The Dating Diary of a Twenty-Something
Monday, December 27, 2010
Reflections
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Nurse Neil
I randomly met Nurse Neil around a local university. Being super technologically savvy, we exchanged facebook information. This way, if Nurse Neil turned into Stalker Sam I could block him from my life forever. Safety first, right?
Being the graceful girl I am, I decided it was a good idea to sprain my toe about a week before the date. Not the pinky one, but the little guy next to it. Fortunately, I now knew a nurse that was determined for my bum toe to heal. God has a plan for even our bad times, right?
Movement wasn’t easy for me during these hard days of my life, so I agreed to go and see a movie. It was at a local movie theatre with a restaurant attached so we could conveniently eat, and then see a film of my choice. Hardly any walking + an escape from the evils of sitting on a couch all day with my toe elevated, = heavenly. God is good.
I hobbled around my house scrambling to get ready, taking breaks to rest my throbbing toe. I confirmed plans with him and then I heard him say the words, “You should just let me drive. You need to be resting that toe anyways. We can meet up and go together”.
Has anyone watched any horror movies lately? Or even just the news? Girls should ideally not ride in cars with boys they hardly know. But…I didn’t want to seem lame. So I packed my handy pepper spray and left, hoping my lipstick made me look fierce in a “I- will-kill-you-if-you-touch-me,-but-don’t-you-think-I-am-pretty?” kind of way. Between that and my whole process of getting ready and resting, I was running roughly 30 minutes late.
The ride to the theatre was decent. Well, sort of. He ate up all of MY dreams, opinions, thoughts, ect. I said something about not agreeing with people who blame society for where they are in life. I’ve had to work a lot harder than most people think for the things I have and where I am in life, so anyone who settles because they weren’t given any handouts, receive no pity from me. My darling date was so riled up from what I said that he fist pumped to it. I then proceeded to choke on my spit because it was a nicer alternative to laughing at how…
After that, I think anyone would completely understand why I stuck to safer topics, like the weather and Paris Hilton’s little mishap where she claims to have mistaken cocaine for gum.
We missed the movie he had reserved tickets for because of my lack of punctuality, and we had to stop by the ticket booth to change them to the next available time.
“Sir, are you an employee here? I have never seen you before, and these are the free employee tickets, only to be used by employees.” said the chubby ticket lady.
ACKWARD. I murmured that I was going to sit somewhere and rest my bum toe while he settles everything out. Don’t worry; I sat close enough to eavesdrop. Word on the street, according to what I heard, is that his roommate works there. Finally, he got things squared away, and I decided that I would not feel bad ordering a glass of wine with my dinner because he scored free movie tickets.
Since I had made us so late, we had to get our food and then eat it in the movie. Not a problem, right?
Well, Madison Green has what I like to call a chewing-food-in-a-way-that-resembles-a-cow-chewing-cud-phobia. Back in college, I had a roommate that would slurp and chew her oatmeal with every ounce of saliva in her mouth adding to those sounds a swishing gurgle type sound. It got to the point where I had to wear headphones and listen to music every morning after chapel because I couldn’t handle that noise.
All that to say, I don’t take chances like that with dates. Because things could get ugly and I could end up in the bathroom rocking back and forth saying, “I should have brought my car, I should have brought my car.” It is one thing to eat and talk at a restaurant and have the noises of other people talking and eating drown out the Satanic sound of chewing. It’s quite another to sit and eat chips and food, try not to chew or listen for chewing when the movie hits a silent part, pretend make-out scenes aren’t awkward because Nurse Neil would love to makeout and I would not, rest my sprained purple, blue, and black toe from where I can now feel my heartbeat, and wonder what the crap that freaky fist pump was about. I mean, does he do it on a regular basis?
The ride home is where it got more interesting than awkward. I keep my hands wrapped around myself because it’s comfortable and I would rather that than the other person trying to hold my hand, or cuddle me, to be frank. He kept asking if I was cold over and over and over and over, like a broken cd. Finally I said yes, just to change the topic.
Boy, did I get a change of topic. Everyone’s past is their past, and I don’t judge. I have my own myself. But half-truthing one’s past is weird. Either say, “This is me, bam! Or, I don’t want to discuss that, thank you.”
I learned Nurse Neil used to do PCP. According to him, he got hooked on it when a friend played a trick on him and laced it in a cig. I don’t know many drug addicts that waste expensive drugs on jokes that another person may not appreciate. Sounded a little sketch to me. Then he cried about how it ruined his life and he was kicked out of the macho pre-med program and has had to settle for life as a prissy male nurse. Maybe thats why he fist pumps.
Nurse Neil clears his throat and says “You know, being in the medical field, I know how important it is to take care of your allergies. I just want you to know I bought a hypoallergenic air filter, and some hypoallergenic dust mite proof pillows.”
I had no other choice at this point but to play dumb. “Oh, you have allergies too? Good for you. I’m always trying to toughen up my immune system. Unless I don’t feel like being snotty and stuffy…”
“Well, I just figured…” he hinted
“Uhhhh, I’m not really like that.” I stammered, mentally hitting myself in the head for not taking my own car.
And this is where my date reaches its best/worst part: “Don’t worry; I like you more than sex. I’m willing to wait.”
WHAT?!?!? Thankfully, I get out of his car at this point. I told him my mom was up waiting for me, and I needed to run. Then I gave him a friendly shrug before he could get any ideas, and shouted a “thanks” on my hobble run skip over to my car.
I suppose this date was strange because of my strange quirks and his odd delusional clingy comments. I’m not saying Nurse Neil if an awful person, he just smells a little deceitful, fist pumps when excited, and doesn’t like to waste time. Unless it is sex and he likes you, then he will wait. But he will have those hypoallergenic pillows waiting…just in case today is the lucky day. ;)
Shortly after this, I was deleted from his facebook friends and then re-requested a week later. I never responded because the awkwardness from that last date throbbed worse than my toe.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Inebriated Ian (Or the guy from table 92)
I’m normally apprehensive about going out with someone I have never met. However, I disillusioned myself into thinking I was captivated by his beauty. He had short, dark buzzed hair, striking emerald green eyes and a small scar that for some reason I found really really sexy. I was so enthralled with his looks, I forgot Prince Dreamy’s name! I spent the next week walking around making up possible names for dear Ian.
The plan was to meet him at a nice restaurant about an hour after my ballet class. This meant I had an hour to transform from sweaty bun-head leotard and tights girl to pretty and sophisticated “I’m-about-to graduate-college” lady. Crap. Thankfully, I had some fabulous girlfriends who helped curl my hair and pick out clothes and jewelry as I threw makeup all over my face. Forty-five minutes later, I was beautiful, clean, and smelled delicious thanks to Lola by Marc Jacobs. And I was ready for Mr. Handsome, the next possible love of my life.
Walking into Yardhouse, I was actually nervous. I mean, what the crap WAS his name? How could I forget something like that? I spotted him over in a corner booth and as he stood to give me a first-date hug my nervous turned to horror and my stomach churned.
“WHAT is he wearing?” I silently screamed to myself. Imagine this: a twenty-five year old in a plaid button down half sleeve shirt two sizes too large and faded 90’s jeans. OH, and sneakers! His face resembled a rugged and handsome prince. His clothes resembled a cross between a homeless person and an eighty-five year old man. At this point, his name could have been Harry. After seeing that I believe there should be an age limit on the clothes we buy. If you are not a senior citizen, you are not allowed to dress like one.
I suppose I should just be thankful he did not smell like moth-balls. Also, his name was not Harry.
I look at the table and see he has already ordered himself two beers. The first one he had downed and the second was half way finished. I suppose he needed to get the party started. Maybe I should have run at this point. But between ballet and the energy of rushing to get ready, I was hungry. And YardHouse does happen to have an exceptionally fabulous lobster or crab sushi roll thing. Besides, maybe he will be a nice Christian boy and I can dress him for the rest of our lives.
Being a classy lady, I ordered myself a glass of wine and began asking and answering the series of first-date typical questions. That first glass of wine went down deceptively smoothly. Before I knew it, I had three. And then he asked “What do you think of Irish car bombs?” “I’ve never had one, I answered. I’m not really a shots type of person” “Oh, we’ll tonight, you are”. I can’t honestly tell you how many drinks he had, but I want to say it was definitely at least ten. That doesn’t include the two shots that he ordered for me, and I couldn’t take, so he did.
Where is my big mouth when I need it? It was probably swimming in my stomach with my previous three glasses of white zinfandel. The rest of the night blurred by with conversations of what we believe about God, family, life’s goals, ect. Ours didn’t really match up, to say the least. We had about as much in common as our clothing styles.
Call me old fashioned, but a guy should be striving to impress the special lady he asks out. If he doesn’t try to impress you in the beginning when his job is to win you over, when will he? And if he thinks he doesn’t need to win you over, get the crap out of there. Translated this means “I don’t think you are special and will not treat you so, ever.”
Inebriated Ian was drunk, sloppy, and his scar now reminded me of Lord Voldemort. He was not a prince, he was classless and his life belonged to immediate self-gratification. He turned and put his arm around me and leaned towards me with his reeking alcohol breath. Uh-oh, I knew what was coming. And it was definitely not what he thought was coming. “Are you having fun?” He said in his most seductive sloppy drunk voice. Before I could answer he went in for the kiss. Before thinking, I opened my mouth and said “No. Thank you.” My mom would have been elated that my manners shine through even the stickiest of situations. I wiggled my way out of his arm and said “I have got to go; I have class in the morning.” With that, I went to my car and made a pit-stop at my beloved Chili’s for a bathroom break and for some date gossip/venting.
I never contacted Inebriated Ian after this date, and he neither felt so inclined. We both obviously were after different things in life. However, this date will always be memorable to me because it is the first time I can say I recognized red flags and didn’t try to turn a blind eye in the name of “hope”.
For those who aren’t sure what red flags appeared on this one, I will share:
- He was working on becoming intoxicated before this girl he had never met had even showed up.
- This means his intentions were to give me a good night so that he could get laid or eventually get laid. Maybe you think this is harsh. But, if you felt like there could be the slightest possibility you could spend the rest of your life with a person, would you not show a little more respect for the situation?
- He was “concerned” with me “having a good time” but what about a safe drive home? I was drinking. A call or even a text to see if I had made it home safe would have been semi-decent. I ask all of my friends that I care about to let me know when they make it home after a drive or flight. And they aren’t even drinking in those scenarios.
- He tried to kiss me on the first date drunk. If you really cared about someone, would you not want that first kiss to mean a little more than the taste of stale alcohol?
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Red Flags!
Monday, August 2, 2010
Bible Bob
Bible Bob was a nice Christian boy. His jeans were trendy and destroyed. He was rockin’ some hot Rainbows, a Gap striped hoodie, and a preppy Lacoste blue polo. (The collar was NOT popped, thank God) We went and had coffee at an authentic indie shop where we discussed world issues in correlation with the lack of compassion in today's society. His passion and compassion towards the homeless and less fortunate was inspiring. Hatred of complacency, and understanding the difference between respecting someone’s beliefs and believing that all beliefs are created equally were conversations that impressed me.
Our date continued as we walked to the surprise place we would be dining, which I thought was nice. I like stars. He pointed out a McDonalds surrounded by smelly homeless people and said “Well, here’s dinner!”
I felt my face pale and then redden because I know it revealed that I am a sort of food and date snob. Chuckling at his own joke, he looked at me and said “Don’t worry, keep walking. I’m not really taking you there.”
To my relief, we ended up eating at one of my favorite restaurants. Being a psychology nerd, I not only ate up my delicious meal, but also his opinion on metal illness and
My former two posts from a million years ago
It is said that a good guy is hard to find. The only "good ones" I've seen have been found, and molded, by their current girlfriends from a ripe, young age. The others..suck. Everyone tells me that they are out there. Ironically, this is right after they have sobbed their eyes out about the last asshole that screwed them over.
Are we being naive for believing someone good is really out there? Or is it better to enjoy your life without this disillusion that there is something more? This is what I am purposing to find out.
So for a year, I have determined to go on as many dates as possible to find out if there really are good guys left. If not, I am swearing them off and buying a cat.
In order to do this, I need your help. If you claim to know any of these good guys, hook a sister up. Otherwise, my skepticism will turn me into a bitter old cat women who dreams of opening a castration service.
Delusional Devin and I went on a date that left me wanting to bang my head against the wall. It started off with me picking him up because his car was broken. Fiddling with my radio, I listened to deafening static until he found a station that he enjoyed. This was the beginning to a fantastic fun filled night.
Dinner consisted of me thinking semi-suicidal thoughts while I tried to pry for something to redeem this guy. Darling Devin did not play sports because they were too rugged. He didn’t read because nothing had the magical ability to captivate him. He is not in school because he is busy building his future. But he wasn’t building his future yet because he was waiting for things to fall together and feel right.
The things he said and the things he did completely contradicted each other. He claimed to be sensitive to women because he was raised by his mother. Then he continued onto stories of him losing feelings for girls and just dropping them because “it obviously wasn’t working out”.
Mid-dinner, Devin’s ex-girlfriend called. He answered his phone and all I heard was yelling and screaming from her end. Devin tried to play it off by walking away. I guess he forgot I have these crazy things called ears and with that the ability to hear him say, “I’m not on a date, I’m out with a friend, I’ll call you after my friend drops me off”.
Devin is some kind of stupid version of the devil.
Dear darling Devin had the perseverance and determination of a marble tile, the ego of a true narcissist, and a grasp of reality similar to a schizophrenic.
When the bill came, he decided we should split it in half, even though he had two rounds of Blue Long Islands. Technically this left me paying more than half the bill on our first date. He doesn’t like to put monetary or any sort of effort into a girl until he knows she is “The One”.
I guess his mom forgot to tell him that things in life require some kind of real sense of reality. Oh, and that the world revolves around the sun, not his balding head.
And this is how this will go...
The Dating Diary is back after a season of unfortunate retirement. I promise to not be such a slacker in sharing my endeavors with all of you. So cheers to myself for dating, thinking, and learning.