Today was one of THOSE days. And I know people say that all the time, but seriously. It was.
I was ironing my favorite pair of pants this morning for work. They are also my only pair of pants. I'm not really a "pants" kind of girl, so I have about 12 skirts and 1 pair of pants. Ok, ok and 3 pairs of jeans [although 1 of those pairs of jeans is too big so I can't wear them, 1 pair is too high waisted so I can't wear them, and 1 pair would make the Pope's jaw drop - I wear them]. So technically I only have 1 pair of jeans, and 1 pair of pants. The pants I was ironing.
I get the front of said pants all pressed. Actually, I was in a rush so "pressed" was putting it nicely but I wouldn't exactly look like I rolled out of bed in them and came to work either. So I flipped said pants over to press the back side and that's when I saw it. The frey. The frey that was actually a big freaking hole in my 1 pair of pants. The 1 pair of pants I was going to wear today. The 1 pair of pants that goes with the pink lace blouse I also picked out to wear.
I briefly debated wearing the pants anyway with a pair of non-attention-getting panties underneath. After all, would anyone really even notice? Ofcourse they would. And besides, I don't own any non-attention-getting panties.
So I had to wear...what else, a skirt. I picked a subtle light citrus yellow cotton shirt and a black skirt with my red flats and headed out to work where I was joined by 3 other coworkers, all dressed in light citrus yellow shirts and black skirts. As if we were part of some secret "bee-fabulous" society [though naturally, if such a secret society existed, I would be President].
I ended up working an hour late to bank some time so I can leave early on Friday to get ready for my date with Paul.
By the time I left, I was famished, but had to make a stop at the grocery store to pick up a few necessities [i.e. tampons and salad dressing - both of which I was completely out of and in desperate need of. Like ASAP because in 2 minutes the crimson hoover dam is going to break].
I get to the checkout. There's only one customer in front of me. And the cashier is ringing through his last item. I put my items up on the checkout. The middle aged guy is paying for his groceries with his debit card. The middle aged guy starts asking questions about how much the noddles, bananas and eggs were. He's sure the eggs weren't $4.54. He wants her to check the price. He knows the price he paid was wrong. The cashier is trying to explain that she's already processed his order, so if he goes to the customer service desk, they can check the price and refund his money if there's been an error.
But the middle aged keeps standing there. Talking about the price. I turn to him and say, "Excuse me sir, but unless you want to be standing in a puddle of blood in 0.2...take your ****ing sales receipt to the customer service desk and they'll do your price check there." In retrospect, he probably thought I meant I was going to beat him up. Either way, that's how you get a line moving.
Ok, ok. Technically I didn't say that to the middle aged guy. But I tried really hard to concentrate and use my mind to telepathically say it to him.
I hoped in my car. The sun was shining, the sun roof was open. When I started the car, I inadvertently startled some seagulls. It scared the shit right out of one of them. Right into my open sunroof.
Showing posts with label Wankers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wankers. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Bye Bye Birdie
Not to state the obvious, but today is Sunday. I haven' heard from Ben since Tuesday, despite his promise to call this weekend while he was out of town.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm being too quick to cut men off at the knees. But really, how hard is it to make a quick phone call? Exactly. Talk about not making a girl feel special.
Plus, I didn't miss him one bit (except last night when I got a wee bit tipsy, and even then, it had less to do with him and more to do with the fact that he has a penis). I may as well be dating an anatomically correct mannequin [note to self: check out Ebay for anatomically correct mannequin].
When he emails me tomorrow, I'll semi-politely tell him I'm not seeing him again.
I'd rather read a book.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm being too quick to cut men off at the knees. But really, how hard is it to make a quick phone call? Exactly. Talk about not making a girl feel special.
Plus, I didn't miss him one bit (except last night when I got a wee bit tipsy, and even then, it had less to do with him and more to do with the fact that he has a penis). I may as well be dating an anatomically correct mannequin [note to self: check out Ebay for anatomically correct mannequin].
When he emails me tomorrow, I'll semi-politely tell him I'm not seeing him again.
I'd rather read a book.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Happy Holiday!
I bet you didn't even know today was a holiday!
Today's International Drive Like An Asshole day - and EVERYBODY'S celebrating...
Unlike other international holidays, you don't need fancy colorful decorations, yummy calorie filled sweets, or shiny sparkly presents for that special someone. In fact, all you need is you. And some bad driving habits. Mullet optional (you know what they say - "business in the front, party in the back").
Why spend the time and energy on "normal" holidays when you can be an asshole for free? [Free does not include the probable cost of increased insurance fees, accumulation of parking tickets and traffic violations.]
So when your friends get caught up in the commericalism of the "normal" holiday season, you can sleep (and act) like a baby by being the asshole you always knew you could be.
Who needs signal lights anyway? They're soooo overrated. Why roll gently to a stop when you can slam on the breaks and make that "skreeeeeeeech" noise with your tires! Talk about getting the attention of the ladies. Stud. Ooops, I meant stupid.
And amber lights don't mean caution, stop if you can - noooooooo, it means you should roar your engine and speed up to make it through the light. Jackass. Ooops, I did mean jackass.
So ask yourself, have you been an asshole today? Yeah, me too ;)
Today's International Drive Like An Asshole day - and EVERYBODY'S celebrating...
Unlike other international holidays, you don't need fancy colorful decorations, yummy calorie filled sweets, or shiny sparkly presents for that special someone. In fact, all you need is you. And some bad driving habits. Mullet optional (you know what they say - "business in the front, party in the back").
Why spend the time and energy on "normal" holidays when you can be an asshole for free? [Free does not include the probable cost of increased insurance fees, accumulation of parking tickets and traffic violations.]
So when your friends get caught up in the commericalism of the "normal" holiday season, you can sleep (and act) like a baby by being the asshole you always knew you could be.
Who needs signal lights anyway? They're soooo overrated. Why roll gently to a stop when you can slam on the breaks and make that "skreeeeeeeech" noise with your tires! Talk about getting the attention of the ladies. Stud. Ooops, I meant stupid.
And amber lights don't mean caution, stop if you can - noooooooo, it means you should roar your engine and speed up to make it through the light. Jackass. Ooops, I did mean jackass.
So ask yourself, have you been an asshole today? Yeah, me too ;)
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Honk If You're An ***hole
A youngish sassy redhead exits Shoppers Drug Mart after buying most recent stash of cosmetics. Spots geekyish guy also exiting said store over her left shoulder. Probably just bought condoms she muses.
Their eyes meet across the crowded parking lot, she blushes slightly. He raises his sturdy hand out of his navy wool blend coat pocket and disarms his car alarm. It makes that "beep beep" noise just as she walks by his vehicle. Like the car is electronically whistling at her.
She looks at him, as if to say, ask me out if you dare. His shiney GM with the new car smell does not impress her. He looks at her, as if to say, don't you love my shiney new GM?
The redhead slides into her gently used Toyota with the fake strawberry air freshner smell. Turns the ignition and puts it into drive. She slams on the brakes as the shiney new GM car guy cuts her off in the parking lot. She sighs. And smiles to herself. Perhaps he was only there buying hemorrhoid cream.
Their eyes meet across the crowded parking lot, she blushes slightly. He raises his sturdy hand out of his navy wool blend coat pocket and disarms his car alarm. It makes that "beep beep" noise just as she walks by his vehicle. Like the car is electronically whistling at her.
She looks at him, as if to say, ask me out if you dare. His shiney GM with the new car smell does not impress her. He looks at her, as if to say, don't you love my shiney new GM?
The redhead slides into her gently used Toyota with the fake strawberry air freshner smell. Turns the ignition and puts it into drive. She slams on the brakes as the shiney new GM car guy cuts her off in the parking lot. She sighs. And smiles to herself. Perhaps he was only there buying hemorrhoid cream.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
You've Got Male, and Male, and Male, and Male and Male
And so it's begun. Online "dating" aka looking for a cool *** guy to accompany me to several events. The flirting and typos are amuck. Tonight I was working my "A game" - simultaneously having 5 conversations with potential male-arm-candy or "Mandy" as I've now dubbed them. It's a good thing I'm a quick typer.Not all of it was good news. I've already started attracting the weirdos/dumb-as-a-stick-ers. For your viewing pleasure here's a sample. What you are about to read are from real online instant message conversations thanks to the proud livestock, er, members of Lavalife. There's no way I could make **** like this up. Typos and lack of punctuation are included for the full effect.
Guy #1: knock...knock...anyone home?
Me: Who's there?
Guy #1: big bad wolf
Me: Sorry, wrong number!
[Bloggers Note: It's 3 hours later and I'm still laughing my *** off over that one. I think I let a little bit of pee go].
Guy #2: hey whats up
Me: Hi there. Just checking my email. What's up with you?
Guy #2: jsut realxing after a hard dsays work
[probable English translation: just relaxing after a hard days work]
Me: Nice :)
Guy #2: so whats up with you wanna trade backstage
Me: Just reading your profile. Sure - I'll send it. I only have one pic backstage right now. Here you go.
Guy #2: pretty so do you have msn
[probable English translation: You're smokin' hot! and something or other about msn]
Me: Yes.
Guy #2: hers mine but hodl yoru brath dont want yiou to faint when yio see how hot i am
[possible English translation: here's mine but hold your breath you don't want to faint when you see how hot I am.] Although wouldn't holding ones breath assist with fainting?
Me: I'm at [provides email address...I know - mistake!]
Guy #2: can you add m
Me: I tried to view your backstage but it said I didn't have access. I guess I'll have to hold off on the fainting.
Guy #2: giv it a min
Me: ok [rolled eyes here]
Guy #3: hi how ru?
Me: Great thanks - how are you?
Guy #3: not bad thx wat r u up to?
[probable English translation: Not bad thanks what are you up to hot stuff?]
Me: Just checking my email before I head out for a run.
Guy #3: nice where to? [warning: potential stalker]
Me: I haven't decided yet. I do this to avoid stalkers.
Guy #3: here is my bs could I see yours
[I'm assuming he was referring to his "backstage" i.e. photo gallery]
Me: Starting with the b***s*** already eh. I only have one pic there right now but here you go.
Guy #3: thanks not a bad picture at all [sigh...my prince charming]
At this point my other conversations are way more interesting and I can't even pretend to be interested.
Guy #3: MSN is [provides his MSN addy] if you'd care to chat
Hmmm...I'll have to think about that one
Ofcourse, those were samples of no-brainers (literally). I did have loads of good convo and shameless flirting with real potential Mandy's. Stay tuned.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
If The Phone Don't Ring, You'll Know It's Me
Despite my better judgement, I agreed to let my coworker Mary (aka Undercover Mother) set me up with one of her daughter's hunky, er...geeky clients (stick with me, it's get less complicated and sounds a lot less shady).
Mary's daughter Bridget is a massage therapist/ pastry chef/ triathelelon competitor
When I arrived at work in the morning there was a rather large sign on my computer screen, directing me to go to Mary's cubicle immediately upon arrival. It was pink and printed mostly in capitals, so I knew she meant business. I didn't even have time to set down my coffee travel mug before Mary swooped in and promptly had me write down my digits (we're talking cell, work AND home phone numbers) and one of my three email addresses. Normally it takes a guy at least three dates, a background check and a written test to get this much contact information. Yes, she's that relentless (glad she's an ally :) Bridget was going to call Evan that very day and pass on my info. There's some enviro/politically correct/potentially foriegn film that he was looking to see and Bridget was going to ever-so-casually suggest I was up for a little cinematic adventure.
Since I'm on a dating drought that could lead to more than whispering sub-titles in one another's ears.
That was approximately 7 days and 10 and a half hours ago (not that I'm counting or anything!)...and no call from Evan the Electrician. Yes, you read me right - no contact, or as they say in the other official Canadian language, La secousse ne m'a pas appelé. [French sounds so sexy even when you're saying something un-nice].
So I came up with a list (naturally) and I've properly dubbed it...
Things To Do While You're Waiting [but not really wanting to seem like you're waiting and it's taking what seems like bloody forever] For the Phone To Ring:
- Sample Vex's new hard blueberry raspberry "lemonade"
- Try another sample (ok...two), just to make sure your first impression was accurate
- "Mow the lawn"
- Write your next blog post
- Use spell-check incessantly to review blog post for lemonade inspired typos/confessions
- Actually mow the lawn
- Have phone convo with ex-husband who mistakenly calls you "Dear" then tries to recover by making it seem like he meant to say your name which sounds nothing like Dear (oh Dr. Freud how you mock me!)
- Bake family-secret-recipe chocolate chip cookies
- Eat family-secret-recipe chocolate chip cookies
- Attempt new Billy Blanks workout video still in cellophane wrapper to burn off calories accumulated from binging on chocolate chip cookies [note to readers: probably best not to attempt after "samples"]
- Ponder why Big Brother All-Stars is somehow less entertaining than BB6...I mean, they're supposed to be ALL-STARS
- Read possible side-effects on birth control package
- Question continuing to take birth control as you are probably never going to have sex again (or at least in the immediate future)
- Pick up phone to make sure it is still in service [it is]
- Call loyal friend Charlene to make sure phone really is in service [yup, it is]
- Carry on with life
Mary's daughter Bridget is a massage therapist/ pastry chef/ triathelelon competitor
When I arrived at work in the morning there was a rather large sign on my computer screen, directing me to go to Mary's cubicle immediately upon arrival. It was pink and printed mostly in capitals, so I knew she meant business. I didn't even have time to set down my coffee travel mug before Mary swooped in and promptly had me write down my digits (we're talking cell, work AND home phone numbers) and one of my three email addresses. Normally it takes a guy at least three dates, a background check and a written test to get this much contact information. Yes, she's that relentless (glad she's an ally :) Bridget was going to call Evan that very day and pass on my info. There's some enviro/politically correct/potentially foriegn film that he was looking to see and Bridget was going to ever-so-casually suggest I was up for a little cinematic adventure.
Since I'm on a dating drought that could lead to more than whispering sub-titles in one another's ears.
That was approximately 7 days and 10 and a half hours ago (not that I'm counting or anything!)...and no call from Evan the Electrician. Yes, you read me right - no contact, or as they say in the other official Canadian language, La secousse ne m'a pas appelé. [French sounds so sexy even when you're saying something un-nice].
So I came up with a list (naturally) and I've properly dubbed it...
Things To Do While You're Waiting [but not really wanting to seem like you're waiting and it's taking what seems like bloody forever] For the Phone To Ring:
- Sample Vex's new hard blueberry raspberry "lemonade"
- Try another sample (ok...two), just to make sure your first impression was accurate
- "Mow the lawn"
- Write your next blog post
- Use spell-check incessantly to review blog post for lemonade inspired typos/confessions
- Actually mow the lawn
- Have phone convo with ex-husband who mistakenly calls you "Dear" then tries to recover by making it seem like he meant to say your name which sounds nothing like Dear (oh Dr. Freud how you mock me!)
- Bake family-secret-recipe chocolate chip cookies
- Eat family-secret-recipe chocolate chip cookies
- Attempt new Billy Blanks workout video still in cellophane wrapper to burn off calories accumulated from binging on chocolate chip cookies [note to readers: probably best not to attempt after "samples"]
- Ponder why Big Brother All-Stars is somehow less entertaining than BB6...I mean, they're supposed to be ALL-STARS
- Read possible side-effects on birth control package
- Question continuing to take birth control as you are probably never going to have sex again (or at least in the immediate future)
- Pick up phone to make sure it is still in service [it is]
- Call loyal friend Charlene to make sure phone really is in service [yup, it is]
- Carry on with life
Monday, July 10, 2006
Inception of The List
If there's one thing a single girl knows...it's lists. We have lists for bloody everything: to-do list (clean house, change bulb in back-up lights on car), grocery list (milk, bagels, Carmen Electra's Striptease video collection #1 and 2), list of qualities we want in a potential guy we date (sense of humor, obsessed with Scrabble, employed), and pros/cons list of reasons to date or not to date a guy (pro: good manners, con: bad hygiene). Once we've settled into a cosy relationship, we still make lists...like the dreaded list of reasons why a guy hasn't proposed (contracted rare form of bacteria which has rendered him temporarily insane AND without use of speech. Come on MDs of the world - you've absolutely got to find a cure for this!).
The list I've decided to make is the list to end all lists (or at least temporarily replace some of those mentioned above). I'll give you the Reader's Digest version of how the idea of the list came to be. I'm sorry to report, it was because of a guy (actually this is the result of an accumulation of dating doozies with this being the proverbial bike seat that chafed my a**). So this guy..a real wanker we'll call Roger the Banker. Roger the Banker: a real wanker, has a nice rhyming effect doesn't it? (**not his real name...after all what kind of parent would name their kid Roger. If your name is Roger and you're reading this, please forgive me, I'm sure you're parents really are delightful. But this story isn't about you ok, so back to me).
Roger and I met "online". We were both signed onto a popular dating site (which shall remain nameless). Point is he was funny and smart and cute, and not your typical banker (I should know, my Dad's a banker - sorry Dad!). After chatting online for a week or two, I felt very comfortable giving Roger my cell number. We live in an area that only has so many bankers, therefore I was able to do some back ground checking. This was quite easy because Roger actually gave me his last name and I used to be a private investigator. Turns out, he was who he said he was. A relief and sometimes a rareity in the world of online dating. He called on a Sunday evening in late May (very important to note) and we chatted over the phone for about an hour. Things in common: we both have a son, both our sons have the same name, Aidan. Ok, so how would I handle that if we got married? "Aidan #1 come pick up your socks!" "Aidan #2 did you remember to make your bed?"
We agreed that a meet-and-greet was in order (in-person chemistry and all that jazz). Roger suggested we meet during the up-coming weekend or next week. I said that sounded like a plan (albeit not a firm one). He said he'd call through the week to confirm, plan where to meet, etc. Fade to over joyous singleton modestly (ok ok, proudly) telling her colleagues that a date with a banker, correction, a bank manager was in works for the weekend. I know, I know Roger didn't say for sure it would be the weekend, he left the option open to meet the next week. But I figured what guy would want to wait? My coworkers (the advice givers that they are) suggested that Aidan squared was not a dealbreaker (Dr. Phil speak). But fact that he owns a condo in another city, which his ex-girlfriend lives in (the condo, and the city) with their son because gosh darn it, he didn't want his son living in a slum...THAT might be an issue. Not that I question his pure desire to see his son raised in a nice area but the fact that his ex lives there and nice-as-can-be leaves and stays with her sister when he is in town, tells me they could still be together and he has Navy-syndrome (a girl in every port). The weekend went by...no call from Roger. The next week went by...no call from Roger. But wait, what's this? An email.
Email #1: Turns out Roger didn't forget about me after all. He just got really busy at work. *ahem* Obviously, he was sending this info via email to gauge my level of annoyance. He also wanted to know if I had forgotten about him. I carefully chose words for a reply (remember: light and breezy, light and breezy!). I advised Roger that I too had been quite busy and vaguely remembered our phone convo.
Email #2: Point taken, he was a wanker (my words) for not calling and dropping off the face of the earth. Was glad I hadn't been waiting by phone (I think a 90's pop-culture phrase could be employed well here...as if!) . Was I too busy to go for a drink? I checked my date book for the upcoming week: appointment with Sandra for hair trim/ brow tint, clean house, coach soccer, check oil in car, go for jog, clean house. Ofcourse I could have made time. But the real question was, did I want to? I think we all know what I told Roger. Advised Roger that I was free. On June 24th (keep in mind this would amount to approximately three weeks of waiting time). I appologized for the time delay but my very active cupid-wantabe coworkers had blind dates arranged for me (not exactly untrue as they frequently doing this but to be honest, I didn't have anything scheduled for the next couple of weeks).
Email #3: He accepted, June 24th. Part of me was happy Roger was willing to make plans that far in advance. Part of me lost some respect for him that he was willing to do that. He wanted to have a "phone date" in the meantime and find out more about these blind dates...after all he's quite competitive (which is probably the one thing I actually know about men). I'll spare you the details of my confusion over what a phone date entails...
Cut to hour-long phone convo number two. Roger really wanted to know details of other blind dates and who these guys were. Did not give him any satisfaction. At the end of the conversation, I asked him what he had in mind for our date on the 24th. Roger opted to chat before then and would choose something based on date activities I did with blind dates; he wanted to out do them. Again, he reminded me how competitive he is. You don't say...I was tempted to have a bit of fun with this and advise Roger that one of my blind dates took me to Paris. My coworkers (who had no use for Roger the Banker by this time) thought this would be quite funny. But I do have a conscience (I know, who knew?).
In the end, Roger didn't call. We didn't go out on the 24th. I had been beaten at my own game. I know, I asked for it. The whole ordeal (one of many many oh so many) had left me disillusioned with the whole dating scenario. And then, an idea popped into my head. To avoid future dating frustrations like above (at least in the short term) I was going to make a list. A list to end all lists. A list of things I had to do before I was able to accept another dating invitation. Items on the list were things I always wanted to do or should do but kept putting off (white water rafting, watching Debbie Does Dallas) because I was waiting to be in a relationship before taking them on. Some of the things are also just for fun and have no purpose what so ever other than to keep me busy (to avoid thinking about the dating I'm not doing). Or just for the sheer knowledge or enjoyment it will bring (see item #2 and 7).
The list I've decided to make is the list to end all lists (or at least temporarily replace some of those mentioned above). I'll give you the Reader's Digest version of how the idea of the list came to be. I'm sorry to report, it was because of a guy (actually this is the result of an accumulation of dating doozies with this being the proverbial bike seat that chafed my a**). So this guy..a real wanker we'll call Roger the Banker. Roger the Banker: a real wanker, has a nice rhyming effect doesn't it? (**not his real name...after all what kind of parent would name their kid Roger. If your name is Roger and you're reading this, please forgive me, I'm sure you're parents really are delightful. But this story isn't about you ok, so back to me).
Roger and I met "online". We were both signed onto a popular dating site (which shall remain nameless). Point is he was funny and smart and cute, and not your typical banker (I should know, my Dad's a banker - sorry Dad!). After chatting online for a week or two, I felt very comfortable giving Roger my cell number. We live in an area that only has so many bankers, therefore I was able to do some back ground checking. This was quite easy because Roger actually gave me his last name and I used to be a private investigator. Turns out, he was who he said he was. A relief and sometimes a rareity in the world of online dating. He called on a Sunday evening in late May (very important to note) and we chatted over the phone for about an hour. Things in common: we both have a son, both our sons have the same name, Aidan. Ok, so how would I handle that if we got married? "Aidan #1 come pick up your socks!" "Aidan #2 did you remember to make your bed?"
We agreed that a meet-and-greet was in order (in-person chemistry and all that jazz). Roger suggested we meet during the up-coming weekend or next week. I said that sounded like a plan (albeit not a firm one). He said he'd call through the week to confirm, plan where to meet, etc. Fade to over joyous singleton modestly (ok ok, proudly) telling her colleagues that a date with a banker, correction, a bank manager was in works for the weekend. I know, I know Roger didn't say for sure it would be the weekend, he left the option open to meet the next week. But I figured what guy would want to wait? My coworkers (the advice givers that they are) suggested that Aidan squared was not a dealbreaker (Dr. Phil speak). But fact that he owns a condo in another city, which his ex-girlfriend lives in (the condo, and the city) with their son because gosh darn it, he didn't want his son living in a slum...THAT might be an issue. Not that I question his pure desire to see his son raised in a nice area but the fact that his ex lives there and nice-as-can-be leaves and stays with her sister when he is in town, tells me they could still be together and he has Navy-syndrome (a girl in every port). The weekend went by...no call from Roger. The next week went by...no call from Roger. But wait, what's this? An email.
Email #1: Turns out Roger didn't forget about me after all. He just got really busy at work. *ahem* Obviously, he was sending this info via email to gauge my level of annoyance. He also wanted to know if I had forgotten about him. I carefully chose words for a reply (remember: light and breezy, light and breezy!). I advised Roger that I too had been quite busy and vaguely remembered our phone convo.
Email #2: Point taken, he was a wanker (my words) for not calling and dropping off the face of the earth. Was glad I hadn't been waiting by phone (I think a 90's pop-culture phrase could be employed well here...as if!) . Was I too busy to go for a drink? I checked my date book for the upcoming week: appointment with Sandra for hair trim/ brow tint, clean house, coach soccer, check oil in car, go for jog, clean house. Ofcourse I could have made time. But the real question was, did I want to? I think we all know what I told Roger. Advised Roger that I was free. On June 24th (keep in mind this would amount to approximately three weeks of waiting time). I appologized for the time delay but my very active cupid-wantabe coworkers had blind dates arranged for me (not exactly untrue as they frequently doing this but to be honest, I didn't have anything scheduled for the next couple of weeks).
Email #3: He accepted, June 24th. Part of me was happy Roger was willing to make plans that far in advance. Part of me lost some respect for him that he was willing to do that. He wanted to have a "phone date" in the meantime and find out more about these blind dates...after all he's quite competitive (which is probably the one thing I actually know about men). I'll spare you the details of my confusion over what a phone date entails...
Cut to hour-long phone convo number two. Roger really wanted to know details of other blind dates and who these guys were. Did not give him any satisfaction. At the end of the conversation, I asked him what he had in mind for our date on the 24th. Roger opted to chat before then and would choose something based on date activities I did with blind dates; he wanted to out do them. Again, he reminded me how competitive he is. You don't say...I was tempted to have a bit of fun with this and advise Roger that one of my blind dates took me to Paris. My coworkers (who had no use for Roger the Banker by this time) thought this would be quite funny. But I do have a conscience (I know, who knew?).
In the end, Roger didn't call. We didn't go out on the 24th. I had been beaten at my own game. I know, I asked for it. The whole ordeal (one of many many oh so many) had left me disillusioned with the whole dating scenario. And then, an idea popped into my head. To avoid future dating frustrations like above (at least in the short term) I was going to make a list. A list to end all lists. A list of things I had to do before I was able to accept another dating invitation. Items on the list were things I always wanted to do or should do but kept putting off (white water rafting, watching Debbie Does Dallas) because I was waiting to be in a relationship before taking them on. Some of the things are also just for fun and have no purpose what so ever other than to keep me busy (to avoid thinking about the dating I'm not doing). Or just for the sheer knowledge or enjoyment it will bring (see item #2 and 7).
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