Okay, you remember the last story, right? About the guy who lived across from me, that I kind-of-almost-but-not-really-dated-but-mostly-just-got-pseudo-stalked-by?
He brought his Valentine's date into the restaurant I worked at. He was in the industry himself, so he had to know I'd be working - Valentine's is like Black Friday in the restaurant business. Or, I don't know, maybe his girlfriend just really liked mediocre chain Italian food.
I wound up being the person to bring the entrees to their table. When we made eye contact, he gave me this big, smug grin... I guess I was supposed to realize how badly I missed out by not being more receptive to his Static Cling Technique. I guess I was supposed to be upset, or offended.
Mostly I was just upset because I couldn't remember his name. I'm usually pretty good with names, dammit!
xoxo
10.28.2010
10.25.2010
The boy next door - good idea in movies, bad idea in reality - part 1.
So I just got home from work - it's fairly late, and I'm walking the dog before I turn in for the night. We're just about to head back up the stairs when I hear voices from the neighboring balcony. It's my two male neighbors, one with his girlfriend, and they're inviting me over to have a night cap. This seems fairly normal, right? They're college-aged, much like myself - what's the harm in having one drink with them?
Okay Reader, I think it's kind of a given at this point that I already have a propensity for Bad Ideas. "Drinking with the people who live across from you" certainly SEEMS like the neighborly thing to do. Surely there will be no consequences to such an action!
Wrong. Totally wrong. Super wrong. To this day, I still can't even begin to wrap my brain around how wrong I turned out to be on this one.
So, anyway.
Back to the story.
Single Guy and I flirt somewhat throughout the night. Granted, we're drinking, so that's a given, and I'm only mildly interested even after a beverage or three... but he seems nice enough, so I figure I'll hang out for a little while. This turns into a repeat the next night - walk across the breezeway, hang out for a little bit, then walk back. On this night, I discover he's on parole for marijuana possession.
"Crap," I think to myself, "I've already given him my phone number, too."
Well, no worry. Maybe I've just made a new friend, right? Nothing has happened to make things awkward, not even so much as a hug at this point, so maybe I still have something to be optimistic about.
If there were an easy way to convey some kind of cackling, psychotic laughter via text, I would be doing so right about now.
The messages started out really normal - at first. Conversational. Hey-how-are-you, I'm-good-how-are-you. You know, normal.
Then the flood gates opened.
He started texting me... pretty much non-stop. Texting a lot is good - it shows you're interested. Texting question after question to the point where I can't answer one before the next three are sitting in my inbox - that's a tad worrisome. It was completely inane stuff, too - I'm talking like, "What's your favorite animal? Favorite food? Favorite thing about your favorite food? Favorite color? Favorite car? Favorite brand of decongestant? Favorite brand of tampons?"
Okay, I might be exaggerating - but only a little. My point is that it was completely overwhelming. Even if I managed to calm him down, by the next day he'd start back up again. It got to the point where - if he saw my car in the parking lot - he'd text me to ask what I was doing. And then he'd text me again to ask what my favorite shampoo is.
At this point, I began to wonder if it was possible to get a restraining order against someone who lives 10 feet away from me. I tried - once - to get him to back off. Admittedly, I could have tried harder. But when it didn't work, I did the only other thing I could think of to do - brush off.
Luckily, they moved out a few months later.
xoxo
Okay Reader, I think it's kind of a given at this point that I already have a propensity for Bad Ideas. "Drinking with the people who live across from you" certainly SEEMS like the neighborly thing to do. Surely there will be no consequences to such an action!
Wrong. Totally wrong. Super wrong. To this day, I still can't even begin to wrap my brain around how wrong I turned out to be on this one.
So, anyway.
Back to the story.
Single Guy and I flirt somewhat throughout the night. Granted, we're drinking, so that's a given, and I'm only mildly interested even after a beverage or three... but he seems nice enough, so I figure I'll hang out for a little while. This turns into a repeat the next night - walk across the breezeway, hang out for a little bit, then walk back. On this night, I discover he's on parole for marijuana possession.
"Crap," I think to myself, "I've already given him my phone number, too."
Well, no worry. Maybe I've just made a new friend, right? Nothing has happened to make things awkward, not even so much as a hug at this point, so maybe I still have something to be optimistic about.
If there were an easy way to convey some kind of cackling, psychotic laughter via text, I would be doing so right about now.
The messages started out really normal - at first. Conversational. Hey-how-are-you, I'm-good-how-are-you. You know, normal.
Then the flood gates opened.
He started texting me... pretty much non-stop. Texting a lot is good - it shows you're interested. Texting question after question to the point where I can't answer one before the next three are sitting in my inbox - that's a tad worrisome. It was completely inane stuff, too - I'm talking like, "What's your favorite animal? Favorite food? Favorite thing about your favorite food? Favorite color? Favorite car? Favorite brand of decongestant? Favorite brand of tampons?"
Okay, I might be exaggerating - but only a little. My point is that it was completely overwhelming. Even if I managed to calm him down, by the next day he'd start back up again. It got to the point where - if he saw my car in the parking lot - he'd text me to ask what I was doing. And then he'd text me again to ask what my favorite shampoo is.
At this point, I began to wonder if it was possible to get a restraining order against someone who lives 10 feet away from me. I tried - once - to get him to back off. Admittedly, I could have tried harder. But when it didn't work, I did the only other thing I could think of to do - brush off.
Luckily, they moved out a few months later.
xoxo
10.18.2010
My Life is Absurd: The Early Years
For my next trick, I'd like to discuss an event that happened right at the tail end of my high school career. This one actually doesn't have that much to do with dating, but it's still a pretty great example of the kind of anomalies that follow me around.
So it's the summer before my freshman year of college, right? And what else would I be doing, besides living it up and trying to get as much partying in as possible before I go to big kid school... right?
Well, no. Not really. Instead, I was spending anywhere between 38-45 hours per week inside a movie rental place, making $6.25/hour. Now, there seems to be a certain urban legend that follows movie rental places around - about the occasional customer accidentally returning, uh, illicit materials in movie boxes instead of what they actually rented. Movies you can't get in Oklahoma.
Well, it DOES happen. It happened. More specifically, a tape of men who prefer the company of other men got returned... inside a Spanglish box.
Yup. The kind of movie you can't get in Oklahoma. THAT kind of movie you can't get in Oklahoma.
So what do we do? Well, I'm the youngest person there - at 18 years old - and even the oldest person is only something like 24. So what do you THINK we did? We joked about it. Constantly. I mean, we were on the clock too, so we did try and figure out what account the movie was actually rented on - but there was a problem.
There was a husband and wife listed on the account.
THAT was a phone call that NOBODY wanted to make. What if the wife picks up the phone?! I mean, I guess we could have just said the wrong movie got returned and left out the specifics, but obviously we weren't thinking clearly. Frozen by indecision, we did nothing... for about a week. That's when the saga ended - the actual Spanglish tape belonging to the store showed up in the drop box, with a note rubber banded around it. Blah blah blah, my friend played a joked on me, sorry about that, call me if you have any questions. Feeling pity, I voided the late fees that had accrued. I even left a note on the account - "Voided late fees, felt sorry for the guy."
So that's it, right? Pretty much, anyway. We moved on with our lives, getting back into our routines of re-shelving movies and staring at tacky counter tops. I started college, once again the scared little freshman, wandering from building to building, using a map to find my classes. All was well in the world. I had classes, I had my friends, and I had a job I liked... albeit a poorly compensated one.
One night, one of my professors came into the store. I was excited to see him - he was one of my favorites, and naively I thought - how cool is it to see a professor outside of class? It was like seeing some kind of quadrupedal animal walk on its hind legs. Amused with myself, I went ahead and pulled up his account as he and his wife browsed the store - I don't know why. I mean, it was a boring job. Sometimes we plugged names in just to see if they were real people.
That's when I saw it.
"Voided late fees, felt sorry for the guy."
Yup. One and the same. What do you do in a situation like that? Surely you don't bring it up. It probably would have been more awkward for him than for me - I mean, come on, this dude didn't even bring the right tape back into the store himself - he wrapped a sheet of paper around it like you would a ransom note.
So I did what I was raised to do in my family - I completely ignored it. To be honest, I DO think he put two and two together, and figured out that I had been present for the entire ordeal... but he never said anything.
And yes... I did get an A in that class.
xoxo
So it's the summer before my freshman year of college, right? And what else would I be doing, besides living it up and trying to get as much partying in as possible before I go to big kid school... right?
Well, no. Not really. Instead, I was spending anywhere between 38-45 hours per week inside a movie rental place, making $6.25/hour. Now, there seems to be a certain urban legend that follows movie rental places around - about the occasional customer accidentally returning, uh, illicit materials in movie boxes instead of what they actually rented. Movies you can't get in Oklahoma.
Well, it DOES happen. It happened. More specifically, a tape of men who prefer the company of other men got returned... inside a Spanglish box.
Yup. The kind of movie you can't get in Oklahoma. THAT kind of movie you can't get in Oklahoma.
So what do we do? Well, I'm the youngest person there - at 18 years old - and even the oldest person is only something like 24. So what do you THINK we did? We joked about it. Constantly. I mean, we were on the clock too, so we did try and figure out what account the movie was actually rented on - but there was a problem.
There was a husband and wife listed on the account.
THAT was a phone call that NOBODY wanted to make. What if the wife picks up the phone?! I mean, I guess we could have just said the wrong movie got returned and left out the specifics, but obviously we weren't thinking clearly. Frozen by indecision, we did nothing... for about a week. That's when the saga ended - the actual Spanglish tape belonging to the store showed up in the drop box, with a note rubber banded around it. Blah blah blah, my friend played a joked on me, sorry about that, call me if you have any questions. Feeling pity, I voided the late fees that had accrued. I even left a note on the account - "Voided late fees, felt sorry for the guy."
So that's it, right? Pretty much, anyway. We moved on with our lives, getting back into our routines of re-shelving movies and staring at tacky counter tops. I started college, once again the scared little freshman, wandering from building to building, using a map to find my classes. All was well in the world. I had classes, I had my friends, and I had a job I liked... albeit a poorly compensated one.
One night, one of my professors came into the store. I was excited to see him - he was one of my favorites, and naively I thought - how cool is it to see a professor outside of class? It was like seeing some kind of quadrupedal animal walk on its hind legs. Amused with myself, I went ahead and pulled up his account as he and his wife browsed the store - I don't know why. I mean, it was a boring job. Sometimes we plugged names in just to see if they were real people.
That's when I saw it.
"Voided late fees, felt sorry for the guy."
Yup. One and the same. What do you do in a situation like that? Surely you don't bring it up. It probably would have been more awkward for him than for me - I mean, come on, this dude didn't even bring the right tape back into the store himself - he wrapped a sheet of paper around it like you would a ransom note.
So I did what I was raised to do in my family - I completely ignored it. To be honest, I DO think he put two and two together, and figured out that I had been present for the entire ordeal... but he never said anything.
And yes... I did get an A in that class.
xoxo
10.11.2010
Trouble finds me. Always.
Trouble finds me.
There isn't really a good way to explain how this happens. It just does. Particularly in terms of the dating world. I don't seek guys out; I have reached a point in my life where I am mature enough to recognize that I don't need to be in a relationship to be happy. It does get awkward at times - I am already reaching the age where the majority of the people I meet are married with children. But for the most part, it's really not an issue.
So, I stay single. And I like it that way.
But occasionally, someone comes along that I decide to spend a little time with, and invariably, something will go horribly awry. After a lot of hemming and hawing and consideration, I have decided that things in this area of my life have finally reached the level of absurdity at which I should probably start writing about it. My hope is that, at the very least, this venture will be found somewhat entertaining. My other hope is that maybe some of the guys out there will read this and perhaps start to loosely interpet it as a set of guidelines when it comes to dating.
In that spirit, I'd like to start with Rule Number One: Do not reveal fetishes before the first date. (For that matter, do not reveal fetishes ON the first date, either.)
I had a guy find me on Facebook (strangely, this is how a lot of these stories begin.) In the interest of maintaining anonymity as much as possible, I won't say how I knew him - but in all technicality, we had actually met before, although it had been several years.
He hits me up. We message back and forth. We seem to be having a fairly decent conversation - we had a lot in common, and we both write at least reasonably well, so we can kind of gauge the other's personality - at least a little bit. He asks for my number. Thinking he was attractive and that things were going well, I go ahead and give it to him.
In case it's not completely obvious at this point, that particular action later became known as what's called a Bad Idea.
I'm a texting fiend, and so is he. So that's what we do. We text late into the night, and it starts up again the following afternoon. After lots of back and forth, we start talking about television.
Him: Hey do you like 30 Rock?
Me: Yeah! I love Tina Fey, I think she's great!
Him: I have a foot fetish.
It sounds completely ridiculous that he would say it out of the blue like that, but I promise you - he did. Stunned and unsure how to react, I actually replied first by asking if this was a joke from the show that happened to be going over my head, or if he was serious. I crossed my fingers, hoping maybe it was a joke from a later season that I hadn't seen yet.
Naturally, of course - no dice. He's totally serious. We have been interacting for less than 24 hours at this point. Yeah, technically we've met - MANY years ago. And even then, it was in a "passing nod" type of capacity. The dude could have been my cashier at the grocery store for as well as I remembered him back then.
More than a little alienated at this point, I made a half-hearted attempt to steer the conversation. Unsuccessfully. Somehow, some way, there are guys in existence who think that it's perfectly okay to start discussing their sexual proclivities with women they haven't really met, or barely know. Yes, I do realize that in certain situations this is okay - but I am neither a stripper nor a girl in a bar with whom he was trying to get drunk and hook up with.
Needless to say, he got the brush off - fast.
I have recently started telling people that it just wouldn't be my life if it weren't asburd in some way. Keep reading - you'll find out just how true that is.
xoxo
There isn't really a good way to explain how this happens. It just does. Particularly in terms of the dating world. I don't seek guys out; I have reached a point in my life where I am mature enough to recognize that I don't need to be in a relationship to be happy. It does get awkward at times - I am already reaching the age where the majority of the people I meet are married with children. But for the most part, it's really not an issue.
So, I stay single. And I like it that way.
But occasionally, someone comes along that I decide to spend a little time with, and invariably, something will go horribly awry. After a lot of hemming and hawing and consideration, I have decided that things in this area of my life have finally reached the level of absurdity at which I should probably start writing about it. My hope is that, at the very least, this venture will be found somewhat entertaining. My other hope is that maybe some of the guys out there will read this and perhaps start to loosely interpet it as a set of guidelines when it comes to dating.
In that spirit, I'd like to start with Rule Number One: Do not reveal fetishes before the first date. (For that matter, do not reveal fetishes ON the first date, either.)
I had a guy find me on Facebook (strangely, this is how a lot of these stories begin.) In the interest of maintaining anonymity as much as possible, I won't say how I knew him - but in all technicality, we had actually met before, although it had been several years.
He hits me up. We message back and forth. We seem to be having a fairly decent conversation - we had a lot in common, and we both write at least reasonably well, so we can kind of gauge the other's personality - at least a little bit. He asks for my number. Thinking he was attractive and that things were going well, I go ahead and give it to him.
In case it's not completely obvious at this point, that particular action later became known as what's called a Bad Idea.
I'm a texting fiend, and so is he. So that's what we do. We text late into the night, and it starts up again the following afternoon. After lots of back and forth, we start talking about television.
Him: Hey do you like 30 Rock?
Me: Yeah! I love Tina Fey, I think she's great!
Him: I have a foot fetish.
It sounds completely ridiculous that he would say it out of the blue like that, but I promise you - he did. Stunned and unsure how to react, I actually replied first by asking if this was a joke from the show that happened to be going over my head, or if he was serious. I crossed my fingers, hoping maybe it was a joke from a later season that I hadn't seen yet.
Naturally, of course - no dice. He's totally serious. We have been interacting for less than 24 hours at this point. Yeah, technically we've met - MANY years ago. And even then, it was in a "passing nod" type of capacity. The dude could have been my cashier at the grocery store for as well as I remembered him back then.
More than a little alienated at this point, I made a half-hearted attempt to steer the conversation. Unsuccessfully. Somehow, some way, there are guys in existence who think that it's perfectly okay to start discussing their sexual proclivities with women they haven't really met, or barely know. Yes, I do realize that in certain situations this is okay - but I am neither a stripper nor a girl in a bar with whom he was trying to get drunk and hook up with.
Needless to say, he got the brush off - fast.
I have recently started telling people that it just wouldn't be my life if it weren't asburd in some way. Keep reading - you'll find out just how true that is.
xoxo
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