Saturday, January 31, 2009

Date 11: Too Painful and Not Funny

So I actually met a nice guy. I was into him. He was not into me. Nothing else to report.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Date 10: Microsoft... No, that's not a euphamism

Apparently Microsoft works for Microsoft in a mob like way. In true mobster fashion, he is open about his work but follows the "I work for Microsoft" statement by saying that he can't actually tell people he works for Microsoft. Sounds a little shady to me.

This guy, much like Sammy Gravano, couldn't stick to the mob rules of speaking nothing of what you know and not speaking about things that should not be spoken. Both are rats... Unfortunately, for Gravano, he is wasting away in prison with a thyroid disorder and multiple convictions. Fortunately, for Microsoft, I'm pretty sure he was lying about working for Microsoft, not breaking the sacred covenant he claimed to have made with Microsoft regarding the secrecy of his supposed employment.

I know I openly profess to have a thing for nerds, but seriously, let's not make things up. And if you feel the need to make something up, go with astrophysics. It's a heck of a lot sexier than Microsoft.

"Never open your mouth unless you're in a dental chair"
-Sammy "The bull" Gravano.

Son of a Pastor Man, The Final Date

I went out with the son of a pastor man (again... I know... I'm like a kicked puppy... I keep coming back even though I know it's gonna suck) on Monday. As usual he texted that the night had more in store romatically than previously dates, but I resigned myself not to get my hopes up. We ordered take out from Carino's and I met him at his place with a bottle of wine in hand. Promising? Yes.

After dinner we watched tv. He suggested I get more comfortable. What does that mean? There are so many levels of "getting comfortable." So I took off my clothes.

Okay, not really, I leaned back on the couch with my feet up. This is a big move for high strung Lacey. Props to me from me. Thanks me.

Does this added level of comfort result in any action? No. Still promising? No.

BUT... Tonight I tried something new. At the end of the night instead of wondering if he was going to make a move, I chose to reject him. I stood up and said, "I have to go." He said, "wait- give me a sec."
But I didn't. I just left. Didn't even let him walk me to the door. He looked stunned. Who's the kicked puppy now?

Which brings me to the end of the story about me and the son of pastor. It turns out the song is all wrong. The only boy who could ever reach me? The only boy who could ever teachme? No. No, he wasn't.


Saturday, January 24, 2009

Date 9: Oklahoma


Usually being around people I have something in common with puts me at ease. I don’t think that is the case with people from Oklahoma. I actually believe on some level that everyone worth knowing from Oklahoma, I already know. I spent 15 years there meeting people. If during all those years I missed a good person, our friendship/relationship simply wasn’t meant to be.

“What is your ring for?” I ask being all smiles and sunshine.

“It’s my Mason ring. It was my grandfathers. When I joined the Masons I started wearing it and quite wearing my Oklahoma State ring.”

My mind flashes back to crazy college parties in Stillwater. There is always the unfortunate possibility when I meet someone my age or a few years older that went to OSU that I made out with them during a bet (common bets with my roommate included who can kiss the most guys in one night without feeling obligated to have a conversation of any kind, bonus points if you don’t tell them your name). So like a rapid slide show I rack my brain… he does kind of look like Josh Rasp… Mmmm Raspy… He was fun.

In the spirit of Raspy, I order another drink. The waitress stops by and Oklahoma orders for me. He remembers what I had at the bar earlier in the evening; he even remembers the extra garnish. I’m impressed.

I tell him I will definitely write nice things about him in my little notebook where I am keeping notes so that I can keep everyone straight in my head. I’m a bitch. I’m lying to him. He’s too short for my cute shoes. He would know this if we both stood up. Raspy was too short for cute shoes too, but as a college freshman flip flops and chucks were my shoes of choice. Both flat.

Sorry Oklahoma. I dig that you lived in Great Falls. I dig that you traveled all over the west coast on 6 month road trip. I totally dig that you grew up with horses and used to bull ride. In a perfect world where flat shoes reigned, we would be a match.

But this is the real world. Even average looking pale girls are superficial.



Date 8:The Date Formerly Known as Dumpy Guy #40: I’m Going to Hell


Guy sits down. I originally planned to refer to him as Dumpy Guy #40, but as I told my brother about the interaction, a new name was born…
Sure, at this point I’ve had a few drinks. But I’m not so intoxicated that I am being unreasonable. I have however lost control of some of my manners. So as he tells me about his son who he doesn’t have custody of but still gets to see on occasion even though the bitch of a baby momma tries to keep him from their kid blah blah blah… I realize I am rocking slightly from side to side.


It was an unconscious action and the question I asked myself next, “why are you doing that?”

So I sit on my hands and refocus on the story.

“If you don’t like to go 178 miles an hour and do things fast, I’m not the guy for you. I just had back surgery. I was throwing hay. I haven’t left the house in over two weeks until tonight. My son wants to be me. Wah wah wah wah wahh wahh waaaahh wah wah.”

Well, date formerly known as Dumpy Guy #40, you’re not the guy for me for a lot of reasons, one of which has just become glaringly obvious. One: You’re dumpy. Two: You have a kid that you don’t have custody of for one reason of another. Three: Your stories result in a lot of Charlie Brown adult speak that sounds all “wahh wahh wah wah wahhh wahh.” Four (the glaringly obvious reason): I was rocking back and forth because I can’t tell if you are looking at me and unconsciously I was trying to shift into your line of sight.

That’s right, Googly Eye had googly eye. No telling if he was looking at me, or Tiffany, or the girl to my left, or the picture behind me, etc. You know what I’m talking about and if you laughed, at least I’ll have a friend in hell.

I’m wishing the host would blow the whistle on this. It’s making me nauseous like a spinning carnival ride. Maybe Googly Eye is wondering when this will be over too, he seems to be looking for her, or me, or something… again, I can’t tell.


Date 7: What? Do you swim too?


Suit jacket sits down. I ask how his night is going and he tells me it's okay since he has a beer. Begin dissertation on how much he loves Shiner.

"If you love Shiner beer and barbecue, you should look into Shiner GASP... actually it may have a different name now."

"What is that? Is there beer?"

"Well you meet in Austin and ride your bike 102 miles to-"

"What? Do you swim too?"

He sounds completely disgusted at the fact that I would mention a bike and then assumes that must mean (as appalling as it was to him) that I also swim.

"Yes. Why?"

"Well that girl swims and run and bikes and does those triathlons and-"

"Yes, I know, that's my friend Tiffany."

At this point the conversation is dead in the water. He has such a level of disdain on his face. This must be how Teal Shirt, Piano Man and Sandy Blonde Mess felt sitting across from me. No, surely I was friendlier than his guy is being. Then a break in the clouds. A moment of hope. A glimmer.

"So what else is at that bike thing?"

I perk right back up. I love talking about these things.

"Free beer, brewery tours, live music, barbecue, vegan options-"

"I didn't even think they let those... vegetarians into Texas... Wait let me guess... you're one of those people too."

So two minutes into our four minute almost love connection, it was over. I didn't bother speaking anymore and neither did suit jacket. FYI, I work with an office full of guys I see in suit jackets. Funeral home directors wear suit jackets. Door to door office supply salesmen wear suit jackets. The two attorney's that bought me some fries earlier because they felt sorry for me after they saw me talking to Teal Shirt are wearing suit jackets. Wearing a suit jacket does not make you awesome. I'm actually certain you've had a full awesomectomy removing all the awesome you once had and leaving you a shell of man in a suit jacket who says offensive things to the lifelong swimmer recently turned pescatarian from vegetarian. Oh, it does get you nicknamed Suit Jacket. Kudos on that big accomplishment, Suit Jacket.

Date 6: Sandy Blonde Mess


Sandy Blonde Mess strolls over with a very laid back surfer vibe. The only problem? He's not a surfer.

Okay, I lied, that is not the only problem... That is just the first in a string of problems.

- He's wearing track pants in a bar, not funny-guy-who-wears-track-pants track pants, I-thought-this-would-lend-credibility-to-what-I'm-about-to-tell-you track pants

- He's wearing them with a polo in a clashing color

- He claims he's a tennis pro ("really? where?" I ask mustering up fake interest. "just some place in Plano" thanks for being so vague)

This brings us to a little intermission in list of problems. When I ask someone a direct question and they don't give me a direct answer, I assume they are hiding something. So rather than tell me something I no doubt would have forgotten 2 seconds later, cause let's be honest, I couldn't have cared less, he get's all vague. Hey Sandy Blonde Mess D-Bag, this is speed dating, spill it. So I am forced to come home and run a little Google interferance on his criptic answer. So if anyone is interested in where they can find a Sandy Blonde Mess D-Bag in Plano (this specific one, I am aware there are a lot there), email me and I'll let you know. Back to the problem list...

- He claims he teaches at all ages (I'm sensing a piano man vibe with the teaching, please don't list the 50 states)

- He says there are no single people in Plano and he ought to have a wife and kids (like asap? yikes)

- The only thing about him that makes the tennis pro thing somewhat likely is his sun damaged skin

- Zero personality... "Hi! Brick wall? It's me, Lacey."


That actually seemed short. I must have blacked out for a minute or two.

Date 5: The Piano Man... Yep I definitely threw up in my mouth

In the spirit of the piano man (who gets a nickname not just because I think it’s the fair thing to do when I am writing about people who don’t have the opportunity to defend themselves, but because I honestly couldn’t have told you his name 15 seconds after he walked off) I will be including a ridiculous amount of music terminology, most of which will be grossly misused.


When piano man sat down I was feeling fairly at ease (Adagio). However he immediately began speaking as loud as possible (fortississimo), shouting at me across the 36 inches that separated us. Perhaps playing piano had caused him to suffer a bit of hearing loss.




Having been asked twice (bis) makes me a little irritated, but the way he is clasping his hands into a piano fingered, white knuckled mess makes me fear that perhaps he will lunge across the table and strangle me should I mention his mistake.


This 4 minute conversation was intended to for two voices (a due) but I am feeling so anguished (affanato) that all I can do is sit with closed mouth (bocca chiusa). He seems very agitated (agitato) as he spits the details of his life at me. In an almost warlike, aggressive (bellicoso) way, he asks, “DO YOU GO TO CHURCH!?! EVERY SUNDAY!?! WHERE!?! SO YOU READ THE BIBLE!?! HOW OFTEN!?! HOW WERE YOU RAISED!?!” As he asks he gets faster and louder (incalzando). I answer his questions half softly (mezzo piano).

At first sight (a prima vista) I didn’t expect such an attack without a gap or pause (attacca). But for four minutes I felt like I was dying away (espirando).

I would say it is fairly evident why I have blocked his real name from my mind. Clearly he was a sociopath.

Date 4: Teal Shirt... I think I just threw up in my mouth

Clarissa explains it all and the triathlete call dibs on teal shirt before I even notice him, so while I will be spending 4 minutes with him, I will not be enjoying his company further. Is it fair to call dibs in this manner? No, and usually I would call BS on the whole business of calling dibs, but Teal Shirt is a walking nightmare and Clarissa explains it all and the triathlete clearly called dibs just in case he was wearing a giant full body (with mask and poorly cut wig) suit that he would rip off at the end of the night exposing his true sexy self… or at least a man who looked as though he had checked himself out in a mirror since the 90s. Little did we know at that point that Teal Shirt might have been the best the night had to offer.


Teal Shirt sits down and I am thankful I only have to spend 4 minutes of my life talking to him. No less unfortunate looking than this fellow, it turned out that Teal Shirt had bigger problems than his looks. He informed me of his goals… eventually finish school, get a job doing… something… get remarried (that’s right, I may have been unable to find a spouse, but Teal Shirt, he has had at least some level of success even though it ended in heart breaking divorce that took him all of 3 weeks to get over before he started speed dating, though technically it didn’t even take that long cause he said he has been to a lot of speed dating events… yikes)… live in Dallas County forever. Go ahead, picture Squints from The Sandlot… For-ev-er. For-ev-er.

At this point I am sorry to admit exactly how judgmental and rude of a person I am (probably why I’m single), but Teal Shirt is causing me pain. I start to laugh and have to cover my mouth. He’s so sad. I try to stop laughing. I snort. I choke back more laughter. My eyes start to water. I have no control over the fact that I am laughing at this guy to his face. The triathlete says I just looked like I was enjoying the conversation. That’s good, because what I was really enjoying was his pain.

After what seemed like eternity, I was put out of misery. Surely this is as bad as it will get.


Speed Dating… Oh the Shame

The Triathlete and I decide that rather than try to go on 29 separate dates, we will submit ourselves to one of the most shameful experiences in modern dating. Speed Dating. 4-6 minutes of uncomfortable conversation. Whistle. 4-6 minutes of uncomfortable conversation. Whistle.

The Triathlete, a gorgeous, educated, well spoken, gainfully employed executive is humoring me by coming along. No girl wants to pain herself with this kind of activity alone. When we arrive, we meet Clarissa Explains It All. She is alone. We invite her to join us… safety in numbers. A few minutes in the door and the night is already reminding me of something I saw on National Geographic around a watering hole.

I remind myself this is for research. And it kills multiple birds with one stone.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Date 1.?: If You Could Even Call it a Date

Guys always say they are confused by what girls actually want. Well, let me tell you. We want to be respected, know that you like us for who we are not what we look like. But at the same time, we have to know that you find us at least a little bit physically attractive otherwise, why not just go hang out with your buddies.

Tonight’s plan… head to the wine bar where I will have a chance to look hot due to the very dark lightening and the booze. Could I give myself better odds? No. So the plan, if I still feel like a leper* at the end of this, I will wash my hands of this particular man. Besides I’m certain there are other men that given a dark room and wine would make a move.

So I arrive at the wine bar a few minutes late but not as late as Link. I sit beside an attractive older gentleman at the bar a few seats away from another older gentleman. The waiters and the two gentlemen are very friendly. They chat with me as I wait (patiently) for Link. He calls at 7pm, 15 minutes after we planned to meet. “I’m lost.” Well, it takes a special man to admit that, so 1 point to Link.

After he finally arrives, he grabs a seat next to me and goes through a very painful to watch wine selection process. For that, no points. I even considered giving him a negative point for the length of time it took.

There is little to no conversation occurring. He mentions that I am being quiet. I tell him I am working on being more comfortable with silence. He tells me he appreciates that and winks. Winks. Winks? Does that mean, “wow I’m glad you finally shut up” with a wink at the end to make it seem like less harsh of a statement. Either way I let it slide because I am slowly developing a red wine haze.

Guy next to me keeps talking to me, guy on the other side of Link keeps talking to me, guy next to me leaves and sexy-sexy musician swoops into the seat and starts talking to me… Link, not doing much talking to anyone.

I would like to take this moment to say that women do not want a man that goes into some blackout jealous rage. But seriously if every guy in the place is talking to the girl you’re with, at least mark your territory. Put your hand on my leg or at least the back of my chair (that doesn’t break any skin on skin contact rules that may be in effect).

At some point in the evening Link says, “I would spend the night with you, but I have to be up early in the morning.” At this point I’m wondering if I asked him to spend the night and forgot… pretty sure I didn’t. But heck, I’ll play along. “Earlier than I usually get up? Cause I can set the alarm.” No response. Okay, tested the water, not good, no swimming today.

Then after what seems like a never ending evening of my wanting him to make a move, his not making a move, and sexy-sexy musician playing sexy-sexy music it’s time to go. Standing outside, Link has the nerve to reiterate that he would take me up on my offer to come over if he didn’t need to be up so early. I am still wondering what offer he is talking about. So I snap. “I call BS on this.”

“You call BS on what? You’re offer?”

“I didn’t make an offer and I call BS on your wanting to come over. You don’t even touch me in a wine bar.”

“It was too public.”

I don’t think there is a word that could describe the irritation I felt. Wine bar? Too public? For a simple gesture? I’m not asking him to get naked and do a dance. I’m asking him to show some interest somewhere other than a text message. Could I feel more undesirable? No. Could I be more irritated? No.



I forgot about the superhero powers that men wield. As he leaned in to hug me and PAT ME ON THE BACK I realized, I can in fact feel less desirable and be more irritated.

Then 30 minutes later as I lay in bed reading a book about torture and murder trying to cheer myself up, a text.

“Sorry I faded there at the end. I barely made it home. Already in bed. Had fun and maybe next time I’ll touch ya ;)”


*Not to be confused with a person affected by leprosy, but rather the lesser known definition of a person who is avoided by others, a pariah or social outcast.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Date 3: Dallas Rallied, My Date Didn't

The Stars rebounded from a 3-1 second period deficit while I sat wondering if the guy I was with would allow me to speak. He was one of those really loud talkers so you know everyone around you is listening thinking, “wow, they are on one awkward first date.” Well, awkward is an understatement.

To kick off the night, the vegetarian hockey player said he was hungry and needed to use the restroom. It’s 7pm and the puck is about to drop, could either of those things have been handled before this exact moment? So he uses the restroom (which takes longer than most men, I’ll give him the benefit of believing he washed his hands really thoroughly and not that he had to sit). Then we make our way to a concession area where he orders a hotdog. For reference, please feel free to look at the seventh word in this paragraph. Was it a Morningstar Farms® America's Original Veggie Dogs® link? No. It was a regular old hotdog. Beef? Pork? Who knows, but it sure as heck wasn’t soy.

So Hot Dog asks me a question. Apparently he has put a 3 second limit on my answer before he breaks in to tell me something else. Question, 3 second, interrupt, question, 3 seconds, interrupt, question, 3 seconds, interrupt. The overall theme for the evening? Enough about you, let’s talk about me… in my LOUD VOICE. I must make a note to apologize to the people who sit around me at the next game. “Sorry guys, I won’t bring him again.”

So I am engrossed in the game. A reminder of why I usually take Matt, he doesn’t expect me to have a chatty conversation during play. He patiently waits until intermission of a stoppage. Three minutes left in regulation and Ott (henceforth Otter Pop cause I love those things) scores to tie the game at 4-4. I know, I’m leaving out a lot of pertinent hockey details for instance… Parrish, Robidas, Grossman, Otter Pop, and Daley all scored for Dallas (that’s five) while Hot Dog didn’t score at all (that’s zero).

Daley put in an amazing shot in overtime to give the Stars the 5-4 victory over the Detroit Red Wings. Hot Dog, still zero.

Goodbyes were… well… again, awkward. All I could do on the way home was be thankful there wasn’t a shoot out or a gun because I might have shot myself.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Date 1.4: The Date that Resulted in the Cancelation of Date 3

As I sat in the entry area at Macaroni Grill I found myself observing a woman in boots, a floor length skirt with a slit up each side and a grey jacket/blouse (who's to say exactly, either way it was out of style). She had been at the hostess stand when I arrived.

"Did you already seat Steve, party of two?"

"I don't think so?" (the question mark is because most hostesses always look somewhat confused thus making statements more like questions)

"Don't you seat people by name?"

"Yes, but we don't keep track of where we seat people after we seat them."

"But I'm meeting him here."

"You are welcome to walk around and look for him."

"But I... never mind."

So I put my name on the list and head out to the entry to wait. It's a small area between two sets of doors which made it impossible not to watch the woman. She pulled a business card out of her purse with a phone number and the name Steve scrawled across the back in sharpie. Clearly she was on a first date. Clearly she didn't know what he looked like. Clearly she was freaking out. She paced in a frantic way that made me feel anxious as well and I wasn't on an awkward first date. I was getting tense, so I moved inside and sat on a different bench to wait. Moments later she came in and sat beside me. She would sit, then stand, then pace, then look at watch, then sit. It was a vicious cycle and I was wondering where Link was and when he would be saving me from this woman. The more she paced, the more I felt nervous for her. On a side note, if she needs courage to get through the date or something else that is part of dating, she should knock back 4-5 cape cods before he gets here. Then she'll have enough oomph for the date and a drunk text or two or 12 later tonight.

Link shows up and I immediately feel more relaxed. He is balancing her nervous energy with his relaxed nature. So dinner, great conversation, a car dealer's house burning down... typical date night. After another really enjoyable evening with Link, all I could do was cancel my late night drinks with Date 3. Maybe I'll reschedule, maybe I won't. But regardless, I can't go from Link to someone else in the same day. From someone else to Link? That would be doable.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Date 2: The Slow Talker That Killed a Piece of My Soul

All I can say about date number two is yikes.

Had the chair I was sitting in been slightly more comfortable I am certain that I could have taken a pretty intense nap.

The... slowest... talker... in... the... entire... world... took... me... out... for... coffee... and... even... the... espresso... that... he... drank... did... not... increase... the... speed... of... his... speaking... or... his... wit.


I can say though that I was inspired by a friend and midway through one of his very long and uninteresting tales of his depressingly boring existence, I bailed.

"So... then... I... tell... the... guy... I... only... wanted... "

"Um, slow talker? I gotta jet. No reason other than that you talk so slow that by the time I decide whether you could possibly be less interesting, I'll be 45 years old and out of viable eggs. Thanks for the tea."

New Plan of Attack and a Partner in Crime

I've been trying to talk a friend into joining my experiment and today over a much needed, very long, makes you love your friends even more lunch it was decided that she would join me. The best part of the plan? The idea to go on a double date with the Catipillar and man necklace (that's right Hilscher, I said man necklace).

My partner in crime, who shall remain nameless until she chooses to go otherwise will grace us with two first dates this weekend. I'm pretty pumped as Sushi date sounds like it will result in her trying to avoid a second date and the often obligatory end of the date kiss and the second date involves a man with "connections in Puerto Rico and accessories." Awesome.

Friday, January 09, 2009

Feeling a little guilty about Link on my way to date 1.3

So after my complete girl moment regarding the "friend" text, I went over to Link's place tonight to watch the game. That's right. Sometime after the advice from my friends about "my friend", Link asked me to come over.

I need to wrap my head around this mess.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

How Many Women Does it Take to Screw in a Lightbulb?

Or better yet, how many women does it take to sort out a text message from a man?

From: Lacey
Subject: Re: Ouch

After asking when my birthday is, Link sent this text. Can you spot the kiss of death?

"I missed it! Well happy birthday my friend. Next time I'll take you out!"

From: Ali Kat
Subject: Re: Ouch

“my friend”

From: Texas Woman
Subject: Re: Ouch

I don't think it's as bad as u r making it out to be. One of those bad female traits reading too deep into things and seeing things that really aren't there. Have faith.

From: Ali Kat
Subject: Re: Ouch

I’s probably too soon for him to be all “ Oh I’m so sorry sexy, next time I’ll take you out for a hot birthday night!”

From: "Lacey"
Subject: RE: Ouch

I wouldn't have complained though.

From: The Cynic
Subject: RE: Ouch

You would have run screaming.

From: Texas Woman
Subject: Re: Ouch

That's the kind of reading between the lines us women need to do. :0)

From: "Lacey"
Subject: RE: Ouch

That's probably true. But as we know... it's not how I'm built.

I think I will look at the positive. He wants to take me out again in 362 days.

From: The Soccer Mom
Subject: RE: Ouch

I'm a bad friend. With all these 2 and 9s I honestly thought your birthday was 2/9. When was it?

From: Ali Kat
Subject: RE: Ouch

FYI on your calendar I put you have a hot lesbian date with me on Saturday lol bet you can’t wait for that!

From: "Lacey"
Subject: RE: Ouch

Nice. I'll be sure to blog about it.

From: Ali Kat
Subject: RE: Ouch

Oh goodie! It’ll be the best first date ever

From: "Lacey"
Subject: RE: Ouch

probably so. At least I know what to expect :)

From: Ali Kat
Subject: RE: Ouch

Haha true…you have a busy day on Saturday “my friend”

From: "Lacey"
Subject: RE: Ouch

Dang. Friend. Dang dang dang.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

Date 1.2: Son of a Preacher Man

Mexican food dates.

For some reason, even at 29, I still flash back to my first date with Scott Luney in high school. We ate at Nino's, saw Father of the Bride Part II and looked at Christams lights in Ski Island... the year, 1995. Would Scott feel flattered that I remember so many details of our date? Not likely. The only detail that probably sticks out in his mind it the moment when he walked me into my front yard. Just 15 feet from my front door standing in the grass just off the sidewalk, Scott tried to kiss me. "It's cold out here!" I blutered out as I ran for the door dodging what would have been the first kiss associated with an actual car date, instead that distinction was gained by a bass player with long black hair and a European sports car. I should add, that was my first AND last date with Scott. He didn't call again.

So there I sat across from Link feeling just as insecure as I was at 15.

He is really nice. I'm pretty sure I've already said that though. And at the exact moment that we parted ways to go back to work I felt great about things. But every single nano second that has passed since has made me question how the lunch went. When you both have something in one hand and you go to leave, what is the proper protocol? I thought it was a one armed hug, cause who kisses after lunch in broad daylight? (asked the obviously more prude than she thought she was girl.)

So how long did it take before I was certain that he was probably disgusted by me? Maybe 5 minutes. Why do girls do this to themselves and do we ever stop.

Will squeezing multiple dates into the month make me less sensistive to the inner awkward girl... or will it make me more aware or the outer awkward girl?

Sunday, January 04, 2009

Date 1: The Son of a Preacher Man

Text messages and emails lead up to date #1. Just 15 minutes before we met, a quick phone call.

"Where do you want to grab lunch?"
"I don't really have a preference."
"Pei Wei?"

I was a little concerned with the upcoming events despite the warm up I had on New Years. I was still feeling pretty dang rusty. Maybe I should have drunkenly made out with someone last week to gear up. Ming tells me I could easily find something inappropriate like that on Craigslist (SWF Looking to Make Out, No strings, Just Trying to Knock the Rust Off, It is not okay to email this poster with... ). Then at least I wouldn't be feeling so self conscious about… well… everything. Do I look okay? Should I have worn something else? Remember, don’t talk about marriage, kids, ex boyfriends, work, home improvement, anything medical, the weird things about your family, Koda, politics, religion, sexuality, the economy… But what does that leave?

So, I learned a very important lesson and stumbled across a potential bump that I didn’t originally anticipate on official date #1. Lesson: If you repeatedly tell yourself not to mention something, you will. Potential Bump: What if I like one of the guys before I get through 29?

Link is the son of a pastor, but that's not how the song goes. But thanks to Yahoo Answers (not the most scholarly source) I know that a preacher is a proclaimer of the word of God while a Pastor is the shepherd of a flock, that is the leader of a church. Good to know. That will come in handy should I ever have the opportunity to meet said pastor. Not that I would. That's not the proper progression from Pei Wei to pastor.

Link has an easy nature and relaxed voice. From NASCAR country out in Tennessee, he says things with an ease that make stupid things fall out of a girl's mouth like, "my husband" and "I meet people I've never before all the time" and "I can't call someone named Richard Dick if they are a jerk, it makes me feel like I'm calling them a dick instead of just Dick."

Surprisingly after I made him listen to my prattle for hours (yes plural) he actually asked me if I wanted to watch the game with him. Next tiny bump, he knows next to nothing about hockey and I am certain "the game" is code for some football game that I should be aware of which I'm not. No worries, I politely decline as I have to finish building a bed and schedule a lunch date for later in the week.

Tiny bump number three... how will I squeeze in repeat dates while still having time for 29 firsts?


Thursday, January 01, 2009

Date 0: The Warm Up

I can't really count it as a first date, unless I really want tobe a cheater. I have been out with him before. And this time, it was almost trickery to get him to go out. I waited until he was good and tired after the Stars game and New Years celebration then blind sided him with a request for 2am breakfast with my friends. I knew he was hungry. It was unfair.

But I needed a warm up for the month. I didn't want to jump into legtimate first dates having had a month to get all dating rusty during December. So there it is. I'm warmed up a ready to go.