter bar.

And it was really nice to have them there because my friends aren't shy, and they had lots of funny questions for our Brit, so things seemed to go a little more smoothly.

At one point, he was talking about his day and mentioned going to the "petrol station" and the three of us just stared at him, until finally my friend goes, "oh GAS station!" and we finally got it. And he refers to his hometown as his "village." Adorable!

I was having a good time, but he was SO hard to read. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, which made me more nervous.

Anyway, I started to get tired around midnight and he had to work the next morning, so we called it a night. He dropped me off and I said Cheerio!

That never gets old.

He's cute and put-together, and has a good sense of humor. My friends said they liked him too. So bonus points. However, he's a little shy in person. But maybe he just needs to warm up a little.

However, we have a little issue. He's only in the country for about 9 more months for work. So I have a decision to make: do I say thanks but no thanks, or do I just have some fun with a cute foreigner? I feel like at least we can be friends for the time he's here. And it takes away all the pressure which I like.

So I need your input. Do I see him again, or has his passport expired?

First Encounters of the British Kind

I’m trying something new tonight. Mister Darcy and I had agreed to hang out this evening, but I really wanted to attend a happy hour for a friend’s birthday. So, I invited him to meet me there. And because I made this first encounter so casual, some of my nerves have been alleviated.

Well, I still I feel like there’s a hyperactive hamster running on his wheel in my stomach. But he’s just going a little slower today. He had a late night.

The nice thing is Mister Darcy has to work a little later today, so he won’t be leaving the office until 7:30. This means I can get to the shindig, have a cocktail with my friends, and relax a bit before he arrives.

Of course I’ll be checking the door the entire time. The doorman’s going to think I’m into him.

Well maybe if he’s cute, I will be. Some doormen are really cute.

So we’ve chatted online and on the phone a few times. And he’s got a great sense of humor. Yesterday I told him I was writing about guys calling girls Babe and since then he’ll just send me IM’s that say “hey babe.” I’ve created a monster.

Since meeting him, I’ve been learning some great terms. Like slutty girls are “dirty birds.” And he always asks permission to “phone me” before he calls. And before he goes, instead of saying okay, he says right. As in, “right got to go do some washing before work tomorrow” or “right you – back to work”. And of course in my head I read all of his messages in a thick British accent. Jolly good!

I’m sure we’ll have fun tonight, I just have the jitters. Once we get past the initial meet and greet, I’ll be okay. I hope. Ahhhh!

Anyway, I’m going to wear a cotton dress, black tights and boots. Keep it casual. Oh and I’m thinking subtle purple smoky eyes. I’m really into purple eyeshadow recently. Gotta keep things a little interesting.

Anyone have any first date rituals? Go-to outfit? Perfect lipgloss?

Mister Darcy Comes A Calling

Now that Mister Darcy is on Gmail, he pops on occasionally each night. And he’s always so pleasant and funny.

The other night I was talking with him, when I noticed that Google counts the lines of your chat conversations. We were at 82 lines in about 5 minutes, and had only discussed how our days had been, what our middle names were, and my asking if he said “bloody” a lot, to which he replied, “Loooooaaaads.”

Which made me wonder, how many lines go into a date? A great conversation about our most embarrassing moments? A terribly quiet phone chat? Do crickets count as a line?

Anyway, I’m not too concerned about awkward pauses with this boy. The only reason crickets came up in our convo was because he plays. Of course he does.

So he decided to propose quite the itinerary for my upcoming weekend. Friday he suggested we go see a movie and if all goes well, we can go to “the pub” on Saturday to watch England play in a rugby match. The pub!

I think a movie is a nice starting point. And although it’s bold to double book when we’ve never met, I’m glad he prefaced it with, “if we have a good time at the movies.”

We’ll see how Friday goes. If it’s a rousing success then I’m down for a little rugby. And I invited my friend and her fiancé, because I think a group hang out would be fun. Keep it casual.

However, there is the fear that one of us has a great time on Friday, and the other suddenly has the flu Saturday morning. It would be a clear slap in the face. So I’m not sure how I’ll pull this off.

This is the downside of dating – you’re constantly running through a gauntlet of reject-or-be-rejected obstacles. Sometimes you make it through to the end, but at any minute you could be knocked to the ground by a 50-lb. rubber tire. Or a 180-lb. dirty-blonde Brit.

Well, first things first. He told me I can choose what movie we see. So now I need a solid suggestion. Any good date movies out right now?

Tea for Two

I’ve met an Englishman. A true, born-and-bred Brit. And let me tell you, that boy’s accent will be the end of me. It’s like quicksand. I know it’s so cliché but I cannot resist a man who sounds like Mark Darcy covered in hot caramel sauce and lightly toasted on top.

So Mister Darcy and I have been getting acquainted and I must admit I have completely ignored half of the things he’s said because I’m too busy listening to the way he talks. He could’ve told me he’s a maniac serial killer who gets regular perms and waxes his stomach but all I heard was, “Ello! You’re the most beautiful gull in the wuhld! Alright then, pip pip cheerio!”

Just kidding. He doesn’t talk like the chimney sweep from Mary Poppins. But it’s so sexy.

So we’ll see where this goes. He’s 28 with green eyes and dirty blonde hair. He's a mechanical engineer, and as he said, “Project lead, might I add." You may, good sir. And in his attempt to be American, he said he joined a bowling league.

Great. I have to save this man before he gets a beer gut and starts watching NASCAR.

Righty ho!