Saturday, March 28, 2009

Son of a Pastor Man... Groundhog Day

January 26th, 2009:
"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."

March 28th, 2009:
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).

I feel like such a let down. I'm pretty sure I clearly stated back in January that I was done. But there I stood at my kitchen counter last weekend accepting an invitation to go to an intimate concert with Link. David Wilcox... never heard of him. I do love music though. And he seems like he might have a James Taylor vibe going on. Who doesn't love James Taylor? Besides, it's not like I have an expectations anymore. And again, I do love music. And he's driving, easy enough. BYOB at a yoga studio promises to be comfortably granola so I should feel at home. And have I mentioned I love music?

Justify poor decision making... check.

As usual I am running late. So instead of meeting at his place we meet at a hotel near downtown. Seedy? Hardly. I was just leaving my car in the Hilton parking lot.

We make a quick stop for beer so he can brown bag it and I grab some sort of overpriced Starbucks in a bottle and we head over to the studio. There is virtually no where to sit, but we make our way to the front anyway. We find a very cozy spot, he sat on the couch amidst lesbians and a much older woman and I sat on the floor in front of him with his new bff's wife.

His new bff turns out to be a man who cries… a lot… a snotty kind of crying… with tissues and toilet paper… and whimpering. Good thing he doesn’t really know the guy. I’m certain we both dodged a bullet. Besides this guy thought he knew Link from Dallas Seminary and Link, as I would come to find out, has little in common with his dad the pastor.

The concert is amazing. Link whispers to me to tell me which songs he likes. He gives me a little back rub. He sings along. The music is fabulous. I make a few mental notes… maybe the Starbucks in a bottle is worth the price and when I get home I need to buy some David Wilcox on iTunes.

I have a really good time. I start to think there is some sort of hope for Link and I.

Absolute trickery.

So I go home knowing that I had a wonderful time. And perhaps in the future things will change with Link, but for now, still nothing physical.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Date 26: Wow

So Khaki Pants doesn't reply to me all week... Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday...

Sunday at 11pm he tells me he meant to reply sooner but his week got crazy. Really?

If a man is interested he doesn't get too busy to text, call, or email for a week. I don't need an over hyped book to know he's just not that in to me. And I deserve better than that.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Date 20.2: Infectious Disease at the MAT

After repeatedly promising Infectious Disease that I was 100% healthy and I wouldn’t be giving him the flu, we made plans to go to Frankie’s and watch the Duke and UCLA games. For some reason, I was stressed about what to wear. I was coming from work and he was coming from the gym. Clearly slacks and a dress shirt are not the best option for a sports bar. So…

I arrived at Frankie’s a few minutes early wearing jeans, heels, and a graphic tee. Good choice I guess. We’ll have to wait and see what he is wearing. I walk in to look for a place to sit. No room. I go to the patio. No room. I go to the restroom. Plenty of room and a restroom attendant.

Now I’m not opposed to someone making a living. But I am opposed to paying for soap and paper towels in a restaurant bathroom at a sports bar. It’s almost (brace yourself) more appealing to me to just not wash my hands to avoid digging through my purse, letting go of a dollar that I earned by actually working, not by sitting idly hoarding paper towels. Ridiculous. But I washed and dried and left her a dollar because I am a pushover.

So I go back out to the patio for some fresh air that won’t cost me a dollar where I can call Infectious Disease to let him know there is no where to sit. As I pace outside the restaurant, he pulls up in his black BMW. Seriously, that must be all they sell to young professional men in this town. Despite the fact that I look slightly like a hooker due to my getting in a random car in front of the bar, I hop in and we are off to find a better spot.

McKinney Avenue Tavern, The MAT.

I don’t think I’ve ever been in here at the beginning of the night. I generally assume that when I go to a place I swear I’ve been but nothing looks familiar. We find some seats outside, barely watch the game, have a few drinks, grab dinner, and generally enjoy each others company (no, that’s not a euphemism).

Sometimes I think the fact that we are both obnoxiously sarcastic gets in our way. But that’s part of life.

Now the question that remains is whether there is still anything there between us or if I blew that up in the past. We’ll just have to wait and see.

Update- So I didn’t give Infectious Disease anything this time. But he still managed to end up at the ER the next day. Yikes.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

PPH Part 4: Science at its worst

Supersaturation. The term refers to a solution (in this example, me) that contains more of the dissolved material (in this example, alcohol) than could be dissolved by the solvent under normal circumstances (in this example, any day other than St. Patrick's Day or New Years Eve). Now the issue? It seems that at some point in the afternoon when I thought I was okay, we suffered a terrible miscalculation. Nucleation.

Nucleation is the extremely localized budding of a distinct thermodynamic phase. Note that nucleation is a physical process, not a chemical process... I only say this to clarify that I do not have a chemical dependency or substance abuse issue.

Look at it like an unstable supersaturated solution of sodium acetate. So, if you can think of each molecule (drink I've had during the day) as a domino in a meta-stable state of being stood on its edge, and realize that there are 10^22 molecules in a drinking glass sized system, it only take one impurity (one more drink) to knock them over. Dominoes resulting in omnidirectional needle-like crystals radiating outward from the impurity on contact at the solution's surface.

In layman's terms, with visual aid...

I had one, maybe two small cups of beer (beer ponging it up) and then I made a newer new friend.

PPH Part 3- I blame the police

No worries. He didn't eat my face or anything. Turns out he's younger than me. By more than a lot. So I meander back over to my friends who have decided we should go to some house parties. Frankly, I think they only intended to help me walk off some of the morning's activities since it was barely after lunch time.

So down the street we go. Pretty sure we walked 50 miles, or at least a couple blocks. We arrived at granola's house with his fancy hardwood floors and sexy granola appeal. I was in no condition to discuss his sexy granola appeal with anyone and decided to stand near the first boss, the triathlete or Montana and nod my head about whatever they were interested in talking about. Then I ate some carrots. Sober people eat carrots. Good for me.

The problem was, by the time we left granola's house my ability to talk to strangers had diminished. I was feeling insecure and awkward. I mostly wanted to go grab lunch as the mini donuts and carrots were turning out to be less than filling as the only meals of the day. But we moved on in search of yet another party.

The police forced us off the main road and into a neighborhood. Little did they know, that quick detour would be the turning point in my entire day.

We stumbled on a party full of Montana's coworkers. I was pretty much back to my normal self. And stood close to Ken at the edge of the yard... at first.

PPH Part 2

Now after you see a parade float for bail bonds that says "because it really does" and you have to decide for yourself if they are refering to jail being no fun or the relationship you might develope with your new cellmate, there is only one thing to do. Eat more mini donuts and drink more champagne. Out of the bottle. Standing in front of the port-o-potty.



Then you make more random friends. You take pictures with them even though you have no intention of ever seeing them again. You do some jello shots. You drink more champagne. Then you realize the illustrious stripper, bail bond, alumni group and bar floats have come to an end. It's a good thing someone was taking pictures. I don't think I saw more than 3 floats (if you can call a flat bed trailer full of drunks a float).

So we headed toward Trinity Hall with our new friends. On the way we stopped at the cruiser so I could drop off the cooler and put on deodorant... in front of strangers. Unfortunately at this point all hope of my having any manners was lost.

Trinity Hall brought us more drinks and more firends. Sadly though, the people who met us there were still, what's the word I'm looking for... sober. On the flip side, the triathlete turns out to be an amazing wingman for her drunk friends and somehow this happened...

Pale People Holiday

It's interesting how Americans have managed to pervert a holiday celebrating the life, death and lasting legacy through mission work of a saint. We've turned a Roman-Catholic feast day into a gumbo filled with lame phrases such as "kiss me I'm Irish", "Do you have any Irish in you? Would you like some?", "Who's your paddy?" and an assortment of commercial items from cheesy hats to green feather boas. What a disgusting gumbo.

I, however, fondly refer to the day as Pale People Holiday (PPH). It's not a government holiday, but it should be. The only reason it's not? The government has a thing against gingers.

So, I rose fairly early to prepare for PPH. I gathered orange juice and champagne. I hunted down mini donuts. It was my mission this PPH to class up Greenville. If you're going to drink before noon, make it a breakfast drink. So you don't like mimosas? Try a bloody mary (I like mine super spicy with avocado as garnish). There we are standing about on our newly claimed piece of American soil, an accomplishment not so easily attained by our Irish immigrant forefathers. It was prime real estate. A few feet from the parade, a few more feet from the port-o-potty, a few more feet from a plethora of drunken gingers and engineers celebrating pi day.

I was in heaven. And it was classy. At first.

Then this happened...

Date 26: Back to Legitimate Dates

I ran across Khaki Pants during my online dating attempts. True, the psychic told me I should be dating guys with dark hair, but hell, I thought I would give Khaki Pants and his blonde locks a shot.

We had been communicating through a series of long emails and text messages. He seemed witty and good natured. So, there I was. Running on about 4 hours of sleep. Slightly hungover. Chapped lips from making out with Seersucker last night. I'm sure I'm exactly what Khaki Pants is looking for in a woman.

So I was early, he was late. I had on jeans and was enjoying a venti soy chai. He had on khaki pants and was not really enjoying black coffee. In retrospect it's clear this isn't going anywhere, but at the time I saw nerd and I got excited. Woohoo! My favorite thing.

So he tells me he was in orchestra. I tell him I was too. I guess that he played the violin. I was right. He guessed that I played the clarinet. He was wrong. I let him talk about himself. He let me talk about him. But still, all I felt were butterflies and I was certain we would eventually have a white picket fence, 2 kids, and a garden full of fresh herbs. At the end of each day we would make sweet, sweet music with our stringed instruments. How perfect.

We walked to our cars. I didn't want to kiss Khaki Pants(the first red flag I actually chose to acknowledge but then excused away). I figured I liked him SO much I didn't want to kiss him. The connection was clearly there on a friend level and I could create chemistry with this math major turned MBA.

But alas. Khaki Pants didn't want to see me again. How does that happen?

I was rejected by a nerd. Fantastic.

Date 25: 1999 Revisted

For those of you who knew me when I was 19, no explanation is needed. For those of you who have only known me since moving to Dallas, brace yourself. I used to be a lot more fun, but not always in a good way.

I'm fairly certain none of what follow constitutes a date... but since it did result in kissing... more than one person... I'm making the call to include it here.

Trinity Hall 23 did not play a major role in my day except that he was the key that started the car for the test drive I would be taking later. Thanks Trinity Hall 23. We appreciate your service.

So to be brief, I met this guy at a party. Well sort of met him. After hearing my plan to kiss random boys, some girl suggests her friend seersucker. Seersucker obliges and kisses me. We start to leave and I kiss seersucker again. We play beer pong. Seersucker shows everyone his balls (not of the ping pong variety). We leave with his friend apathy. Seersucker and I stop in a bar. We see his boss. We have some shots. We leave the bar. We get a cab. We go about a block and get out of the cab. We find Montana and apathy at some house. We stop on the way to check out a lawn. Nice landscaping. We go to apathy's place. There is nudity on the television. Seersucker gets up to go to the bathroom. Montana and I leave. Montana is an awesome state.

There are many details omitted both to keep some semblance of dignity and because there are huge gaps in my memory.

Did I give him my number? No. Did I get his? No. Does it matter? No.

Test drive only. Car works fine. Need a better driver than seersucker. He's more of a renter than a buyer. Thanks to Trinity Hall 23 for finding the key.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Date 24: I think Wayne's Wine Bar is Bad Mojo

What do you get when you add dim lighting, great art work, music, an amazing wine selection, fabulous staff and a cozy little restaurant/wine bar together? For most people, I'm pretty sure you get sex. For me you get a giant piece of pepper stuck in your teeth that you don't notice until you get home and a guy that won't be calling again.

Friday, March 06, 2009

Date 23: There are two kinds of 39

And he was the bad kind.

We had great conversation over the phone. He makes me laugh. He's gainfully employed. He seems fairly conservative politically. Things are falling into place nicely. At one point during a conversation he mistakenly starts think I'm a non meat eating Presbyterian... ( I said pescatarian)... the whole thing was confusing, but still funny.

So I drive over toward Addison after work. I am okay with the distance I am having to drive away from my house, because this one has so much potential to pan out into greatness. After all I'm certain that at this point I've shluffed off the negative dating energy (which I think was compounded by the psychic talking about it out loud).

Butterflies.

Nervous energy.

Check my makeup again.

Cover bags under eyes from a long day at work.

Bite lips to make them more red and puffy. That says "I'm so kissing you"

Get out of car.

Adjust top so the girls look as ready for action as possible.

Trust that he doesn't break the mold and stares inappropriately at my chest.

Walk toward restaurant.

Pace.

Casually check to make sure zipper is zipped. Check.

See him coming toward me.

Consider kissing him to start the date and get it out of the way while my lips are still stinging from the bite.

Change my mind.

Abruptly.

Blink.

Rub my eyes.

eHarmony is full of liars.

Is he 5'7"?

I think he may have grand kids.

Throw up in my mouth a little.

Get through the meal.

Reconcile the evening in my head with the realization that he would be a fun friend.

Not a friend with benefits to clarify.

More of a last call, everyone else you know is out of town friend.

Let him pay.

I've already paid emotionally.

Wow. He makes 39 seem really old.

Avoid his offer to walk me to my car.

The negative energy is back. Thanks Miss Cleo.

Sunday, March 01, 2009

Date 22: He Owes Me $35

Once again I shake off the bad and I get all kinds of excited about how things are going with the banker. He sends text messages that make me smile all day (I guess banking doesn't require a huge amount of time). He talks about finding the right girl to eventually settles down and have a family with. He likes to golf and says he doesn't drink that often. He shares pictures of him with his neices and nephews. The banker... he pretty much is offering me free checking, no atm fees, great interest rates, etc. I'm into that. I do love marketing... and banking. It's a match made in the college of business.

So we make plans to go to the hockey game on Sunday. Then I don't hear from him. Then I get a text about golf. Then a text about drinking and golfing. Then a text about meeting me after the game.

Yikes with the booze Mr. Banker man. You're a little too much. All those things that made you so attractive? They had fine print that I missed. Your texting wrote a check you couldn't cash.

You should know better. Writing checks you can't cash results in overdraft fees. You owe me $35.