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.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, January 29, 2010
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.
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.
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