There’s No Second Date, Is There?


I actually haven’t been the most flawless dater known to mankind.

I know. Shocking!

I have this bad habit of talking before I’ve completely finished chewing my food. It’s not like I’m being a disgusting animal that’s talking with a whole bite in my mouth, it’s just sometimes I get so excited to tell a story I’ll start before I’m able to get my food all the way down. 9 times out of 10 it’s not even noticeable, it just looks like I’m making a hard and fast swallow. I’d hardly call it un-lady like, but I’m sure Queen Elizabeth would not approve.

So that brings me to a date I was on a while back. My date and I were talking and making jokes and everything seemed to be going really well. At one point he had made a particularly funny comment that had caught me a little off guard. I tried to choke back my food before laughing, but I couldn’t get it down quick enough and there it was, food spewing right out of my mouth. It definitely wasn’t the most attractive thing I’ve ever done and as shocking as this may be, not only was that our first date, but it also happened to be our last.

Regrettably, this has happened more times then I’d like to admit, but every other guy has been able to laugh it off and make a joke out of it. One time it was even Sushi, which is pretty disgusting, and that didn’t seem to ruin the date. Any guy that can’t get over a little food spit because I’m laughing at his joke, I have one thing to say to that: I don’t need that kind of judgmental negativity in my life.

Then there was the time I left a guy on the curb waiting for a cab.

It was a long night and we all know how alcohol can cloud anybody’s judgment. So the next morning when I woke up with a pounding headache and a mouth dryer than the Mohave Desert I knew there was only one cure: water, Advil, greasy breakfast food, more water, and a Bloody Mary. I’m not sure who taught me this, probably my eldest brother (he’s like the Yoda of drinking), but it’s a basic cure to any hangover. You can thank me later.

Anyway, the only problem was my friends wanted to go to breakfast and this guy needed to get back to his friends. You see, I was in the quite the predicament. After some thought though, I realized the only thing that made sense was to have him call a cab and wait out by the curb while I went to breakfast. I probably should have offered to take him back to his friends, as that would have been the lady-like and kind thing to do, but we were both equally uninterested in each other so I’m sure he really didn’t mind.

Then of course, there was the time I called the guy the wrong name on our first date. It was an honest mistake. I’d been on two dates with two different guys in the same day. I just overbooked myself and keeping their names straight was harder than doing the ABC’s backwards while intoxicated. Fortunately though, my little slip up happened while he was dropping me off at the end of the date. It’s safe to say I never heard from him again. Not even a “thanks for a great time” text afterward.

In the past, I’ve done some serious ranting about how much I hate when guys lead girls on, but I too am guilty of this one. Remember the cat guy? Yeah, I knew from the start I didn’t really like him, but I felt out the situation because I was broke and hungry. The older I get the worse I feel about this one, he really was a nice guy. He just had shady cats and red hair, which made him the perfect candidate for not me. I’m pretty positive Karma has already come back and bit me on the ass for this one though, so all is well that ends well.

Then of course, there’s the infamous act of going back to an ex. EVERYBODY is guilty of this one and I’ll be the first one to say it’s a serious dating faux paus. We always say been there done that, but for some reason we can’t resist the charm of our high school sweetheart at our hometown bar on the night before Thanksgiving. Why? What’s up with that? We usually run into them once or twice after high school. Unfortunately mine was twice and both times I was grasping at strings that weren’t there. In my defense we were both at really weird times in our lives.

The lesson here is, it never ends well so just don’t do it. Don’t go back. Keep running towards the light. Don’t ruin your forward progress. Remember “Been there, done that” say it with me now BEEN THERE DONE THAT.

#27 eating

And finally, there have been times that I have gone out with guys and known from the get-go that it’s not going to end well and that, despite how good of a date they think it is, there will not be a second date. I use to (key word being USE to) take full advantage of these dates. I’d order 3 too many beers and instead of being a lady and getting a salad I’d get an appetizer and a huge entrée. I knew that they were paying so I wanted to ensure that I had plenty of leftovers for lunch and dinner for the next day. Those are not my finer moments nor were they my skinniest moments either.

I’m still going to stand by the fact that 99.9% of the guys that I had brief encounters with were total douche nozzles, BUT I can’t act like I’ve been perfect. I’ve had my fair share of questionable moments. The good news is, I’ve learned something from them all and it’s lead me to where I am today.

So don’t be afraid to make mistakes while dating. That’s what makes it so fun. Don’t try to be so polished. It’s the messy, ridiculous, completely off plan dates that usually end up being the forever thing!


The Stranger at the Pool


Bad Dates happen more often than not. They are a part of life and a part of figuring out exactly who we want to spend the rest of our lives with. I’ve learned to take bad dates with a grain of salt and chalk ‘em up to character building. For instance, without the horrific cat experience I never would have known that cats were a complete deal breaker, or without the vertically impaired men I never would have come to the realization that height (no matter how superficial it sounds) is important. Look, my superficiality isn’t something I’m proud of, but I don’t care who you are, we are all somewhat superficial and if you think you’re an exception to this rule, I can personally guarantee you that you’re wrong.

This brings me to my next of many tales…

It was one of the first good days of summer we had had in a long while. The sun was out full blast and the temperature was topping the scale somewhere around 80 degrees. After the long and horrendous winter we had it was practically a sin to not be outside enjoying the warmth. I decided to take this beautiful day and hit up the pool at my apartment complex. This was one of the first of many days I would spend out by the pool drinking, alone. I’m not proud of the fact that I was drinking at 11 a.m. on a Saturday morning alone, but if I wasn’t “that person” then who would have been? It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it and unlike most I willing to step up to the challenge.

With my plans of swimming and day drinking, I had no intentions of meeting anyone or for that matter talking to anyone, hence the day drinking ALONE. So, obviously I didn’t try to get myself all pretty for the pool like I find most girls doing, which by the way, is ridiculous. I didn’t even bother to shower after the workout I had that morning, so you can imagine I was probably looking somewhat like a drowned rat, but again I wasn’t there to impress anyone.

I entered the pool and sat in a corner that, for the most part was away from everyone else. All I really wanted was relaxation and some time to myself. The pool became overrun with classless hung-over college kids around 2 p.m. of which I didn’t so much mind, but rather I found myself more yearning for my college years, just wishing I could have that carefree life back and realizing that would never happen — and so, my next drink was a little stronger than the last.

As I was sitting there minding my own business I heard the person next to me say something. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or not so I ignored him at first and then I heard him start talking again. I turned to my side to just give him the nod of acknowledgment and go about my business but the conversation started at a rapid pace. “So you from around here?” “How long have you lived here?” “Do you like it here?” “Are you drinking?” Holy bombardment of questions, slow down. Did I at some point in time unknowingly agree to play 20 questions?

I’m not the type of person that doesn’t like talking to strangers, I’ll spark up a conversation with anyone, anywhere, at any time, but the key word is “I”. I will do it on my own terms and on my own time. I’m laying here listening to music with my eyes shut and somehow this fella gets off thinking that I’m looking to make new friends.

I decided to pull my bikini out of my ass and stop being such a bitch, because truth is I should probably work on being friendlier to strangers. As we’re talking I realize this guy is actually pretty funny and he wasn’t all that terrible looking either. He spent an abnormally long time talking about how much money he made, which was strange to me, but I just figured he was trying to make himself sound better than he really was. Naturally, at about hour 3 or 4 of my day drinking I found the conversation increasingly more interesting.

When the sun finally fell behind the tree line he had asked if I wanted to go back to his place and join him in grilling hamburgers. 6 hours of lying out in the sun, no eating, and liquor made for an obvious answer of YES! Not to mention I hadn’t done any grocery shopping for a while, so it was actually a pretty solid decision.

We get back to his apartment and I excused myself to use the bathroom. When I came out of the bathroom I was shocked to see that this man I just met at the pool looked like a complete stranger. He had taken off his sunglasses and I swear my jaw hit the floor. He had these beady little bug-like eyes, they were so tiny, I can’t even describe them, but I’m positive the circumference is unmeasurable. They were the creepiest things I had ever seen in my entire life. It’s almost as if I had just sobered up from a long night and was finally seeing things clearly. I’d never met someone who looked so different with sunglasses on.

I decided I would try and look past it. After all, we did just spend the last 4 hours getting to know each other and he seemed to be a quality guy, or so I thought.

We ate dinner and I headed back to my place for a shower and nap. He had conveyed his interest in wanting to go out that night, but had also informed me that he just moved here about a week ago and didn’t really know anyone. So, when my friends said they would be going out I decided to invite him to tag along. We all actually had a ton of fun and since he spent the majority of our pool time bragging about all the money he made I didn’t even feel slightly guilty that he spent the whole evening paying for everything. If you feel the need to bring up the fact that you make “a ton” of money, then you better pony up and get out that credit card.

For a split second I thought, maybe I could look past the beady little devil eyes. So, when the opportunity presented itself for us to hang out again I took it, with the thought process that once again I’m stepping out of my comfort zone, exploring unchartered territory.

The evening started out just fine. He cooked dinner and we talked and watched TV. We were in the middle of an action packed drama when out of my peripheral vision I see him taking off his shirt. I find this to be a little odd because it’s not hot in the house, but I let it slide trying to not think too much into it. As I’m sitting there he continues to undress. At this point I had no idea what was going on, but I lost it and I just started laughing hysterically, which was apparently not the response he was looking for because the look on his face was a rather perplexing one. I stood up and covered my mouth with my hand trying hopelessly to hold in the laughter that was erupting from within the deepest part of my stomach. I could hardly get out the words “what are you doing?” but when I did, his response was nothing short of “What? I thought tonight was the night!” My eyes started watering as I was on the cusp of hysteria. He slowly started to pull his clothes back on and I could see the rejection and embarrassment flash across his face. I almost felt bad and wanted to apologize, but let’s be real, who did this guy think he was? I gathered my belongings and politely excused myself from his apartment.

The moment I stepped outside of the door I exploded with laughter. My whole body was shaking and I could hardly make it back to my apartment without having to stop to catch my breath.

I was lying in bed that night laughing and pondering just what exactly this guy was doing. Did he really think that if he just started taking his clothes off I would follow his lead?

Needless to say I never heard from him again, which was okay because it was apparent that he just wanted someone to sleep with and if that’s the case then I’m definitely not the girl.

It’s not that I consider this guy to be total scum, but the sheer fact that he was so confident in himself that he just started to get naked is enough for me to mark him down as a total dirt bag.

The hilarity of this situation continued when I was at the pool about a week ago and I saw him pulling the exact same moves with another girl. I laid in my chair quietly giggling to myself. After some time I heard him say the ever so famous line: “Do you wanna go back to my place and maybe grill some hamburgers?” At this point I felt the need to warn the girl, but who was I to deprive her of a story this good and hey, who knows, maybe she’ll be into it. I highly doubt it though, his sunglasses were still on…

…and he was perfect


Imagine going on a blind date. We’ve all been there. Your nerves are shot every time a guy walks into a bar you smile this ridiculous smile and more often than not they look at you like they’ve just walked into a clinic for depressed/mentally unstable people. They give a pity smile and then as soon as they realize you haven’t stopped smiling their smile changes and suddenly their smile no longer says “Hi!” but instead it’s saying “Oh dear God this woman is still staring at me, what does she want from me?” They slowly pivot and before you know it they start walking in the opposite direction. It isn’t until this moment that you come to the realization that he wasn’t your blind date.

You blush slightly because, well that was kind of embarrassing, but you move on and you have this awkward occurrence with at least 3 or more guys until the one you’re actually supposed to be seeing walks through the front door. Usually my blind dates don’t go so well. They walk through the door and I’m immediately trying to plan my escape route. I start thinking “Oh no, do you think he saw me? Do you think I have time to get out of here? Do you think the bartender would notice if I just left without paying my tab? It’s pretty busy in here. I bet he wouldn’t notice. And if he did I already told him I was on a blind date. He would understand. I’m sure he’s been in this situation before. Maybe I could come back tomorrow and pay. Maybe I could ask the bartender out, he’s actually pretty attractive. I did just buy these new shoes though. It would be a waste for me to leave before someone actually noticed my shoes or my outfit. I don’t really want to waste this full beer…Okay, I’ll stay.”

That’s usually the internal debate I have while I’m sitting somewhere waiting on a date to arrive. However, last night I went on a blind date and that didn’t happen, mainly because I didn’t have to debate with my own insecurities and my slight drinking problem. Usually I show up early just in case I do decide to leave, but when I got there he was already there. This is already a change of pace from the normal, as the guy is late about 90% of the time, but not this time. I see him and I hesitate because Oh. My. Gosh. He’s perfect. I quickly go through my superficial check list:

– Good Hair – Check

– White straight teeth – Check

– Well dressed/groomed – Check

– Great Smile – Double Check

– Clean fingernails – Check

– Fit – Check

– Drinking a beer and not a margarita – Check (this actually happened once. Imagine my horror when we’re ordering drinks and I order an IPA and he orders a Strawberry Margarita, Frozen.)

I get slightly excited thinking that maybe I’ve done it. Maybe I’ve finally met the guy of my dreams, the guy that I’ve unknowingly compared every other guy to. The excitement was real!

He walked up to me, hugged me and he pulled my chair out for me (which is probably the most polite gesture I’ve received since the lady at the liquor store gave me a free sample of Mikes Hard Lemonade — just as a side note, I don’t suggest it).

The conversation just flowed. He talked and I talked there was never an awkward moment. He was gainfully employed, a family man, no kids, owned his own house, he was a firefighter (every girls dream), and he was perfect. He even paid at the end of the date.

All in all it was one of the best dates I’ve been on since, well, ever. At the end of the night though, I found myself sitting in my car wondering, why I didn’t like him. The date was perfect and he was perfect. He even texted me the next morning just to tell me good morning. He’s a complete 360 from every other guy I’ve ever been out with, but there was just nothing. No butterflies when he kissed me. No sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when he smiled. I found myself listening to what he had to say but being very uninterested.

WHAT WAS THE DEAL? WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME? I felt more excitement when I heard the Ice Cream Truck for the first time this summer.

Apparently I’m just not meant to run with guys who aren’t total and complete ass clowns. Maybe the problem is me. Maybe I really have no clue what I want. I mean he was kind of short, that’s a serious issue, right?