Elvis #1 - We Meet

March 31st, 2013

Hey, hello, it's been awhile.  I know we all want to know what happens with Mr. Too Cool (it wasn't pretty) and the next 50, yes 50, blind dates that followed.  But first I would like catch you up to speed with the most recent events in what some may call my love life.  After apparently spending/wasting most of my time "dating" in Los Angeles, my career wasn't really going where it should have been (is anyone surprised?) and in an attempt to re-start the engine that is me, I threw caution to the wind and moved to Las Vegas.  Looking back at my first entries almost 4 years ago, I realize my crazy is really starting to surface now.  Great news for you.  

In town only a few weeks and not knowing a soul, I attend a music festival and proceed to forgo sleep for about 48 hours, dancing and carousing about.  I really like to jump right in.  About 8:00 am on a Sunday morning, I'm still going strong, looking for fun and wander into a hotel diner dressed in my vintage best (hair a bit disheveled, but happy nonetheless).  I order vodka with my omelette.  I scan the restaurant and see a well-known musician friend, run right over to interrupt his table and insist on showing him photos of God knows what.  As I make myself comfortable, he seems completely fascinated by whatever non-sense is coming out of my mouth (I later learn he's just high which I often confuse for fascination) and turn my head to finally take in the other occupants of the table.  There he is.  The Guy.  You know how you'll never forget the look on a person's face during those handful of pertinent life moments?  This is one of those forever cemented memories as it is the beginning of one of the more dramatically intense and ridiculous relationships I've ever had.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He looks EXACTLY like Paul Land in Idolmaker.  Tan linen suit jacket slung over his chair, bowtie undone around his neck, dress shirt sleeves rolled up.  His black hair had clearly seen pompadour status hours prior, but now curls were beginning to re-form.  Blue eyes for days.  

He broods over his steak and eggs, and raises his eyes to look at me.  I'm sure he saw/heard me prior to this, but I was so focused on Instagram and future karaoke plans with my friend that it could have been the President himself across the table and what would I know.  Feeling completely sassy and overly-confident (I was probably ovulating), I don't bother to ask his name but say, "Listen Lashes, why don't you put down your fork and participate in the conversation?"  He's clearly irritated and I decide it's funny (here we go) and egg him on.  "How old are you?  What are you 21?"  He huffs a bit, pulls out his wallet and proceeds to throw his license at me (which, by the way, may be suspended right now because of me...).  I decide I'm in love.  Yes, the hint of violence and a bad attitude are really (sadly?) aphrodisiac status for me.  It's all primitive, I really can't even help it at this point.  I scan his license and retain as much information as possible, extremely important as I later learn he tends to lie (beginning by adding an inch on to his height).

Music was the topic of conversation at this table and I loudly recount my childhood Elvis infatuation and the tired tale of thinking I sound just like him.  Someone should have taken my drink away at this point.  "What are you, some sort of performer?"  I throw out at The Guy to counter his disapproving, but semi-interested look.  "I'm headlining a show here.  I'm Elvis." Just like that he becomes Elvis #1, and you are correct in noting that probably means there are more to follow.  Because there are.  Perhaps the fact that he referred to himself as "Elvis" and not an ETA or impersonator, or any of that other malarkey should have clued me in to deeper issues here, but alas, the heart wants what the heart wants.  I can't decide if this is cliche or just insane.  He offers tickets to see his show, and since I'm the cheapest person I know (I will never turn down free), it is most definite that I will take him up on this offer.  Before leaving, I hand him over some Lactaid trash (yep) for him to write his number on the back of.  Giddy with excitement, I scoot off to phone a friend and tell her how I've met my "next husband."

Re-Cap:  Like a page out of a Lifetime movie treatment, it's a train wreck you can't stop watching.

Mr. Too Cool - Date 2 of 4

February 25th, 2010  

Mr. Too Cool did manage to disappoint me in the days following our first date.  How?  Well, we talked casually of going to the drive-in (my idea) during our previous encounter and a few texts were exchanged leading me to believe that the following Tuesday would be the night for our car-date extravaganza.  Nursing a cut on my hand from a broken jar of sun dried tomatoes (resulting from my over-zealous attempt at making us a picnic), I read his text sent at 9:25 pm that Tuesday night, "Don't think I can make it tonight."  I do realize I jumped the gun a bit.  Needless to say, I was sad and ate the meal myself, hand bleeding.

Despite this debacle, we managed to make (real) plans for a date the following Thursday night.  We settled on a dark, divey bar near his house.  I arrive before him and grab a booth.  He walks in wearing a worn-in leather jacket, nods at me, and orders himself a bourbon, me a gin and tonic before joining me in the booth.  He appears sullen, moody.  Instead of being put off by this, I'm intrigued.  I love a good challenge and decide I have the power to charm him out of his stupid mood.  Who knows what I even say, but I get a smile out of him.  He says, "Let's blow this joint."  Love. 

We're both hungry so he decides we should buy some food and cook it at his house.  I follow him to the grocery store and he starts to cheer up as we saunter up and down the aisles of Ralph's, deciding on kabobs and s'mores.  I'm excited.  I get to see his house, which I learn he owns.  He owns property.  I like it.  I used to own property...ah, the salad days.  Anyway, we tailgate back to his house and he opens a rather large wooden gate behind which is a dark lawn and a very large two story, pre-WWII house.  It's rough inside, but clean.  He has a tenant renting a room upstairs.  All I can assume is that he's some sort of amazing artist if he can afford to own this.

He makes us drinks in the kitchen as I unpack the groceries.  He opens his refrigerator and I look twice.  It's filled almost entirely with coconuts.  Yeah.  "Coconut water is really good for you.  I have a coconut every day."  He's a mad genius, clearly.  Still confused by the sight of 18 coconuts, he opens the freezer for some reason and again, I'm in shock.  It's filled completely with weed.  Bags and bags of pot.  "My friends know I bake so they always bring me weed to turn into butter.  I don't smoke it."  WHAT.  I don't know what to do except smile and stare in wonder.  Of course, I decide to focus on the fact that he bakes.  Renaissance Man.  I try to help, but he doesn't let me touch the kabobs as he prepares them.  We head into the backyard which is tri-level and extremely dark except for a few of his "art" pieces that emit different colored light.  It's sort of a creepy Disneyland vibe.  Again, I'm intrigued.  He lights a few logs in the fire pit and I give him side eye as his attempts to cook them.  "Are you sure you can see when they're done?"  He scoffs, "Yeah, I know what I'm doing."  Okayyyyyyy.  We start laughing and having a good time and he finally decides that the kabobs are done.  We walk into the kitchen and I'm secretly happy that they are charred black.  He was wrong.  I don't dare say anything.  He laughs it off.

We move forward with s'mores and have a cute moment outside where the melted marshmallow got on my face (well, I thought it was cute at the time) and I was convinced he was going to kiss me.  He doesn't.  Our epic date continues with a movie in his bedroom.  Several things here:  First, I think it's weird that he has a big screen tv in his tiny bedroom.  Second, we don't pick a new movie to start watching together, but he insists we continue watching There Will Be Blood from the point he left off on it earlier in the day.  Selfish.  My quest for love overpowers my better sense (that he's obviously a weird liar) and I decide I'm not offended by any of his misogynist moves from the evening.  At this point it's 1:10 am and I'm completely confused and offended that he hasn't tried to kiss me yet.  WHAT IS THE PROBLEM.  Finally, he looks over at me and says, "You better kiss me already" as he leans in.  I have mixed feelings about this.  I'm glad he finally goes in for the kill, but don't quite understand how he manages to take control and blame me for not doing so.  We make out for a bit before I decide it's time to head home.  He doesn't walk me to my car.

Date #35: I really should have seen where this was heading.  Alas, two more dates follow.

Doubleheader Part 2: Mr. Too Cool - Date 1 of 4

February 19th, 2010

This was one of those magical dates that appeared out of nowhere.  By that I mean I had zero expectation and only a hint of interest during my ritual hair-curling/makeup applying preparatory stage and was more than pleasantly surprised by the date's end.  Earlier in the week I had a little back and forth with Mr. Too Cool and we set a date for Friday night.  Typically, I never allow men to pick me up at my apartment (save for Mr. Careful & Mr. Average), but something about his attitude made me gung-ho for it.  With a ribbon in my hair and my mustard yellow coat on, I descend my stairs at his beckoning text.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  Wow.  All I see is a loud, black, '65 Mustang.  Did I mention I LOVE old cars?  I get in and see he's wearing a grey pullover sweater and slacks, has a mass of thick, wavy black hair and big, dreamy eyes.  Let's do this.

Thus begins what I would say is my favorite date this far and since then.  Major cool points for the car, I'm sure he knows that.  We make some small talk and he tells me that he was thinking we should get a drink first.  First?  There's a plan?  Yay!  I do not mind one bit that he completely takes control of the situation, doesn't ask my opinion, and drives straight to a cozy dive bar I've only been to once.  We walk in and before taking seats at the bar, he picks a few songs on the jukebox.  He asks what I want to drink and then orders it for me (I don't know why more men don't do this) in Spanish.  I know, this has caused quite a ruckus with friends when I tell them I'm impressed that he orders in another language.  Yes, we're in Southern California and most people speak Spanish, but I don't (and really don't have a desire to learn it).  He could have been speaking Russian, the language isn't the point, it's that he's exuding such a cosmopolitan streak.  You can stop laughing, I'm serious!

Over drinks he tells me he was a child rap star (I know), he's close with his mother and 14 year old sister, and he makes a living as an artist/sculptor (like for Disney and other huge clients).  He pays for our drinks and drives us to a new restaurant downtown.  Again, he speaks Spanish to the valet guy, impressing me enough to ignore a couple of distorted Barbie heads in his car (leftovers from some art project).  Whatever, I'm into him and little eccentricities at this point are more fuel for the fire.  Before walking into the restaurant, he pauses in the entryway to point out a chandelier made of tequila bottles.  That he made.  This guy really knows how to lay it on thick and I'm the perfect victim for this crap.  We order, excuse me, HE orders us fancy cocktails and a few appetizers.  I giggle too much. 

He pays the bill and my suggestion of pie brings us to my favorite neighborhood diner.  He orders coffee and watches me eat a gourmet pop tart.  I speak of girlish nonsense and he watches me, amused.  I brush aside the thought that perhaps he has had this exact date many, many times before.  I chalk the smoothness up to fate and personality.  He pays for the third time and I'm hooked.  He plays a particularly pretty song on his IPod as he drives me home.  No kiss, but I'm not bothered since I have the faint notion that I will see him again. 

Date # 34:  He's arrogant, assuming, and dominant.  I really like him.

Doubleheader Part 1: Mr. Paranoid

February 19th, 2010

I was pulled into a date with Mr. Paranoid by his rather noir profile photo and my inner insistence that he wears ties and sports coats on a regular basis.  It's true, I have yet to learn the lesson of only one photo.  I really can't blame myself, I'm certainly not going to squash the unfounded feelings of hope and possibility that I still harbor, however stupid.  And dangerous.  Dude suggests tea, I sigh (mostly from boredom), and agree.  We settle on a sidewalk cafe in my neighborhood, one that I have yet to bring a date to. 

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He has a smush face.  He's tall, but disappoints me with a casual polo and jeans.  He looks older and less handsome than his (one) photo let on, but that's nothing a charming personality can't turn around.  Turns out he doesn't have that either.

No stranger to misleading photos, I shake it off and have a seat with him outside.  We order tea and he eats more than one pastry.  It doesn't take me long to discover he's a slow talker.  I HATE slow talkers.  Seriously, just spit it out already, I honestly don't even care what you're saying anyway.  Is the small talk of a first date ever really that great?  Turns out he's talking about me.  He's very interested in my style.  And not in a flattering way, but more of a curious whydoyoudresslikethat way.  I really don't know how to answer his questions, so I end up talking about Elvis and how I thought I sounded just like him for a good portion of my youth.  I don't think he's impressed.

He shifts often and gives the impression of being very uncomfortable at this point.  He keeps looking away and I finally follow his gaze to find out what the hell is so interesting.  He's completely pre-occupied with a woman across the street (not attractive by any means) who is busy taking pictures of the cafe we're sitting at.  He proceeds to make a really big deal about this.  He starts cussing and telling me how she should have a permit if she's taking pictures of strangers and how what she's doing is illegal. 

I decide he's weird and ignore his paranoia by steering the conversation in another direction.  Does he have pets?  No, he doesn't.  I don't either and I tell him that I'm hesitant to have a dog because I know it's going to die before me and why would I nurture and love something that I know I will have to witness die?  I know!  I realize what a bummersville I sound like before finishing my sentence.  However, he not only heartily agrees with this (the first thing we've bonded over), but claims that is the very reason he's never been in a serious relationship.  According to him, all relationships are going to end, so why be in a serious one.  Um.  Yeah.  That's when I decide that along with religion and politics, dogs are never again to be mentioned as first date banter.

Date #33: Friendly reminder to screen better.

Mr. Pretty Alright

February 10th, 2010

Pulled back into the nocturnal world, I had another date set with a rather tall gentleman (6'3 is plain ridiculous next to my 4'10 frame) a few days after my recent Doubleheader.  After doing a re-run of this date in my head, I'm not sure I have any justification for his name.  He was anything but "Alright."  I decide that I've spent enough time away from one of my favorite neighborhood haunts for the bartender to forget about my string of five dates in one week - all with different men - so that's where we planned to meet.  I arrive a little early and text him that I'll meet him outside (this isn't my first rodeo, helloooooo).  While standing outside of the bar, putting my hands in and out of my coat pockets (it's times like these that I consider picking up smoking), I overhear the two girls next to me talking about how one of them is meeting a date inside the bar.  I can't help but join in their conversation and let them know that I, too, am waiting for a blind date.  I then look over my shoulder, making sure a 6'3 man isn't anywhere in sight, and proceed to carefully pull out a business card to hand them.  This particular card has a pin-up girl kicking her legs up and says "For a good time..." and on the flip side my dating blog address.  The girls are in love with this idea and begin to list off all of their recent dates and giggle like it's 3rd grade all over again.  They head inside and are excited to see how this date transpires for me.  I promise to divulge if we happen to meet in the ladies.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He's extremely tall, but I knew he would be.  The fact that he's lanky stretches his 6'3 to 7'2 in my mind.  Whatevs.  He's cute, although his clothes have a hint of Burning Man or bedroom floor.  I ignore it.

We take our seats at the bar and start in with small chit chat.  He talks A LOT about himself, but after 30 blind dates I'm usually expecting this.  He works in television production, doing what, I don't know.  Gosh, for going on so many dates I think I've developed a bad habit of not listening.  It was inevitable.  Things are going along smoothly when he decides he needs to have a cigarette outside.  I stay inside to save our seats.  Before I know it I'm sitting alone at the bar feeling awkward.  After a few minutes he returns and we again settle in to chatting.  He tells me he has a dream catcher tattoo on his back.  I put that in my back pocket to ponder over with my friends later (does this cover his entire back?  Wouldn't this look stupid in any size?  Why did he bring this up out of nowhere?).  Dream catcher comment tucked away, I decide I will let him kiss me.  He has a nonchalance about him that I'm attracted to for whatever reason.  Okay, well that reason is that I'm super competitive and love a good challenge.  Oh, you don't seem to like me much?  Perfect!  Yeah, it's really like that.  I'm working on it.  Anywho, he decides he needs to smoke again.  This time I go outside with him because why he is leaving me inside?  He takes a phone call while we're outside.  Okay.  I would just like to say that he ended up going outside to smoke another two times.  UNBELIEVABLE.  So RUDE.  Who ever told him that going out for four smoke breaks during a date was acceptable behavior?  Clearly someone that grew up in the woods.  My annoyance with him threatens to destroy the attraction.  The date ends with a hug.  

I'm still irritated with his behavior several days later, but am excited when he texts me to ask for another date.  Here's where things got weird.  He suggests "that sushi place by your house."  Strange, he doesn't know where I live.  I shrug and confirm the date.  Then receive another text cancelling the date because he's within the last hour really "busy with work for the next five days and won't be able to get away."  He realized he had texted the wrong girl.  Schmuck.

Date # 32.  Who cares?  He had a dream catcher tattoo for crying out loud.

Doubleheader Part 2: Mr. Stripper

February 4th, 2010

So, I really swore I would never do this again, but it happened.  On accident.  While a lot of people don't quite understand how someone can go on yet ANOTHER date higher than a kite, let me tell you that it was certainly not intentional.  Anyway, I had been emailing back and forth with some guy whose two photos presented him as cute. After a string of less than stellar day dates with feminine, spacey, exaggerating boys, I had another bite of the freezer pot cookie.  That's not a metaphor, by the way.  Settling in for what I assumed would be a sleepy night after meeting with Mr. Alabama, I received a text from Mr. Stripper.  And here is where history repeats itself.  Feeling all too agreeable, I say, "Suuuurrreeee" when he asks about hanging out tonight.  Considering the state I'm in, I suggest the diner down the street from me.  Again.  What?  Pie always sounds good, pot cookie or not.  And another Doubleheader is born.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  Again, he's shorter than I expected.  This is really my fault for having no depth perception or sense of space.  His profile clearly states his height, but it's all Greek to me.  His face is somehow flatter than I prefer and he likes to turn it away and then direct his eyes in my direction.  Weird.  He's wearing a polo shirt and skinny jeans.

Luckily for me, the bite I took of the infamous freezer cookie was not as big as it was on my date with Mr. Asshole.  I'm spacey, but aware.  We order dessert and start to chat.  I begin to see him as cute.  He is three days into living in LA and proceeds to tell me the story of his cross-country road trip (another transplant from the East).  I'm fine with this since I really don't feel like talking much.  Then he tells me he stopped at a strip club with his friends.  Okay, sure.  You're a guy in your late 20s, on a trip with your buds.  I guess it's expected.  He continues to talk, they say this, they say that.  Then they stopped at another strip club.  Um.  Why is he telling me this?  I continue to eat my apple pie and wonder where this is going.  My silence to him translates into approval and interest, so he continues.  They stop at the Grand Canyon and apparently there's a "hot Italian chick" that they want to take a picture with.  This stirs more confusion in me than it does disgust, but that soon follows.  You know, I'm sure you think a lot of chicks are hot, but exactly what sort of reaction are you hoping to get from a girl you are just meeting for the first time, sitting quietly eating her apple pie?  Yes, I may be secretly high, but that's just a fluke.  I'm sweet, damn it!  I look at him out of the corner of my eye, pretty pleased with himself, and take another bite.  The tale ends with one last trip to a strip club because, you know, it was his friend's birthday.  This was all within a few days.  Before the Grand Canyon, I consider the possibility that my date has a classic case of word vomit.  By the end of his trip, I decide he's just an idiot.  There is no future with Mr. Stripper.

Date # 31: He paid, so not a total loss.  But, in the grand scheme of things, actually a total loss.

Doubleheader Part 1: Mr. Alabama - The Real Date

February 4th, 2010

Goodness only knows why I would agree to meet this guy after he wandered up and down my street looking for a restaurant with the street's name.  Idiot.  He already reminded me of one of my incompetent interns.  I guess I was determined to get what was bound to be an unsuccessful date out of the way once and for all.  With an attitude like that, he didn't have a chance.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  After expecting Mick Jagger's second cousin, this is quite the let-down.  Tall and lean, that's fine. Longish hair, not really my thing, but okay.  Goofy, bright-eyed face?  NO.

We sit down and I order the usual granola parfait for this day time date and he doesn't pay, just gazes on with a general look of idiocy.  Who are these wimps?  I mean really?  What is this ridiculously clueless generation of pansies that have the audacity to go on a dating site with no intention to pay for anything, only looking for "liberated" young girls with low self-esteem who pay for their own drinks and begrudgingly sleep with these losers?!  Okay, okay.  I'm all worked up now.  Not my bag, but I can't really expect everyone to hold the same views that I do.  These guys wouldn't act like this if there weren't American Apparel-wearing girls out there giving them the go-ahead, but if you want to entertain these skinny boys (that aren't really even good-looking, mind you), then go right ahead!

I continue to sit in silence as Mr. Alabama tells tales in his southern twang which, incidentally, quickly loses its charm.  He makes money by doing "performance art," sometimes dressing up as a dragon at children's parties.  So that's what they're calling that now?  Sure, if it makes you feel better.  Then he takes an unexpected turn in the conversation after finding out I work in events and makes a hard pitch for me to refer him to my clients.  Made you re-think not paying for my parfait now, doesn't it buddy?  Too late.  I've lost all interest.  Not to mention that watching him describe the dragon costume with his long, feminine fingers moving this way and that dropped what was left of any attraction to a firm zero.  A limp hug goodbye and a slow trudge home to write in my diary.

Date #30:  Made my left arm hurt.  Pent up anger?  Probably.

Mr. Ditzy

February 3rd, 2010

This date was stupid, so I'm not really going to spend much time on it, only to say that it was dumb and I would very much like to move on to the more exciting and simultaneously disappointing dates that come after this.

Still on my day-date kick, I schedule a time to meet Mr. Ditzy for iced tea, still annoyed at the debacle resulting from Mr. Alabama's confusion.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He's slight in build.  Too slight.  His eyes are different colors, which I guess would normally make me think he was magical if I was even remotely attracted to him.

We chit chat about I don't know what and the words leave his mouth slower than I've ever heard before.  I get the impression that he's a bit dumb, but I can't decide if that's because of his dilly dallying speech or his way-off comments.  We then come to the conclusion that it's a good idea to take a walk.  Sure, why not?  I have nothing else to do.  We walk past a church and have a religious conversation, more nostalgic of childhood than anything else, touching on his stint as an altar boy (much better than any conversation with Mr. Atheist though).  

We then pass by a bookstore where Greenpeace volunteers are standing outside looking for new recruits.  I continue walking past them, just smiling slightly so as not to seem rude.  After completely passing the bookstore, I realize I'm walking alone.  I look back and see that Mr. Ditzy is engaging the volunteers in conversation.  Not only that, but they succeed in signing him up for Greenpeace.  Really?  Does he have absolutely no direction or plans in his life that he just joins whatever organization happens to be hovering over the local bookstore?  Yep, that appears to be exactly what is happening.

Date #29: Greenpeace can have him!

Mr. Alabama

January 31st, 2010

While setting up dates with Mr. Desperate and Mr. Short, I also scheduled an afternoon meeting (don't worry, my much more interesting and dangerous evening dates are coming back in a few posts) for a few days later with Mr. Alabama.  I notice Mr. Alabama's photos and think he looks like a cowboy in some pictures (he's literally wearing 1890s cowboy attire) and Mick Jagger in others.  That certainly piqued my interest.  He had just moved to LA from The Bible Belt a few months before and isn't really familiar with the area, BUT he has a car.  I suggest the same cafe around the corner from me that I met Mr. Desperate at and he agrees to meet me at 4:00 pm.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He's super late.  It's 4:15 pm and he's still not here.  

I text him to let him know that I'm sitting outside.  No response.  At 4:30 pm, I text, "So, I guess we're not meeting then?!  Thanks for letting me know.  So rude."  Yet again, no response.  I leave and march straight back to my apartment to write him a scathing email, putting my sunglasses on to avoid the stares that come with being stood up.  I sign into the dating site only to find an email from him.  Turns out he spent half an hour walking up and down the street, let's just call it Main Street, looking for a restaurant called "Main Street."  Okay, so he's a little retarded.  It gets worse.  He mentions that he didn't have my phone number otherwise he would have texted or called me to say he was lost.  Wait.  What?  I thought perhaps this was another sign of his retardation and searched through our previous correspondence only to find that we DID NOT exchange phone numbers.  I start to panic.  Who was I texting???  I look again at my phone and it clicks.  I was texting Mr. Cutie!  He doesn't even have the same name as Mr. Alabama so there was no good reason for me to do this.  Okay, so I'M a little bit retarded.  And really embarrassed.  Of all people, I really had to text something crazy to Mr. Cutie?  Mr. Alabama doesn't seem phased by this misunderstanding and we set another date for the same spot.  Of course, I send him a map this time.

Is anyone really shocked that this happened though?  I'm only surprised it didn't happen sooner.  To avoid this obvious dating hazard, I decide I need a Boy Notebook from this point forward.  Too many boy names in one's phone does not a smart dater make.  I take out all the "Misters" and put them in a little blue book.  Blue is for boys.

Almost Date # 29:  Bound to happen.

Mr. Short

January 29th, 2010

After a few dozen questionable dates on a certain dating site, I decided it was time to cast a wider net.  Time to sign up for another site.  With absolutely no intention of canceling my account on the first one, I basically copied and pasted my entire profile on the new site and had them both up and running.  After a quick exploration, it seemed like a less-than-savory group of people were congregating on the new site.  I don't understand how this is even possible since the original one I was on doesn't exactly represent the cream of the crop and both sites are free, so...not really sure what the reason could be other than the fact that one site is prettier to look at and, however ludicrous, attracts prettier people.

After shrugging my shoulders and continuing to review the new, homely crop Mr. Short sends me an email.  He seems cool, has decent style in his two photos (red flag), and is charming enough in his email.  In retrospect, he only looked like a catch because he was swimming in a mud puddle and was, I would soon discover, actually gross.  He suggests a gelato spot and I agree to meet him clear across town for our day date, a true sign that my standards were slipping. 

FIRST IMPRESSION: He's short.  Waaaaaaay shorter than his profile lead me to believe.  Now that I think about it, he didn't have height on his stats.  He's blond and wiry.  His pants are extremely tight and he is NOT slim, in fact, he has no business wearing this outfit.  He's sweating.

So, it turns out that he suggested this particular gelato shop, 40 minutes from my house, because he DOESN'T HAVE A CAR.  Really?  Another one of these?  He's sweating because he rode his bike here and I can't help but inadvertently back away from him as he approaches me to say "hello."  Having just finished one of the many Emily Post manuals sitting on my bookshelf, I remember my manners and extend my hand to shake.  I comfort myself with the fact that this will probably be a short date and I at least I get to eat gelato.

We sample a few flavors and I order a double pistachio, stepping back to allow him ample room to pay.  He looks at me for a second before pulling out his wallet.  What does he expect?  I didn't just drive to Santa Monica in a pretty new dress to pay for my own gelato.  Idiot.  We sit outside and I feel slightly embarrassed to be seen with him which hasn't happened before.  Most likely because my dates are typically indoors and/or at night, but he's just sort of disgusting in general so that's really the reason.  I find myself looking everywhere but his face.  I can't even look at it!  We waste time talking about our families and how his mother lives in Pittsburgh and is Italian.  Yawn and a half.  He's studying to be a lawyer and I sort of don't believe him.  We finish our gelato and I semi-hug him goodbye before rushing across the street through traffic. Yuck.

Date # 28:  A bust.  First and last date off of dating site #2.

Mr. Desperate

January 27th, 2010

Fresh off of the burn from Mr. Atheist, I was back in action two days later with Mr. Desperate.  I really had no desire to meet Mr. Desperate, but he was one of those VERY persistent males.  He sent me several emails and didn't come off as too scary, so my annoyance with his constant emailing gradually subsided and I decided to give it a shot.  My temporary period of scheduling dates during the day had not yet ended, so I suggested an iced tea meeting.  Why am I so lame?  Well, I'm still a little traumatized from Mr. So Gross and Mr. Bad Attitude.  I am attempting to be responsible. 

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He has crazy eyes.  Like, meth eyes.  He's older than I tend to like, but I expected that.  He's really pale and looks like he's probably hairy and has clammy hands.

This is a pity date, let's just be honest.  I humor Mr. Desperate and let him buy me an iced tea and granola parfait.  Conversation is pleasant enough, I mean, he's EXTREMELY interested in me and my life.  I don't think it's a put on, I think he's genuinely fascinated.  Or he's just so desperate for some sort of female companion that he's ecstatic someone agreed to meet with him.  Sort of flattering, but I'm not at all attracted to him so I just continue eating my parfait and try to shift the conversation onto him.  I should point out that I am very uncomfortable from the moment he sits down.  He constantly shifts in his seat, looks around at the sky and fidgets like a child being punished during a time-out.  I don't know if this has to do with drugs or what, but it's annoying.  

He goes on and on about some boring movie he's working on.  I feign interest, nod, and smile.  Then he tells me about how he used to work at Jerry's Deli and happened to have a shift when there was a shooting and he was the one who had to crawl out to see if the shooter was still there.  While this is completely plausible, I can't help but think that he senses the date going straight to hell and decided to spice things up with a last ditch lie.  Too bad I don't really care that he basically sat through a shooting.  Who cares?  I've had a guy ask me to hold a gun for him Goodfellas style (much more exciting than this story), but that's another blog post.

After stirring my empty parfait bowl for a good 10 minutes, I let him know that I have get going and he makes sure to tell me how much he enjoyed meeting me, how he would love to see me again, and then fidgets into the sunset.

Date #27:  Clearly a time-filler.  

P.S. I ran into him at a bar last night (I could recognize those crazy eyes anywhere).  Luckily, his desperation seems to have worked in his favor as he had what looked like a girlfriend.  Great, even Mr. Desperate has a girlfriend??

Mr. Atheist - Date 4 of 4

January 25th, 2010

First, I have to explain that the few month break in posting has largely to do with a nutcase who's dating one of my exes.  Basically, she's obsessed with me/this blog, but she's also a nutcase so who cares?!

Second, why skirt around the truth?  Sex.  It happened.  On this date.  And it was really stupid.  If you read any of the three dates leading up to this one, you're probably asking yourself, "Now, just why would this girl go out with this guy ANOTHER time?"  It's true, I've asked myself this many times.  Other than the fact that this guy wanted to go on a fourth date and had a semi-good sense of humor (but mostly that he wanted to go on a fourth date), there was absolutely no reason to continue these shenanigans.  A brief re-cap is in order:

Since we already did the whole dinner at my place thing, Mr. Atheist offered to have me over to his apartment a few days later.  Luckily, he doesn't have a roommate as that always presents a sticky situation.  Let's just say I don't think he even cared and/or remembered that I was coming over because his place is an absolute trash can.  Stuff everywhere.  Dirty kitchen.  Gross.  He lights incense (to overtake the trash smell?).  I indulge in a glass of wine right away to distract me from the fact that he was taking frozen taquitos out of the freezer to heat up for us.  Again, did you remember I was coming?  We DID text about it earlier in the day, but all signs point to a forgotten date.  Or an extremely careless person.  I'm not a snob by any means, but when you invite me over for dinner, can it please be something that didn't start out as frozen in the last 10 minutes?

We end up drinking the entire bottle of wine on his red couch (which matches nothing in his apartment).  I mean, two frozen taquitos only fills you up so much.  Of course, this leads to making out.  He stops mid-kiss after a few minutes and says, "Okay, I just want to say that I'm not ready for a girlfriend.  Just wasn't sure what you expected if we do anything else."  Ummmm.  Are you really saying this right now?  I think you're retarded.  CLEARLY you are not looking for a girlfriend, but you're looking to date around as is obvious from the fact that you are on a dating site (which we met on) and it says this very thing on your profile.  Despite his horrible bedside manner, I continue to make out with him and we decide it's a good idea to sleep together.  This is a bad decision that I take responsibility for.  Well, the wine had a lot to do with it, let's be honest.  Immediately after, he says, "I don't mean to bring this up now, but where did you park?  I have to get up early..."  EXCUSE ME?  ARE YOU REALLY SAYING THIS RIGHT NOW?  Yep.  He was saying that.  I proceed to get my things together to which he says, "Well, you don't have to go right now."  Thanks buddy, but I'll be going now.  I knew then and there I probably would never see him again.

Let me just say that while he clearly stated that he didn't want a girlfriend, I didn't think that meant sleeping with a girl once and then deleting her phone number.  What's the point in that?  No time to really enjoy each other at all, just a drunk-on-a-bottle-of-wine one time experience?  For the better, obviously.

The icing on the Atheist cake is when I decide to log into the dating site the next morning.  Guess who's on?  Mr. Atheist.  I don't care that I'm on too, it's still annoying and insulting that he's looking for new action the VERY NEXT MORNING, not even 8 hours later.  Nice.

Date #26:  Such a complete mistake. 

Mr. Atheist - Date 3 of 4

January 21st, 2010

Let's just stop and fire the confetti canons, shall we?  This is seriously a big deal.  The first "Date #3" that came to fruition on this outrageous dating campaign I've launched.  I think I'm making progress...or learning to play the game better?  I like to think I'm just weeding through the, well, weeds.  My date with Mr. Piano only confirmed my enjoyment of Mr. Atheist's company (despite several hiccups) so we scheduled our next date:  Dinner at my apartment.

I'm super excited due to my penchant for entertaining in general.  I pull out my fancy wedding china (weird?) and set the table properly.  I'm talking separate water and wine glasses, linen napkins, the whole shebang.  I even take a little trip to the farmer's market for fresh flowers to fill little bud vases around the apartment (all of which, I'm sure, was lost on him).  I'm just finishing up the healthy enchiladas (I need to stop forcing my low fat cuisine on others) and salad when he rings the bell.  He's thoroughly impressed with my apartment, walks to my living room window and say, "You win."  I laugh nervously.  Don't get me wrong, I LOVE winning, but think it's strange that we were in some sort of competition I wasn't aware of.

We sit down to eat and here begins the personality dissection that Mr. Atheist cannot help but pursue.  I decide to tell him I'm divorced, because the first date is really not the place for this information and I can't very well continue seeing someone without them knowing this.  I mean, what 26 year old girl has a full set of Kate Spade china, enough glassware to stock a Williams Sonoma and a marble rolling pin for no reason?  Suspicion always arises.  He begins asking question after question and finally concludes, "So, you like rules and table settings and "things that are appropriate" because you never had that growing up.  That's why you got married so young!  Your parents were childlike and you desperately seek order."  Greeeaaaatttt.  Me in a nutshell.  Thanks Mr. Atheist Turned Psychologist.  He then says, "Wait, wait, wait.  Is Babe in the Woods your REAL name?"  I tell him no, it's my married name.  This confuses him to no end.  

"Well, I kept my married name because I don't want to move backwards so to speak.  It's very confusing for my identity.  I would like to be married again one day and would, of course, change my name again to my new husband's name..." 

"Not with that name you're not.  No man is going to marry you while you're walking around with your ex-husbands name."

Um.  At this point I'm really frustrated because he KNOWS I'm old-fashioned and yet he continues to try to change my entire being.  Arrghhhhhhh!!!!!!  To this day I still think about that snarky little remark, "Not with that name you're not."  I don't understand people like this.  What is going on in your tortured little black soul that makes you want to attack another's lifestyle?  The worst part is that we make out afterwards.  A lot.  I have yet to learn the difference between being mean and being honest.  My frustration wasn't really apparent to me until about a month after this date.

Date #25:  Delayed reaction.  And I'm keeping my name as is.

Mr. Piano

January 20th, 2010

Okay, I'll admit that at times I can be more than slightly delusional when it comes to dating decisions.  This is one of those times.  In the midst of seeing Mr. Atheist (we had two dates under our belts with more on the horizon) I decided I should throw in a date with someone else for posterity's sake.  I mean, I was (for some unknown reason) really starting to like him.  

I was initially interested in him because he sort of looked like the main guy from Bring It On.  Also a little Mark Ruffalo mixed in there.  Then he told me he played piano and that was just the very end.  I couldn't stop imagining our first date in a smoky lounge, him playing Jerry Lee Lewis covers and me sitting on the piano, dripping in sequins.  Did I mention that I tend to be a bit delusional?  At least I'm aware.  So ignoring the small (and completely unwarranted) ounce of guilt I had for meeting someone other than Mr. Atheist, I set a date with Mr. Piano.

First Impression:  He's late.  I'm sitting in an Italian restaurant waiting.  He walks in wearing some sort of docker-like pants, glasses, and button-down shirt.  Gives off a nerd vibe.  He has a slight tooth gap, but it doesn't really bother me.  More of a Lauren Hutton gap.  Okay, now it bothers me.

I get up to greet him and he loves my dress.  Want to know a secret?  Same exact outfit I wore on my last date with Mr. Atheist.  What?  It ain't broke.  I would also like to add that meeting for dinner was NOT my idea.  I typically do not like to commit to an activity that can last more than an hour for the first meeting.  However, my neighborhood is on his route home and he decides it's more convenient to stop and get dinner and I should join him.

Four things kill this date:

1.  First, he's a loud-talker.  Who knows, maybe he made himself deaf by playing the piano too loudly?  Whatever the reason, he speaks at an extremely annoying/embarrassing decibel level which attracts looks from other diners.  This is never a good thing for me, the serial dater, especially in my neighborhood.

2.  One of us brings up family heritage.  Normally, this is a great way to pass time.  That is until you discover that your grandfathers fought each other in WWII.  Like, were literally in the same area, on opposite sides.  Hey, my grandpa didn't want to fight!  He was captured, went temporarily blind from malnutrition and he always said, "Mussolini that sonofabitch" with tears in his eyes.  So I tell Mr. Piano that, trying to smooth things over ("Hey, they were basically on the same side!), but he just interrupts me with a harsh, "It's fine, it's fine.  It was a long time ago."  He was obviously irritated.  Sheesh.

3.  You would think mentioning that you live in Beverly Hills once would be enough.  Nope.  Not for Mr. Piano.  I'm pretty sure a good 20 minutes was dedicated to covering this topic.  Yeah, super impressed.  Especially when you say it SO LOUDLY.

4.  He takes my money.  At this point in my dating career I have not yet developed the nerve to sit still, hands folded in my lap when the bill arrives.  I politely pull out my wallet with absolutely no real intention of paying, but what does this jerk do?  Takes my money.  And dinner wasn't even my idea.  Yes, I take full responsibility for this.  Lesson learned.

Mr. Piano walks me home and I mention that I believe in the old days people would take a "constitutional" after dinner.  This is lost on him.  It then hits me that we don't have much in common and my fantasies of being a lounge singing couple are shattered.  We hug goodbye and there is no kiss to dodge.

Date #24:  Makes me like Mr. Atheist more.  Also, I miss grandpa.

Mr. Atheist - Date 2 of 4

January 18th, 2010

After a brief coffee encounter with Mr. Atheist, a second date was set.  And the way it was set warmed my old-fashioned heart.  Nothing too special, but he called me to tell me he looked up a few restaurants close to my place that seemed really nice and wanted to check with me on what time he should make a reservation.  Cuuuttee!  I love initiative and I love reservations even more.  A second date was scheduled for two nights after our first date.

I walk to the restaurant in a pair of gold 1940s wedges.  Never mind the rain, this is a fancy dinner date.  I arrive and he's still cute (sometimes two days can change that).  He compliments my dress and we look at the menu.  This is where another problem arises.  I eventually come to realize that I'm pretty sure he hates the essence of my being.  This starts to reveal itself in little ways.  Example:  The waiter asks what we would like to drink and (being that we're at an Italian restaurant) I look up at Mr. Atheist and say, "Prosecco seems appropriate, don't you think?"  He looks annoyed, but tries to cover it with a laugh and says, "Appropriate?  Who cares what's appropriate?  What do YOU want to drink?"  Alright, so I'm a little over-accommodating when I like someone.  I just think of it as hospitality, but Mr. Atheist thinks of it as a problem.  I tell him I want prosecco.  I'm pretty sure that the second date is really not the time to start pointing out what you think are someone else's flaws.  Just leave me be!

Despite this, we have a pretty good time.  He's a funny guy, edits some comedy show that I've never seen, but apparently my friends are huge fans of.  After he pays for dinner we get a drink at a Korean BBQ place.  He offers to walk me back to my front door in the drizzle and of course I agree, completely ignoring the slight tension at dinner, and really just hoping for a kiss.  I ask if he can give me a ride on his Vespa and he refuses because he only has one helmet.  Sure, rain + alcohol + 1 helmet doesn't = smart, but c'mon!  So boring.  

We stop in front of my walkway and hug goodbye.  He's chewing gum which I don't remember him offering to me.  He looks at me and says, "Can I kiss you?"  I just smile and nod my head yes.  Then, a strange thing happened.  He steps in closer, turns his head to the right and spits his gum out right in front of me before going in for the kiss.  I mean, right across my face. I thought I must be crazy because no one would ever do something like that.  Right?  This must be the prosecco causing hallucinations?!  I just go with the comfortable assumption that I imagined this and when he says, "Can I kiss you again?  Because I really want to," I let him.  

After the date, I'm in a bit of a haze.  I want to see him again.  I think.  But did he really just project some spitty thing out of his mouth?  Yes, he did.  And I let him kiss me twice. 

Date #23:  Perplexing.  Also, WHAT AM I DOING?

Mr. Atheist - Date 1 of 4

January 16th, 2010

Mr. Atheist approached me.  I was not even remotely interested in him via his profile, not to mention that we rated as a 37% match.  However, he was humorous in our communication and his persistence won me over.  Due to recent um, "poor decisions" which could mostly be linked back to alcohol consumption on my part, I decide that I should start meeting these men during the day.  This bright idea doesn't last long, but I enjoy it for a few reasons:  

1.  People always look different at night, some might say better.  Shouldn't we just get our ugly out of the way now?

2.  Alcohol.  While I enjoy day drinking (probably more than I should, but I enjoy anything unnecessary and decadent for that matter), it is much less acceptable to meet for a drink at 3 pm in the afternoon.  SOOO, we can skip the alcohol during a day meeting and go for coffee (or in my case, tea).  This allows me to think clearly.  Or as clear as my denial-brain allows me.

3.  Length.  Maybe I want to schedule a double-header.  Maybe I just want to take a really long post-date nap before dinner.  Either way, the midday date allows me more time because I can down an iced tea much faster than a Greyhound.  Actually, I can drink them at pretty much the same speed, but I'm trying to be a lady here.

4.  Kissing.  So much harder/weirder to go for that end of the date kiss after a 30 minute coffee interview.  Enough said.

We agree to meet for coffee down the street from my apartment.  As I'm walking toward the spot I see him drive up on his little Vespa.  

Side Note:  I hold a special place in my nostalgic heart for Vespas because the first guy I went "all the way home" with drove one and he took me around San Fran on it.  And that's the only memorable thing I can say about that.  Actually, that's an entry that I will save for later.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He's cute.  He has sort of curly, wild hair, but not too long.  He's wearing a brown pullover sweater and has green eyes.

Anywho, his helmet has sparkles on it and we make eye contact.  I should point out that I end up really liking this guy so I'm sort of upset even describing this.  Whatever.  We go into the coffee joint and he doesn't pay for my iced tea.  Since this is a new dating environment for me, I can't decide whether or not to be offended.  I mean, it was only $1.50.  Just pay for it.  We sit outside and it's that really pretty time of day when the sun decides it's going to set soon.  Everything looks golden.

We chat about work, our families, exes (not usually a good idea) and laugh a bunch.  I announce that I want a cookie and he buys it for me.  This makes me happy.  Maybe after talking a bit he decides that I'm worth buying a cookie for?  All I know is that his green eyes are pretty and very distracting so I blurt that out while he's telling me something.  Rude, I know.  But, wouldn't you want to hear a compliment even if it meant being interrupted?  I sure would.  

All is going well on this date except for one little thing.  He brings up religion.  I should inform you that the dating site where we met lists one's religious stance/beliefs on your profile so a person who pays attention knows where the other stands before meeting in the flesh.  He goes on to state with clear vehemence how he is Jewish by birth but an atheist by choice.  He then says, "Oh, I forgot I'm talking to a Catholic girl."  Yes.  What of it?  Obviously, he has some sort of problem with people who believe in a higher being because he wouldn't let it go (I on the other hand do not care what the other person believes and wouldn't push ideas on anyone).  He said, "I'm going to introduce you to ideas you've never thought of.  Like, what if God doesn't exist?"  I'm no dating expert, but I'm pretty sure this is something you don't say on the first date.  This should have been a red flag.

That issue aside, we decide we enjoy each other's company and want to meet again.  No kiss (yet), but a nice little hug goodbye.  I'm excited. 

Date #22:  Pretty.  Reminded me of The Doors' song "Summer's Almost Gone."

Mr. No Manners

January 14th, 2010

Let me just get this out there:  I don't know WHAT I was thinking with this one.  No, wait, I know.  I was trying to be diplomatic.  I thought I should give him a chance since he seemed nice and was interested.  Gosh, just listening to myself makes me sick.  Is that really all it takes?  Being nice and interested?  Bleh.  And I should point out that nine of his ten profile photos were semi-geeky with him in dockers and flip flops wearing a toothy smile.  Stuffed in the middle of those pictures was this gem.  See that?  Yes, nipple piercings.  I did try to ignore this picture as it frightened me so, but, alas, I could not escape it.

We scheduled our little date at a new spot for me (whew!) so the possibility of a run-in was low.  He calls me while I'm driving to let me know he has arrived and I confess that I'm running late.  He asks if he can get me a drink while he's waiting.  Of course he can!  Now, this is a good move.  Men should ALWAYS do this.  Made me like him before I exited the car.  We should have ended the date there.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  He's sitting out on the front patio of the bar in a nice black coat.  He's tall and okay looking.  Broad-shouldered and looks like the sort of guy that would wear cologne.  I'm not offended.  Yet.

We hug lightly and he presents me with my drink.  How sweet!  I should note that at this point in my dating life it's weird for there to be a lack of a hug while first meeting because I like to pretend that we already know each other.  We dig into conversation and, again, I'm not yet offended.  He talks about working with his father, how he's from New York originally, he frequents his parents' house, and his previous long-term relationship.  Something starts to bug me.  I can't quite figure out what it is yet.  Maybe it's his slightly longer than usual finger nails.  Or the fact that he mentions "partying" more than necessary.  I soon decide that this man is uncouth.  That is exactly the word that describes him best.  Well, guido might also apply.  I end up learning that his dad's toenails are so thick and gross that his mother uses plant clippers to cut them.  He then goes on to explain his frustrating search for love and how he wants his future wife to "party" with him until they "both collapse on the bed together."  Um.  Ew.  He just can't stop spewing this sort of information for the entirety of the date.

I start to think he may be high, I mean his eyes are bloodshot and he gives a look of stern concentration whenever I open my mouth to speak.  Now, I've gone on a date accidentally inebriated, but that was once and I like to think that I wouldn't have if I knew about the date in advance, which Mr. No Manners did.  It's weird because he's really trying and I don't have anything specifically against him, except for a lifestyle preference I guess.  I decide he reminds me too much of my father to warrant another date.  He's in the construction biz, likes to party, and has coarse habits.  No, no, no.  I can only imagine his habits are worse than he lets on if only for the very fact that he would let them be known at all on a first date.

He emails me asking for another date, but I refuse.  He sends a second email just double-checking to see if I had changed my mind.  Still can't forget the toenail story, so no.

Date #21: First (and hopefully last) "On a Date With My Father" date.