Archive for August, 2010

Double Booking

     On Sunday I had a first date lined up with a guy from eHarmony.  When I arrived at my date location, I was a little early so I sat in my car and fiddled on my phone for a bit.  It was about five minutes until my date when my phone rang.  I took a quick glance at the caller ID and answered.

Zia:  Hello?

Bill:  Hi Zia, it’s Bill from eHarmony.

     I wanted to say, “Where are you?”  Some forces from the great beyond kept me from opening my mouth.  Instead I went with…

Zia:  Oh, hi.

Bill:  How’s your Sunday going?

Zia:  (hesitant, drawn out)  Gooood.  And yours?

Zia’s Thoughts:  Oh man, is he chickening out or calling to cancel?  I’ve already driven thirty minutes to meet him.

Bill:  Good.  It’s nice to finally get a chance to talk.

Zia:  (another drawn out response)  Yeah…

Zia’s Thought’s:  ???  We’re supposed to have lunch, not talk.

Bill:  Figured I’d call now since I have to go into work later for some more overtime.

Zia’s Thought’s:  Overtime!?  Oh crap!

     Pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the caller ID again.  I was talking to Bill from LA not Bill from the OC.  Orange County was lunch today and Los Angeles was phone call.  This was the precise reason why I programmed their city after their shared name – so I would know who was who.  Would help if I remembered to read that important information.  Smooth Zia, smooth.

     Once I got my head around who I was talking to, I kept checking my phone for a text from the Bill I was supposed to be meeting.  Then, as I was chatting with Bill 1, Bill 2 sent his “arrival” text.  While still chatting with Bill 1, I sent a reply text to Bill 2 telling him I’d be right in.  Told Bill 1 I was out running around (not a lie) and asked if I could call him back later.  Hung up and entered the restaurant a little flushed.  Ugh, the situations I find myself in.

     I then continued my date with Bill 2.  But more on that later…

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Mr. Nice Guy

     I woke up Sunday morning to the sounds of suitcases banging around the hallway as my roommates’ family was heading out after their two week stay.  The noise startled my cat and she thought the fastest way to escape from those big scary suitcases was across my face.  After spewing a colorful Sunday morning vocabulary, I hobbled to the bathroom to see the damage.  Grabbed a tissue, laid back in bed, and bled for about twenty minutes.

     Received a phone call midday to arrange plans to meet the newest guy.  We decide on early evening.

     Getting ready for the date I decide to go light make-up.  Not that I really had a choice in the matter since my cat left me looking like Frankenstein’s offspring.  Did my best to make-up around the open wound but due to the location I’m sure this guy will think I lost a battle with the tweezers while plucking my eyebrows.

     I received a text saying he was running about thirty minutes late.  Diva.

     We met up at a Barnes & Nobel before deciding where to head off to.  He asked if I was hungry.  Told him, “I’m Italian.  I can always eat.”  That was my polite way of saying I was starving.  He asked if dinner was okay since he hadn’t eaten.  We found a restaurant and got a table.

     He, for the most part, looked like his pictures.  Small framed, thin guy and not really anything I normally go for but Dr. D recommends dating against type, so here I go.  He is definitely lacking a bone-jumping quality, but overall a nice guy.  And to his credit, I have to say, so far he has done everything right.  He called once during the week just to chat.  Didn’t ask bizarre questions like, “So, do you have any babies?”  Sent a couple of texts throughout the week, none of which were at 11:30pm asking if I wanted “to meet for a friendly drink.”  (Yeah, that’s happened before. –A couple times.)  And then actually called the day we were going to meet to solidify plans – not text, not email – called!  It is sad that a phone call is what I consider “doing it right.”  Since most online daters think that the dating only takes place in cyber world, it is rare to find a guy who actually calls.  But I digress…

     Now to get into the first impression I must have been leaving. —

     During the appetizer I felt a huge chunk of prosciutto get lodged into my teeth.  Not a big ta-do if it was in the back of my mouth but this was front and center.  Tried getting it out with my tongue while he was talking but was afraid I was making vulgar faces.  When he turned his head to look for the server, I shot my hand to my mouth and tried to get it out with my nail.  Failed attempt.  Damn those guitar classes!  No nails on my right hand.  Next time he looked around shot up my left hand and victory.  Now I just need to remain composed through the meal and not shovel the food in to calm my hunger.

     He is a midwest guy who doesn’t drink much but enjoys a good beer.  Headed to a bar with a wide beer selection.  Turned our they were having their Belgium Beer Festival and with the purchase of a Belgium beer you get a souvenir glass.  Cool.  I like free stuff.

     Amidst the second beer I felt as if something had fallen on my head.  I ran my fingers through my hair but didn’t feel anything.  Then put my arms on the table.  I then felt a bunch of sandy grit on my arms.  Still listening to him talk and throwing out the occasional “uh-huh,” I casually brush the dirt off my arms.  Leaned back on table – more grit.  This time I lean back, casually brush the dirt off my arms again and then off the table.  Check my hair again and mid-hair stroke realize I am sending off major flirt signals.  That would explain the sudden twinkle in his eye as he talks to me.  I can’t have that.  I don’t feel any mo-jo jive coming from him.  There can be no twinkling, not yet at least.  I may need another date to see if the tide has changed in the mo-jo waters.

     To simmer the twinkling and with my hand still mid-stroke, I quickly ask, “Did you feel that?”

     He replied with a very slow drawn out, “Nooo-ah.”

     Oh great, he’s giving me that look.  I know that look.  I give that look.  Can I really blame him?  I’m feeling myself up at the table, with a gash above my eyebrow, and looking up at the ceiling while I talked.  I’m sure I’m scoring big points in the crazy department.

     When I finally get my head out of the rafters and look down at the table I see it.  “Ah-ha.  Look.”  And I point to little pieces of gravel scattered all over the table and on the menu.  Fortunately missed the beer.  Part of the ceiling did fall down.  I wasn’t crazy and that look disappeared.  However, the twinkling resumed. 

     But at the end of the night, I can’t complain.  My date was a nice guy and he liked me.  Just need to figure away around his lack of sex appeal.  Hmm…

    

The Newest Hot Spot

     Who knew that after years of bar hopping, drunk-girl-sexy-arms-in-the-air dancing, paying cover charges, and countless hours on my hair, that the newest hot spot to get hit on would be public transportation?  All that time and effort and all I needed to do was pull my hair in a ponytail, throw on some sunglasses and I’d be golden?

     A few weeks ago, I got on the subway, pulled out my Sudoku, and sat, minding my own bee’s wax, waiting for the train to leave.  As soon as the doors closed, I heard this from the beer belly filled white t-shirt to my left:

Beer Belly:  Are you a psychiatrist?

Zia:  No. 

Beer Belly:  A therapist?

Zia:  No.

Beer Belly:  Oh, you look like one.  You look like one of those really smart people.

Zia:  . . . ah . . .

Beer Belly:  Are you a lawyer?

Zia:  No.

Beer Belly:  What are you?

Zia’s Thoughts:  Do I have to talk to this guy?  When’s the next stop?  He’s going to guess every “smart person” profession if I don’t spit something out.  I could tell him anything.

Zia:  I’m a teacher.

Beer Belly:  Oooh, yeah, I can see that.  Blah blah blah…

Zia’s Thoughts:  Oh Christ.  Should have told him I was a stripper.

     Last week I stumbled upon Train Guy.  He is big and tall and with his shaved head has a definite presence when he enters a room, or a train car in this instance.  He sat next to me and asked for help finding his way.

     Even though I was texting away on my phone, he started chatting with me.  Usually that irks me, but he wasn’t a total bafoon so I didn’t mind.  At one point, he said, “You should call me sometime.  Let me give you my number.”  Nice, straight forward approach.

     He sent me a text the next day, and I am assuming my rock solid directions of, “go up the stairs and turn right,” were spot on that he thinks I’m a keeper.  Asked if I was single.  Again, straight forward approach.

     We have texted back and forth a bit over the past few days.  One text read, “. . .I find you amazingly attractive and glad you’re single.”  Mmm. . . okay, you can stay a while.

     On Monday, however, this man’s straight forward approach did not work for me.  You know those people who as soon as you see them you have this feeling that something is off?  You know something is up, something is going to happen?  Well, when I sat next to Bold & Beautiful, I got just that vibe.  He was a tall muscle-y black guy in a stereotypical do-rag.  He was definitely beautiful, but surrounded in an aura of crazy.

     I sat down and pulled out my phone to switch it to vibrate.

Bold & Beautiful:  Aghgorhoss….

Zia’s Thoughts:  Oh lordy, he’s talking to me.  I’m not even sure that was English.  Just keep looking at phone and it will stop.

Bold & Beautiful:  Wow.  Bljaknsrku…

Zia’s Thoughts:  Huh?  And what is he looking at?

Bold & Beautiful:  You get pedicures all the time?  You just got one?

Zia’s Thoughts:  Oh, something audible.  Guess I should answer since it’s not stopping.  But I’ll keep my face glued to my phone.

Zia:  No.  I did them myself.

Bold & Beautiful:  (staring intently at my feet)  Damn!  You got the prettiest feet I ever seen.

Zia:  Ah, thanks?

Bold & Beautiful:  What’s your ethnic background?

Zia:  Mostly Italian.  Some French and Albanian.

Bold & Beautiful:  Mmm–hmmmm.  That’s why you look so .  All that stuff mixed together.fine

Zia:  (small chuckle slips out, bright red face and big smile trying to hold in the remaining laughter)

     Fortunately Bold & Beautiful got off at the next stop. 

     Guys, if you are trying to narrow down the number of fish in your pond, opening with, “Hello, I have a foot fetish,” should do the trick.

Letter to the Editor

Dear Match.com suitor,

     A little over a week ago I came across your profile and something intrigued me, so I winked at you.  That was me throwing the ball in your court.  You in turn, winked back.  Maybe it didn’t occur to you that a charades-formed conversation is not possible on match.com, seeing as winking is the only option.  I’ve been winking so much lately I’ve developed a tick.  Responding with an email would have been preferred.

     Since you half-assly threw the ball back in my court, it was up to me to send the first email.  Doing my research, I reread your profile.  I found it very interesting that you claim to be open-minded.  What was more interesting is that you’re open-minded with conditions.  There seems to be an amendment to your claim.  You are open-minded to women as long as they: don’t love drama, have psychological issues, or play games.  You then recommend they get off the site and see a shrink if they fall into any of those categories.  Very sound medical advice coming from someone with a BA in Journalism.  Why wouldn’t they listen to you?

     You earned a reprieve from these moronic comments because of your 6′ 5″ stature.  I find your freakish height a major turn-on. 

(Insert witty ice-breaking email here.) 

     Pleased that you responded to the email, but only in response to my sass.  There were no inquiries about me or any indication that you read my profile.  Therefore, I only responded back with one line since you did not seem very interested.  I am looking to be wooed.  You showed no attempts at woo-ment.

     Somehow though, your two-line email and my one-line response must have made you believe that this lady should be ga-ga for you, and you had the gall to send another email a couple of days later.  I was definitely able to see all that hard work you put into earning that BA in Journalism.  In its entirety (and I hope I’m not missing any words here), you wrote:  “Stimulating conversation…”

     Well, my dear, as I have (and others have) said before, “questions are the breath of a conversation.”  So ask me something.  Please refer to paragraph four – woo.  I’m sure wooing was covered somewhere in Journalism 201, The Seduction of Writing.  I’m guessing you failed that course.

     Sadly, I don’t see this relationship going anywhere and am moving on.

Sincerely uninterested,

Zia Zitella

Second Time Around…Maybe

     What if I have dated so many guys that I surpassed the one I was supposed to stop on?

     Had a dream the other night that the powers that be are now playing a cruel joke and tossing circus freaks in my direction.  Am I to spend every New Year’s alone because Mr. Perfect-For-Me got lost in the shuffle?

     Earlier this week a used-to-be contacted me out of the blue.  Got me thinking that, well, people get nervous and either tongue-tied or say stupid things on a first date/meet, and maybe he deserves a second chance.  I took this as a sign.  Either the powers that be are dangling Mr. Perfect-For-Me in front of my face or they are recycling a circus freak.

     We are supposed to go out this weekend.  I’ll get a chance to test out my theory.  But first…

Click a name for a quick refresher if you need it: Facebook Guy, Thumber, Private Dick, Sugardaddy

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