Posts Tagged ‘Matchmakers’

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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Back on Track

     I had previously mentioned how I was going through a drought, and then last week had two dates and then another last night.

     The date from last Friday was a result from my latest Speed Dating adventure.  Nothing really to report.  There was nothing bad about the date, nothing wrong with the guy, it just…wasn’t there.  No spark, no pizzazz, it just fell short.  I know a date is going down hill if as he’s talking I start envisioning who of my friends I’d like to set him up with.  Meaning, I like the guy, just not for me.

     Speaking of setting up, that takes me to last Thursday’s date.  As some of you are aware, my esthetician, Lulu, and I have a bond, could be partly because she has been all up in my lady business for years.  She has recently decided and taken it upon herself to try to set me up.  I’ll need to back up a little for this one.

     Several months ago, while laying on her table, she began yakking away about my singleness, dating, yada yada.  She began telling a story about setting someone up with someone’s brother and having the phone number.  She then picked up a tissue box and showed me a woman’s phone number written on the bottom.  I gathered she was setting this woman up.  As the story went on, in all her immigrant Vietnamese-ness, I realized, “Oh, she wants to set me up with that woman’s brother.”  The fact that he lives in San Fran and I’m in LA, didn’t seem to faze her.  When I left, Subtle-T was there for her appointment, and I asked her to find out if what I was listening to was correct.  Here’s the thing, Subtle-T is married, and therefore, does not receive these lectures.  They talk about food, and, as I later found out, me.

     Fast forward a bit and Subtle-T receives a phone call from Lulu with a phone number of a different guy.  Lulu had decided that it was up to Subtle-T to call, not me.  A few days later, Subtle-T received a voicemail from Lulu, and rather than call me, she called Suzie Q and told her about the message.  “I have another number.”  The two of them were finding this very amusing.

     I talked to one guy, kind of boring, didn’t really like him, and Lulu was crushed by this.  I found out later that he had just started talking to his ex-girlfriend again and took my call out of obligation.  Fine with me, I was doing the same thing.  I have been informed by Lulu that the man in San Fran has been contacted now.  I don’t know by whom, but I’m sure I’ll get an update on my next appointment.  During my last appointment, she decided to cut out the middle man and gave me the third guy’s phone number.  She insisted I text him, not call, because when you call and don’t know him, you have nothing to say.  The only things I knew about him is that he is Italian and goes there to get his back waxed.  Hey, the way I see it, he knows the problem and he’s taking care of it.  Lulu tends to go on about Italians being hairy and I was doubting she was painting a pretty picture of me, since she had told him I was Italian.  It was during one of those rants that I was about to chime in and she stopped me before I finished and said, “Oh, I tol’ him.  For an Italian, you not so hairy.”  Great.  So, I went home and texted him.  He replied back.

Client #3:  Hi Zia, yeah Lulu did mention your name.  I’m kind of embarrassed to admit I know Lulu, but that’s a different story.

Zia’s Thoughts:  Buddy, you’d be more embarrassed if you knew I knew why you know Lulu.  Nothing is sacred on that table.

Zia’s Text:  She makes herself known when she walks into a room.

Client #3:  I guess she also enjoys playing matchmaker, huh?  …So do you we should test Lulu’s skills and meet up for lunch sometime?

Zia’s Text:  I feel we have to go to lunch for our own safety if nothing else.  Don’t want to upset the woman who holds tweezers and hot wax.  I could walk out with one eyebrow next time.

Client #3:  I agree, let’s keep here happy for our sake.

     We met for lunch, and let me just say, he is a very pretty, pretty man.  Little thin for my taste, but good-looking.  Again, no spark, no flare, but no red flags either.  Just a nice guy that I’ll probably never see again.  Well, unless Lulu has other plans.

What a Cutie

A little birdy told me, that someone thinks I’m cute. 

This little birdy is none other than my landlady/roommate.  I may have mentioned her briefly before but let me paint a clearer picture for you.  She is a larger than life, robust woman, pushing 70, whom I adore.  She loves all and wants everyone to be in love too.  She can’t make a decision to save her life.  She has a zest for life and sees only bubblegum and daffodils.  And has unsuccessfully been trying to marry me off since she has met me.

She has recently taken on the project of redoing the kitchen.  After seven plus years of picking out tile, cabinets, wood floors, back splash,… oh, no tile again, maybe granite, (you get the idea), she has finally taken the plunge into the remodel.  I saw this as a good opportunity for me – no need to go out looking for men; they will be coming to me in droves for the next few weeks.

Although I have been checking out the merchandise, the window displays have not drawn me in. 

When I got home from work yesterday, there was a room full of workers.  However, there were way too many for me to check out without be caught red-handed doing so.  I was going for subtlety, so I just grabbed some lunch from the fridge, checked out the one standing by the fridge and then went upstairs.  Like I said, nothing has really drawn me in.

After they had all left, my landlady was sitting back admiring her decision making ability, and yeah, the work the guys did.  Then she said to me, “someone thinks you’re cute.”  I was a bit baffled by the statement at first and couldn’t imagine whom she was referring to.  Then when she told me it was one of the guys here the lightbulb went on.  I knew I was scoping them out but I didn’t think twice that they might be scoping me out.

At this point my landlady’s mischievous Cheshire Cat grin appeared and I saw that glazed look in her eyes.  She was preparing to play matchmaker.  Now mind you I adore her, but her past matchmaking ability extended to, “You’re single, she’s single.  Now get married and have babies.”  I didn’t think much thought or consideration went into any of it.  But, she proved me wrong today and put her two cents in. 

Her prior knowledge of him before this conversation, was that he was the contractor’s younger brother and he’s originally from Lebanon.  I was not there for the actual conversation between the two, but I imagine it went something like this:

Younger Brother: I think she’s cute.

Landlady: Go talk to her.  She’s nice.

Younger Brother: I can’t.  I get very nervous.  I’m too shy.

Landlady: (Eyeing him up and down and noticing his braces).  She’s friendly.

Younger Brother: (Seeing that she saw the braces.) I get them off in two months.

Landlady: Two months, huh?  How old are you?

Younger Brother: Blah blah.  (I do not have this coveted information.  She said he was younger than me so she wasn’t going to tell me.  Meanwhile, I already know he has braces and now that he’s younger, I’m thinking jailbait.)

Landlady: (Doing some calculating) Hmm. . . tell you what . . . shave . . . put on a nice shirt . . . and come back in two months.

My her demands are getting high.  Now, not only do they have to be single, but men need to have a clean shirt and face and straight teeth.  She better be careful, if that list gets too long some people might start calling her “picky.”

So what do you think, wait out two months for the mystery braceless-face?  Or schedule to be home on his next visit and get hold of the braces now?