Posts Tagged ‘Love in 90 Days’

Set-ups

     A few weeks ago my coworker, and friend, a brainy beaut who’s a barrel of laughs and absolutely b-lightful (hereby known as B’liteful) had asked me if I would date an ex-marine.  If you’re a relatively new reader, then let me make you aware that I date all “makes & models.”  Although ex-military isn’t something I look for, I can roll with it.  A little further into her questioning, I discovered that a friend of hers, Miss Match-Up, has a guy friend that she wanted to set up.  Now, how many of you cringe at the words “set up?”  I know if it were a family member attempting such a feat, that is exactly what I’d be doing.  However, this idea doesn’t bother me so much.  I mean, if you think about it, who knows you better than your friends?  And as my years {…sigh…} of online dating has proven to be unsuccessful, I’m thinking set-ups are the wave of the future for me.  While I was doing my Love in 90 Days project, I read that Dr. D highly recommends it too.  So, why not?

     At first there was a brief email introduction by Miss Match-up.  I came across as a ants-in-her-pants granny.  (May have to rethink this friends setting me up thing…)  I received a text from B’liteful later double checking my email since she’ll be sending photos in a little bit.  Having never met him herself, she was curious what he looked like.  The subject line to her email was “Um, you’re welcome.”  He was cute enough from what I could see, his “resume” wasn’t too shabby either, and he had a pizzazz-y name.  It is pronounced as a well-known word from Star Wars.  For the sake of the blog, we’ll call him R2D2.  He was worth looking into.

     We began emailing that evening, and throughout the week.  It was a little unnerving at times when B’liteful would peek into my room the next day with elongated questions like, “Soooo?” or “Weeeeell?  It was a little odd having an audience on this one.  On the other hand, getting my own personal report card was kind of nice.  I’ll have you all know that I was reported as “charming,” “beautiful,” and Miss Match-Up said he was smitten by the week’s end.

     We had planned to finally meet, and go to dinner, on Saturday.  I was a bit fatigued from a long work week and having to work Saturday morning, but I managed to squeeze in a power-nap to get me through.  All day I had this gut feeling that I should text my friend to find out how tall he was.  It is true, I’m a sucker for tall guys, but this was more out of common courtesy.  I had planned on wearing my high-heeled boots and didn’t want to tower over him if he were short.  Never know when a short-man-complex is going to jump up on you.  In the end I didn’t text…and…should have gone with my gut.

     I arrived at my date having gone all out with hair and make-up to try to disguise the suitcases that were checked under my eyes.  In my knee-high, high-heeled boots, I walked across the street to greet him, and, after emailing all week, felt the meet deserved a hug-greeting.  However, I felt a boob to face greeting was a bit too much for a first meet. I know, I’m such a prude.

     We walked into the restaurant and were seated.  This is where the date was…well…wasn’t exactly great.   R2D2’s nerves may have gotten the best of him at times because he had this uncontrollable urge to continually ask me about my “favorites.”  “What’s your favorite movie?  What’s your favorite food?  What’s your favorite TV show?”  I asked about all the favorite questions and he snapped it was a first date and what was he supposed to ask.

Sidenote:  A)  Don’t snap at your date.  You’re asking boneheaded questions.  B)  Once I give you a TV show title, guess what?  Our conversation is over.  You’re asking one-word answer questions.  Go for open-ended questions.

     Anyhow, as the chatting continued, R2D2 continually reported how he was a disappointment to his parents, kept making bizarre and numerous comments about wanting to see Bring It On: The Musical, and other tidbits that only high-schoolers would/might find fun and entertaining.  Combined that with his height and I felt like I was on a date with a teenager.  In addition, when the server came to take our order and then recommended a different type of salad from the one R2D2 ordered, he pointed out how he was trying to up-sell him.  After causing the little scene, he ordered the more expensive one.  When the server came back to check on how it tasted compared to the original salad he had ordered, he confronted him by saying that he had never had the original salad here, so how would he know.  And then pushed the matter for a couple of minutes until I chimed in and said that it tasted basically the same, to which R2D2 called me a “peacemaker” when the server left.

Sidenote: C)  Complaining about the cost of dinner in front of your date…where does that sound like a good idea?  D)  It’s a common salad that you have probably had and some point in your life.  How does it compare to that?  Don’t pick a fight with the server just because.  And don’t be a douche.

     I knew reporting back was not going to be fun, so when I got a text from B’liteful asking how it went, I told her I’d tell her on Monday.  When Monday rolled around, I filled her in.  She later reported back that he thought that I didn’t really like him.  Hmm, I can’t imagine why.

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Pity Party

     The year has finally come to a close.  I took a little time to think back as to how my dating ventures went this past year and, well, let’s just say, I deserved the few days of bonbon-eating in my sweatpants with no make-up on that I indulged in this week.  Why, you ask?  Well, if you’ve been following my blog, then you probably have lost track, as I did, of how many different men I have physically and online dated.  My rough estimate is somewhere around fifty different men.

     While I was in the midst of my Love in 90 Days project, I read through a section of the book that talked about the ending of relationships, including those that we engage in online.  Those are like mini-relationships.  But even mini-relationships need some grieving when they come to an end, Dr. D pointed out.  I did not do this, however.  I just hopped from one to the other.  Occasionally I had a drought but was always preoccupied with other things.  I noticed that for the past couple of weeks that I have been completely drained.  To add icing on the cake, both sisters got engaged the week of Christmas.  Yes, that’s right, BOTH.  Talk about a sucker punch to the gut.  This isn’t their first engagements either.  With no engagements under my belt, I really stick out like a soar thumb.  My greatest horror is attending these weddings where I am bound to get the questions all singles love to get, like, “Why aren’t you married yet?”  “When are you going to settle down?”  “Haven’t you found someone yet?” or my personal favorite, “What’s wrong with you?”  Cause, yeah, I’m broken.  To remedy that, I’ve already decided to answer all of their questions with questions.  So when someone has the gall to ask, “When are you going to take the plunge?”  I’ll respond with: “When are you going to lose that weight the doctor recommended?”  “What day are those AA meetings held?  You should check them out.”  “Have planned your funeral yet?  I need to ask off for work.  I would want to miss that.”  But I digress…

Back to my mini-break-ups.  Let’s do the math:

If you begin talking to someone online, you email a few times, and depending on how often either of you check your email, that may come out to about a week or two of getting to know each other. 

Then you may talk on the phone once or twice and set up and go on a first meet.  That’s roughly a week.

If all goes well, you schedule another date.  And with work and scheduling that date usually happens the following week.

Second, third dates, and so on, add on additional weeks.

Okay, so on average most guys made it three weeks, some four, and about two this year made it to six weeks.  Mind you, many of these guys were overlapping in time frame.

So that’s 2 x 6 weeks + about 10 x 4 weeks + about 35 x 3 weeks = around 157 weeks.  That’s like ending a three-year relationship!  Holy crap, no wonder I feel like something my cat puked up.  

     I reserve the right to continue with my pity party for the remainder of the day.  I have decided I will no longer be glum starting around…ah…let’s say dinner time.  I am going to ring in the New Year with a clean slate and with the one relationship that did work out this year…

     Happy New Year and see you all in 2011.

Final Report Card

     I have completed my Love in 90 Days journey.  Dr. D gives us a checklist in the last chapter to recap on our progress.  Here are my answers to the questions she asks.

1)     Are you putting out feminine “go” signals?  Do you dress or act in a more attractive way?

I have bought a lot more deep-V dresses and shirts so the mangoes are on parade more often, still not completely comfortable flaunting them about.  My “go” signal skills may need a little work.  Drunks and Crazies still flock to me like white on rice so I’m apparently sending out a “go” holler.  Need to tweak this a bit.

2)     Has the number of e-mail and phone interactions with potential dates increased since the beginning of the Program?

Define “potential.”  If they are not putting me to sleep or calling to complain about their ex or the online dating site then they are sending me gem emails like the one I received last weekend.

      “Hay, you seam cool…”

3)     Has the number of actual dates each week increased?

Nope.  Hit or miss here.  Dr. D has made me stamp out the DUDs (aka Definitely Unworkable Dudes) right away.  I meet a lot of DUDs.

4)     Are you dating better-quality men?

See answer to question 2.  If they make it through the email/phone process then yes, they are better quality.  Now I just need to work on quality with pizzazz and find the STUDs (aka Seriously Terrific, Utterly Devoted Dudes) Dr. D believes I can find.

5)     How have your dating habits changed?

I leave the house.  That’s a lot of work for someone who likes to play hermit.

6)     Which Deadly Dating Patterns have you broken out through?

Just Buddies – I make more of an effort to put on make-up, perfume, and well…waxing.  (If they only knew)

Hermit – Dying to be one again!  Think it’s possible to find a guy that doesn’t mind if I stay home and cook while watching football?  I would think that’d be a dream for most men but all the men I find don’t like sports.  I’m flabbergasted.

7)     Are you looking for something different in a relationship now?

I’m not looking for something different in the relationship per se, but the courtship yes.  Dr. D points out that we should all be pursued, shown that we are wanted.  Hence my recent desire to want to be wooed.  Never thought about it before and as Dr. D so strongly points out – I’m worth it!

     Needless to say, I did not find love within a ninety day time frame.  I have not been consistently working my Program of Three due to lack of STUDs.  Nonetheless, I will soldier on.  Dr. D had some good tips and pointers that I will carry with me as my hunt for eligible STUDs continues. 

Though, as one countdown ends, another begins…106 days until New Year’s Eve.

My Southern Charm

     As my ninety days come to a close, what better way to finish up my Love in 90 Days project than at the hub of new love and commitment – a wedding.  So I packed my bags, hopped on a plane and headed out to Washington D.C. this weekend for a college friend’s wedding.  And since flying ain’t what it use to be, I crammed everything into a carry-on bag and a purse to avoid paying that annoying $25 checked baggage fee.  Doing this also meant foregoing a razor.  Simple fix though, made an appointment with my girl, Lily, for a waxing. 

     I have been going to Lily for years.  She’s the one to make an appointment with if you are pressed for time.  She’s pretty speedy and yet still thorough. 

     I arrive at my appointment.  Underarm – done.  Bottom half of legs – done.  Thighs – done.  Moving onto the bikini area…I have no aspiration of being a swimsuit model so I just get the basic.  Slight rotation of my right leg and a little shifting of my underwear – nothing unusual so far.  She begins waxing and then I feel her shift my underwear a bit more.  Then suddenly I feel wax go where I have never felt wax go before.  My mind starts racing:  Did she mean to do that?  I just wanted a basic, she knows that.  Oh, f%$#, this is gonna hurt.  Lily bends my leg even more, gets in position – YANK!  I flew about five feet off the table.  To relieve the pain she applied pressure, looked over her shoulder at me and gave an animated smiley face.  All I could mouth was, “I’m okay.”

     She continued waxing my right side and my mind continued racing:  Crap, there’s another side to do!  If she doesn’t do it, it’ll be uneven.  Oh God, is this my Sex in the City moment where I end up with a surprise Brazilian treatment?

     She switches to my left side.  Starts out normal, like the other side did.  Then another shift in underwear and now I’m laying with my legs flopped on the table like a frog in seventh grade biology class about to meet his maker.  More wax placed in unmentionable places.  Lily gets in position and I tense up just knowing what’s coming and then – “Holy Mary Mother of &$%!  Another five foot jump off the table, applied pressure and an animated smiley face that I think she thought was somehow soothing – not so much. 

     As I’m laying there while she is finishing up my front, my mind starts racing again:  What can she damage on my backside?  Did she actually damage anything from this side?  If Tenacious Ken lived closer I’d probably utilize his area of self-proclaimed expertise and have him take a look to make sure everything is still looking ok and in working order.  (For those of you who don’t know much about Tenacious Ken, click here and find out why here popped into my head.)

     Lily then pipes up, and in broken English says something along the lines of weekend and they won’t find hair.  I hope she realizes I’m attending the wedding, not entertaining at the bachelor party.  I pieced it all together and basically my girl Lily is preparing me to “get lucky” this weekend and wants everything to be presentable.  (Jeez, I hope my dad is not reading this post right now.)  She didn’t go Brazilian, but she was nearly there.  We will just call it Costa Rican.

     I flipped over and everything went as it normally does.  Until I felt my underwear shift again.  Apparently Lily wanted to get the butt cheeks too.  (Tenacious Ken again popped into my head.)  She was an artist at work.

     I got home slightly traumatized, afraid to look and so exhausted I went straight to bed.  The next morning, while in the shower I was washing away some wax residue and – whoa, that area has never been smooth before.  Got out of the shower caught a glimpse in the mirror.  It’s not even a landing strip.  It’s more of a parking space.

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…

    

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