Quick on the trigger

So. Yeah. I was wrong. Way wrong. Now that we have that out of the way, we can continue.

As some of my friends will tell you I am prone to the occasional bout of emotions. Lots of them. All at once. Yup, table for one at the Drama Queen Café, c’est moi! Quick to anger, quick to mope…lots of other emotion as well. And well, that’s what I was feeling on Monday night. I was also half way into a fabulous bottle of French pinot noir, which is what I like to call “Emotion Juice”. I was convinced I had been tossed aside, once again. But in my defense, it has happened entirely too much for me to NOT expect it.

So after a very bloggy, wine-filled, and teary Monday night, I tackled my Tuesday with composure and an on-time arrival to work. I was going to be OK. It had only been 2 dates and I’ve gotten over much worse. So after much reassurance from my friends that Mr. Pleats was not worth it and that I was on to my next grand dating adventure, as well as a lovely lunch with my married lady-friend, I came back to the office.

And a g-chat from Mr. Pleats. Turns out all was not lost. He had a very full weekend and had worked on Monday. Understandable that he was tired and hadn’t gotten in touch. I had gotten all wrapped around the axle for no reason (yeah, this tends to happen). I mentioned that I had plans for Mardi Gras and invited him to come along. He’s a responsible adult (which I am obviously not) and didn’t make an appearance, not that I had really expected him to come out for weeknight debauchery.

I guess he had been expecting drunken texts because he seemed a bit disappointed that he hadn’t gotten any PLEADING him to come out. But, I’ve learned my lesson, not much good comes from drunk texting, especially in the infancy of a relationship. But it was fine because he asked me to lunch that afternoon since he had a meeting in my work ‘hood. Of course I said yes and thanked the gods I had bothered to take a shower that morning and put together a presentable outfit.

The lunch was um…how do you say…a little awkward? He was jarred a bit by my location choice, but after that we settled in it was fine. He obviously doesn’t do lunch downtown much. The conversation was a bit stilted and we were both watching the clock as I had a short lunch and he had a meeting at 1, it wasn’t exactly the most romantic date. But he did say I looked nice, twice. Either he meant it or was just looking for something to say. We finished and said goodbye outside the restaurant with a quick kiss goodbye. Of course I would have preferred a “throw me up against the wall” kiss goodbye but I don’t think that’s how Mr. Pleats rolls. Something about the Wayfarers, button downs, and brown casual mocs/topsider combo doesn’t scream “I kiss women with reckless abandon in public”. I could be wrong. We’ll see.

I figured I would strike while the iron was hot and asked him to come over on Saturday night for dinner and a movie. I mean that’s ok, right? RIGHT?

I’d be cooking, which I hear I’m pretty good at. What guy can turn down a woman cooking for him? I haven’t gotten an affirmative answer yet, but he had tentative plans with his friends that had been set for a while. But you know how that long-range planning goes, when it comes down to the date, half the people cancel and the rest are too tired from Friday night. But I put it out there. We’ll see what happens.

I spoke too soon.

I though there would be more to tell you by the time Monday night rolled around. But like a school child being called to task by a school teacher for not doing their homework, my cheeks are red with embarrassment.

Yes, we had a great date. Yes, he kept in touch. G-Chats everyday, texts too. We went on date number two, birthday hockey with 2 of friends exactly a week after our first date. I was wary of him meeting my friends so soon, but he seemed ok with it. Went very well, even ended up back at my place for some old-fashioned, high school style necking. He volleyed the idea of a late-night visit to his place the night before I had to leave early for a work trip, I declined. Also, it felt, oddly like a booty call.

I left on the trip, and didn’t hear from him. Yes, he knew I was traveling but people don’t disappear when they travel, that’s what cell phones are for. We had made tentative plans for Friday, but after I let him know I landed, I didn’t hear anything. And I didn’t hear anything from him all weekend. Until I broke down Sunday night and texted him. He said he had a really busy weekend and that he was exhausted. He told me what he had done and 2 out of the 3 nights, it was totally feasible that I could have seen him. I said I didn’t want to keep him if he was so tired and to sleep well.

And that was it. If I’ve learned anything from all the years I’ve been dating is that if a guy wants to see you or talk to you, he’ll find a way.

And so the tale of Mr. Pleats ends, I’m pretty sure.

From left field, a breath of fresh air. Maybe.

So. Let’s discuss. A bit before my summer hiatus, I got a bit, well, let’s not mince words. I was desperate. So desperate I went to the black hole of dating. Yup, Craigslist. I’m not proud, but well, it happened.

After a million responses and whittling things down to 3 candidates, and one very awkward coffee date I just gave up. I left 2 candidates without even meeting because of creepy vibes or extremely incompatible schedules. I didn’t think anything of it and went on to have a fabulous summer.

That was until I decided to log back into my strictly online dating email account to talk to a guy I had just met on OKC. And as soon as I did, no more than 5 minutes had passed and I got a g-chat from Mr. Pleats, one of the guys from Craigslist. We could never seem to get our schedules to align so I just chalked it up to fate not being on our side.

MP : we never got together for that drink…

AWAC: True, we did not

MP: ever find a guy to date?

AWAC: Nothing has jumped out at me, no. Not really

and yourself?

MP: nope

We chatted for a bit and he made it quite clear that he still wanted to meet for that drink. I said sure. I really didn’t give it much thought, I was chatting up that new guy. I just thought he was being a persistent suitor from Craigslist Crazyland. And when I let him know how super busy I was in the next few weeks he didn’t seem daunted. He called, we talked, he texted, we g-chatted. He called on a Saturday because he was in my ‘hood and wanted to do lunch spontaneously. I was on the way to brunch and couldn’t meet. It didn’t really register with me because I was occupied with pursuing that new guy from OKC.

Well, things for Mr. Pleats turned around as I realized the new guy from OKC was a dud. We managed to meet up for a drink…actually drinks, and both ordered bourbon. I taught him what was in Manhattan and he imparted his theory on rail bourbon. It was the beginning of a very good first date.

He got me home at a reasonable hour and we parted ways with a hug. He texted when he got home. We g-chatted all next day. Let’s just say the boy had my full attention at this point. What started out as ambivalence was starting to better and better as time went on.

And then he got a little miffed when he wasn’t invited to my birthday festivities. He didn’t see the validity of my argument that we had “only been on one date”. He said my plan sounded like a lot of fun. At that point I knew I had his full attention as well.

I’m alive…

I promise!

Just a lot been going on. New post coming soon. Today, hopefully. New boy! I think…

But to keep you busy for a minute or 2, I give you the question that all women ask themselves, brought to you by the incomparable Ms. Whitney Houston. Heaven’s got a new diva.

It’s a numbers game really

So, as I live with 3 other women and only 1 guy there is a LOT of girl talk taking place in the living room on any given night.Throw in some wine and a few more women (in the form of some of my other friends) and well, you got a whole lot of estrogen. You also have a lot of different experiences and view points to draw from.

The rating system, for example. What constitutes a 7? What makes him a 10? We all have our subjective scales and what’s a deal-breaker and what’s not. However, the universal conclusion that came out of this conversation is that you fuck a 10 (one-night stand…maybe 2 if he wants to go to Pound Town a second night) but you date and marry a 7.

I was floored. They couldn’t have POSSIBLY been right. What crack were they smoking? I wanted to date and marry a 10. I didn’t see the problem with this. Was I shooting too high? Did I have my date/fuck/marry math all wrong in my head? IS THIS WHY I CAN’T GET A DATE?!

Maybe it is. I’ve said it before and I will say it again, I’m shallow. I like to look at (and fuck) what I perceive to be a 10. There have been lots of them. 10′s in the face/body area but always treat me like crap. Apparently I think that’s ok as long as they take me to bed (fuck me well) and I wake up with their hand around my waist…or resting on my ass…or they wake me up with a hand running up my leg. Or….

OK, I’m stopping with the soft-core porn.

But I digress. Their reasoning is that a 7 will treat you like you want to be treated and a 10 might not be so inclined to. Being thoughtful, caring, loving, faithful, and just plain good for you will more than make up for the fact that they’re a 7.

I don’t know if I totally believe all this. I mean, maybe it’s worth a try. Maybe I need to settle for a 7 to be treated well and increase my dating prospects. Maybe I need to stop holding out for the few and far between 10′s I seem to happen across. I don’t know at this point, really.

Can’t we just all go back to undergrad and go get drunk and screw and not worry about “dating” or “getting married”? Ah, for the more innocent days of academia.

What do you guys think? 10? 7? And what about from a guy’s perspective, honestly?

Nutrition labels, soup, and dating

Le sigh. The gods weep for me and my singleton friends. SingleDC is narrowly averting a stage 5 clinger, Closet Rockstar is thinking of creative sign-based ways to bust her slump at the bar, and I am as dateless as ever. Even after hitting it off with a gentleman via text message and then having the MOST AWKWARD phone convo ever, I am without a date. I’ll just sit here and listen to Pat Monahan, Matt Nathanson, and Gavin DeGraw sing their little hearts out to me over my headphones.

But I digress. As Closet Rockstar and I conversed via G-Chat (because really, sometimes that’s the only way I make it through the work day now) we were thinking that to break the slump, she should wear a sign about her neck advertising her availability. As well as other things. I said that I would support her and wear my own sign advertising a few choice things about myself. Strength in numbers ya’ know. Plus, it would make for great pictures. And a way to break the ice.

Then I got to thinking, well shouldn’t we all wear signs to the bar/social media mixer/grocery store/other place to find a date? Almost like a nutrition label to let people know exactly what they’re getting. Then it wouldn’t be such a surprise when you realize the anger issues they have regarding (insert touchy subject) are higher up on the ingredient list then they let on.

See, if you didn’t see anything with the ingredients you liked at the bar, you could go home, on your own, and make your own…um…soup. Yes, let’s call it soup. Soup is easy to make, can be customized to meet your needs as you see fit and the varieties change with the seasons. Also, you can make soup on your own or have someone else make you soup or you can make soup for someone else. Soup is great. Yes, I like soup. In fact you could say I like stirring the pot. A lot.

But I digress from badly veiled sexual innuendo. What would the nutrition/ingredient label look like on your dream mate?

I think mine would include creativity, confidence, spontaneity, athleticism, intelligence, razor-sharp wit, respect, common interests, and patience, all wrapped up in a tall, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, linebacker’s body. Yes, that would be my perfect ingredient label.

A woman can dream, right?

I can’t even come up with a good title.

The cursor blinks. I sigh.

My girlfriend asked me if I was ok yesterday. She always asks “Are you sure?” I think I am. I mean, I haven’t done a lot of navel gazing lately, but I’m pretty sure I’m ok. Besides the misery that is my job, I think I’m doing ok.

No new dates. A new guy, but he likes texting and not necessarily making plans. I’m not going to hold my breath. Nothing terribly earth shattering otherwise. Dodgeball starts on Thursday and the hair is getting a chop on Friday. THEN, a glorious 4-day weekend.

Yes, my life is JUST that boring.

I’m thinking I need to dance it out. But that’s what 4-day weekend are for, right?