A Great Date.

Its come to my attention that I tend to rant (and never rave) about dating.

And before anyone gets confused and thinks I’m just super high-maintenance and impossible to please…I’d like to present evidence from what I consider a really good date, circa summer 2012.

Cheerwine cherry soda. Some ginger ale. Mini mason jars full of booze, and two cups.

Add in a hike up to the top of Cobbs Hill to sit at the reservoir, a chance to look at the city, have great conversation, and stare at the stars. I’m putting a mark in the “win” column.

And it didn’t even involve parking.

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Watch Out for the Nice Guys Part 2

It’s the nice guys that get you, EVERY TIME. They start out all nice and normal and romantic, and then you wake up one day and they do something super classy like call it off over text message.

The latest?

He is on to what’s “next!” because I didn’t offer to pay for parking.

(No, you are not hallucinating.)

Oh, and I found out via his FB status update. So while I’m asleep dreaming of the next date, he’s posting the “she didn’t even fake offer to pay for parking, next!” to FB, knowing that I’ll likely see it the next morning.

Almost as good as the time I was broken up with via FB relationship-status change…NOT JOKING HERE EITHER.

PARKING. IT WAS THE SECOND DATE. Are you sh*tting me, life?

I have several thoughts.

1. Do you want the girl that pays for parking, or the girl you have a really awesome connection with and can’t stop thinking about? I like to think it’s the second, especially since you talked about how awesome it is that I’m career driven, I volunteer all over the city, and I look great in a mini skirt. Oh, and there were the multiple ‘thinking about you,’ ‘can’t wait to see you,’ ‘daydreaming about you’ text messages I received.
2. I offered to pick up the rest of dinner, which, btw, you paid for with A GIFT CARD. And, when you refused, I acknowledged that you had paid the first and second date. Which, if you remember from the multiple cupcakes and brownies and beers I had brought to your house in the past because we actually never went on a date, just watched movies, was probably a sign that I was going to do something nice for you in return. Now, I know the remaining $5 on the dinner bill plus tip isn’t the same as the $7.50 that parking cost, but if you’re looking for the arbitrary “fake attempt” to pay, pretty sure it happened.
3. Also, you DO NOT purposefully play the obscure band that we both like on the ride home from dinner, give me an amazing kiss goodnight, and tell me you will see me again soon if you are planning to post about parking on FB. THIS IS NOT OKAY.
4. Are you really willing to write me off so quickly without even allowing me the opportunity to do something nice for you in return? Sorry for draining your bank account over the course of two dates. So while you’re bemoaning the two dates we went on which you claimed were amazing, I’ll be doing something really amazing for someone who will actually appreciate it.
5. It was the second date. I’m generally on my best behavior (which, apparently, doesn’t include paying for parking) on the second date because I’d like to go on a third one. SECOND. DATE. As my y-chromosome enabled friends have informed me, dates 1 through 5 are supposed to be amazing so I want to keep dating you. They also think paying for parking is a “man” thing and that I just dodged a bullet.

Oh, and btw buddy, you just posted on your FB wall about how cheap you are, so good luck the next time you try dating.

Watch out for the Nice Guys.

Watch out for the nice guys.

It’s advice that your mom/best friend/sister/therapist/Bridget Jones probably never told you.

But I’m letting you know.

BEWARE of the nice guy.

The nice guy is easy to fall for. He makes dinner reservations. He waits until you get inside the house before leaving. He asks about your day and is legitimately interested in hearing about it. He pulls out your chair, buys you flowers, and has a glass of wine waiting for you when you arrive. And not a glass of wine in the “I am making decisions for you and am trying to control you” way, but in the “I’m being thoughtful” way.

The moment you find yourself thinking, “this is really nice” and “wow, I need to go to finishing school so I know what to do when he pulls the chair out next time” remind yourself of this: The nice guy is easy to fall for. I need to watch out.

That way, when the nice guy calls it off with you over text message less than 48 hours after doing something amazingly sweet and less than 24 hours after telling you how much he likes you, you won’t be surprised.

I’M WARNING YOU. Watch out.

Also? “Hi!” is not an appropriate greeting for a let’s just quit while we are ahead text message.

An exclamation point? Are you sh*tting me life? Didn’t realize you were THAT excited to be extracting yourself from my life.

Beware. Of. The. Nice. Guy.

(I won’t even get started on the fact that I DESERVE A FREAKING PHONE CALL and that text message is only an appropriate form of communication if you are under the age of 14.)

At least when you fall for the d-bag, you know he’s going to consistently be douche-y. He’ll cancel plans (if he even bothers to make them in the first place), he’ll only call you after midnight (and nothing good happens after midnight), and he’ll probably tell you that he ‘forgot his credit card’ as soon as you show up to the bar (but do you mind spotting him? Just this once?). He won’t commit and he will forget your birthday. But he will manage to keep giving you just those few amazing moments every so often that you are always thinking “it’s going to be different” and “he’ll change.”

Like I said. Consistent.

Be careful out there ladies. Don’t let yourself fall for a Mr. Wrong. Keep your heart and your eyes open. WIDE OPEN.

And watch out for the nice guys.

What is this, 1990?

Do you ever have those moments when someone says, “Yeah, it was like 10 years ago” and you think they mean the 90’s, when really they are referring to 2002?

THIS IS NOT ONE OF THOSE TIMES.

I received the following at my parents’ house last week.

At this point, you’re probably saying, “BFD. Someone mailed you a letter. You’re just soooooooo  popular.”

But this is not an ordinary letter. It is a gramatically incorrect, poorly punctuated, neatly typed, blast-from-the-past, super creepy LOVE LETTER.

Don’t believe me? I’ve gleefully accurately transcribed it below. Names have been changed to protect the…innocent.

RXXX,

Hey how are things going? I came across your address on something a little bit back and thought I’d write you and say hi. Well right after that I was out for a jog and was hit by a F150 Pick-up truck. Broke 10 ribs puntured lung few other things, Nothing really physically noticeable, incredibly lucky for getting struck at what the driver said he was going 50MPH and threw me into a tree. Going back to work today for a couple weeks then surgery on my ribs.

Anyways, how have things been? What are you doing these days? I’m still doing the police ting and own a few houses. Starting a new business I think soon. Think I’m going to build a house soon, Have a lot of plans for it just have to find the location I want it.

What is new with you? I think the last time I saw you was at Nathanial’s the summer you were working at red wings stadium. You still living in NYS. Sent this to your parents hoping they could forward it to you. How is your family? Lol I remember being over your house after class a couple times and your dad came home and I was all intimidated lol. We were young then eh?

Well Anyway If you want you should get a hold of me, still have the same #…585-XXX-XXX. Maybe we can meet up for a bit or something and catch up. Hope everything is well, and Happy Easter. : )

Okay, I know what you are all thinking. Give this guy a break, he’s just trying to be nice, etc etc.

But let’s be reasonable.

First, a letter to my parents’ house? A letter? What is this, 1990? And ten years later? There are MANY MANY ways to find my contact info…LIKE GOOGLE. Or LinkedIn, Facebook, Twitter…the list goes on.

And the fact that he still has my address memorized is just…creepy.

Second, can we discuss the punctuation? And grammar? I work in communications for a living. Good grammar is like breakfast cereal to me. I’d just like to say, the capitals after the commas…SO CONFUSED. And no question mark after the question about living in NYS is just…wrong.

Third, the phrase “LOL” should never be used outside of text message. And the “eh?” I’m all for celebrating my Canadian heritage, but wtf. And he was hit by a pickup truck??? And owns a “few” houses? Are you sh*tting me life?

Don’t even get me started on the ones who say they plan to “start a new business.” UGH times TEN.

AND BEFORE YOU CALL ME JUDGY MCJUDGERSON…which I might be…I’D LIKE TO POINT OUT THE STAMP.

What grown man has a stash of “Love” stamps just hanging around the house? Flag stamps, Liberty Bell stamps, even leftover Christmas or a wedding stamp would have been better. But a “LOVE” stamp? I’m pretty sure this stamp was…intentional. And therefore creepy. VOMS.

Overall, the only redeeming facet of the letter is its choice of font. A sans serif. Thank goodness for the little things in life.

A for effort. And A+ for creep factor.

Me and Mr. Wrong

Me and Mr. Wrong get along so good. Sing it, Mary.

Today, at 7:38 a. m., while most alcoholics normal people were abed sleeping off St. Patrick’s Day hangovers, I was up and out on a run. Because I didn’t go out last night.

I went to dinner with a guy who could be my next Mr. Wrong.

I know how to spot a Mr. Wrong in the wild, because over the last few years I’ve gone out with plenty of them. Once you’ve found one in his natural habitat, it becomes easier to recognize the next one.

What’s not so easy, however, is avoiding him in the first place. Because Mr. Wrong is very good at camouflage. On the surface, he appears to be Mr. Right…or at least Mr. Right Now…

I’ve encountered the following wolves in sheep’s clothing subspecies of Mr. Wrong in my dating adventures.

Mr. Too Busy

Mr. Let’s Keep It Casual

Mr. Let’s Just Have Casual Sex

Mr. I Think You’re Great But…

Mr. Flake-Effect

Mr. I Don’t Like Your Family

Mr. Controlling

Mr. I Think You’re Too Focused On Your Career

Mr. I’m Too Focused On My Career

Mr. I Don’t Take You Seriously

Mr. I Slept With Someone Else

Mr. I’m a combination of two or more things from the above list

If you ever meet the last one, run away. FAR, FAR AWAY.

When you’re dating a Mr. Wrong, nothing ever seems to go right. All the crazy, mildly neurotic, slightly dramatic behaviors that you hide from the world really don’t have seem to come out. It’s like all of a sudden you’re that girl.

The girl that second-guesses everything. That is never sure. That never talks about what’s on her mind because she’s too afraid of looking dramatic/needy/psycho. That lives in a perpetual state of “will this or won’t this” work out. The girl that has an unhealthy obsession with wanting to know how the story ends.

When in reality, you’re not that girl at all. You’re just with the wrong guy.

My potential Mr. Wrong? He’s smart and funny and really cute and sweet and we have an amazing time together. But he also could be a Mr. I Want You to Wait Around. And while you’re waiting for me to decide if I want to be with you or not, don’t date anyone else. Just wait.

So now I’m torn. Do I throw this fish back into the sea? Because he could be a Mr. Wrong? Or do I chance it?

Yea, pretty sure I’d like to peek ahead to the ending on this one…

I Object: Single is NOT the New Social Outcast

According to a enlightening ridiculous NYT piece, people who live alone are, apparently, totalfreakingweirdos.

The evidence for the said “people who live alone will undoubtably turn into social lepers” argument is completely erroneous and humorous all at once.

• Kramer is NOT a good example of what happens to people when they live alone. I’ve yet to substitute butter for tanning oil and there are no plans to begin washing vegetables in the shower.
• Singing along to Journey is COMPLETELY NORMAL. And singing in the shower? It is widely known that bathrooms have amazing acoustics.
• Laundry left in the dryer is a sign of laziness. The same goes for dishes in the sink, not vacuuming, and other various physical manifestations of sloth.
• Champagne at 8 a.m.? It’s called a freaking mimosa. And they’re delicious.
• Matthew Morrison has publicly admitted to going on a sweet-potato only diet and I’m pretty sure he’s not a social outcast. He’s just insanely good looking.

Living alone is normal. So is living with your significant other. Stockpiling canned soup and bottled water for the apocalypse while trying out for Hoarders? That’s just plain scary.

I seriously believe this author deliberately searched out the weirdest, oddest, quirkiest people to interview for this article. And completely ignored the larger subset of TOTALLY NORMAL people who live by themselves. The concept of sample size? I don’t believe that was applied here…

Living alone doesn’t turn you into Bridget Jones or a social pariah. Living alone teaches you to be alone.

And the best part?

I watch football in my underwear. And I’m pretty sure my future husband won’t complain about that.

I mustache you…

I know the mustache trend is a bit overused…but I can’t help it. I saw this easy DIY project on the Finley and Oliver blog and I couldn’t resist.

Plus, my Friday night consisted on running into not one, but TWO ex-boyfriends at the same bar.

With their new girlfriends.

Who I got to meet.

Because the new gfs “really wanted to meet me.” Which we all know means they wanted to check me out up close. Like I’m some sort of zoo animal. As I said: good luck chuck.

So, crafting fun and crazy-cute mustache items kept my mind off things (and my hands off the chardonnay and corkscrew). I cut out the letters for these on my Cricut Expression (chirp chirp!) using the Plantin Schoolbook font, with the “shadow” feature. The blue card letters were sliced at 2 inches and the green card letters at 2.5 inches. The glitter paper I purchased at Michaels–its pretty thick, so if you’re using a “slice and dice” machine like me, be sure to change the blade depth.

Now, the most important part. The mustache graphic. I downloaded an image of mustaches that I saw on the Cheddar Guppies blog. After some resizing, I traced this onto the back of the glitter paper and cut out VERY CAREFULLY. As we all know, because I am efficient (read: lazy), I use a stack of precut cardstock for the actual cards. It’s way easier than trying to cut out an exact rectangle and the paper comes in a rainbow of colors.

Arrange the letters how you like and glue onto the card stock. And then you’re set to mail out some mustache love.

Because nothing says “I love you” like…

A good ol’ fashioned celebration of VD.

Why thank you, Rick. What a splendid idea.