Second Date Jitters

Anyone can seem charming for a few hours. That's what makes first dates, while nerve-wrecking, bearable. Second dates, now those take some skill.

Last week I went on a first date with Shy Guy whom I'd been emailing with for a few weeks. I was terribly nervous for the first date because there are just some things that one cannot predict. For example, what if I have to walk around the bar looking for him and then don't recognize him from the 3 pics on www.i'm-running-out-of-back-up-husbands.com? Or what if he's creepy and we have nothing to talk about other than his extensive knowledge of serial killers? I lucked out this time; Shy Guy was gentlemanly waiting for me at the hostess stand and didn't mention Ted Bundy once. He seemed quite sweet actually. He admitted that he is shy at first but had a few funny one-liners that let me know his sense of humor is right up my sarcastic alley. He has pretty brown eyes and game seven of the NBA Championship was on to save us from any awkward silences. I impressed him with some sports jargon that I picked up from a previous relationship (I knew humoring the Sports Guy by listening to his theories on Fantasy Sports would come in handy eventually) and I made it through the whole night without revealing too much of my neurosis. He even agreed with me that Kobe Bryant shouldn't earn the VIP of the series because he's just not nice. All in all, a good first date.

But good first dates inevitably lead to second dates. I knew it right away when he texted me later that night to thank me for a fun evening. (I know, sweet, right?) I find second dates especially worrisome for a couple reasons in particular: 1) the first date adrenaline is gone so you start truly sizing up the other person, 2) you're bound to divulge some quirk that your friends find adorable but a perfect stranger would find disturbing, and 3) two weeks after my last second date I got a nasty gram via text that said I give all women a bad name for using him for a meal. Second dates are scary! They're high pressure! And who wants high pressure for happy hour on a Thursday?

To protect myself from these dangerous pitfalls I must go into tomorrow night fully prepared with a positive attitude. Since he'll most certainly be viewing me with a more detail oriented eye I will repaint my fingernails and be sure to wear something flirty and flattering. Because we'll surely be discussing more in-depth topics I will swear a vow of secrecy on anything regarding embarrassing bathroom stories, bad break-ups and fears about my aging ovaries. Due to my more discerning attitude towards him I will take the advice of one my very happily married friends and NOT look for something wrong about him. (It's a crazy concept in my perspective but it might just work.)

All of my serious relationships were with men that I had known for a decent amount of time as friends. They already knew that I was a nut. They just decided I'm like brussel sprouts with cheese sauce; the yummy part outweighed the not so yummy. Plus I knew them! It's not like I was getting into a relationship where I was unaware he was obsessed with the innerworkings of the newest Mac or once belonged to a hair band.

But life moves us onward and upward so on and up I must go. So who cares if he finds out I act out scenes of "The Departed" at home for fun? So what? Maybe with some luck he'll have an even better fake Boston accent than I.

Ah Crap

Six months into joining www.my-master's-degree-actually-decreased-my-chances-of-getting-married.com, I have been matched with nearly 1000 men in the Phoenix area. I estimate I've communicated in one way or another with 150 men. I've gone on 5 first dates and 2 second dates. To recap there was The Lawyer, then the guy who quit his job to focus on school but was actually ditching class the day of our first date, the super sweet guy who helped me paint, the guy who lied about having a baby, and last week, the photographer on-the-side stockbroker.

I've openly admitted I have very little experience with first dates. Other than the T-Shirt Guy I had been friends with my serious boyfriends for quite a while prior to conning them into loving me. In spite of my naivete I feel like I've been doing a pretty good job. I think. I cover all the basics: Polite manners? Check. Cute outfit? Check. Plethora of funny stories? Duh, check. Just to make sure, I like to go over all important points with my colleagues.

The entire English department is made well aware of my upcoming dates and are also privy to the post-date wrap-up, whether they want to hear it or not. As far as I'm concerned, it is their duty as literary experts to listen to me tell my tales. (I mean, my well developed dating narratives are definitely on par with the likes of Jane Austen, Shakespeare and Homer. What, no?) Or at the very least humor me and my silly sensibilities, whichever.

Tomorrow I will be filling them in on my date last night. This was a second date with The Stockbroker who is perfectly nice. He's successful and bright, funny and ambitious, tall, drives a nice car and most importantly, he has a dog. Truth be told, I went on this second date at the urging of some of the other teachers.

The first date was somewhat of a bust similar to the other first dates. He was nervous and a bit shy and I was nervously babbling on and on. It was a Wednesday and after a stroll through the park with the pups, who, by the way, got along splendidly, we drove to a sports bar to grab a bite. Well, kids, let's just put it out there, I'm 29 and it was a school night and damn it, I was tired! We chatted a bit but I wouldn't exactly say he knocked my socks off, figuratively speaking.

At lunch the following day, my colleagues were thoughtfully eager to get the scoop.

"Eh," I said, "it was fine. I don't know. No spark."

"Oh god, you are turning into Elaine Benes,"exclaimed my favorite 5'9", grey bearded, uber liberal, female pop-star impersonating, rogue, back-up plan sperm donor.

Defensively I yell, "Nuh uh!... Wait, how so?"

Future baby daddy proceeds to explain that I seem to find minor issues with all these guys I've gone on first dates with; insignificant flaws that I use as excuses to not go out with them again.

"That's absolutely not true!" I shoot back.

Flash of memories involving things I thought during dates: Guys should have clean fingernails. His cologne smells like a retirement home. His right ear is larger than his left. He already forgot I love Radiohead even though I said it 7 minutes ago.

Reactionary inner monologue: Ah crap.

Wait! This can't be happening! I know I want to find the one. You know I want to find the one. My next door neighbor, dog trainer and the guy who takes my order at Pei Wei do too. So if the majority of Phoenicians agree I'm ready to find the one, then why am I picking these guys apart? Simple answer, none of these 5 guys are in fact, the one. Scary answer, I'm subconsciously knocking down every guy who walks through the door out of fear, insecurity and the inability to move forward and not leaving room for the possibility that they are just nervous.

I quickly decided to accept an invitation for a second date and again, it was fine. Yummy Mexican food, lovely weather on the patio, good conversation. The thing is, I left with the same conclusion, no spark. Oh well.

There is one secret advantage to not finding the one: the infamous Elaine dance moves including the thumbs up, elbows out, hair flipping, slow kicks won't have to be seen at my wedding!

Goal Interrupted

The whole point of this ingenious blog was to provide motivation to find me a hubby. It's not that I need to be married in 1 year per se (although that would be freakin' sweet) more so that I need to keep my goal in sight and live accordingly. Before you even say it, I've heard it all:
"It'll happen when you're least expecting it."
"Stop looking and you'll find him."
"Good things come to those who wait."
"Enjoy your single years because once you're married you'll never feel so free again."

Great, thanks. I'm sure all that advice is true for someone and I hate to burst all of your well-intended bubbles. However, my reality is that I'm 29, my grey hair count is now a staggering 7 and last week I attended a Bunco night where I was literally the only single woman. Ask yourself, is there anything in your life that you truly wanted that you didn't work hard for? I didn't think so.

But I digress, the purpose was to keep me on track with my goal and disappointingly I have once again lost my way. No, I didn't stop wanting to walk down that blissful aisle. Instead I veered off path with that all too common danger, The Frex (copyright pending.) The Frex is exactly what you think; the friend who is also the ex. Man, The Frex is tricky. And the thing is, you are more than aware of the risks. Every friend, family member, acquaintance, mental health professional and even other frexes warn you, often. So yes, I knew the possible perils.

The trickiness of The Frex exists in the details not discussed. For example, it's okay to ask about each other's days but not okay to ask about each other's plans this Friday night. Or it's okay to have frex-sex but not hold hands while watching a movie on the couch. Or my personal favorite, it's okay to spend the whole weekend together as long as we don't speak for a couple days afterward.

The Frex and I enjoyed months of Frexship. We cooked dinners, worked on my house, took the pups to the park, attended concerts, watched movies, played games, went shopping, and spent time, well, in bed. I ignored the warnings because dammit, I was having too good of a time to stop. For the first time in my life I chose to simply enjoy the moment, live in the present, carpe diem and whatever else those crazy non-worriers do.

Nevertheless we all know how this tale ends because the truth is The Frexship, while congenial and comfortable and convenient, is, by definition, ill-fated. The heart can only fool itself for so long and our time has run out. One of the Frexes moves on or moves away and the remaining Frex must find a way to accept this totally reasonable yet painful decision. And therein lies the rub.

Right now you may be saying to yourself, Jocelyn, where's the silver lining in all this frightening Frex talk? Well, my friends, the upside is that I'm back in the game. Hubby-hunting is in season and I'm loaded for bear. In fact, I've got a date this week. You never know! Maybe it'll happen when I'm least expecting it!

Justifiably Selective or Simply Picky?

I am lucky to have dated some really amazing guys. There was The Artist when I was 22 who let me paint his bathroom bright blue and brought home doughnuts before I woke up on Saturday mornings. There was The Future Minister when I was 14 who made me a mixed tape of Phil Collins songs and wanted to wait to have sex until we got married.

And then there were some good guys who just didn’t always make good decisions. There was Sports Guy who loved the Tigers, the D-Backs, the Cardinals, the Sun Devils, the Lions, Phil Mickelson, Tiger Woods, Michael Phelps, the Mercury, any high school football team and his ex-girlfriend more than he loved me. And who could forget my High School Sweetheart who once twisted a pipe cleaner into the shape of a heart ring and sweetly placed it on my finger but also makes a rather lucrative living in the good old porn industry?

There have been tall ones, short ones, bald ones, hairy ones, rich ones, poor ones, red fish, blue fish. My dating track record is a real-life version of Whoville. This eclectic list is due to the fact that I’ve never been particularly persnickety. If you make me laugh and I can find SOME good in your heart and you take me to Disneyland, well, then I’m yours. Plus, I’ll stick around even after the metaphorical poo hits the metaphorical fan. Once I love you, I love you forever. Knowing that, you can see why it’s important at the ripe age of 29 to finally be a bit more discriminating.

Dating sites like www.iwenttosixweddingslastyear.com makes rejecting someone a cinch. In fact, I’m starting to be concerned that I’ve quickly graduated from all-embracing to selective to downright picky. I “close” guys for all kinds of reasons now.

If you spell the name of your profession wrong, I close you. (Seriously, dude.)

If you unashamedly admit that you haven’t read a book since high school, I close you. (I’m an English teacher for Pete’s sake.)

If all your profile pictures are of you looking in the mirror and taken from your cell phone but you claim to love traveling around the world, I close you. (Uh… suspicious?)

If you list “keeping physically fit” as one of your three best life-skills, I close you. (That’s not a skill; rewiring my stereo system is a skill.)

If you select “my pet is a nice addition to my life but there’s no real emotional attachment” to one of my questions, I close you. (I could never subject Sadie the Dog to a man like that!)

If you list hunting, shooting and eating red meat as your favorite hobbies, I close you. (Enough said.)

If you identify “attending a lecture” as your favorite type of date, I close you. (Quit lying.)

If your “Top Three Things I’m Thankful For” include your sports car or capitalism, I close you. (We’re just not going to work out.)

Could any of these guys be “the guy?” I suppose but I think that’s unlikely. Am I being unfair? Quite possibly. But before you judge me, remember this, I’m hoping to find a man to be the father of my kids and my eggs aren’t getting any younger. I’m getting this show on the road and I’ve got no time to search for the sweet, intelligent man inside the deer-shooting, illiterate tool.

Reasons I'd Make an Awesome Wife

Getting to know someone on www.i’mtheonlysinglepersoniknow.com can be somewhat monotonous. It’s a series of all too predictable inquiries with all too predictable answers. One such question is “What do you have to offer as a partner?” Now, I get the question and I get how I’m supposed to answer: patience, a good sense of humor, loyalty, yada yada. But let’s be honest, that’s what every attractive, eligible lady like myself would say. Instead I have compiled a list of the real reasons I’d make an awesome wife.
1. I make popcorn on the stove top with oil and salt and all that fattening goodness.
2. I know enough about baseball to carry on a conversation but not so much that I would disagree about whom should or shouldn’t be inducted into the Hall of Fame.
3. I prefer Jon Stewart to Oprah.
4. I play a mean game of Texas Hold ‘Em.
5. I also think wicker furniture is untrustworthy.
6. I crochet lovely blankets.
7. I spontaneously sing songs I just made up about the family pet.
8. I make major holidays and birthdays super special yet not stressful. It’s a magical talent.
9. I always know the answers to French clues in the crossword. Ete? Jeune? Chien?
10. I don’t ask “what are you think about right now?” Okay, sometimes but not all the time.
11. I think spending an entire Saturday in bed watching a marathon of “The Wire” is a totally valid use of time.
12. I’m an awesome back-scratcher.
13. I genuinely think poop jokes are funny.
14. I have green eyes. Rare genes, anyone?
15. I always keep ice cream in the freezer for “just in case” situations.
16. I have phenomenal credit.
17. I’m getting sexier and saner with age.
18. I have amazing friends whose husbands are bound by solemn vow to help with all moves and major home improvements.
19. I’m not likely to die in childbirth due to my great hips. Plus it’s 2010 and we don’t need 9 kids to work the farm.
20. Since I hate beer, I never drink the last one in the fridge.

Puppy Love

I wasn't always a member of www. my-dad-started-spending-my-wedding-fund .com. My last relationship had quite organic beginnings. In fact, the meeting was the stuff of Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan flicks.
It all began with Sadie the Dog. After my tumultuous 3 year spree with Sports Guy ended I decided to get me a new, more emotionally available companion: a dog. I took a trip to the pound "just to look" and 4 days later Sadie was my new best friend. I soon learned that dogs need direction so off to training we went. I don't mean to brag but Sadie took to training like a dog to, well, treats. She was best in her class at "leave it." No big deal.
One particular Sunday, the trainer had a set of newbies come in early to socialize with our more mature pups. In walked Zoe the Boxer and her dad wearing a "Global Warming Is Not Cool" shirt. I felt immediately attracted to T-Shirt Guy for the following reasons A) he has a dog, B) his shirt is witty, and C) he wears glasses and I secretly dig nerds.
The next couple of Sundays I look forward to seeing T-Shirt Guy and am slightly confused by his penchant for funny slogans such as "The Eh Team" with a giant maple leaf and a wordless design that actually has 99 red balloons. I attempt small talk. "Hey, there's a cool bark park downtown. Just FYI." "Hey, I also dislike global warming." But shockingly, T-Shirt Guy doesn't bite.
Finally I decide to take matters into my own hands. It happens to be the day after a birthday spent in Disneyland and I am feeling extra cute. I pre-write my number on a slip of paper before I get to class. I stick the paper in my pocket, ready for the moment. I ask the trainer again if T-Shirt Guy has ever mentioned a girlfriend or boyfriend for that matter. I wear my converse so as not to appear too eager. Trainer agrees that today is the day.
T-Shirt Guy and Zoe the Boxer walk in for class as Sadie the Dog and I are finishing our final session. We exchange niceties "hey, how's it going?" "Great, how are you?" I feel the blood rush to my head. I can't think of anything sophisticated and amazing to say so I pull the pre-written number out of my pocket, force it onto T-Shirt Guy and somewhat yell "If you want to go to the bark park sometime, call me." Now, the normal human being would pause here, look into the other person's eyes, maybe even wait for a response. But oh no, not me. Instead I make a quick 180, drag Sadie the Dog and essentially run out of there.
In spite of my less than smooth moves, T-Shirt Guy called. Sadie the Dog and Zoe the Boxer became best friends. And we all lived happily ever after. That is, for the next 6 months. After all, this is called 52 weeks to find a husband, not 52 weeks to plan a wedding.

I Hope You Don't Mind But I Brought My Dog

When I was about 8, my sister and I got locked out of our house for an hour or so until our parents came home. No big deal. No damage done. In the 20 years since I have never locked myself out of my home du jour. That is, until today.
This week I was asked out on a first date via www. find-me-someone-to-have-sex-with-and-hang-out-with-on-sundays .com. This first date was a big deal for the following reasons: a) he's handsome, b) he's a lawyer, and c) this is only my 2nd first date; ever. Sounds nutty, right? How could a sassy, attractive woman like myself have been on only 2 first dates? It turns out I forgot to actually "date." Instead I spent my adolescence in uber-serious relationships with guys who were friends first therefore skipping first dates.
But I digress. The date is a big deal. Sunday morning breakfast date at a "hipster" place in the "hipster" part of town. I buy a cute new scarf. I find a shirt that says "I'm casual, creative and have awesome boobs." I paint my nails and shave my legs. Sadly, none of this prepares me for being locked out of my apartment 25 minutes before our scheduled rendezvous with nothing but my rockin' outfit and puzzled dog who assumed we were going downstairs to do "business" and come back up to chew a rawhide.
"Huh, that's weird. I've never locked the bottom lock in the 1.3 years that I've lived here." And then it comes rushing back to me. I spent the previous evening drinking way too much white wine with a side of ice with my dear friend, Kate, whom I peer pressured into making out with a perfect stranger because dammit, she deserves some fun. We walked back to my place after the bar where I proceeded to slowly pass out. Kate and Stranger Guy let themselves out and being the cognizant woman she is, Kate locked the bottom lock so that I wouldn't get raped and killed.
Crap. Okay, think fast. Creepy HOA guy down the hall might have spares. Creepy HOA guy does not, of course, but does have an awful lot of aftershave on considering he's shirtless and shoeless and it's 9am on a Sunday.
Alright, new plan. My balcony is about 6 feet from my neighbors' balcony, a nice, young ridiculously happy couple. I'm fairly sure I could put something between the balconies and just crawl across. Genius! First step, wake up neighbors. Second step, explain plan. Third step, locate 10 foot ladder. If at this point you're thinking "holy geez, don't die for a mere first date," you'd be right. Luckily cute neighbors and creepy HOA guy put the kabash on the plan after seeing how high 50 feet in the air actually is.
"Do you have this guy's number?" says creepy HOA guy. No. "Well, what, do you want to marry this guy or something?" say cute neighbors. Maybe. "But you've never even met him!" says creepy HOA guy. Hey, I said 'maybe.' Cute neighbor wife totally gets this. Let's get this done. Creepy HOA guy agrees to drive me to the date. Cute neighbors give me $30 cash, "just in case." I resolve to figure out the locked door thing later and take my dog with me in order to not inconvenience either party.
I arrive at breakfast frazzled, 15 minutes late and with a very excited dog. The lawyer appears less than pleased so I quickly apologize for my tardiness and say "Hey, I hope you don't mind but I brought my dog." I explain the morning's shenanigans and undoubtedly come off as a crazy person but he's sweet and gentlemanly and agrees to drive me and Sadie the Dog home later and of course use his phone to call my friend who has my spare key.
Breakfast itself goes well. The food is delicious, the weather is beautiful, the conversation interesting. Despite my obvious nuttiness he seems to have a twinkle in his eye while we talk and even gives Sadie the Dog some of his food as a treat. He's successful, charming and ready to settle down. No need to worry about the hideous upper arm tattoo; no one's perfect.
I call my friend who has my spare to discover that she is out of town but her husband may be able to come rescue me. Lawyer drives us home while Sadie the Dog unwittingly dirties the back seat. Friend's husband is already there and immediately sizes up the lawyer. They shake hands and friend's husband wants to know what we're doing the rest of the day and lawyer and I answer awkwardly. Friend's husband and I hug goodbye. Lawyer and I hug goodbye. Sadie the Dog licks both goodbye.
All in all, a good if not great first date. That is except for that whole "I'll die trying" part.