Sunday, September 28, 2008

Wedding Hook Up

I am the person you are least likely to see making out with a stranger at a bar.  I have a solid record of being unapproachable enough that guys don't even ask me for a phone number, let alone grab my ass.  Once, in college I did make out with a random guy at a bar, but it was out back, behind the bar.  And, he wasn't really a stranger - we had gone to elementary school together and had randomly run into each other through high school.  He was always mean to me (which I think at that age means he had a crush on me) and I always resented him, so clearly, letting him touch my boobs in the pitch blackness as the freight train rolled by really taught him a lesson.

So I was slightly amazed and a bit grossed out when at midnight on Saturday I found myself making out with a 25 year-old Donny Osmond look-alike.  At a gay bar.  I'm surprised we didn't get our asses beat: a heterosexual groping session in a gay bar has got to break some sort of unspoken code.

Saturday, my friend got married on the beach (well, it was supposed to be on the beach, but the bride decided she didn't want to wear her 40 pound gown in pouring down rain.  wuss!).  There was a pleasant reception at a local restaurant then most of the guests under the age of 70 went to a bar and hung out for a bit.  KT came down to be my date (the last time I took a boy to a wedding was in 2001.  Sad.) and we were the only single women there.  So, it didn't really surprise me when one of the two single guys there made a beeline for us, with drinks in hand, the first chance he got. I forget whether it was my little friend Donny, the groom's youngest brother (who went back to Kansas today, thank god), or the groom's friend from Nebraska.  But it wasn't long before both Donny and Nebraska were all about KT and Susan.  By the time we decided to go to the next bar, we had paired off - KT and Nebraska, and me and Donny.

The unfortunate thing in this story is that Susan stopped drinking at about 10pm.  I was a bit buzzed, but was on my way back to sobriety so I could drive back home.  The gay bar was a bad idea for a girl who aspired to sobriety.  Also a bad idea was leading on a young impressionable and slightly desperate 25 year-old guy.  

He was sorta cute, and very ernest, and was paying so much attention to me.  I didn't really see the harm in dancing with him and letting him grab my ass on the dance floor.  The problem started when he pinned me against a table and started kissing me.  I went with it for a while. I mean, why not?  Everybody else has cheap, tawdry meaningless hookups, why not me?

But I really wasn't enjoying myself.  It was kinda gross.  He was really drunk, and overly grabby. And, I don't know what was worse, the desperation that was oozing from his pores, or the cigarette/liquor breath.  Oh god.  I was making out with this guy out of obligation.  Obligation to what I have no idea, but that's what it was.

Turns out that I got stuck with this kid until 3 am due to circumstances that were way beyond my control.  Most of the evening after last call involved him trying to lift my dress, grab my crotch and jam his tongue down my throat.  We sat on the beach for a while and I tried to talk with him; he would tolerate that for about 3 minutes, then make a go for me again.  I would let him until he would make a crotch grab, then push him off and chastise him in this motherly tone.  He did tell me that I was hot, which I liked.  He also told me that he loved me.  Which was nice, but I expect he's changed his mind about that by now.  Oh, one of the nicest moments of the evening came when he grabbed a handful of wet sand and shoved it down my dress.  I had a big clump of wet sand in my bra, which really felt nice.  His motivation for doing this?  He thought that if I was sandy, I would have to take my dress off.

He passed out in the hallway of his motel, with his head on my purse.  I did mange to eventually get him in the room and flee.  But the stink of his desperation, cigarettes and Southern Comfort lingered. I had to shower twice to get it off.  Ew.


Wednesday, September 24, 2008

HPV: Does it matter?

Let's have a serious chat.

About V.D.

Nope, its not 7th grade.  Its 28th grade.  Yet I still giggle if someone says herpes. (ha ha)

Herpes.  (snicker)

But something that's not funny is HPV and how most guys have no idea what it is or what it means.  Or that all girls who didn't get married to the first guy they slept with have it.  And that boys have it too, they just don't check for it because it doesn't cause any problems.  Unless you have a cervix.  

HPV causes cervical cancer.  So they say.  I suspect that "they" in this scenario is the drug company that is pushing to get 12 year olds vaccinated against it.  I'll bet moms and dads all over the world are pretty psyched to take their pre-teen in for a series of three vaccinations for a sexually transmitted disease.  Especially since most parents believe that their daughters will wait until they are 53 and married to have sex.

But here's the deal.  Every girl that I know that has been checked for it has it.  Including my mother (ew, gross.  I know.  There is nothing worse than having that conversation with your mother).  Including me.  I must admit, when my ob-gyn told me that I had this thing, I was grossed out, and pissed off, and confused.  I think at that point in my life I had slept with 2, maybe 3, guys.  It might have only been one.  And there were few encounters that didn't involve a condom.  But condoms are useless against HPV, and there are some strains that aren't sexually transmitted.  Point is, you aren't a dirty whore just because you have HPV and you could actually have one of those strains that infects you when you touch leaf mold (disclaimer: I think that leaf mold probably doesn't actually have HPV).  Of 140 different types of HPV, less than 40 are sexually transmitted.  Most cause no symptoms, but some can cause abnormal cells to form on your cervix that your ob-gyn will want to track and do painful procedures on.  Luckily, after several years, my abnormal "Pre-cancerous" cells have finally gone away and she has stopped threatening me with biopsies and scraping and something that involves freezing (then not having sex for six weeks).  

But boys have no idea what this critter does to girls, how its transmitted, why its transmitted or that they have it anyway.  Recently, one of my friends had a little conversation about it with a boy she was dating and he nearly jumped out of the car and dove into the nearest sewer grate to get away (there is probably HPV down there).  In fact, when I had the v.d. conversation with Dr. BB he freaked out about my HPV status.  A guy with a medical degree had to go verify the information that I was telling him, and still remained skeptical about it!  In typical male fashion, both seemed more concerned about whether they could be infected than what it could possibly do to us (cancer!).

So, the question is, when we are having the v.d. chat with a boy that we might sleep with, do we discuss the HPV?  Is it necessary to reveal the fact that we have the same thing that 99.9% of other girls have?  Something that can't really be stopped with condom use?  Something they probably already have?  Something that will never have any symptoms?  Or do we put on our big girl pants and have an awkward, uncomfortable conversation that likely isn't going to change anything?  

Monday, September 22, 2008

Booty plan

BB spent most of Thursday asleep in my bed while I was at work so that we could spend more time together than would have otherwise been possible after his 27 hour shift. 

Why does this not seem strange to me?  I clearly am delusional.  I think we have already firmly established this.  Perhaps he is too.  This whole "not-dating" gig certainly seems to be taking on a "semi-dating" sort of hilt.  Until the naked conversation.

It certainly was sort of fun at work thinking about how I would likely be having sex within minutes of arriving home (in reality, it was about 30.  He really tried to talk and listen to me for a while, but succumbed.  I wish I could chalk it up to my hotness but its probably more because he hadn't had sex in three weeks).  Its been a while since I've had someone to come home to, and while nice, it reminded me of why I really like to come home to nobody (except the cats).  We made dinner - grilled polenta, fresh mozzarella cheese, roasted red peppers and tomatoes.  We watched a movie.  Had sex again.  Went to sleep.

But not before we had a talk about our situation.  Again.  Dude.  I don't know how many times I have to tell him that I understand the limitations of our "relationship."  Its pretty awkward when you are naked and the guy who is spooning you says "I want you to meet a nice boy."  Even more awkward when you are forced to tell him that yes, you in fact have been on a date recently and it was fine and the guy is great and the type of guy you would really like to be with but he lives far away and you don't see it going anywhere.  And he says "I'm not a long term solution for you."  And you say "you aren't even really a short term solution." 

He is definitely harboring a tremendous amount of guilt about what is happening between us, and he even verbalized that.  I don't understand why.  I am happy with the situation, mostly.  I still get to date other people (you know, like the guys that like "4 whillin").  I have a backup for when I want to hang out.  I feel happy when I do get to see him, but never hit the bottom of the roller coaster that happens when you are actually dating somebody because there are no expectations.  Expectations breed disappointment like Sarah Palin breeds baby Alaskans.  I don't expect to talk to him.  I don't expect to see him.  Its a treat when I do.  Its no big whoop when I don't.  

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.  Anyone believe me?

Saturday, September 20, 2008

I need to move...

Yes, its saturday night and I'm blogging.  Worse yet, it is saturday night and I'm doing homework for my economics class.  Its so boring and pointless that my mind started wandering and I thought to myself "I wonder what's hanging out on Match.com these days?"

See, I know myself.  And I know that without a constant stream of boys to daydream about, I am going to get really bored, really fast.  And with darkness setting in at around 7pm and fall closing in on me, there is a small part of me that thinks its time to find a boy to snuggle with all winter.  A new one.  

But here is what I'm up against:

Smith, from the town adjacent to mine had the following very insightful things to say about the type of girl he is looking for and his views on relationships: 

"aggressive male looking for a girl who is 1. employed, 2. not bossy, demanding, superficial and does not talk incessantly, 3. is on the pretty side, 4. is not morbidly obese or excessively skinny, and 5. does not have red hair.  An appreciation of the NFL is a plus, but at minimum must not complain about being neglected during football season."

I wonder what exactly he was thinking when he chose to describe himself as an "aggressive male?"  Also, under the "for fun" category he says "watching football on tv, fantasy football and football."  The last thing he read was Football Digest.  Also, his favorite things are football (no way!).  And cats (huh?).  And guess what?  He has no picture.  What do you bet that even though he doesn't want his girl to be an obese red-head, he wears size 3XL and has a thick head of frizzy red hair?  I'm half tempted to sign up and email him, just to be a total bitch.  

But Smith is nothing compared to this little jem from Cake, who lives in the same town my buddy Smith does: im a down to earth 34 year old man i love hunting nascar just about all sports i have a 15 year old son thats big into sports i love the outside im looking for someone who might go huntig fihing 4 whilling or go out on the boat crabbing with me.

Wow.  Welcome to my future...

Friday, September 19, 2008

E.D. Update

So, if you agree to catch up "mid-week" and figure something out for the weekend and neither of you bothers to call or email by 9pm Friday night, I think its safe to say that probably aren't going to have weekend plans.

And so it goes.  I feel the need to call him or email to say something along the lines of "look, you are great and if you lived closer I think this could go somewhere.  But you don't, and we are both really busy, and neither one of us is desperate, so let's be friends.  Can I go with you on your birding trip to Panama?"

Its not entirely out of the question that I could run into this guy at a conference or meeting - if not soon, then 3 years down the line.  I'd like to to not be awkward and weird.  I'd like to do the big girl thing - but then again, i don't want to be that person who feels the need to break up with someone after one date!  And also, I'd really like to go on his trip to Panama.  :)  

Good thing I have Baptist chocolate to drown my boy sorrows in.

Welcome home! Love, Jesus

God has taken a particular interest in my neighborhood.  

Well, not God exactly, but his little minions from the local Baptist Church, who have decided that the people on my street are in need of a little heavenly love.  I think what they are really decided is that they have checked the police records and decided that the adult/hoodlum ratio is way off.

Last week, I got home and there was a plastic bag on my front door that contained a letter from the church explaining that my street had been selected for a 8 week campaign.  They seemed to have a particular interest in "shut-ins" (read, "easy prey."  or, more appropriately, "easy pray") and offered to mow grass, do household chores and run errands for people that couldn't do for themselves.  The bag contained some Laffy Taffy, which although disgusting, I ate and sorta enjoyed.  More enjoyable, was the bright yellow bracelet made out of shoelace material that said "Wrapped in His Love."  I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with it, but don't worry, it will be put to good use!  I honestly wonder how much this little bag cost them.

So, I ate my taffy, threw the bracelet in the "someday you will find a place for this" pile and went on with my life.

Until I came home tonight and found yet another Baptist bag on my door!  This time though, I was annoyed.  Mostly because I am taking care of my neighbor's house while he is on a cruise through the Greek islands (jerk!) and had to run up his steps (all 9 of them) and grab the bag off his door too (i've been going to the gym people, those 9 steps were absolute torture).  

Still annoyed, I opened the bag, and found love in the form of mini KitKats, Crunch bars and fruit snacks.  This time, they are offering relationship counseling (think they would enjoy my blog?), divorce support groups and a Christian concert.  But most importantly, they were offering chocolate.

Seriously, I could get used to this.  Having chocolate waiting for me at my front door after a long hard day at work?  Wow.  Now I feel a little guilty for snickering at them and making snide comments in my head.  I hope they stay for way more than 8 weeks!

P.S.  Neighbor-boy will never know there was chocolate in that bag, and don't you dare tell him...

P.P.S.  I am going straight to hell.  

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Bartender views on Booty

Once upon a time, a boyfriend told me a story about how he rode his motorcycle for three hours, in the rain, to get some.  I think part of the story featured a rock kicking up into his helmet and almost killing him, but let's face it, I never really paid that much attention so I don't remember if it was a booty call that nearly lopped his head off.  He didn't have many stories, so I've heard them all no less than a dozen times - they get a bit confused in my head.

So, I was under the assumption that its pretty normal for boys to do just about anything for a sure thing, so when I reported to my friend last night at the bar that BB is going to drive 40 minutes to my house after a 27 hour shift to make dinner and hang out, was shocked to find out that she thought that was a bit unusual.  So did her boyfriend (oops, fiance) and the bartender, and the bartenders friend, and possibly the big fat guy sitting next to me at the bar.  She, of course, thought that it "meant something."  Yeah, it means he hasn't gotten laid in three weeks.  But she refused to be dissuaded from her theory of true love and redemption.  Sounds nice, but I highly doubt it.

To prove her wrong, I asked our bartender.  Bartender is a teacher by day, bartender by night who is clearly a player.  He wouldn't drive 40 minutes after an 8 hour shift.  In fact, I think he wouldn't drive at all for a girl after working any amount of time!  There was something about "maybe if I just lay there and she climbs on top and does all the work..."  Eww.  Perhaps in his case, laziness overrides horny.  His friend was willing to go the distance, but not after an all night shift.  My three hour drive (sing it with me!  A three hour drive...)  story from above horrified them and they claimed that they would never drive that far for a girl, but I think that neither of these guys have had a serious dry spell in a long time.  My survey might have turned out differently if I had asked the big, kinda unattractive guy sitting next to me, but I didn't.  Frankly, I was afraid he would think I was propositioning him.  Although, maybe I should have.  He was hairy and fat - just my type!  

Interesting sidebar to the conversation - before discussing how far he would drive, he had to know how good the sex was going to be.  "Above average" was my answer.  I'll take above average any day, but he's under the assumption that he is spectacular in bed and above average isn't really good enough.  I pointed out that 90% of guys think that they are spectacular, and ladies, we all know one who thought that and disappointed the hell out of us.  Why do guys think we can't fake having a good time?  Next bar survey - girls bartender has slept with!  


Monday, September 15, 2008

Postponed, again

Alright, so I wasn't dumped.  Yet.  But clearly, E.D. is about as excited about our potential dating prospects as I am.  And that ain't good.

He called and left a message, finally, at like 9 pm on Saturday night.  I should be completely offended that he would call me and expect me to pick up the phone on a Saturday night, but in his defense, I told him I was sick and likely just sitting around the house all day.  I ended up actually taking a shower, putting on clean clothes and leaving the house though.  Amazing.  I sucked it up and went to a friend's housewarming party (drank cranberry juice and vodka.  Vodka kills germs.  Cranberry juice has vitamin C.  And cures urinary tract infections, which I don't have, but an ounce of prevention...)

Took a chance and called him back on my way home.  Talked to him for 97 minutes (still less time than it would take for me to drive to his house).  He seemed hesitant to hang out with me because I was still coughing and sniffling (and who could blame him!?) but seemed unwilling to go for a definite no, so I let him off the hook.  "Tell you what.  I'm staying home tomorrow to get better.  We will find another time to hang out again."  I could feel his sigh of relief through those tiny little speaker holes in the cell phone.  

So, inquiring minds, I did not "do" anything (or anybody) yesterday!!  We've cancelled and postponed twice now.  I really just am not sure that this thing is going to go and I feel lousy about it.  If the dude was close by we could meet for dinner sometime, but the distance turns every potential date into a day long event.  Its not the way to start a relationship, and Neil Warren Clark is on crack if he thinks people can really get to know eachother this way.  

Though, I did leave the house and check out the local gardening store.  With an ex-boyfriend.  And his new wife. 


Saturday, September 13, 2008

Dumped, again?

I suspect I may be getting the big old, street sweeper brush off!

Ever since the dude with the bad hair ignored my emails then dumped me on the phone (jerk!), I've been a bit gun shy about guys not returning emails.  E.D. has not returned my emails.  And he didn't pick up the phone when I called this afternoon.  Not normally a big deal, except that we had agreed to "do something" tomorrow.  While "doing something" and actual plans set in stone are two different things, I'm a bit puzzled right now.  And a bit peeved because I like to have plans and right now, I feel like I can't make any other plans because I have no idea what time I would get together with E.D., or what we would be doing. 

If I don't hear something from him by dark, I'm making other plans.  

Boys are stupid.  If he doesn't want to play with me, he should at least email me to let me know.

Friday, September 12, 2008

All play and no work

I know that you are going to want to throw some sort of rotten vegetable at me when I say this, but... I only worked two days this week and I am friggin' exhausted!  

In the past 7 days I:

1.  Had a birthday
2.  Attended the longest bridal shower in history
3.  Started my new Monday night class
4.  Greeted voters at the polls, desperately hoping they would vote for my guy just because I       smiled at them
5.  Celebrated my guy's victory (is it possible that my winning smile made the difference?)
6.  Took off to NYC for a Wednesday night Dave Matthews show
7.  Regretted agreeing to the Wednesday night show (what the hell was I thinking?!)
8.  Went to the Museum of Natural History, followed by a trip to the best bagel place in the city
9.  Got a cold
10.  Went to work like a zombie.
11.  Struggled to find something interesting to blog about (sorry 'bout that)

The show, and the election post party actually both warrant a little analysis and deconstruction, but all in good time...

eHarmony lies

My eHarmony subscription ran out on September 3, but that persistent little website and its evil puppetmaster Neil Clark Warren continue to taunt me and my single-ness by sending me daily emails.  Sometimes twice.  Boys kept winding up in my inbox, but since I haven't re-upped, I can't see their pictures.  Not like I would have been interested anyway - not one of them lived less than an hour away from me.  But much more amusing than the boys are the helpful newsletter emails and encouragement emails.

This one made me laugh and snort, so I absolutely had to share it with you....

It's all worth it when you find true love 

Dear Susan, 

We know that getting to know your matches and finding the right person takes time. 
Those couples you've seen on TV... 
Many of the real eHarmony couples you've seen in our commercials have also let their membership's lapse. But they all returned later and found the special person they had been looking for all along. 
Susan, we urge you to be patient, consider all your matches, and stay positive. When you finally find the right connection, it's so worth it!  Rejoin today with our 3-month plan. This will give you the time you deserve to find your special someone and you'll save 33% off our regular 1-month rate. Use promo code: EHWYB8U. 

Warmly, 
eHarmony Customer Care 

Did you read it carefully?  If you did, you should be thinking to yourself right now "what the F*$#!!".  eHarmony has been lying to us for years!  On TV!  And we all know that what we see on TV is truth!  Those bastards!  Oh you evil Dr. Warren!!

See, I had always believed that those happy couples in the eHarmony commercials were like, um, married or something. Silly Susan!!  Turns out, they might have just still in the blissful phase that all relationships start with... "You like puppies?!  I like puppies!  We are SO meant for eachother! Let's snuggle and frolic for the cameraman!"  I wonder how many of the featured eHarmony couples really are still together?  Probably very, very few.  

Of course, they could just have an absolutely terrible editor because the sentence structure of that email left a bit to be desired.  I prefer my read though - its much more fun.


Sunday, September 7, 2008

Birthday Blah

I'm not someone who likes to make a big deal of special occasions.  Thanksgiving?  Only if Kiwi is cooking.  Christmas?  Torture.  Weddings?  Ugh.  Baby showers?  Don't even get me started.  But last year, I realized I hadn't had a real birthday party for myself in 16 years, so I threw one -  My Double Sweet 16.  I rented out the roller skating rink, we had it all to ourselves, I got to pick our own playlist.  It kicked ass.  (I couldn't move the right side of my body for several days, it kicked ass so hard).

Turning 33 was a total let down in comparison.

Its my fault.  The original plan was to head to the beach for the weekend to celebrate a friends wedding and my birthday.   I'd sit through a quasi-wedding shower, then we were going to eat, drink, squeeze in one last beach day, possibly get in a little special spa time... Well, Tropical Storm Hannah blew those plans all to pieces.  We canceled on the weekend and planned a more traditional shower for Saturday, my birthday.  I was totally fine with sacrificing my birthday day for a friend - like I said, I don't like to make a big deal out of stuff.  And, we were going to go out afterward, maybe someone would buy me a drink, and I could pretend that I had actually done something on my birthday.

Guess what?  Old Hannah was threatening to close local bridges and cause ridiculous amounts of flooding around here, so the girls got scared and postponed the shower until Sunday.  I found this out around noon on Saturday and it threw me into a total fit.  It was noon on my birthday, it was stormy as hell outside, nobody in their right mind would want to leave the house, and I had absolutely no plans.  No cake, no beer (as you know, beer and cake go together really well), no birthday wishes, no bad singing... Plus, I had to cancel my Sunday plans with ED so I could go to the wedding shower the next day.  

I pouted.  I curled up in a ball on my bed.  I ignored all the phone calls that were coming in to wish me a happy birthday.  I felt sorry for myself.  I took a nap.  I woke up feeling sorry for myself.  I am such a baby.

I finally rallied.  My friend Mike's bbq got cancelled, I found a Happy Birthday $20 coupon from a great Italian restaurant near his house at the bottom of my recycle pile and decided to actually leave the house.  By the time I got in my car, the sun was actually peeking through the clouds.  We had a great time, split a bottle of wine, ate great food, and cuz it was my birthday, we both ordered our own desserts (none of that sharing a dessert crap that happens when girls go out to eat).  

What I really wanted though, as the red wine started to seep into my blood vessels, was to be out with a guy that I was romantically involved with.  The last time I had a real boyfriend on my birthday?  2002.  And that doesn't even count, because we were just about over, and I helped nail that coffin shut by opting to spend my birthday on the west coast with friends - without him (I think I got a hose from him that year for my present.  I'm not sure I even deserved that).  I was with him for 6 years or so, so I'm sure we must have done some sort of romantic dinner thing at least once, but if we did, I really don't remember.  

I know that having a boyfriend  doesn't ensure that flowers will show up on my doorstep or that I will be wined and dined on my birthday, but it certainly increases the chances.  But it also increases the chances of being bitterly disappointed when you wanted romance, and instead got baseball tickets and a case of Miller Lite.  




Friday, September 5, 2008

First Date, again

I have never really figured out how to tackle the first date.  I suppose there probably isn't really a perfect answer, particularly when you've never actually met the person.  Meeting for dinner stinks for lots of reasons, meeting for drinks is almost as bad because I don't have the distraction of jamming food in my face.  I much prefer the activity date, but you run the risk of messing up your hair, getting sweaty, smelling bad, and getting covered in mud.  

You also run the risk of getting carried away by the scenery.  


datesunset

This was where I had my first date with eHarmony David, or ED as he will now be known (its easier to type).  We met in a small town about an hour from my house.  Yes, an hour.  It was only worth making the drive because we were going to paddle.  He brought his canoe, I brought my kayak.  He was about ten minutes late.  I get the feeling that ED hasn't owned a watch in a really long time.

When he got out of his car, my first thought was "Oh no.  He's really little.  That blows."  And, his voice was still a bit high, although not as high as it sounded on the phone.  I had a sinking feeling that it was going to be a long afternoon.  I really need to learn to not be so judgmental.  Maybe I also need to learn to love guys that don't resemble a Sasquatch.

The kayak/canoe trip was more complicated that I had envisioned - I thought we were going to throw the boats in the water, paddle a little loop and come back to the same spot, then get a beer and get the hell out of there.  Uh-uh.  He had a trip all mapped out, one that involved taking a car to the put in, paddling downstream, then taking a car back up to rescue the first car and leaving the boats behind until we got back.  Yeah, yeah, I know, all details you really don't care about.  But what you should care about is that I met this guy, looked at map, strapped my kayak on his car, got in his car, and drove deep into the woods.  With a perfect stranger.

I had checked him out though.  I knew where he worked.  I knew people he worked with.  I had a pretty good feeling that nothing bad was going to happen to me.  Good thing I didn't know he had a machette with him (all good boy scout types carry knives on the water in case of emergency).  

After some work, we finally got both boats in the water.  He immediately impressed me with his canoe skills.  He was much more nimble in his boat than I was in my kayak and I found that hard to swallow (I hate canoes.  Unless the canoe has a big cooler of beer in it.).  He kinda left me alone for a bit and we both explored the water - we were in a rocky section with lots of fun little things to paddle through and clear water so you could look down and see fish.  Then we started talking a bit more as we headed down river. 

We talked about a lot of stuff.  Stuff I normally wouldn't talk about on a first date.  We shared our respective eHarmony and Match experiences, which were completely opposite.  He prefers the eHarmony system - he thinks it is really giving him compatible matches.  I expressed my deep frustration with the way eHarmony works, and talked about how much more I liked Match.  But, let's face it.  Two single people who have been internet dating for years were comparing the merits of the two biggest online dating sites - clearly, its not working for either of us!

Poor sweet thing, he also thought that once a girl went on one or two internet dates, she stopped talking about it to her friends.  Where on earth would he get an idea like that?!  I almost fell out of my boat laughing.  It was all I could do to stop myself from telling him that I routinely blog about my dating experiences so that my friends (and internet strangers) could live vicariously through my sad little dating life.  But, he definitely learned how wrong his theory was when he called me on the way home and I was on a three-way call with my girlfriends so I only had to tell my date story once...  (well, once that night.  I must have told it 12 times this week already!)

Anyway, as we paddled we shared stories about work, our friends, vacations, and philosophized about life in general.  He really is a very interesting guy and his take on life is generally pretty compatible with my own.  It was dark before we got back to the boat launch -  the trip definitely should not have taken that long.  I think we were both just taking our time and enjoying the company.  

It was nearly 10pm by the time we had taken care of getting his car and strapping the boats back on their respective cars.  I met him at 4:15.  Oh, but we weren't done yet!  We desperately needed food, and I desperately needed a beer.  Do you know how difficult it is to find a place that is still serving food on a Sunday night in small town America?  We eventually found one whose kitchen was closing in "4 minutes."  Thank god they had a veggie panini on the menu.

We sat at the bar and downed some beers, and inhaled some food.  I think the panini was kind of gross actually, but I didn't stop to think about it.  He entertained me with stories about his graduate work on the breeding behavior of birds.  No, no, don't yawn.  There are truly some fascinating parallels between female bird behavior towards male birds with high testosterone levels and female humans towards male humans with bad attitudes and sports cars.  

We closed the bar - they were sweeping around us and giving us nasty little looks.  We got out of there around midnight, pretty damn close to 8 hours after our date had started.  He hugged me (thank god he didn't try to kiss me) and asked if I wanted to do it again.  I said yes, but it was a bit unenthusiastic.  He may have picked up on that.  How could I be so unenthusiastic about a guy who had kept me amused for 8 hours?  He's not a Sasquatch.  He lives really far away.  He's not quite as easy-going as I am...

And I'm still sleeping with BB....

I really don't know whether BB is affecting my feelings on the ED situation.  I mean, obviously, it has to have some impact, but with or without the BB situation, ED is definitely not my physical type.  But he is my intellectual type.  And that's why I will go out with him again.  I'd like to try getting to know someone slowly.  For a change.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Remind me

Next time I get all high and mighty on my horse about how much free time I have and how great it is to be single and do what I want, when I want...

...please remind me how gross it is to eat a PB&J for breakfast and leftover, frozen veggie beanie-weanies for lunch.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

A good day

Today, as the sun was going down and I was paddling my kayak on a truly beautiful local lake, I had the following thought:

"This kicks ass!  I wonder what the poor people are doing right now?"

And by "poor," I don't mean people who have the financial misfortune to not have a fleet of kayaks at their disposal.  I mean people who rush home to a spouse, and some kids, try to make some dinner, make soccer practice, do homework and spend "quality" time.  Good lord.  How friggin' exhausting!

It was a gorgeous evening, just perfect really.  No humidity, not a cloud in the sky, a nice temperature (low 80's maybe?).  I've been tooling around town with my kayak on the car - a combination of being too lazy to lug it around into the backyard and hoping that if its already up there, I'll paddle on the spur of the moment.  And spur of the moment paddle I did!  Got off the vanpool, got in the car and thought "screw the grocery store!  I'll eat leftovers.  I'm getting my ass on the water."  Luckily, I didn't wear my nice white Ann Taylor skirt this morning - I went for my Old Navy khakis and flip-flops, easily convertible into a kayaking outfit.  I paddled for about an hour and a half, then headed home.  To my leftovers.

This is the kind of stuff that I need to do more often, and remind myself of more often.  My singleness affords me the opportunity to do what I want, when I want, without asking permission or worrying about making nutritious meals.  Cereal for dinner is a nutritious meal, right?  Especially when it comes with a side of Yuengling.