"You are Gorgeous...I want to fuck you."

Is just really not a good idea for a first email.

Rethink Your Own Information

Rereading information about your date before you meet is important. For some of us, rethinking our own information is important too.

"So you went to school in Baltimore, {Dauntless}?"

"Yeah, and I stayed in that area for a few years afterward."

"Oh yeah, where did you live?"

"Well, I lived in Towson, Timonium (a lie - with good reason - the truth, Cockeysville), and also, uhh... Holyshit! Whatthefuckwasthatplacecalled? Itwasjustthreeyearsago,moron "Um, White Marsh." That's not right!

"Oh, White Marsh? Where's that?"

Good question. "Just north of the city."

"Oh. Did you like it there?"

"Oh, yeah. It was great." Holy shit! Where did I live???

After the date, I walked through my front door, smacked my head with the palm of my hand and exclaimed to no one, "Owings Mills you moron!"

A Disturbing Discovery

In all my 29.99 years, I've never had the sort of disturbing discovery I had last week.

Early Sunday the soft morning light peeked through my blinds, rousing me from a good night's sleep. I squealed as I stretched the last bit of sleep from my bones. I was ready to start my day. Five errands to run and two parties to attend, one of which would include lots of single men. It was a promising day.

I swung my feet over the side of the bed, gave the dog a good-morning pat and plodded off to the bathroom. I took care of business, brushed my teeth and washed my face. Then, I began the fourth ritual, blowing my nose.

Blow.

Blow.

Yuck. I need a humidifier or something.

Blow.

Wow, you don't want to come out now, do you, you little shit?

Blow, dig, blow.

Damn. What the hell?

I got all up in the mirror. Close as possible. That's when I realized I wasn't just dealing with a stubborn booger here.

It was a zit. Complete with whitehead. Inside. my. nose.

Now, as this never has happened to me before, I was somewhat at a loss. Traditional zit popping methods were difficult, if not useless. But, after twenty minutes of fretting and contorting, I finally popped that sucker.

So, if ever you have a big, nasty, posing-as-a-booger zit inside your nose on the same day you have the possibility of meeting Ms. Right, here is my advice...

Squeeze the shit out of your nose.

It hurts like hell, but it's much better than snorting Proactive.

Timing is Everything

It's second down and seven. The opposing team is on their twenty yard line. Doesn't seem like the start of a remarkable play, but I sip my draft, entranced nonetheless.

24, 31, 42, Hike!

The quarterback rolls out of the pocket, looks left, then right. Fires on a line to his right. It's tipped. It starts to wobble. My defender has his sights on that ball. And...

"Hey there [Dauntless]."

"Wha?" I turn to my head left, eyes remaining on the television screen for as long as possible. Then I break away from the television to see it's the guy who I'm supposed to be meeting.

"Oh, hey 'Doug'"

That's when the other patrons start to go wild. Interception!

Damn it! I missed it!

I snap my head back to the television, "Go! go! go!"

He's at the fifteen.

"So, how have you been?" Doug asks.

Keeping my eyes on the screen, I replied, "Uh, great. Yeah."

He's at the ten.

"Go! go!"

"Exciting game, huh?"

Unable to put any thoughts together, I replied, "Wha? Uh..."

Touchdown!

"Whoo hooo!" The bar goes wild. Everyone's jumping and slapping fives. Everyone except Doug.

It's ok that we don't root for the same team. Really, it is. But to not know when to let me watch my team... It's a turn off. A big one.

Slow Motion

In movies it increases the drama. In football it reverses calls. On dates, it puts women to sleep.

I met up with 'Peter' at a coffee shop in town. We ordered our Pumpkin Spiced Lattes and found a seat near the window. We talked fairly easily for the first few minutes, but it quickly became apparent that I would be the listener (sleeper) in the conversation.

When I asked Peter a simple question about how he met his friends who live in my area (he lives almost an hour away), he said, "Hmmmm. Let's see. (looking up to the ceiling), I met Mike out about a year ago. (index finger tapping chin) Then....I met his girlfriend...aaaaand, then they moved up to Baltimore. Mike actually introduced me tooooo (tapping chin again) Todd and Sam...."

Every time I asked Peter a question, he pondered the answer as if I had asked him the meaning of life. But it was ok. I ended up inventing a little game...counting how long can I nod and say 'mm hmm' without actually speaking. Two minutes, fourteen seconds.

There Are Certain Things You Shouldn't Suggest - Part I

"So, can I get your number so we can grab a drink sometime?"

"Sure." I proceed to give 'Doug' my number.

"Great. I'll call you sometime this week."

"Ok. Talk to you later."

Two days later, Doug calls and we make plans to meet up for a drink at a local pub the following week. Then, date night rolls around...

"Hello?"

"Hey {Dauntless}, this is Doug. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, thanks. So, are we still on for tonight?"

"Actually, I'm pretty beat tonight with my weekend traveling and whatnot. I'm planning on making a little snack and having some wine though if you'd like to come over."

Ohmygod,he'sapervert!Orarapist.Maybehe'sanaxemurderer.

BodiesinthecerealboxeslikethefreakfromMexico.Holyshit.WhatdoIsay?

"Uhhhh, no. I don't think so." I'd kind of like to keep my innards out of the Cocoa Puffs.

The Blog Lives On.

So I took everyone's advice and gave my online boyfriends each one more email to ask me out. I've got three dates this week.

Looks like I should turn this advice giving gig over to you.

Survey Says...

I could pull out my hair and throw my date-ready leopard print heels out the window. No need for them. I haven't had a date in weeks.

This is how it goes. He emails. I email. He emails. I email, et-fucking-cetera. And still there is no date. I wrote about how penpals piss me off a while ago, but the men in my inbox continue to pursue a clickity clack relationship.

Aiming my heel at the open window across the room, a thought suddenly occurred to me and I lowered the shoe in wide wonder. Could it be? Maybe, just maybe? Am I being impatient?

So dear readers, I'd like your help. Especially from any (the three) men who read my blog, how many emails need to go back and forth before you ask a girl out on a date?

Maintain Your Sense of Humor

We all hit rough patches. If you read my last post, you know I've hit one. But I'm over it. Really. And I only know that because I can laugh.

See, after I heard about the ex, I had a couple of days there where I wasn't dealing with it too well. Yesterday was one of those days.

When a song came on the radio, it was one that made me think of him. When I watched a movie, it had scenes from our favorite city. When I went to Target, there were aisles and aisles of students with his alma mater plastered on their chests (I shit you not. Dog food aisle, air freshener aisle, it made no difference.).

So yesterday was rough, but today I woke up with a new attitude. I remembered what an awful boyfriend he was and instead of being sad that someone I once loved was marrying someone else, I was happy that it wasn't me. I had a fantastic day making friends in the neighborhood and generally not thinking about the ex.

Then I went to Safeway.

Safeway has this policy where after you use your membership card, the cashiers read the name on the receipt and say, "Have a nice day Ms. So-and-so." Well, as I don't have a discount card, I usually type in my parents' phone number to suffice. Not only do I get the discount, but they get the name right ("Thank you Ms. [Dater]"). Well, this particular evening, I must have been distracted because I accidentally typed in my own phone number. The cashier glanced down at the receipt and said, "Thank you. Have a good night Ms. [Ex's last name].

Whoa. I must be hearing things.

So I check the receipt. There it is. [Ex's first name. Ex's last name.]

I must have gaped at that name for a good 30 seconds before my brain processed the random coincidence of it all. Crossing the parking lot, I threw my head back and laughed my ass off.

If there are dating guardian angels, mine's got a fucked up sense of humor.

Don't Kick Her When She's Down (or ever really)

August has not been good to me.

This month I have been stood up, unceremoniously dumped, and learned that my ex is engaged. Ouch.

Then, this morning, after only eleven hours to process my ex's happily ever after, I received yet another email from the Bitter Bob who gave me attitude when I wouldn't give him my number.

Subject: Oh jeez!

Message: Your back on match...didn't you learn your lesson the first time that emailing and not meeting makes match worthless?

I have too much class (fear for my personal safety) to retaliate and explain to him that I tend to avoid meeting bitter, whiny assholes who don't know the difference between 'your' and 'you're'. So I thought I'd do so here.

No, you won't know when the girl you are trying to contact is feeling down, but that's ok. Just don't be a dick. Ever.

Phallic Phascination

Yeah, yeah, I know it's funny to see things that remind you of your penis. And yes, it's funny to take a picture of yourself with these phallic reminders. But, it's just plain creepy when you post these pictures with your profile.

In the past week, I have seen three different men who have made this deal-breaking mistake.

Mr. Posing with a Nude Man - Nude statue. Hands on hips, goods swaying in the wind. Next to him, the man who wants to find a date, standing in the same pose, thankfully fully clothed.

Mr. Cactus Penis - This man found a phallic looking cactus, stood over it, and smiled as he longingly gazed at the gigantic penis extending from his legs. Yuck and ouch.

Mr. Bull Balls - Picture this: Huge sculpture of a bull, complete with melon-sized testicles. The man who is attempting to woo women is laying beneath the bull so that it's balls are resting on his head. It's balls are resting on his head! What. the. fuck.

Note to Self

You were falling for her and she ripped the rug right out from underneath you. She talked a big game. You had a good feeling about her. Then she stood you up. She didn't call. Didn't text. Didn't email.

She's a bitch.

Do not blame yourself, even if there were a couple of things you would have done differently, they certainly weren't deal breakers.

You do not have my permission to waste another minute thinking about her. You get your single ass back out there and find the right one.

Wardrobe Malfunctions

Home improvement stores are the best places to meet strapping young men who are good with their hands. Ehhem. Urban legend or not, this belief lives on in the hearts of single women everywhere.

I happily hummed to myself as I strolled the aisles at Lowes, feeling giddy about some of those strapping prospects I spotted. Taking my time, I carefully selected my merchandise (stalked a particularly steamy customer), and headed for the check out. I was helped by a super friendly clerk who gave me a wide smile each time she made eye contact with me. Maybe, I supposed, she knew the real reason I was shopping at this fine establishment. I had a fleeting thought that I could really use a second job.

As I exited the store and pushed my shopping cart across the parking lot, I glanced down to make sure my potting soil was secure under the cart. That's when I noticed something was wrong. My potting soil was fine, but I was looking straight down at my ass! In all my strolling, my skirt had shifted more than 90 degrees around my waist. I twisted and pulled while trying to hold on to my cart with one hand, avoid being hit by a car, and stifle my nervous laughter.

Damn. it.

Man, woman, young, old, member of the Jackson family, or not, wardrobe malfunctions will get you. So guys, don't judge us too harshly and we'll return the favor.

Try Not to Send Him (Her) Running Back to the Ex

Anyone else notice I've been the offender in these latest posts?

Date 1:

Context: He's an alum from a local college, one which many of my high school classmates attended. We play the name game.

"So who did you hang out with from my school?" I ask.

He begins, "Well, I knew Scott ____."

"Oh, right right. I remember him."

"Let's see. Jessica _____."

"Sure. Sure." I nod.

"Oh, and there's Brian _____."

Thinking, I respond, "Hmm. Can't quite place him."

"And Michelle _____."

"Oh my God! You know Michelle? She and I used to hang out back in the day. She is definitely one of the nicest people I've ever met. This one time, in sixth grade......" Diarrhea of the mouth ensues as Ken politely nods and 'mmm hmms' and 'uhh huhs' at the right times. Finally wrapping up my story, I finish with, "Anyway, I just remember her being such a great person."

"Yeah."

Fast forward to Date 3:

Context: Discussing high school reunions

I offer information on my own reunion, "I went to my ten year a couple years ago. It was ok. There were a lot of people I would have liked to see who didn't show. Oh! But, you know who did? Michelle! And boy, she looks great! Sounds like she's doing well too. She's living in North Carolina and is pretty successful. It was great to see her."

Looking slightly uncomfortable, Ken says, "(Dauntless), uh, I don't know how to tell you this, but Michelle and I dated for about two years."

Firmly clasping my jaw shut so it doesn't hit the floor, I reply with a clipped, "Oh." What the fuuuuuck? Stupid, stupid, stupid. "Well, you know, she didn't look that great."

Fast forward to the day after Date 3:

As if the wound needed salt, I decided to pull out my high school year book to look up Michelle's picture. While flipping to her name, I came across the "Best" section. There she was. In full color. Voted 'best personality' by a senior class of over 500.

Well, at least I was right about her. She was cool.

Dating is Scary Enough...

without adding your own thrill seeking to the event. I found this out while on a rather boring date.

Mid-drink, I had to go to the ladies room. I politely excused myself, relieved that I had a break from hearing about my date's learning disabilities. I passed one out-of-order bathroom, and descended the stairs to visit the other ladies room. As I approached the narrow hallway encompassing a single ladies room and a single men's room, I saw the line. Three women waiting and zero men. Typical.

2 minutes pass...still three women in front of me.

3 minutes pass...woman number three decides she can hold it and drops out of line. Sweet. One man goes into his restroom.

5 minutes pass...first woman emerges from the restroom, now one stands between me and relief. Man comes out of his bathroom, comments, "This one's free." (Mental light bulb beams above Dauntless' head) This will add some excitement to the date.

I grin and shrug to the woman waiting in front of me and make a beeline for the men's room. Once inside, I decide I am crazy to do this in a restaurant/bar at 7:30 at night. After all, the patrons aren't even buzzing yet. My pulse quickens after I turn back to the door and push the lock. Nothing. Fuck! But I can't retreat now. I've made a commitment.

I hold the door shut with one foot as I squat and push my pee like I was Katherine Heigl. As the door handle begins to jingle, a bead of sweat forms on my forehead, but my foot holds firm and the jingling stops.

I quickly flush and wash, taking a second to wipe the sweat off my face. As I slink out of the bathroom, I give the shocked old man outside the door a sheepish grin, pass the ladies line (with the woman who was in front of me still crossing her legs in line), and head upstairs.

Realizing how many things could have gone wrong on my mini-adventure, I rejoin my date, patting my own back because I really got away with one this time.

A couple of minutes into our new conversation about home improvement, I bring my index finger and thumb about an inch apart to explain the size of the threshold between my kitchen and dining room. When I glance at my hand, I am horrified to realize it is shaking uncontrollably. I close my fist and try again. The hand seizure resumes.

My date raises his eyebrows at the recognition of my nerves, no doubt thinking his good looks and charm are to blame.

I can do nothing but put my hand back in my lap and say, "Anyway, the threshold is about an inch high." and make a mental note not to visit the men's room on my next date.

Men, may I recommend not using the ladies room on your next date?

Look Before You Leap (or sit)

I remember this movie from when I was a kid. The one where the guy tells his buddy that the way you know a girl is a keeper is if after you let her in the car, she unlocks your door for you.

Needing all the help I can get, I've lived by this rule for the past 15 years. Until last week, when I got distracted.

Date #2: We hug hello and begin chatting easily. He leads me to the passenger side of the car, unlocking it and letting me in. Impressed with his chivalry, I look up at him and smile as I slide into the seat. Crunch.

Immediately my grin drops as my heart begins to beat wildly. What the? I turn, reach under my ass, and grab hold of a mangled pair of sunglasses. As I begin to wrap my mind around what I have done, I look up and see my date fumbling with his key. Before I can react, he is in and he is looking at the destruction in my hand.

Shit.

Always Be Prepared

Let me tell you about my Safeway. It's small, crowded, and regularly out of the necessary ingredients. It caters to singles, but more so the widowed kind than the 20/30 something kind. But it's across the street. So I go. Often.

After a quick shower, I realize I need some things from the Safeway. Hair barely brushed and dripping, I dash out of the house, sans even a stitch of makeup.

I grab a basket on the way in and begin examining the fruits and vegetables when I see a cutie by the oranges. He walks by, not a glance in my direction. Hmm. He must be in a hurry (Suuure Dauntless).

I see him again in the pasta aisle and he's heading straight for me. Alright boy, you better believe I'm gonna say hello to you. Mmm Mmm. Big smile Dauntless, big smile. "Hi."

"Hey".

Now we're heading in opposite directions, me smiling to myself, very proud of saying hello and hoping to see him again in the bread aisle. Still patting myself on the back, I arrive in the frozen food section.

Searching for some cherry popsicles, my focus shifts and I catch a glimpse of my reflection. There I am, in all my frizzy, pale glory, staring back at me. I am a mess. I proceeded to spend the next five minutes acting like I can't choose which damn popsicles I want while I use the glass door to desperately twist up my hair and pinch my cheeks.

Alas, it was all for naught. My chance had come and gone.

Always be prepared.

Get Noticed. Even if it's not Pretty.

Recently, one warm spring evening, “Riley” and I joined the throngs of neighbors already walking their Fidos and Muffins around the community for some much needed exercise. I diligently clicked and treated Riley, hoping to break her of her pulling and jumping habits as her trainer had instructed.

Inhaling the sweet smell of lilacs, I floated along, content as could be. That is, until I saw him. The good-looking neighbor from down the road. His arms were weighted down with groceries and he was 30 feet away and closing in.

My heart began to pound as I mentally reviewed what I would say,

“Hi” No, my nerves will make it sound too high-pitched.

20 feet.

“What’s up?” No. Too casual.

10 feet.

Shit! What should I say? “Hey”. I’ll say hey.

5 feet.

Just as I opened my mouth to form the greeting I had decided on, the slack in the leash became taut and I realized in horror that Riley had decided on a greeting of her own. Ignoring the treat in my left hand, she leapt up on the handsome stranger, front paws landing squarely on his stomach.

“Ooof”.

I immediately admonished Riley, but was too flustered to mutter an apology for her (probably because I hadn’t recited it).

After we were a safe distance away, I glanced at the handsome stranger’s retreating form, turned to Riley, and whispered, “Good girl.”

Something Else Borrowed

So you made it through your first date. Cool. You've asked her out again and she said 'yes'. Awesome! Now, no stalking allowed for at least the next thirty-two hours.

Sunday 2:00pm:

Eleanor: Well Vince, I had a nice time, thanks.
Vince: Me too. Would you like to do it again sometime?
Eleanor: Yeah. I'd like that.
Vince: Great. I'll call you later.
Eleanor: Bye.

Sunday 9:00pm:

Eleanor begins to get organized for her week and starts by opening her email:

YOU HAVE MAIL. Seeing it's from Vince, she opens it curiously,

Eleanor, I wanted to say again what a wonderful time I had today. I'll call you later, Vince

That was sweet, she thinks as she motions her mouse to click 'close'.

Monday 8:15pm:

Eleanor, exhausted from a long day at work, walks through the door and tosses her bag on the couch. While on her way to let the dog out back, she hits 'play' on her feverishly blinking machine.

The robotic voice responds, "First message. Sent. Today. At. 3:00 pm:"

Hi Eleanor, it's Vince. I hope you got my email last night, I didn't hear back from you. Just wanted to let you know that I was thinking about you and I'm looking forward to our next date.

"Next message. Sent. Today. At. 5:30 pm:"

Eleanor, it's Vince. I haven't heard back from you, so I just wanted to make sure we're still on for our next date. Later.

"Next message. Sent. Today. At. 8:00 pm:"

Eleanor, look, if you didn't want to go out with me, you could have just said so. I don't think I want to date anyone so inconsiderate anyway.

Monday 8:30pm:

Energy renewed by Vince's audacity, Eleanor quickly opens her computer and begins pecking furiously,

Vince, I didn't let you know sooner because I didn't realize it until now. We won't be going out again. Eleanor.

~Thanks Ei

Ask, Don't Tell

I wrote a post a few months back titled, Don't Ask, Don't Tell. In that case, a guy asked me to a fancy dinner, then told me to pay. More recently I have learned that some guys need to learn to ask, not tell.

I met Bob at a bar not far from my home. After talking for a while, we discovered that we lived in the same complex. The area's great. Lots of grass and trees, with a path along a river perfect for biking and running. Shortly after discovering we were neighbors, Bob became a perfect candidate not for my heart, but my blog.

Bob: You live there? I just moved into that neighborhood. I live on the corner near the water.

Me: Oh yeah? The neighborhood's great. You'll love it.

Bob: Yeah. I like that bike path down there. Do you have a bike?

Me: Yep.

Bob: Tell you what. You bring your bike down my way and we'll go for a ride together.

Me: Hmm. That sounded a bit arrogant. What happened to asking? Maybe I'll tell him about the last time I rode a bike. That'll be a turn off. I'm not much of a bike rider these days. the last time I rode my bike, I actually had to get off of it and walk it up a hill! (yes, sad, but true)

Bob: Wow, that's pretty bad.

Me: Good. It worked.

Bob: Well then, bring your running shoes down and we'll go for a run instead.

Me: Shit. Another statement. How do I say no to a statement? I've got to go to the bathroom. See you later.

Ok, so my exit was neither kind nor graceful. But, If you're telling me what to do and we don't even know each other, that red flag negates all rules of engagement.