Dating: Proof that the Universe Hates Me, Part 3

Part 3: Date Night, Expect the Unexpected
It had arrived- my Tuesday night date with Mr. Kool. Ms. Cablam told me earlier in the day that "Tuesday is the most unflattering night to have a date, because it's so far from the weekend." My response? "Well, it's no wonder I picked it then."

I was pretty much letting Mr. Kool call the shots. And no, I don't mean actual shots. (My dates sometimes come to this, so it's important to clarify.) After a text debate about possible bars, Mr. Kool narrowed it down to two places, and had me make the final decision. For practical purposes, I picked the bar closest to me. It happened to be the bar I spent all weekend in, but what can ya do?

Now, Mr. Kool had made the rookie mistake of facebook friending me before meeting me. Seriously guys, don't give me material to judge you before I even meet you.... because I will. And I will decide I don't like you for some ridiculous reason like, "you wear too many American Apparel v-neck t-shirts." So, upon meeting Mr. Kool, I was pleasantly surprised that he was more attractive in person. (And at least his v-neck tee was mostly covered by a button-up plaid shirt.) Very pretty eyes, dark hair, some scruff, kind of short, but taller than me. Case-in-point, people: lay off the premature facebook friending.

Everyone has those dejavoux feelings. Lately, most of mine have been happening while I'm in bars. As Mr. Kool picked a spot for us to sit, I had that feeling yet again. We ended up in the same exact spot that I was in with Ms. Cablam, a few days earlier, when we met Gimp and Money. Hey, maybe it's my lucky spot? Before we even had our coats off, we were talking about teaching. Clearly, this is a topic that we both could go on about forever, so it was a safe bet. The very first question I asked was what subjects he teaches, since he teaches high school. As he started talking, a group of 4 people came over right next to us, and were about to sit down. (We were at a long island with stools.) I glanced over, and noticed one person was on crutches. "No way that could possibly be Gimp," I thought. Oh, but silly me. After all, this is MY life, and I always need to expect the unexpected.

I looked back at Mr. Kool, pretending like I was listening. Then, I looked back at the group next to me.... just in time to make direct eye contact with GIMP. Fml. I was in the same exact spot that I met him in, but with another guy. At this point, Mr. Kool could have been talking about Guam for all I knew. I was nodding and smiling like a guy who is pretending to listen to a girl during sports. I was on the verge of ruining not one, but two dates in the same night. Impressive, I know. I debated saying hello. How would he know that I was on a date? I also debated throwing Mr. Kool under the bus and hanging out with Gimp instead. But instead, I kept my eyes on Mr. Kool and pretended that somehow, I didn't see Gimp 2 feet away from me. I was praying that he didn't sit down next to me, so he wouldn't hear what was very clearly a first-time-get-to-know-you-awkward-date-conversation. At this point, I knew I had to do something more than nodd and smile at Mr. Kool, but I also hadn't been listening, so I couldn't really ask a meaningful question. Instead, I went with the standard, "So which class do you enjoy teaching the most?" to buy me more time of zoning out. It worked. I heard Gimp debating with his friends on where to sit. His friends all wanted to sit there, and he suggested moving. Clearly, he either saw me ignore him, or doesn't want to see me. Not sure which is worse. Luckily, Gimp and Co. went to a booth behind us, but still stayed at the same bar. At this point, I was literally sweating. I'm pretty sure I blacked out the next 15 minutes of the date. Actually, I'm positive I did.

After a horrible start to the date, and trying to get over the fact that I probably will not hear from Gimp again, the rest of the date went pretty well. I felt very comfortable and at-ease around Mr. Kool. He was very intelligent, and seemed normal enough. I could tell that he wanted to stay longer after we finished our drinks, but couldn't read me at all. (Success, I thought.) He ended up saying that he is up for another drink... well...if I am too... because he doesn't want to stay and drink alone... Well, beer turned into beers, and beers turned into mixed drinks, and 3 1/2 hours later, it was definitely past two teacher bedtimes. The end of the date is always interesting. Now, I have definitely perfected the "act uninterested and/or hard to read." I can't change that even if I wanted to, so I did this: hug, paired with a "nice to meet you, have a good week." I figure, the hug is warm enough to cancel out the fact that I mention nothing about meeting up again. He said, "you too" and started walking. Then, he turned and said, "we'll talk soon." And, we did.

The next night, I received a follow-up text, saying that he had a great time and would like to see me again. Unfortunately, I was still fixated on my terrible encounter of the Gimpy Kind. But, in the spirit of 2012 resolutions, and due to the fact that he didn't end up drunk on my couch or make me steal from a bar, I agreed to a second date.

Went on a date, and ruined a different one. That happened.

Dating: Proof that the Universe Hates Me, Part 2

Part 2, Another Kind of Success

On Saturday night, I went out with friend B. We had the same goal of talking to people, and she made the bold move of asking two guys to play darts with us. Now, this is a great strategy. I just wish I could actually hit a dart board. In a rather typical small world situation, one of the guys happened to be from my hometown, AKA "the bubble." After leaving "the bubble," I have learned to appreciate the typical bubble boy way more- cute, preppy, ambitious, good morals but a bit sheltered and naive. Good or bad, there is just something comforting about that bubble boy. Unfortunately for me, Bubble Boy's friend ended up asking for my number at the end of the night. Thinking about my goal of not being a picky b, I reluctantly gave him my number, and friend B and I exited the bar to hunt down pizza. (Update on my resolution to "be a healthier person": epic fail.) I then received a follow up text at 3:15am. This is always a tricky one. I thought, "OK, back off eager beaver." However, I was also more likely to respond/agree to something due to copious amounts of alcohol. I suppose it's a decent strategy now that I think about it. What make me want to vom wasn't the alcohol in my system though, it was the fact that he was gushing about my conversational skills and beauty... via text... after 2 hours of knowing him...at 3am. Dude, please. Clearly, he didn't see me shoving pizza in my face while he was prematurely texting me. I ended up agreeing to meet up again, which I don't think will happen, so I'll just take satisfaction in the fact that I worked on another resolution that night. Oh, and it turns out we have a mutual friend, and that he is actually a great guy. Go figure.

On Sunday, Mr. Kool confirmed our date. At this point, I was kind of wishing that my date was with Gimp instead. But hey, Mr. Kool deserved a fair chance (says the non-picky b on one of my shoulders). And, at least I wasn't nervous about it, right?

And thus concludes the weekend. 2 days, 2 numbers, 1 date. That (surprisingly) happened.

Dating: Proof that the Universe Hates Me, Part 1

Those of you who know me realize that my dating history has been... well... comical. The saying, "That would ONLY happen to you" basically defines my life. A series of awkward events, train wreck, small world, and sick and twisted fate can also apply quite well. Really, take your pick. Over the years, I have started to always expect the unexpected. Sometimes, I think of the most awkward and far fetched situation that could ever occur while on a date. Shortly after, that becomes my reality.

With this history, New Year's Resolution #3- talk to people in bars- was bound to be a disaster. But, my life simply wouldn't be the same with out the weekly "ONLY YOU" comment from my friends. So, I have hit the ground running with this resolution, with a combined focus on #11- don't be a picky b.

Part 1, Who is this guy?
On the morning of January 1, as I was still in bed due to a 6am NYE bender, friend B and I received a call from a friend who wanted to set me up with one of his friends. Now, this timing was pretty essential to my decision. Normally, I would have copped out/made excuses, but since it was literally the first day of the new year, I agreed to have my number passed along to this guy. After my recent year of having a drunk date pass out on my couch, a date who convinced me to steal from a bar, another date who probably spoke 5 words (and thought it went well), and a date who used inappropriate sexual references to explain his investment job, I figured I could survive anything at this point.

I really enjoy the reason that my friend thought this guy would be perfect for me- "he drinks a lot and he's a teacher." Wow, people must think a lot of me. But hey, two of my passions, so it works. I heard from this guy, who I will call Mr. Kool, a few days later. He wanted to meet up over the weekend for drinks. Now people, I have a strict theory on weekend dates, and this theory has been proven time and time again. The theory is simple: don't do them. Ever. There are various reasons for this theory:

• you have no excuse to end the date
• you miss the opportunity to meet other people
• there are too many people around, judging you
• they're way more serious
• you might end up with a drunk guy on your couch

So, with that said, I declined the weekend date and we scheduled a nice mid-week drink date. Perfect.

Over the weekend, I continued my normal routine of going out. On Friday, I grabbed some early drinks with teacher friends, and this quickly turned into teacher friend Ms. Cablam and I staying at the bar after the mommy teachers went home. As we were talking, I was bumped by a guy in the bar. I gave Ms. Cablam a look that said "what the hell, man," and she motioned for me to turn around. Well, the guy was on crutches, and I felt like a complete a hole. He then turned to me and asked me to hold his drink while he adjusted his crutches. After I gave the drink back, the guy, who I will call Gimp for obvious reasons, opened with, "You girls are way too pretty to be standing here alone." HA.  His cheesy line turned into actual conversation, and after about 3 hours of talking with Gimp, I realized that this crutch strategy was clearly a ploy to pick up girls. Well done, Gimpy. Well done. As we were talking, Gimp's friend, who I will call Money, came and joined us. This was the perfect set-up, since Ms. Cablam was into Money, and I was into Gimp. A complete group of wingmen and wingwomen.

My conversation with Gimp was quite intriguing. Ironically enough, he ended up asking about new year's resolutions very early in the night. Uh oh. I cracked some joke about how I have 12, and that he really doesn't want to hear them, because he would definitely judge me as a person. This didn't deter him, and he persisted at finding out all 12 over the course of the next few hours. I came out guns blazing, starting with my bitterness of married people. (I like to scare guys away.) He argued that weddings are always fun to attend. I then said that I wanted to talk to people in bars. To that, he said, "you're welcome," followed by, "point to someone, anyone, and we'll go talk to them." I then shared my odd resolution of going to Vegas. He told me that he's going in a few weeks. I said I wanted to do a second half marathon. He told me about a half marathon that's paired with an obstacle course that's even more fun- he does it every year. At this point, I was thinking, "OK.... seriously Gimp, who are you, and who sent you here?!"

By the end of the night, Gimp had asked for my number. I gladly gave it to him, and was pleasantly surprised when he followed up with a text the next day.  Since Money and Ms. Cablam hit it off too (despite him being overly drunk and blowing her hair for some strange reason) this was an in for both of us.

Could it be that 2012 was off to a great start?? Well, please remember that this is only Part 1. But, for now, I can say.... met a decent guy in a bar. And he contacted me. That happened.

Please stay tuned for...
Part 2: Saturday Night, A Different Kind of Success

Part 3: Date Night, Expect the Unexpected

Plato's Closet

I finally completed the dreaded task of cleaning out my closet. And I don't mean metaphorically.

Now, those of you who know me realize that I have far too many clothes. I mean, when the closet in your extra room is just as full in the one in your own room, there are some red flags. Part of the problem lies in the fact that I am a stage one hoarder. This, my friends, comes with teaching. There is a sickness that every teacher possesses that makes us want to hold on to everything for 10 years longer than appropriate, and then still feel anxious when we finally throw it away. (Take, for example, the bag of cereal boxes, coffee containers, and eggs cartons that I WILL be using for a class project someday. I swear.)

Milling through my clothing was like taking a walk of shame down memory lane. I don't know what's worse: the fact that I used to wear a Britney Spears tie-up top, or that fact that I've held onto it for 10 years, thinking that there MIGHT be a time when I'll need it again. Although horrific and painfully out of style, there's something slightly satisfying about still owning clothes from middle school. (Don't kid yourself, you all know what I mean. How good does it feel when your middle school clothes still fit you!?) Then, there's always that thought.... "Wait... I know... I won't get rid of this! I'll just put it in the costume box!!!" That's what I like to call a win-win. Out of the closet, into a box, and still the possibility of using it in the future. (Issues, I know.)

After hours of sorting and trying on two closets worth of clothes, I was finally finished:

My clothes, nicely folded and organized for our trip to Plato's Closet.

Yes, I know it's pathetic that I only came up with one bag. But hey, you have to start somewhere. And like I said: stage one hoarder.

I quickly devised a strategy for my trip to Plato's Closet:

1.) Look cute and stylish. Who wouldn't want clothes from someone who looks stylish?! After my friends have had multiple "cardigan interventions" with me, this was more challenging than expected.
2.) Place all expensive clothing on the top of the bag. Yes, I ordered my clothing. The Banana Republic, Ralph Lauren, and clothing with tags that had never been worn went on top.
3.) Choose a good Plato's Closet. I decided to go for the West Side Plato's Closet. Although the East Side is closer to my hood, it's slightly ghetto. And, let's be serious, not quite the polo crowd.

Upon arriving at Plato's Closet, I realized that the women who was about to tear apart my wardrobe (well, 1/100 of my wardrobe) had no style herself. As she went through the items, I pretended to browse the items in the store, but was secretly watching her. OK- for real though- there was actually a FULL rack of sweater vests in there. I thought, "Pssh, this place needs some Banana Republic up in here. No sweat." She called me back to give the report. She placed a basket of 7 items in front of me and said, "I'll give you $16.20 for these." Umm, REALLY? Talk about a picky b! $16.20!? One of those items has a TAG ON IT FOR $75.00 YOU IGNORANT WOMAN!! < I wish I would have said that. I believe my response was, "Uhhhh, OK." And so begins my hatred of Plato's Closet. Apparently they are only looking for 80's style sweater vests and American Eagle zip-ups. Oh, but it should be noted that they took my Britney Spears style tie-up shirt. Good luck selling that, morons.

I got back in my car with this:

My clothes, mistreated and rejected by random un-stylish chick at Plato's Closet.

Although the bag actually looks more full, it's solely due to the fact that the woman destroyed my fancy organization. There are actually 7 items missing folks. Maybe I should take this as a sign... I should never get rid of my old clothes. Or, maybe I should have used a Nordstrom's bag for my clothes instead of a paper grocery bag? I guess we'll never know. Some of you may be wondering, "What did she do with that $16.20?" Well, don't worry, I put it to good use. I bought a $60 purse. (For real, what's wrong with me!?) In about 10 years, when it's out of style, I'm sure you'll find it at Plato's Closet for $2.

I was just defeated by Plato's Closet. THAT happened?!

2012 Resolutions

As we enter another year, I, like everyone else in this world, have concocted a ridiculous number of resolutions, most of which I will not keep. The top 11 are listed in order of importance below:

1. Be a better person.
This has been my go-to resolution for as many years as I can remember. You'll see why.

2. Get healthy.
If I was a better person, I'd be healthier.

3. Talk to people in bars.
Haaave you met me? I'm working on being a better person.

4. Take more trips.
Being a better person includes being more worldly and seeing your friends.

5. Learn to curl my hair.
I admire people who are skilled enough/care enough to curl their hair. I'm 25, it's time to learn.


6. Be happy for people who are getting married.
Because a decent person doesn't say, "Congratulations, someone had to do it." That was so 2011 of me.

7. Cook at least one recipe a week.
And no, unwrapping something and putting it in the microwave doesn't count. I still love you, Trader Joe's, but a better person would cook.

8. Go to Vegas.
Although this relates to resolution #4, I feel as though it's important enough to stand alone. Vegas would make me a better person. Not sure how, but I'm sure I can find a reason.

9. Run a second half-marathon.
On mile 12 of last year's half marathon, I swore to myself. And it doesn't just end there... I swore to myself that I would never do this again. But, a better person would run it again. Why not.


10. Start a blog.
Because you really haven't made it as a cool person until you have a blog. That's one resolution down.

11. Stop being such a "picky b...."
I was slightly offended when a friend called me this back in 2011. But, who am I kidding, it's pretty accurate. I suppose there's a fine line between high standards and a picky b. I have always struggled with that line. This one is last for a reason, people.


There they are folks, what are now the top 10 resolutions of 2012. Now you can see why I've stuck with my #1 resolution for so many years- being a better person can relate to every other resolution. And we all know that 1 resolution is easier to keep than 10.

And thus concludes my first entry. I have a blog. That happened.