sometimes you feel like a nut

Personal Trainers

2010-07-27T06:26:00.000-07:00

Lately I've had my share of personal trainers. Enough is enough.

Don't Date People You Work With or People You're Working Out With

I started dating PTMM right after Dave and I broke up (That's a whole other story. Future blog). The two things that attracted me the most to PTMM is 1) he was a personal trainer at my gym and 2) he rides a motorcycle. I used to purposefully exercise in the first row of ellipticals on the far right because that's the area PTMM would train his clients. He always wore all black, tight fitting clothing, and spiked up his hair. I was intrigued with him. He had a lighter olive shade of skin with dark features. Definitely a mix, and I'm a fan of that. I later found out that he was half Portuguese and Guatemalan.

One of my gym friends gave me a heads up that someone in the gym "liked" me. At first I wanted to shrug it off because any real man should tell me his feelings himself. It was so obvious as to who it was, though. I had recently had a foot injury and PTMM would go out of his way to ask me, "How's your foot doing?" He'd ask me everyday. I wasn't sure if he thought I had some superhero ability to heal faster or if he lacked brain matter. Turns out it was the latter. So finally PTMM built up the courage to ask me out on a date later that week.

"Oh hey Deidre. Got any plans this week? I was thinking we could go for a ride."

My mind was in the gutter.

"Um, oh yeh, sure, that sounds like fun. On your bike, right?"

"Yeh! This is supposed to be the first nice warm weekend."

That Saturday I met up with him in Quincy. We rode and went for some drinks in Marina Bay with his friends. The riding part was exhilarating, especially on the highway. Since PTMM was a personal trainer, I felt obligated to show off my body. I wore a pink tank and shorts. Big mistake (or so it could have been). I'm wondering what the hell I was thinking wearing a pink shirt on a motorcycle. Also, I could have been a squid on the highway with the nastiest road rash. Hindsight is always 20/20.

"So how are things going with PTMM?," my gym friend asked.
"They're going great!! He's so fun."
"And you like his bike too."
"Well, uhh... YEH!!," I beamed.
"It's been like a month already. Have you guys had a lot of dates?"
I hesitated. "Um, not really. We usually just ride his bike. Hang out with his friends and stuff."
"He never takes you out to dinner? Let me guess, you guys go to Subway, huh?"
"Hey! How'd you know?"

And that was the first Red Flag.

I didn't see PTMM for a good week when he had his laser eye surgery. He couldn't go to work and didn't care for anyone to see him during recovery. We still kept contact over the phone that week.

"Hey Deidre, I really miss you. I swear we'll go riding when my eyes get better. Unfortunately, I can't do much right now. I only have $30 in my bank account."

And that was the second Red Flag. A 28-year-old man that has $30 to his name. We couldn't even go on a date to Chili's with that. I tried thinking back to the time that I only had $30 in my bank. There were two times: when I was 15 years old and after I came back from Spring Break in South Padre Island during my sophomore year of college.

It's safe to say that PTMM's finances were a HUGE deal breaker. But damn, he had a nice body.

On a PT Roll

I'm both sad and thrilled that I signed up for a Match.com membership. Remember my month long experience what the God-for-saken website (http://capriciousx.blogspot.com/2009/11/dear-matchcom-i-want-refund.html)? I'm sad because I still find it difficult to find men of value, honesty, and character these days. Some men in Boston are one fist pump shy of being a Jersey Shore boy. As I'm perusing Match, I receive a wink from a...you guessed it! A Personal Trainer. In my dating world, I give people second chances. I thought it would be nice to give PTs a second chance too.

I met up with SaIPT at Not Your Average Joe's. It's important to note that I went against one of my dating no-no's: lunch dates. Lunch dates are only feasible in the following conditions:

- You don't want to kiss your date
- You want to convince your date that you are a very important person, and can ONLY do lunch dates, leaving them to feel lesser than you since they couldn't get you for a dinner date
- You have too many dinner dates to juggle that you need to start booking lunches
- You want to make sure that guy you met at the bar looks good in day light

SaIPT was nicer looking than his pictures (score). BUT, he was just as bubbly in person as on the phone (ugh). Every other thing I said was followed up by "Nice!," "Awesome!," "That's great!," and "Amazing!" The list of adjectives he used is actually endless. I was impressed with his ability to roll off that many synonyms, however, I felt like I was on a date with a valley girl. And the fact that I like to go shopping with my girlfriends is not "amazing."

The actual date itself was nice. The food was delicious. He was polite and paid for our meal. We went on a walk down Mass Ave because both of us didn't want to end the date after lunch. At one point my hand accidentally hit his hand. I don't think that he quite understood where I'm coming from. I'm a straight shooter kind of person. A person who knows where they're going and what they want. So when I walk my arms swing more brisk and animated than most people's. He grabbed my hand. It was a fail for him. I grabbed the opportunity to release his grasp and point at something in a store window. A win for me.

SaIPT walked me back to my car. We hugged once and then chatted about possibly meeting up for a second date. We hugged again and then I felt his face unusually close to mine for a lunch date. I thought to myself, is he trying to kiss me? I pulled one of those cutesy girl moves and bent my head down lower. There was no way I was going to let this guy break Lunch Date Condition #1: No Kissing. We have texted back and forth several times. He's polite and has a tight, jacked body. Alas, no dice for him.

Conclusion

Personal trainers are primarily good for one thing: eye candy.

"The Talk"

2010-03-28T16:43:00.000-07:00

I never had it easy being raised by a first generation Filipino mother. I remember having difficulty grasping my multiplication tables in second grade. So my mom taped the times tables horizontally across the walls of my room. I forgot to mention that she was a math teacher in the Philippines. Second grade was mentally exhausting and I begged to play with my friends everyday after school.

"No, Di-dree! You must prractice your multiplication tables! Prractice, prractice, PRRACTICE! HOMEWORK first, DEN play!!!" Everything my mom says has a raised inflection at the end. It's a combination of the enthusiasm she would exude if she won the lottery along with finding out that I brought home any grade below a B. Sometimes I wasn't sure if my mom was happy or angry. All I knew for sure was that if my mom raised her voice and was within reach of a flip flop, then I should listen. Especially the flip flops her brother mailed from the Philippines. Those were one pound shy of being clogs.

Aside from my mother being academically stringent, she was sure to instill her morals and views within me. "The Talk" started when I was in PreSchool. I only remember this because one of her friends' sons exposed himself to me one weekend when I was four years old. He was 15. I remember waiting to go to the bathroom when "L" opened the door. His pants were on the ground. I wasn't sure if he was done going to the bathroom or if he was about to relieve himself on me, so I squatted down (he was almost 6 feet tall). Nothing happened. In fact, I think he pulled his pants up and went back to his room to resume playing Duck Hunt. Later that afternoon I confessed to my mom that "L" exposed himself.

"Di-dree, L is slow and retarded! Don't pay any attention to what he does! He is not smart like you! Besides, you have morals unlike him and his mom! You will not make sex until you're married!!"

I had no idea what my mom was saying at the time. Make sex? She never bothered to explain what it actually meant. Of course years later I found out through my own investigation.

My mom also went out of her way to make me feel uncomfortable when teaching me about periods. "Remember to keep a sanitary napkin with you at all times. You must leave one in your backpack and locker in case you start your menstruation." I became frustrated with my mom's terminology once I learned much cooler terms for 'sanitary napkins' and 'menstruation.' We all got "The Talk" in 5th grade. I learned more from that one hour seminar in the school library than my mom ever taught me.

Unfortunate for me, I started my period during the weekend at my dad's house. It was February 28th. I was playing outside with my neighbor, Kayla. We were torturing her Chow dog by spraying water on it with a baby's bottle I used to torture other neighborhood pets. All of a sudden the dog went haywire and made a run toward us. We bolted and jumped over the wired fence. "Oh my goodness, what got into her?! It's just water," I said. "Hey, I'll be right back. I have to go to the bathroom."

I walked home, sat down to do my business, and became horrified at what I saw. What happened? Did I cut myself while jumping the fence? I must have sat there for minutes until the light bulb went off. Fishsticks! Why did this have to happen at Dad's house?! I took out a pad from the cabinet. Good thing I practiced using them. After all, my mom made sure that I was well prepared for this moment. Later that day I told my mom what happened.

"OH MY GOD!!!! YOU'RE GROWING UP!!! LET'S GO TO THE STORE TO GET YOU MORE SANITARY NAPKINS!! OH MY GOD!"

Was she serious? I felt like I was wearing a diaper and my mom was THAT excited for me? Before we left for the store my mom called a few of her friends. "Di-dree FINALLY started her menstruation! She's a lady now! Almost a woman! Well after she finishes medical school and after she gets married she will be a woman!!" My mom was so ecstatic that she was clapping her hands.

To this day I still have no idea why Filipinos have to brag about every life detail.

"Does this mean that I can wear make up now?," I asked.
"NO! Not until you're 16!," she answered.
"Ok, well, can I have a boyfriend now?"
"Oh my GOD! Not until you're EIGHTEEN Di-dree! School comes FIRST! You know a lot of doctors don't have boyfriends until they graduate! It's important you get your degree first, den get married, and DEN make sex and have 12 children!"

My mom was always ahead of the game.

Adults Can Grow Up Too

About a year after I started my period things started to change for the better. My mom still gave me the NO SEX BEFORE MARRIAGE talk. However, she was becoming more loose in other aspects. She allowed me to wear some eye make up in 9th grade. I also got a boyfriend that I had met at a school football game. My mom liked Mike (this was the beginning of my history with Mikes) for several reason:

1) Mike was White. My mom only approved of White guys or Asian guys, preferably Filipino. No other races were acceptable to date.
2) Mike was 16, had his license, and drove a 1960-something Mustang.
3) He put on a good show in front of her.

I found out that Mike cheated on me through an instant message on AOL I got from one of his friends. I was torn and didn't want my mom to find out, so I used to excuse that Mansfield was too far to maintain a healthy high school relationship. Surprisingly my mom asked about Mike here and there. "Invite Mike over for dinner!" "Di-dree, call Mike!" Mom didn't want me dating until I was 16 and here she was changing the damn story.

By the time I started grad school and moved to Boston, my mom really started to Grow Up. I started dating a half Filipino guy during my 2nd year of grad school. I went home for Christmas and reported this to my mom. I showed her pictures and told her that he was a successful Real Estate Agent with a very nice condo, etc etc. My mom was in love. "Di-dree, marry him! Filipino men will treat you very well!!" Unknown to my mother's knowledge, I had already started becoming...intimate...with this particular guy. But I wanted to test my mom's reaction.

"Mom, I know. Filipino men are such nice guys. You see, I like this guy, but I'm not sure if he's that into me. I'm not sure if he would want to...marry me..."

"He will!!! You know what? Men like sex!"

I was stunned. How was it that all of these years my mom preached to me NO SEX BEFORE MARRIAGE and at the age of 23 it was a different story? Not only was I stunned, but grossed out with what she had to say next.

"You have to GIVE men what they WANT! Once they get it then you'll have your way! You can ask your dad!!"

"Yeah, I'm good," I said.

After this conversation the tide definitely turned. The Talk is now The Marriage Talk. Every time I call home to report that I'm dating someone new she gets her panties in a wad.

"OK! GOOD! WHEN ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED?," my mom asks.
"Don't listen to your mother. You know how they run things where she's from. A day late and a dollar short, especially after 7 children," my dad says while my mom is clapping in the background.

Womanizer

2010-01-20T16:34:00.000-08:00

I went to Texas Woman's University in college. "Are there a lot of lesbians there?," would be the most common response when I told people this. "Huumm, not anymore than any other college," I answered. Denton, Texas is a small liberal arts town. It's made up of crunchy people who enjoy eating organic granola bars and women who disregard the concept of a razor. When it comes down to it -- YES, there are tons of homosexuals. At times I did feel like a sexual minority living in Denton (especially in the all women dorms on campus).

Being a psychology major also played a role in forming my own identity, and my want for learning about others. I tried making friends with bisexuals, homosexuals, asexuals, anyone really so I can learn about what happens on the "other side of the fence." It was such a taboo that I wanted to immerse myself in this... lifestyle. I wanted to partake in this "club." I wasn't willing on giving away my men, though. I still needed, well, you know. I felt like an outsider who envied those huge UNT sororities, but wasn't willing to give blow jobs to frat guys to become a sister. Instead of "switching teams," I purposefully surrounded myself around people who were on the other team. During my senior year I became close with my friend Walisha*. Just by the name you'd think she was a black girl with an attitude. But no, she was (and is) a white girl... with an attitude. And back then she identified herself as bisexual.

Me at the bar: I'm ready to party and find a damn guy!
Walisha: Me too! Should I go for a woman or a man tonight?
Me: What?! You can pick!?!
Walisha: Hell yeah I can pick. So which one will it be?

The very first time Walisha asked me this question I just thought she was being immature and curt. This was far from the truth. It was like sexual ADHD. She would date a man for one month and then hook up with a woman the next. She loved a variety. And I was envious. I had dating ADHD (and still do).

The thing is-- I am capable of wearing many outfits, and I love to change things up. I change my hair and clothes with every season. I have a new flavor every month. BUT, I wasn't willing on acting on any offers that were given to me. I would daydream of scenarios where a hot woman would hit on me. It was intriguing and mysterious. However, dreams aren't always great in reality. If I remotely thought that a girl was hitting on me at the club I felt like a groundhog that wanted to scurry back in its hole. Things have changed since college, and I have felt more liberated. I'm able to actively flirt back with a random girl. And now I find it empowering if I'm able to unintentionally get hit on by a girl. Sometimes I do better than my own guy friends. Sometimes I'm a womanizer.

One Night at Felt

Last February I went to club Felt downtown with a bunch of friends. It was still freezing outside, but the weather never determines how hot I'll try to look. One of my friends had invited his nerdy friend that was in town. Probably out of pity. This guy was white as paper and has most likely never been anywhere near Miami. He might as well have worn suspenders to look like the pale version of Steve Urkel. Although CN didn't have "IT" going for him, I made it my personal mission to hook him up. I told him to buy drinks for girls and forced him to dance with them. I felt like his personal coach, and I loved it. However, the saying "you can lead a horse to the water, but you can't make it drink" really applied to CN. I had finally achieved some success when CN danced three consecutive songs with an asian girl I will call AW. I had to butter up the girl for her to even accept a drink from him.

Me: He's a really, really, really nice guy. No, really.
AW: Yeah? Ok..
Me: I know he seems kind of nerdy, but he's soo smart. Give him a chance. Or at least take the drink he's going to buy for you and dance with him a little.
AW: Alright.

I easily convinced this girl to give CN a chance. Or so I thought. CN took a bathroom break and I was stuck on the dance floor with AW. She slowly crept closer and closer. Soon enough we were the ones dancing.

Me: So what do you think of my friend?
AW: Eh. I could care less about him. It's YOU that I want.
Me: [bewildered] Uhh, what? I'm sorry, the music is loud. What did you say?
AW: I WANT YOU.

Then she leaned in and kissed me on the lips. I was taken aback and of course did not except that sequence of events to happen. I was hoping she would get drunk off the many drinks CN bought her. Also, her pity for CN may have lead her to kiss him. Not me. I wasn't sure what to do. So I stood there. She told me that she lived an hour north of Boston and would LOVE to see me again. I took my phone out and fake saved her number. All of a sudden, I wasn't the one with the control. I wanted to scurry in my groundhog hole. When CN came back I acted like everything was hunky dorry. I sipped on another Sex on the Beach near the bar and watched AW's show. She danced with CN, but would stare at me. I looked back at my friends and saw that nobody was having a "successful night." "At least I got one phone number tonight!," I thought to myself. This wasn't the first time I scored better than my guy friends, but I'll save that for another time...

Dear Match.com, I want a refund

2009-11-22T17:06:00.000-08:00

My love life is very cyclical. When it rains, it pours. When there's a drought, it's dry as hell. Then it starts all over again. Two years ago I remember complaining to my best friend, my dad, about experiencing another drought.

Me: I can't seem to meet anyone in this Godforsaken city.
Dad: Dee, give it time. You'll meet someone. That's what grad school is for.
Me: There are two guys in my program, and I'm at the library all the time. My situation isn't ideal for dating.

It was true. I went through a long period of time when I had no prospectives. But there were other times when I would practically fend guys off with a baseball bat. Or purposefully not take a shower and dress down to get rid of them.

Fall 2007 was the worse. I was bogged down with research papers and my new internship. I had minimal time to go to the bar to collect phone numbers. I was at an all time low, and I had basically exhausted all of my options. In summer '07 I dated two or three guys (I can't even remember) from my workplace, and dating any more co-workers would have deemed me as the Office Whore. Where could I go next? Online.

Me: So I was browsing some online dating websites...
Dad: Uh-huh.
Me: Dad, you don't understand. I really need a date! It's been, like, three weeks!
Dad: Ok...
Me: Would you mind paying for a month subscription to match.com?
Dad: Fine.

My Desperate Dating Drought Came to an End

Most men on match.com my age were new to Boston as well. A lot of them weren't my type. They were either bald, wore baseball caps, and/or cropped out their ex girlfriends in every picture. I signed up for an one month subscription, thanks to Daddy. This gave me one month to flirt with as many guys as possible online. And hopefully line up dates for every day that month. Or so I thought.

I met LP at a local bar and seemed to hit it off quickly. He could carry on a conversation, and was witty enough to combat every one of my jokes. The only thing about LP was that he was... Asian. I'm hardly ever attracted to Asian men because of there small eyes and short eyelashes. The short eyelashes really freak me out. Short eyelashes are almost as freaky as the translucent eyelashes that Ginger's have, which give me nightmares. I forced myself to look beyond the short eyelashes. I also had to deal with the fact that LP might be inadequate, if you know what I mean. I put all things aside and told myself to suck it up. Try something new. And stop being shallow.

LP and I started getting serious. A few weeks after our first date we found ourselves walking through the aisles in Target asking each other, "Do we need anything else?" LP invited me over to his nice condo for dinner, which he made from scratch. We would sip wine and snuggle on the couch watching TV. I showed him pictures of my friends on Facebook, and said that he would soon become acquainted with them. "Who is Ashley Polani?" he asked. "That's a girl I go to school with. Why?," I answered. He said, "Oh, she's pretty. When do I get to meet her?" "Haha, you might if you're lucky," I replied.

It was December already and I decided that he should meet my friends during the annual Christmukkah party (Christmas and Hanukkah). It was time for LP to see who I really was: a Lush. My friends egged me on to do the keg stand. I, of course, out did everyone. I thought it would be a good idea to play several rounds of beer pong and flip cup, which I dominated again. My friend Ilisa were quite the team at these games. By the end of the night I stood in Jeremy's bathroom upstairs trying to focus on one item. My eyes weren't cooperating. Everything was spinning slowly. I sat down on the floor and heard Ilisa bang on the door, "Deidre, come on, we have a cab waiting for us!" I don't remember how I replied, but I do remember Ilisa shrieking when she opened the door. This was the sign that I drank way too much.

I stayed over LP's house that night. We spent the next day nursing our own hangovers. I knew LP was serious about our relationship after he had seen me the next morning; trails of mascara on my cheeks, disheveled hair, and all. I thought everything was fine until the New Year. LP was especially quiet one night and I decided to question things.

Me: What's wrong?
LP: I dunno... I like you a lot and everything, but I dunno... It's just me.
Me: [Oh God, at least you could be more original] What do you mean it's just you?
LP: Well, my therapist keeps saying that I have commitment issues and that I need to work on some things before I get deeply involved with someone.
Me: [What are you? A woman?] Let me know how I can help.

LP had been seeing a shrink for some time. What better person could he be dating? I was training to be a School Psychologist and I was understanding of his situation. He had a difficult time during his parent's divorce, which was affecting him years later. I assured him that I would help in any way possible. Obviously this wasn't enough.

One wintery night I felt spontaneous and stopped by his condo without notice. He buzzed me up and his place was a little more unkempt than usual. We sat on the couch, and talked. LP was interested in going to architecture school the next fall. He wanted to show me an architecture college website on his laptop. As he opened the website browser many pages popped up. What was he doing before I came over?, I wondered. Suddenly one of the windows was in sharp focus. Displayed on the window was a picture of my friend, Ashley Napoli*, with whom I went to grad school. I crunched my eyebrows together, stared at the picture, cocked my head, and glanced at him quizzically.

Me: WHAT is this??
LP: Uhh.
Me: Why are you looking at pictures of Ashley Napoli?
LP: I think she's pretty.
Me: You're not even friends with her on Facebook! And you don't even know her in person!
LP: Look Deidre, I know what you are probably thinking. I just think she's pretty, that's all, ok?
Me: How do you think this makes me feel? That you're looking at a picture of... Ashley... who you don't even know. This is strange. I have to go.

I hurried to put on my Ugg boots and walked down the street. I had taken a cab to his place, and it was now snowing heavily. There were no cabs in sight. LP stood on the sidewalk and yelled at me, "Deidre, come on! Let's talk about this." There was nothing to talk about. He was psycho. Not only did he already see his shrink for commitment issues, but it seemed as if he had bigger issues to sort out. I would have been more receptive to seeing a porn website pop up rather than my friend, Ashley. The thing is LP has brought up Ashley in conversation several times, all as a joke. He would say, "You need to invite Ashley out next time we have dinner with your friends." Or he would ask, "Is Ashley going to the party tonight?" We would always laugh afterward, but this situation was no longer a laughing matter.

I was walking down the street in snow and slush with tears rolling down my face, hating life. I was such an idiot for even pursuing online dating. LP repeatedly called me and I sent him to voicemail every time. He texted me, "Where are you? I'm driving trying to find you. Let me pick you up." My suspicions at this point was that LP was a psycho maniac and I didn't want to know what he was capable of next.

Forty-five minutes later I was home, with a wet face, soaked Uggs, and a clear mind. You get what you pay for, my dad would always say. My match.com subscription was basically free, and my dad was right.

*Name has been changed.

Light Switch.

2009-11-16T18:50:00.000-08:00

Just imagine in your head the most typical female you can think of... maybe she is blond, giggles a lot on the first date, and thinks everyone is a "sweetheart." Let's cut the crap. Now think of the complete opposite of that female. That would be me. The majority of the time I have a difficult time relating to the female prototype, so much that I'd rather surround myself with males. My Bostonian father raised me to think for myself. To never, EVER, let somebody tell me what to do... especially a man. Every time I go home he compliments me.

Dad: Dee, I'm so proud of you.
Me: Why, Daddy?
Dad: Because you don't put up with any bullshit!

So it's safe to say that I pride myself on my no-nonsense attitude. When I'm feeling nostalgic I start to watch my home videos. I have one particular favorite.

Dad: [to the camera] It's February --
Me: DAD! Everyone knows what day it is. Jeez!
Dad: [regaining composure] Dee, sit down please.
Me: DAD!
Dad: Dee, have a seat please.
Me: Dad, I wanna do what I wanna do!

This is when hell broke lose and I found my freedom. I was 4-years old.

The Last Boyfriend: CS

I met my last boyfriend, CS, in September 2008. It was an extremely hectic and emotional time for me. My college boyfriend, Louis V., and I dated again. Long story short (I'm smelling a future blog), Louis moved to Boston. He moved to Boston after we broke up. Amanda & I had another one of our infamous BBQ's on this September Saturday. Louis was basically living with me... although we weren't officially together. I wanted to pull my hair out after one week.

Me: So... how many apartments are you actually inquiring about on a daily basis?
Louis: Deidre, I'm trying my best here.

He wasn't, but I needed him to GTFO. Anyone who knows me, knows that I feel smothered after spending 24 hours straight with a guy. During my BBQ I met CS, who worked for Scottrade. Amanda still worked for the company, and I had resigned a year prior. It's safe to say that I began flirting with CS because I was done with Louis. Louis was striking my last nerve. I was turned off. Literally. There was a light switch inside of me that flicked from ON to OFF. I became disinterested with the remains of our relationship, and at this point we were only friends. Louis clearly didn't agree.

Louis: DEIDRE, IT'S OVER! I'M TIRED OF YOUR BULLSHIT!
Me: What?!
Louis: YOU HEARD ME! YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU'RE DOING! I'M TIRED OF THIS SHIT!

As if it weren't embarrassing enough that our falling out was in front of the whole BBQ... Louis chucked my favorite fake Louis Vuitton in the trash can. I was devastated. It was one thing calling me out in front of my friends. It was another thing to disrespect my belongings.

CS and I began to date. We jumped in the deep end of the pool. Suddenly we found ourselves In a Relationship. CS and I didn't have too much in common. We worked for the same company, and we were able to talk about that. CS lived with his sister. He had very few friends and didn't enjoy partying. Or socializing, even. I guess CS and I lasted so long (a whopping 6 months) because he liked me. In fact, he loved me. And I was a jerk to him.

I knew CS loved me after Halloween of '08. Apparently I thought it was my 21st birthday and drank everything in sight. Not only did I throw up in the bathroom at the bar, but I threw up in the cab. At home. And in my bed. Twice. CS still stayed with me after this slight mishap. He was committed to me.

On Christmas Day we exchanged presents. I had bought him a variety of things: a nice frying pan because he loved to cook, the Mr. and Mrs. Smith DVD since that was our Halloween duo costume, and other sentimental gifts. CS gave me a digital frame. I already had one. He also gave me several "Love Coupons." You know, those crappy coupons that you can redeem corny things for. One coupon read, "This is good for one movie at home." Another one read, "This coupon is good for a chili dinner, on me!" "Oh, how, nice...?," was my reply. CS was the epitome of a cheapskate.

Christmas wasn't the only let down. By this point, CS and I had dated for a few months. We had a routine down to the T. On Friday night I would pick-up CS from the subway. We would cook dinner at home from food that I bought. Or we would eat out. We split the check most of the time. If he decided that he would pay, then he would suggest that we share appetizers. "But I'm hungry," I stampered. Valentine's Day was the last straw. It was clear to me that CS had no idea how relationships really went. He wasn't aware that a man should take out a woman on a nice date, and treat her well. He called me on Valentine's night.

CS: Hey, I want to make you dinner or something. Why don't you come over?
Me: I always go over there. Why can't you drive here for once?

CS NEVER. DROVE. TO. MY. PLACE. Ok, ONE time. In January! After months of dating. It was ironic when Amanda brought up a conversation she overheard. When one of our co-workers asked CS what he liked to do on the weekends, CS said he loved to "drive fast." Seeing that CS never drove to my house on the weekend, or used his car ever, it was safe to say that he was a liar. So on Valentine's Day, one could imagine why I was livid that he suggested I drive to HIS apartment yet another time. It was Valentine's Day, for crying out loud. Suddenly my dad's persistent advice invaded my head. Dee, don't ever put up with any shit, you deserve the best, and don't you ever settle for less. Dad was right. My dignity was more important than my love life. I wasn't going to let CS take advantage of me anymore. I broke up with CS on Valentine's Day.

The after math was less painful than usual. CS and I remained friends. This was a smart move on his part because he had very few friends to begin with. On CS's birthday, Amanda and I met up with him at the bar. "Where is everyone?," I asked. "Oh, it's just you, me, and Amanda," he answered. He couldn't be anymore serious. What makes matters worse is that Amanda and I had other plans later that night. We left CS at the bar by himself on his birthday.

My last encounter with CS was at a Scottrade conference in downtown Boston. Amanda and all of my ex co-workers met up for drinks afterward. CS had been hitting the gym and looked great. When we all said goodbye at the end of the night CS hugged everyone. But me. Instead, he shook my hand and said, "it was night to see you." Although CS was in better shape and looked fantastic, I was extremely turned off. The light switch inside of me went drastically from ON to OFF. And I walked away with my pride.

Devil versus Angel

2009-11-11T16:34:00.000-08:00

In my October 14th blog, I wrote about dating an Irish guy that looked like Gerard Butler (GB). Things between GB abruptly ended after we had a ridiculous argument at the bar. Once again, GB's alcohol consumption was affecting his ability to interact with people... appropriately... After walking home from the bar by myself that night, I knew it was over.

Unfortunately my argument with GB was bad timing since Amanda & I had planned to have a BBQ at our place. On the Saturday of our BBQ neither GB or his group of friends showed up. Amanda became upset with me. My bad conscience -- the Devil -- told me to flirt with someone else. To rebound. I decided to make my way over to Yummy (at this time I cannot come up with a better nickname) who is Amanda's co-worker. Yummy has beautiful blue eyes, and a pretty sweet body. After my good conscience -- the Angel -- failed me and I flirted with Yummy, I scurried over to Amanda to report my success. "Deidre, don't ruin another one of my friendships," she said. Ouch. I was in shock. I messed up her friendship with GB, so it was understandable that I should stay away from Yummy. Here is the problem, though: Yummy was (and still is) yummy. I was physically attracted to him, and I couldn't resist the temptation. BUT I HAD TO CONTROL MYSELF. The Devil was working over time.

My self-control proved to be good. For a whole day. The day after our BBQ Amanda and Yummy's brother went to the bar for some early Sunday Funday drinking. Yummy was supposedly taking a nap in Amanda's room. I knew trouble was going to bitch slap me in the face. Moments later he knocked on my door. "What are you doing?," he asked. Thinking about mouth raping you. "Oh, I'm just reading a book," I answered. Yummy asked, "Can I come in?" Shit. "Ok. Uh, yeah."

It doesn't take a physicist to figure out what happened. Well, ok, we only kissed.

I didn't see Yummy until a couple months later, in August. He was looking as delicious as I had remembered. Dammit, he's off limits. I had to basically restrain myself from interacting with him. He was like forbidden fruit. I didn't quite feel like re-enacting the whole Adam and Eve situation. I had to control myself. The night proved to be a crap show. We had friends with hotel rooms in the Westin, and ended up spending the night.

I know what you must be thinking. That didn't happen. The complete opposite occurred. I made out with another guy that night. Yummy made out with my friend. All four of us slept in the same bed. And yes, him and I slept right next to each other, after both of our respective make out sessions with other partners. When nothing happened between us, I was sure that I would be in the clear. He didn't want me, and vice versa.

Wrong.

On Halloween '09 we were reunited. I saw him and instantly wanted to be granted access. My palms started to sweat. "Hey, what's up?," I said nonchalantly. I avoided eye contact in hopes that my acting was convincing. "Hey, not much." Yummy was dressed as Beer Man, and I was Octo Mom. I felt so badly to ask him if he would be interested in giving me my ninth child.

Yummy and I didn't interact until the second party. I had exhibited excellent self-control during the first party. Many beers later it was a different story. By 1 a.m. there were subparties going on in the house. Downstairs was the dance party. Upstairs was a drug party, one with pot, and one with other substances. I was re-living 12th grade. Yummy and I weren't into our atmosphere. We ended up escaping the scene. "Let's cut the shit, Deidre, we're both attracted to each other. Let's just kiss already." The Angel on my right shoulder began to speak: Don't do it. The Devil interjected: Do it! Do it! You know you wanna.

We went outside and kissed like savages. He stopped me mid kiss. "You know what? Even though we're attracted to each other, we shouldn't hook up. I like a lot of things about you. You're smart, educated, and have a lot of qualities that I like." WOW. This is so sweet, I thought. "You have a lot of qualities I look for in a wife." I choked on my own tongue. WHAT?! Thanks for ruining my buzz, Yummy. We continued kissing and that's as far as it went.

After much self-control, and fighting off the Devil, Yummy and I ended up hooking up the following weekend. It was Amanda's birthday. After she passed out all hell reigned. "Let's go to my house," Yummy propositioned. So at 3 a.m. we were driving to Quincy. When we woke up I started freaking out. "We have to go home. Amanda wakes up early even when she's drunk. She can't know about... this." Yummy drove me back to my car, that I had left at the bar. "Text her right now and see if she's awake," he suggested. Just the previous weekend I had felt like a 12th grader. Now I felt lower than low. I was back in 9th grade trying to sneak around with boys behind my parents' backs.

I texted Amanda. "Hey, Yummy drove me back to my car. We're getting breakfast at the Brighton Beer Garden."

"What? The bar is open? It's not 10 yet," Amanda replied.

Yummy and I were screwed. Our lie wasn't well thought out. The Devil had won. Temporarily. Later on that day Amanda found out about my "affair" with Yummy.

Things are fine now. Things are going well with Yummy and I, so much that we had our first official "date" last night. We went to the gym, did our own work outs, ordered food in, and played. I felt like I was in 1st grade, with an elementary crush. We did plan on seeing each other today, but we're both wiped out from last night's activities. I'm happy the Devil lost.

Edit: Things aren't totally fine yet. I made a huge mistake, lied, and it was a horrible decision I'm dealing with now.

The Return of the "Matt's"

2009-11-01T16:43:00.000-08:00

For some reason, I always end up dating men with the same name. Coincidental? I think not. I mean, when it comes down to it: I date a lot of men. The chances of me dating someone named "Matt" would of course be significantly higher than me dating someone named "Oliver." So naturally, my two dates last week were with guys named...Matt.

Matt One

I met Matt One at your typical bar in Faneuil Hall. A grimy, pick-up bar, with a tiny dance floor. It was April 2009, and it was deemed a Girls Night Out. We were pumped to have a mini reunion since the cruelness of grad school didn't allow us to frequently see each other. This reunion, of course, called for short dresses, flat ironed hair, and debauchery at its best. By the end of the night, it was no longer Girls Night Out. After showing everyone up on the dance floor, we had attracted large quantities of men. My friends had all accumulated dance partners and the bar was closing soon. Matt One approached me, "I like you." It was a strange pick-up line, but I went with it. "Thanks, wanna dance?" When the bar closed I only knew a few things about Mike One: he went to UMass Amherst, was from New York (shudder), and had annoying guy friends. We exchanged numbers.

Fast forward to October 2009. Matt One and I obviously share a passion for football. After seeing many of my football Facebook statuses, Matt One decided to finally ask me out on a date. We scheduled a nice dinner in the North End on Thursday. I plugged it into my BlackBerry calendar because I was sure I would forget.

I wanted to make sure I wouldn't mix up Matt One's date with Matt Two's date.

Matt Two

I met Matt Two at Liberty Hotel in September 2009. It was deemed another Girls Night Out. I'm now noticing a trend. It was 1:30 and although Liberty is full of hot available men with jobs in the Financial District, I hadn't had any luck. It was probably 1:40 when Matt Two approached me. He was the only sober guy in his group of six friends because he was DD for the night. In our twenty minutes of conversation I found out that Matt Two was from Revere and was a real estate agent. He didn't strike me as anything special. But the fact that Matt Two didn't try to take me home was a good enough reason to exchange numbers. Matt Two called me weeks later to ask me out on a date. It was scheduled for Wednesday, the day before my other date.

Wednesday: Matt Two

I told myself that after my date with Matt Two I would write down the name of his siblings and his job title when I got home. That way I wouldn't get his information confused with Matt One. We were scheduled for 7:30 at a nicer restaurant in my old Fenway neighborhood. I was of course running late due to the scarcity of parking. This is why I moved away two years ago, I thought to myself. It was 7:50 and I decided to text him: "Sorry, I'm late! Still trying to park. BTW, you might not recognize me. I cut my my hair since we met. Totally bald now." No reply. I knew that his lack of response would set up the date for mediocrity. This guy wasn't receptive to my humor and I already felt shunned.

When I finally got into the bar and found Matt Two sitting at the end of the bar, I was relieved that he was in fact what I had remembered him to look like. I obviously was a few martinis deep when I met him and wasn't sure if I had drunk goggles on. We hugged and ordered drinks. I glanced at my watch thinking, When is dinner? It was clear to me that dinner wasn't happening by 9:00. It was too late to eat. By this point I couldn't concentrate on anything that came out of his mouth. I hadn't eaten since noonish, and if you know me, you know that I need to be fed in order to function. And to thoroughly enjoy a first date.

The thing that I do respect about Matt Two is his honesty. "I haven't been on a date in like six months," he admitted. "I broke some ligaments in my right foot while playing basketball. I was on crutches for awhile." "Wow! That makes me a lucky woman!," I said. I'd be even luckier if you realized that I need some food. I couldn't get past the fact that he booked a 7:30 date without getting dinner reservations. I forced myself to excuse this mishap because he hadn't dated in awhile. Matt Two is 100% Italian and we all know that he must bring other things to the table. I agreed to go on a second date with him.

Thursday: Matt One

As I circled around the North End in my car, it occurred to me that a sick joke was being played on me. Both of my first dates had the same name (meaning that I would have to expend energy on getting their biographical details straight), AND I once again was late because of the parking situation. Whatever happened to a good old fashioned date where a man picks you up? When I got to Matt One's apartment I asked, "Where the hell do you park your car?" "Oh, I don't have one," he answered. Party foul. If him and I were to ever become boyfriend/girlfriend, then how would be able to bring me on a nice weekend at Martha's Vineyard? I could see it now. I'd be Driving Miss Daisy around to our weekend get aways. Hopefully Matt One had something to compensate for his lack of transportation.

When we arrived at the restaurant I was satisfied to know that we would be having dinner. Matt One already had one up on Matt Two. My vegetarian lasagna and sangria along with great conversation made this a great first half of a date. We started talking about Halloween costumes. He would be a Batman and I would be Octo Mom. This conversation led us back to his apartment after dinner. He wanted to show me his costume, and he offered to give me some rope to tie my eight babies together as a harness. We plopped down on the couch and watched It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. He clearly had more humor than Matt Two.

I made a Venn Diagram to compare the Matts. Oh yes, another list.

Matt One

No car...
...but arranged for a dinner
From New York, and a NY Giants fan...
...but wasn't anywhere close to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4JMOh-cul6M

Matt Two

No dinner...
...but is 100% authentic Italian...meaning that he would be capable of cooking me dinner in the future
Dominated the conversation and at times did not laugh at my jokes...
...cannot think of a pro to combat this...

Area in the middle of Matt One and Matt Two

Found them during closing time at the bar
Not hot, but definitely cute to boot

The one thing that separated Matt One from Matt Two was a kiss. After watching It's Always Sunny, Matt One leaned over to kiss me. Erratic, quick, and goldfish describes it best. At that point, I was torn. Matt Two had fed me and understood my humor. His kisses, however, made me feel... unpleasant. Is it something I can deal with? Absolutely not. Kissing is extremely important when it comes to dating, especially for a person who is affectionate and passionate. Me. And at this age, it's unacceptable to think, Oh I'll just teach them. Within our mid to late twenties we should be able to carry our own! I'm not sure if I will pursue a second date with Matt One. All because of one kiss.

Clingers

2009-10-22T17:38:00.000-07:00

If I haven't gone on a date with you by now, there's a good possibility that I just don't like you that that.

I posted this as a Facebook status a few weeks ago hoping that some of my male audience would get the picture without me directly telling them. During my first year of living in Boston I met random people--men and women--some that I no longer care to be acquainted with. No matter how many times I get a new cell number, these people end up finding the new one. Actually, I've been stupid enough to answer texts because I'm curious to see who it is...

Them: Hey! Are you in town?
Me: Depends on which town you're talking about ;). Who is this?
Them: -Name of annoying male-
Me: Shit.

As I rummage through my BlackBerry address book, I see many men that I have not yet been on a date with. Don't get me wrong. I love a free dinner. Especially if they're bringing me out to Newbury St., and will be buying me drinks after. Alcohol would not be a necessity with these men, but it would be mandatory. Three glasses of Sangria later and my tolerance of these men increases. Five or more glasses of Sangria later and I'm all good. I call these men Clingers. No matter how hard I try to get rid of them, they cling onto a bit of hope that someday they will be allowed to bring me out.

Meet the Clingers

First, there's RI. No, he's not from Rhode Island. RI stands for Repulsive Irishman. What makes matters worse, is that he's Irish American, not straight off the boat. I believe he's only half Irish, but for some reason he claims that side the most. No matter how often I see RI, he always manages to represent a green four leaf clover (to indicate "HEY! LOOK AT ME! I'M IRISH!). And so is everyone else up here. I find this extremely annoying because aside from wearing a sign from his heritage all the time, he also vocalized it every other six minutes. "That's because I'm Irish," would be his reason and blame for his own attributes. "Yeh I can handle several shots of Jager...because I'm Irish." Mmm no, RI, you're only half, is what I want to reply back. The other half is Italian. Most Italian men are sexy as hell, and now I can see why you claim mainly you're Irish part.

No matter how hard I try to get rid of RI, he still tends to cling. Now, I have to say that one of my BIGGEST dating pet peeves is having a man ask me out on a date through the INTERNET or TEXT MESSAGES. This is so wrong, it's almost immoral. You're already putting in some effort in contacting me, so why not put in a liiiitle bit more effort in dialing my number and verbally asking me out? Getting back to RI--he always asked me out via private messages on Facebook. What are we, 12?! He also made the mistake of asking me to drive to New Hampshire, where he lives. If a man repeatedly chases a woman to get a date, then it would make more sense for him to literally chase her!

Then there's LW. Meeting this Clinger was all of my fault. He used to watch my parody videos on YouTube and when I was desperate enough to meet someone from the internet, he was one of the first. LW is a Jewish guy from Maine. People from Maine are generally...different...in the first place, so that explains a lot about him. LW first invited me out for 10 cent wings, and I agreed. I cringed through the first hour of meeting him. LW has those really small teeth, which I find in 0.1% of the population. So when he talks or smiles, it makes it difficult for me to concentrate of what he's saying.

Aside from LW's tiny teeth, he also puts me through Facebook Hell. On October 18th, I posted that I would be watching two football games at the bar. His reply via private message: "you need a good breakfast before watching football lol. lets go! nice haircut!" Nice haircut? A couple weeks before that message he sent me: "we only get together like once a year why is that?"

LW, do you not get the message?...literally?

Since I like things in three, I have to add a last Clinger. SU went to Suffolk University. He was on the six-year plan and was still living with his mother when I first met him two years ago. He still lives with his mother. The first time we ever hung out he thought it would be nice to walk his dog in the Common. His dog's name is Guido. That about sums it up for SU's description.

SU also puts me through Facebook Hell. It seems that every time I log in, I have a new invitation to grab a drink. It's been two years, SU. I guess I'm not parched enough to go out with you. I would suggest to let me tell you when I'm thirsty. In the mean time, stop asking.

And with that said it should be fair to say: If I haven't gone on a date with you by now, there's a good possibility that I just don't like you like that.

The List

2009-10-18T18:27:00.000-07:00

I was exhilarated when I met someone in my graduate program who not only considered "fine dining" a hobby in itself, but also had the same point of views when it came to dating. We both had the same criteria for first dates to make it to the second round: a second date. Mina and I wanted our date to 1) be educated, 2) have a decent living, and 3) possess good hygiene. After composing Our List, we understood that we had high expectations and that our criteria had to be critiqued.

The List

During a typical weekday night of grad school, we decided to indulge ourselves with sushi. I shouldn't disclose the name because then all 495,282 of my readers would dine there, leaving me to search for the second best sushi restaurant in Metro Boston. Anyway, Mina had just experienced yet another disaster date and was telling me all of the horrifying details of her last date.

As we were going through our "High Fidelity" phase, we wrote a list of reasons why our dates were no longer...dates. I am quite the fan of lists, and I keep one for everything. Being the organized and secretarial kind of person I am, I kept Our List in an accordion file in between my taxes and clothing receipts. Our list documented men that we had dated during grad school in the past year and a half. Mina's list consisted of one more than mine. This was another reason why I love Mina. Her dating life gave me quantitative data that I wasn't the only serial dater I knew.

I have decided not to disclose Mina's entire List because I am a respectful friend. However, I can't restrain myself to at least give a few of her reasons for breaking things off. Here are a few...

DN- Ate too much Burger King
JN- He rejected ME
AH- HAIRY!!

And my personal favorite: HL- Pesto in teeth incident.

I agree that the reasons above are all valid reasons for breaking things off with a guy. I mean c'mon, we aren't asking you to endure a laser hair procedure, but buy a damn razor, AH!

Now for my list. Drum roll, please...

AT- He rejected me. More like he went to counseling and his therapist said he wasn't ready for commitment.
MK- BORING. THE DEFINITION OF A SNOOZER. He didn't laugh at my jokes either.
VC- Moved too fast. I'm not referring to walking or running (he was a personal trainer, though).
ON- Not that cute.
RB- Another he rejected me. WTF?
PE- Just wanted to be physical. Also, danced really freaking weird.
ME #1- " " " "
ME #2- " " " ". Had an annoying laugh.
JL- Not sure what happened.
DE- Wasn't attracted to him. Too Asian.
GN- When I asked why he didn't add me back on MySpace, he said, "Oh, that? It's because I'm dating someone in North Carolina and I didn't want to chance her seeing you on my page."
CS- Blah.
PL- Couldn't legally buy alcohol.
NY- I found out that HE WAS STILL MARRIED. But was in the process of getting a divorce.
VC- Kissed with his teeth.
TY- Bartender. Can't take bartenders seriously.
CL- Don't remember what happened.
RN- Was too into me.
TY- Too shy.

So, for a year and a half it came down to 19 men. Hey, it doesn't seem that bad when you do the math. One and a half years = 18. That's, on average, one per month.

I am patiently waiting for the day that I will stop making lists of men that I date and the reason as to why they suck. But for now, I'll just continue to waste trees.

Game Over

2009-10-15T14:40:00.000-07:00

If you read my last blog, then it may seem as if things with NG ended on my 25th birthday. It did not end there.

Going, Going, Gone

It took me the entire month of August and almost the end of September to finalize things with NG. Sept 20th, to be exact, which would make our "relationship" purely a summer one. Our routine went like this:

- Text each other everyday. "How's ur day?" "Fine, and urs?" I have this same mindless conversation with my co-workers.
- Perhaps hang out one time during the week.
- Get drunk together on Friday or Saturday.

I don't necessary like routines. And I certainly didn't care for this one. It was a routine of boredom. When we hung out during the week it looked like this... I drove 40 minutes to his apartment. We ate dinner out or ordered in. We watched TV or a movie. During the TV show or movie he would scratch himself "down there" for an extraordinarily long time. As if there were no one else in the room. It wasn't a quick scratch, either. Aside from the abnormal amount of scratching, he would snack the entire time. Mind you, we just had dinner an hour before. No exchanges were usually made between him and I while we sat on the couch. Of course I would be sitting there making comments or laughing uncontrollably during Curb Your Enthusiasm. And him? Nothing. It wasn't even that he had a flat affect. I'm not sure if he had an affect at all.

So when I finally broke things off with him on the phone it was ironic when he said, "So that's it? You don't seemed phased at all. Do you care? Don't you have feelings for me?" I replied, "Yeh, I do." Our break up conversation lasted a whole five minutes... until he called me back.

NG: So, can't we work things out?
Me: Hmm, no, I don't think so.
NG: Why not?
Me: We don't have a connection anymore.
NG: So?!? We can work on our connection.
Me: Mmmm, not really.
NG: What? Why?
Me: A connection is either there or it's not.

This went one for some time. I was tired and wanted to be done with this conversation, as it was something I could cross out on my To-Do List.

September 20

I didn't hear from him for a good week. I was at the beach with Jamie on a nice Sunday. He wanted to "cook dinner" for me later that day. I'm not sure why I agreed on wasting my gas, time, and effort once again. Our original plan was to watch the Cowboys versus Giants game (which is a very important one to me), and eat dinner. There was no dinner when I showed up. I told myself I would make the best of the already crappy night and watch the Cowboys game on his big screen TV.

During the second quarter of the game everything was fine. We ordered in. Before we had time to start eating he says, "So can we work things out?" I should have stayed home, idiot! "Well no, I told you we can't work on a connection. It's either there or it's not. You can't convince yourself to like someone." This exchange lasted until the second quarter of the game. Right as I THOUGHT I wrapped everything into a package with a nice bow on top... he starts crying... and I'm halfway to the door. %@#$, really?! I just wanted to watch the Cowboys game.

I comforted him for some time. He was crying. Uncontrollably. He could hardly breath. "I'm sorry. I've have a hard time with loss ever since my dad died. I'm so embarrassed that I'm crying." I rubbed his back while hugging him and watching the Cowboys game over his shoulder. I consoled him until the game went to half time.

He says to me, "Can you at least kiss me?" Red, puffy eyes and all.
"No."
"Why not?"
"It's over between us, and kissing won't make things any better."
"Why not for old times sake?" he asks.
"No."
"Well, I want to make love to you."
Eww. "That wouldn't be appropriate. We're not together anymore."

I left the puppy dog by himself. I even paid for my own dinner that night. When he tried giving me the $10 back, I felt bad and told him to keep it. Plus, I had found out a few days earlier that his salary was several thousand dollars less than mine. I drove home quickly so I could catch the rest of the football game.

As I stood in front of my TV during the last :03 seconds, the Cowboys lost by two points. It was midnight and I was STARVING. I could just imagine NG sitting on his couch, stuffing his face with food, and scratching his balls with the other hand.

And I thought to myself: At least I won one game tonight.

Meet 'em at the bah

2009-10-14T16:20:00.000-07:00

The dating scene in Boston is dramatically different from my training in Texas. Men in Texas are true Southern gentlemen. They open doors for you and say "please" and "thank you." Men in Boston will walk three feet in front of you and spit a loogie in 62 mph Nor'Easter winds. Of course their loogie makes its way toward you and your new Nine West shoes that already got stuck twice in the cobblestone downtown. Nothing but bad luck here.

Generally, there are three ways you meet men in Boston:

1) At your college/university
2) Through a mutual friend
3) www.match.com

We all know there are exceptions to the rule. And I'm usually the exception. Generally, there are three ways I meet men in Boston:

1) At the bah
2) On the T ride to the bah
3) A Craigslist date.... at the bah

You'd think I would meet more interesting men this way. But no. It's more of an interesting story to tell people how you met someone.

May 2009

During the Memorial Day Weekend this year, my roommate Amanda met a group of Irish men at the bah. After one night of hanging out with "the Irish" (as we now call them), Amanda swore that I would have soo much fun with them. I meet up with her and the Irish at the Brighton Beer Garden, where all things magical begin. We all sat in a circle--Amanda, me, and three of the Irish guys. I hit it off quickly (don't I always?) with one of them. He looked like Gerard Butler from the movie "P.S., I love you," so I will call him GB. GB had the most gorgeous green eyes and the Irish accent to distract me from any of his faults. We ended up dating for the next few weeks. It was a budding summer relationship.

One night GB really pissed me off. He was supposed to call Amanda & I to meet up with him downtown after some comedy show. It was almost midnight. We dressed up and had nowhere to go. We were stood up! Where did we end up going? Brighton Beer Garden. Amanda & I proceeded to have a bitch session comparable to two old 50-something men rambling on about their old ladies. After a few beers, it started to seem like all of the men there were giving us looks. It was obvious that we were the only good looking girls there (we were dressed up to go downtown).

We were so hot that night, we were getting all of the guys. Amanda & I watched a drunk Hispanic guy on the other side of the bar swaying with a beer in his hand coming our way. Great. Luckily, the guy had his eye on Amanda rather than me. (Anyone that knows Amanda knows that she could pass as being half Hispanic. I say Puerto Rican.) He reeked of cheap beer and was talking in between Amanda & I. I gave him a dirty look, as to let him know that he was not wanted. He looked at me and said, "What?! I'm talking to your friend, not you." He turned to Amanda and yelled, "Your friend just called me an ***hole!" My friends tell me I have diarrhea of the mouth, but I honestly didn't say anything to this guy. I gave the bouncer a look and the guy got kicked out.

That was Winner #1 that night.

Winners #2 and #3 came shortly after Winner #1 got escorted out. #2 talked to Amanda while #3 talked to me. I was bored out of my mind as #3 had the cognitive ability of a carrot. I needed out. I told him I was from Texas and pretended to intensely watch the Nascar game on the TV above us. #2 and #3 wanted to take us home. I don't go to anyone's place after the bar unless they have pizza or nachos. Suddenly, my hero came along. I will call him NG. While #3 was in mid sentence and I was faking my love for Nascar, NG tapped me on the shoulder. He dropped a piece of paper onto the bar and said, "Hi, please read this." We were all bewildered. I opened the paper and it read, "I think you're very pretty. I would love to talk to you." His phone number was below the message. "Aww, what are we in? 5th grade?," asked #3. I thought it was a sweet gesture, but by the time I looked to see where NG went, he had vanished.

I ended up calling NG later that week. We met the following week. During our first date he paid more attention to his BlackBerry than me. Believe me, I love my BlackBerry, but I also believe in date etiquette!

That was Strike One.

NG and I began dating, and I broke things off with GB, my Irish guy. I didn't actually break things off aka ignored his phone calls. I went home to TX for 2 weeks and Bermuda for 1 week. My three weeks of vacation naturally ended things between GB and I. I thought the same thing would happen with NG, but it didn't. We saw each other a handful of times before I went MIA.

Upon my return, I went to NG's one night to catch up. Halfway through a kiss he stopped me and asked, "What are we? Boyfriend and girlfriend?" I was lost for words. I answered with something between Gibberish and "I like where we're at right now."

That was Strike Two.

Fast forward to my 25th birthday, a very important one because it was a celebration of my quarter century. NG, me, and a few friends went downtown. I had found out that he was on match.com, and after a few drinks felt it was the right time to ask why he had an account. The outcome wasn't pretty. It resulted in him calling all of my friends "homos," and one particular friend a "local homo". That was Strike Three. Our conversation also resulted in me sleeping alone that night.

Diarrhea of the mouth at its best.

College "Datings"

2009-10-14T15:03:00.000-07:00

"Dating"

My definition of dating in college was dating. Dating a lot, and dating more than one person. Dating like going out on dates. Or dating like doing random things that aren't actually dates. Dating in plural form. If I would have made up the word, it would have been "datings." Little to my father or mother's knowledge, the havoc began in high school. Only to really sprout out in college. My boy craziness started earlier than that, though. Probably at the age of four because I simply don't have memories before that age.

Introduction to "Dating" in College

For some reason, I was 20 going on 13. It was as if my hormones were finally kicking in. Too bad my breasts didn't get the memo. It was my sophomore year in college and I eyed every male that crossed my path. Taco Bell parking lot, the University of North Texas library (although I didn't even go to that school), the dermatologists' office, it didn't matter where. After a long freshmen year of dating my high school boyfriend, I started to date again. My friend, SS, started to notice that I was having a difficult time getting back into the single life. She took it upon her hands to hook me up with a guy I will call PH. SS told me that PH was perfect for me because we were natural born partiers. I should have known better than to waste my time with a man that has my qualities. The first time I ever met PH was at a huge house party he threw with a bunch of music friends with whom he went to college. It was very convenient that he lived close by to my dorm so that I could walk home if things didn't work out on our first "date." This party was out of control. It was three levels: an upstairs, downstairs, and the sidewalk kind of party. Plentiful jello shots made this a great first date. It seemed like PH and I were hitting it off, of course with the help of our friend--alcohol. I'm not sure if I in fact stayed over that night or walked home, but I ended up seeing him again a few random times. I don't think PH and I ever went on a formal date. But we were "dating."

During my sophomore year I was not only at my hormonal peak, but I was going through a hipster phase. When I wasn't in class or "dating," I was at a show. I met all kinds of guys that wore skinny jeans that year. One in particular peaked my interest. His name was SJ, and he was a lead singer of a band. Unfortunately, his crowd of friends were all idiots, so I had to suck it up when he invited me to his parties. Not only were these people of distasteful company, but they were underage posers. They couldn't legally drink, and they loved crappy music. Double whammy. The only reason why I sucked it up is because I was going through my I-fall-for-musicians phase. I forgot to mention that PH was a musician too, in the jazz music program. I also should mention that PH and SJ met each other at one of SJ's talentless music shows (poor planning on my part). They both thought each other was my friend, so everything was all gravy for the time being.

SJ and I were starting to get serious after a few weeks. We were almost to the point of changing our MySpace status to "In a Relationship." At that point I knew I had to get away, and get away fast. I would bounce back from "dating" PH and SJ. However, PH was starting to smoke too much pot for my liking. I knew things would end with him abruptly. The night I realized it was over between he, of course, smoked way too much pot. I was tired of him so I went to lay down on his bed. After falling asleep he came to wake me up and wanted to make out. There was no way I wanted to kiss someone with pot breath. I just wanted to sleep. PH was persistent. So much that he placed my hand on top of his jeans and said, "Just touch me real quick." Actually, that's the PG-13 rating of what happened. Enough was enough. I made up an excuse and told him that I had to go home (to my dorm). PH became surprisingly defensive and asked, "Are you going to SJ's house?" I was astonished! What a nerve he had asking me that.

On my way to SJ's house at 3-something in the morning, I was feeling awfully groggy and just wanted to sleep. I knew that SJ was a virgin. It was a safe bet to say that he wouldn't try to pull any funny moves, and I could get some shut eye. I stepped in SJ's house and was horrified at the mess. I wasn't sure if it was ketchup or blood on his wall. He was a musician and musicians were generally messy. I excused it and laid on his bed. We started kissing and it was getting more intense than I had planned for a 4 am make out session. I could feel his virgin tenseness on my body, if you know what I mean. I could tell he was not used to taking off his clothes for a girl because it took him an awful long time to pull off his skinny jeans. I curtly asked him, "Having a hard time?"

Things didn't end up lasting that much longer with PH or SJ. Eventually I broke things off with both of them, which means I stopped answering their phone calls. I would have liked to say that I hope PH stopped smoking pot and SJ stopped wearing skinny jeans. Last I've heard is that they still live in our college town.

==

2008-08-18T14:41:00.000-07:00