#popularpeopleproblems

A few weeks ago my Mom met a lady through a mutual friend (Beverly) who has a son who lives in LA. As they chatted about their adult children's exciting California lives they realized their adult children (i.e. Philip and I) had a bit in common.

We both are in "green" careers. He's an architect focusing on green design and I am a sustainability manager.
We both live in So-Cal. He's in LA, while I'm in Newport.
We both like the Wildcats and making new friends.

That is basically all it takes apparently to be MFEO (Made For Each Other).
Sleepless in Seattle fans, that was for you.

When my Mom got home she called and told me about meeting Philip's mother.
"Sure! Give him my phone number." I said. "Worst case scenario I'll make a good industry contact or have an amazing blog post. Best case scenario I'll be barefoot and pregnant in no time."
"Uh. Yeah. Sure. Anyway, I'll tell Bev." said Mom, who has taken to largely ignoring my sarcasm in hopes that I will take up a more lady-like habit.
Like needlepoint. Or soft-spokenness.

I didn't think much more about Philip until my mom texted me a little more information about him.

Philip Durrante (I'm not sure about the spelling)
Eco-Architecture Designs
421 E. Pasa Robles Rd.
Los Angeles CA

An address and no cell number or email? Does she think I'll just swing by?
 I'll Google him and at least find out if he is cute!
But Google turned up zilch!
I didn't even know it was possible to leave no imprint on the interwebs! But there was nothing coming up for a Philip Durrante/Durrent/Durant/etc... that worked for any sort of architectural firm in LA, let alone Eco-Architecture. I guess she must really be off on the spelling.
Oh, well! 

A week later Momma Crigger forwarded an email she had received from Philip's mother. The gist of it was that I seemed amazing (she's not wrong there) and that Philip would be happy to meet me and know someone from Kentucky in the big city. She also mentioned having the two of us meet up over Christmas while we are both home. And that is when it started to feel a little bit like I was living in a country where the parents select the bride for the groom...

Thank goodness Charles and Kathy don't even attempt to voice an opinion on my love life. They have only ever liked one boy I brought "home". And I am pretty sure they are hoping I'll marry him, move back to Kentucky, and bring my 10 kids home for the holidays so that bunk room they have will get some use.

And then I saw Philip's real last name.
Smith.
Not Durrante, or whatever my mom thought it was.

He was Phil Smith! Phil Smith! PhilSmith!
I say this because when I was introduced to him he (and everyone else) said it like it was one word.

Obviously, I already know him.
And as such, if I were interested in him, I probably would have already gone out with him.
He not only comes to the UK game watch parties, but he is good friends with Sean.
The guy from the Kentucky alumni group who I dated VERY casually for awhile, and keeps calling me and wanting to come see me in Orange County and take me on dates.

I'm significantly less interested in that occurring.

But anyway, Phil is awesome, and I really like hanging out with him. But he isn't really my type, and even if he was, he and I could never go out because of Sean.

It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all. It's a small, small, world.

And tough being so popular and desirable! 

One is one too many...

And one more is never enough.

After I ran into Zach at the concert and we had a nice (and quite sweaty, on my part) kiss in the parking lot, he headed to Kentucky with strict orders to meet my mother and bring me back some Moonshine.  After an early morning meet-and-greet with Kathy, some football tailgating, and what I can only assume was a wild weekend of partying like a college kid given the drunk texts I was receiving inquiring about pizza parlors/late night Lexington food open past 2:00am, he returned to California moonshine in tow.

Perfect.
Or not so much. I was mostly over this guy, until he called me and offered to bring me some moonshine back from Kentucky. Now I was back in full blown Likeville.

The fact that he was carrying my contraband meant I had to see him. At least for a few minutes. After I all he had my moonshine. And if he could see me for a few minutes maybe we could parlay that into a drink, dinner, a trip to the dog park, or something.

Basically anything, because I was desperate for some attention.

We exchanged a few texts, but our usual problem got in the way. 

When I am free, he is tied up. When he is free I can’t shake loose of a prior commitment.

Frustration station. All aboard!

Well, at least I was getting on board. Why is it soooooo hard for me to see this guy?

From the current disappear-reappear pattern Zach was sticking to, I doubted he was all that frustrated. 
And if he was, at least had moonshine to quell his frustration! 

But on Friday morning things started to look up when I got the following text.

“What are you doing tonight?”

As usual, when I get texts of this nature at work I run to Everett shrieking "What do I do? What do I say? Help me not mess this up!!" 

I am, at times, overly concerned about not messing things up in the romance department. 

Taking Everett’s advice to be busy (i.e. just hanging out with some friends), but not so busy that I couldn't change my plans and hang out with him instead (i.e. going to a Rolling Stones concert). 

I replied with, “Just hanging out with Everett and some people. Nothing major. Why what are you doing?”
"Oh. Nevermind. Going to a baseball game."
Nevermind? Just ask me to come to the game with you instead you big dummy! Fine I'll fish for an invite, even though I HATE doing that.
"Ooooo jealous! I feel like I should go to more baseball games. Its so close and cheap!"
"Sorry for telling you last minute."
Well you never really told me... Or invited me. BUT... Let's see if I can make this happen.
"Let me see if it will break Ev's heart if I bail on him. If not, I'll come."

Obviously, it wasn't going to break Ev's heart if I ditched him and our fake plans, but I waited 20 minutes and then texted Zach back.
"Did you already get tickets? Everett's trying to make me watch Snow White and Huntsman and baseball sounds way better."
"I did, but I can get another one. We are going to tailgate before the game."
"Great. See you in the parking lot."

I arrived at the game just as the tailgating extravaganza was ending. I'd been running late coming from work so I took a shot of bourbon and we (Zach, his friend Mitch and a girl who they know from kickball who I really liked and now can't remember her name...) all walked into the game. Grabbing beers and then finding our seats we settled in for Angles versus the White Sox action. 

Zach and I chatted about his trip to Kentucky and he called my Momma "a charm", which is pretty accurate description. And we talked some baseball smack, which is pretty interesting since I know next to nothing about baseball and even less about the Angels, except that Mike Trout is a big deal and is the reason that people keep wearing foam fish hats to games. 

The Angels won (*yeah* Root! Root! Root for the home team! and all that jazz), but Zach was bummed that his White Sox lost. I maintained that they should have played better, whatever that means for baseball...

Post baseball we headed back to Newport to go to the Goathill Tavern. It is a strange place with peanuts on the floor, a 100 beers on tap, and an impressive selection of Brittney Spears, Lady Gaga, and Beyonce that people dance to under very bright lighting. It's like a Logan's Roadhouse with club music and a massively better beer selection.

Grabbing a pitcher of beer for everyone else and a bourbon and diet coke for me we chatted, laughed, danced and generally had too much fun. At one point I did Willow Smith's "Whip My Hair" and as I danced on peanuts shells. At least I think they were peanut shells. I might also have sang "Poker Face" complete with my own choreographed dance.

And by "might", I mean I totally did.

Who doesn't think that sounds fun? 

The next day I talked to Zach and he mentioned if I was interested in watching some football he would be at Rudy's in Newport Beach for the Bear's game at 10:00. I was non-committal, but told him I would probably come down and watch my Steelers play at 1:00.

On Sunday, Allison, who I had dragged along with me, and I arrived at Rudy's to find Zach and his friends a very subdued cheering section. The Bears were behind. 

"My phone died. Did you text me?" Zach asked.
"Yeah. Just to tell you I was on my way. Nothing major."
"Oh, sorry."
"No biggie."

Alexis and I ordered beers and settled in to watch the last of the Bears (who managed to pull out a W just in the nick of time) and wait for my Steelers to come on.

Zach and I chatted, but somehow I ended up talking to his friend Mitch, and the random girl sitting beside me more than him. 

Not a good sign.

Then the worst thing happened. 
Well, maybe not the worst. But it certainly wasn't good.
A guy at the table behind us struck up a conversation with me about the Steelers. 

I know I should have kept it short. But I have NO Steeler-fan friends out here. So when I meet another Steelers fan I can't help but gab. We became like two girls in a beauty parlor talking about my love of James Harrison, how Mendenhal needs to get better, and the awesomeness that is Heath Miller.

In my defense, it wasn't like Zach was talking my ear off or anything. Eventually, I extracted myself from the Steelers chatter and turned back to my table. 

But Zach still wasn't really talking to me. 
I didn't get it then. I don't get it now. 
Don't invite me to hang out and then not talk to me! 

He stayed until half time of the Steelers' game and then he and Mitch left to go down to another bar to see a friend of Mitch's.

"Call me or text me if you are going to come down. I'll charge my phone during the car ride down."
"OK. I will. But I kinda doubt we'll come. I'm going to watch the rest of the game and then probably head on out. I have a test to study for."
"Alright. We'll talk soon, then."

And then we didn't.
I haven't heard from him in quite some time and fully don't ever expect to. 
Though I am waiting for when we bump into each other. And it will happen. We run in too many of the same circles. And it will be awkward. 

Let's just hope I look awesome. And that I am with a hot millionaire!




** Just to keep everyone straight, this all occurred before the Bachelor Auction... 

Up in flames.

When Dale first messaged me on OKCupid he opened with "What do you think of Orange County guys so far?"

My initial response was "I'm unimpressed." But decided that was a little mean and not entirely true, more just a reflection of my recent dating rough patch than my actual feelings. Instead I responded with, "So far I like Orange Co! And the guys are OK too!" I figured go with a cheeky response.

After a few more short emails I suggested we meet up for a drink. I'm not really into these long, protracted email exchanges. Let's just go out and see if I can stand you for longer than 45 minutes. If I stay for a second drink. You might get a second date. Otherwise, I'll cut my losses, go home, put on yoga pants and try to salvage the evening with an episode of Ally McBeal on Netflix and maybe a little quilting.

We agreed to meet up at a local place in Newport Beach that has outdoor fire pits and a decent bourbon selection. As we settled into some chairs near a fire pit I asked the waitress what bourbons they stocked. And she proceeded to provide me with a list of Scotch. And Whiskey. She didn't mention a single bourbon.
This was the least offensive thing that happened all night

 I had seen Woodford Reserve on my way in so I just asked for a Woodford with a couple of ice cubes and Dale order a Manhattan.

Alright. He drinks bourbon. He can't be that bad. Right? Right?

When our drinks arrive he takes one look at his (served in a well glass) and says to the waitress. "I wanted it up."
She and I looked at each other flabbergasted.
Who does he think he is? Carry Bradshaw?
But she brought him a new Manhattan prepared up.
There is just something about a man drinking a manly drink from a fru-fru glass that makes me cringe inside.
I could learn to let that go, though.

As we sat by the fire chatting and people watching he motioned to a woman who walked by clad in a leopard print outfit.
"Overdressed or under dressed?" He asked. "I mean we are sitting around a fire pit."
"Well, I guess it depends on what her plans are after she leaves here. Maybe she has to go play surrogate mother to some sort of jungle cat."
"So what were some culture shocks you had when you moved out here."
"Well, its still surprising that when I smile at people when I pass them on the street, they don't usually smile back. And the amount of people who have gotten completely ready, make-up, hair, nails, high heels, etc... and somehow managed to leave the house still wearing their pajama bottoms, which are sweat pants that say Juicy on them."
"Yeah. I've lived out here for 15 years and I still find the plastic surgery ridiculous. Like that girl that just walked by with the huge fake tits."
Oh. My. Did he just say huge fake tits? On a first date? "Yeah... That is surprising. I just don't get it."
"And you know those people who just look kind of retarded? Like the people with Down Syndrome how they all look the same?"
WHAT! Retarded is not a descriptive adjective!! You don't use that word. I can think of some descriptive adjectives for you. Asshole, for starters. Followed closely by idiot.
The assault must have flashed across my face because he followed his commit with this.
"I'm not making fun of retarded people."
Oh my gosh. He said it again. And it is just getting worse.
"I just mean that all the people with plastic surgery look the same. I'm still waiting on that penis reduction surgery."
SERIOUSLY!  Who says that? ON A FIRST DATE? I'm not your bro, dude!
"That was a joke."
Oh. Now he thinks I need a horrible joke explained. Where is that waitress? I need another drink to throw on this giant boob!
"So, but you like California so far?"
"Yeah. I do. It's a big change at times, but you can't beat the weather and I love my job!"
"So you just moved out here for a job? You didn't have any family or friends out here?"
"Basically. I was dating someone who is from out here and I probably won't have seen the job posting if they hadn't been out here, but I certainly didn't move out here for him."
"What happened there?"
"It just didn't work."
"I bet that was rough moving out here and then having that not work and not having anyone around really."
"It wasn't too bad. The break-up was a long time coming."
"Well, his loss is my gain."
For the moment yes. But I wouldn't be counting my chickens just yet if I were you. I wonder how long it takes the human body to burn? Throwing myself on the fire pit must be less painful than sitting here.
"I'll be right back. I'm going to run to the restroom." And then maybe out the door...

~~~ In the bathroom~~~
"ALLISON!!!  I'm on the worst date ever! You have to rescue me!" I wailed. Literally wailed. I got sympathetic looks from strangers!
"Wait. You went? I thought you were going to bail?"
"I decided to sack up and come. Now I'm sorry I did! Here's what I need you to do; Wait 15 minutes. Call me twice. I'm going to ignore the calls. Then text me and tell you were in a car wreck and I have to come and get you."
"Ok. Then come drink with us. Jane, Adam and I are at Garf's on Bristol."
"Yeah!"

~~~Back at the table, or hell on earth as I was starting to think of it~~~
"So you mentioned you lived in Japan... Dating Japanese men must have been difficult."
"Yeah, sometimes it was. I dated one guy that I really liked and the reason it worked so well was because he was pretty progressive in terms of Japanese culture. He spent alot of time working in America and he had backpacked around India. He wasn't just looking for the Japanese version of a 1950s housewife."
"I was actually talking about the rumor about..." he said holding up his pinky finger to indicate a small penis.
"Oh." I know you perverted moron! I was just ignoring that because I have these things called manners! You've obviously never heard of them. I can't believe you are talking about private bits on a first date! You have a teenage daughter! Is this what you want her going out with? Because I sure don't want to be going out with it! Why hasn't Allison called? It must be way longer than 15 minutes by now!

So I made some more small talk about golf and work and continued to suffer under the oppressive regime of the giant douche bag I was on a date with.
"Are you sure you don't want another drink?" He asked sipping his second Manhattan (up, I might add).
"No. I should go soon. I have an early meeting." And friends that aren't horribly offensive waiting at the bar for me.
"Are you sure? You can skip that meeting..."
"No, I can't actually. I need to get some things firmed up for a project. But thanks for the bourbon. This is a great spot." I said pulling on my coat.

Notice how I never said anything about this being a great date, or how much fun I'd had.

"I'll walk you to your car."
"Thanks, but I can see it from here." I said trying to dissuade him.
"I'll still walk with you."

When we got to my car, I tried to go for the handshake, but he went in for the hug (shudder). And then he attempted to kiss me, but I jumped back just in time! I didn't want to hear what was coming out of his mouth, let alone let it get that close to me!

"Bye! Be careful driving home!" I said slamming and locking the door.
"Allison I am going to kill you!" I screamed into the phone!
"Oh my god! I forgot to call you! Come to Garf's we'll have a bourbon waiting for you!"
"Make it a double."

Squishy

We've all been there.

You return from a few years living abroad and you decide to roll up to Best Buy and upgrade your DVD collection since you haven't seen Lost, Desperate Housewives, or these Kardashian people everyone keeps yammering about. As you walk across the street you realize the car you have crossed in front of is being driven by your ex-boyfriend from college, who, rather than risk being recognized, has hidden his face behind his hand and started to fiddle with the radio.
(I still wish I had gathered myself quickly enough to run over and tap on his window and make him talk to me. Coward.)

Or you go to return a few things to a recent dumpee and his mother answers the door wearing your favorite t-shirt, (which he claimed to not have seen when you asked for it back) while he hides out in his bedroom. Did I mention that this particular ex was 23 at the time? And that his mom was there to clean his apartment?

Or maybe you meet up with a friend of yours who lives on the opposite end of the country only to discover that the great guy she's met while visiting your island is none other than your ex-boyfriend.

Okay... So maybe its just me that has been in these particularly uncomfortable moments that I couldn't even make up if I'd wanted to. But you all know that feeling of running into an ex, their mother, their best friend, or being chased through the mall by their father, and learning something about them that kind of makes you grind your teeth, wrinkle your nose, and squint your eyes.

Oh, that's just me too?
Anyway...

You aren't exactly sad, but you couldn't say you are happy.
Nor are you particularly wistful for that old flame. It isn't as if you want them back. You wish you could keep the friendship to enjoy the good (a buddy to watch the Steelers' games, someone who likes Japanese style karaoke as much as you do, a good yoga teacher), but you are aggravated you tolerated the bad that was out-weighing the good as long as you did.
And it all stirs around in your gut to make you feel kind of, well, squishy inside.

And you can be sure that as soon as the squishy comes, the what ifs are close behind.
Luckily for me and my heart made of wood as my friend Andy so nicely put it, I usually, I feel like I dodged a bullet when I play this game.

What if I hadn't dumped him?
Oh, GAWD... I would probably be pregnant, living in a ticky-tacky, cookie cutter house, working as an attorney in Lexington, and probably not allowed to talk to my best friends because they watched Sex and the City?
Shudder

What if we hadn't parted ways?
Would I be sending my kids to Hebrew school while he refused to go to Temple and listening to him bitch about my affinity for diet coke?
No, thank you. Not in this life! 

What if we had kept dating and he had ruined another trip to a foreign country and made me listen to him play violin all the time?
Okay... so the violin part was sexy. But a bad traveler? UGH! Nope! Never! Not gonna happen!

But there are those that don't leave you wiping your brow with relief that you have Matrix-like ability to dodge bad situations in just the nick of time. There are instead those that make you rub your chest like old people do when they get heart burn.
And this is a heart burn, but one not induced by onions, cucumbers, or other foods that don't "agree" with my Mamaw.
It's also not easily cured by Malox, or easing up on the cucumbers.

A few weeks ago I was filling out an interest form for a women's organization I would like to join. Or at least would like to explore the idea of joining. I figured it might be a good way to meet some new friends, do some good in my community, and by extension, meet more men. As I cruised around on the organization's website exploring what kind of "good" I might be doing in my community should I join this group, I notice that they are having a holiday bazaar.

Now, I love a good bazzar; especially one that is holiday themed.
But it keeps getting better.
It lasts for four days!
And there is a gala. Who doesn't love a good gala?
OH, even better! There is a bachelor auction!

What is the one way I haven't tried to meet a man? Buying him! This could be great fun and excellent fonder for the blog and an even better meet-cute!! This might be where I am going wrong. I am an excellent shopper. Picking out a date on an auction block can't be much harder than finding the perfect sweater at Banana or winning an e-Bay auction. Right? I did score that amazing Jack George briefcase for a quarter of the price... I can do that with dudes! Half-Priced Hunk? Obviously, the title of my next blog...
 Let's check out these hunks! I think as I click the link.

The link takes me to bios with pictures of all the eligible bachelors.
Hmmm... I should add a picture column to my excel spreadsheet... I can't believe I didn't think of that earlier! Ahhh Crigger! Where is you mind? 

Oooo... He's cute. I'd pay to have dinner with him.
Oh, a stock broker. Maybe he could give me some tips. This one might be a wise investment.
A world traveler? Hmmm... that has some merit. Nevermind. Favorite destination is Thailand? Wrong answer. Its totally over-rated. I'm looking for Cambodia or Rwanda. 
A date with this guy includes golf! Sweet! Its best to find out if they can take losing to a girl early on.

Oh. My. God.
GULP. Did someone suck all the oxygen out of the room?
My eyes must be playing tricks on me.
He can't be one of the bachelors. 
So what if it is for a good cause.
Mr. I'd-be-honored-to-take-you-out-kissing-me-in-a-parking-lot-while-I-am-sweaty-and-looking-hideous-under-the-orange-glow-meeting-my-mom-and-bringing-me-moonshine is being auctioned off. 
AHHHHHHHHHHHH!
I was ready to quit all my dating and just date him, until he showcased his excellent magical skill with his disappearing act.
This is horrible. 
HORRIBLE.


The feeling in my chest was worse than any heartburn I've ever imagined.
It was more akin to getting kicked in the chest.
By a kangaroo.
On steroids.


I have half a mind to go to that auction and bet $5 on him with the disclaimer of "I've been out with Zach! Five dollars is all its worth!"
Or I'll go and bet on everyone else!
Yeah! That's what I'll do! Kiss my tail, Zach!



Before I flew too far into space from that whopping kangaroo kick, rational Crigger kicked in:
If you go and do either of those things you, clearly only have half a mind. 
This will not win you any friends. Just forget it.
Forget him.
You don't have to chase men. There are plenty chasing you. 
You are better off without him. Obviously. If he doesn't see how lucky he is to be in your presence, he doesn't deserve to spend any more time you. 

While I could stop myself from going to that auction and making a spectacle of myself, I couldn't stop the what ifs.
What if things had gone differently?
What if we were still seeing each other?
Would I be trying to figure out a Christmas present? Would I be introducing him to my friends?
Would I be hanging out with him rather than going to the bars with my friends.
Maybe if I was just seeing him I wouldn't be having as much fun with my friends, meeting lots of new people, and exploring more of Southern California.
Or maybe I'd be having a different kind of fun. A more exclusive, come over for dinner, let's watch a movie, or go to trivia night with our friends, explore So-Cal together kind of fun.

As much as this stings, and as squishy as my insides are when I think about this, I know that in the end, everything will be fine.
And since everything isn't fine.

This can't possibly be the end.

He thinks my stories are hilarious.

One thing that a year of dating will result in is a lot of time to reflect on what you want in a partner. The standard tall, dark and handsome takes on a very descriptive meaning.

Tall becomes 6 feet even since I'm pretty short and don't want neck strain, but also want my kids to have a shot at playing basketball. Dark becomes an olive-y, Mediterranean complexion with longish, slightly curly hair the color of Norway Maple tree bark. Handsome morphs into green eyes, a strong jaw, a Roman nose, and nice rosy lips that are just plump enough to make him a great kisser without looking girly, tying it all together. Oh, and some nicely developed pecs that make a great pillow for napping, defined, but not too washboard-y abs, and a great pair of arms that are perfect for cuddling, carrying out the trash, and packing a punch should he need to defend my honor.

Obviously, I've had some time to create my perfect man. Now I just need to find a lab that can build him.

Aside from building my dream imaginary boyfriend, it will also give you a lot of time to wonder how people who you know, and don't really love, (or even like for that matter) end up married when you can't manage to get past the fourth date without doing something idiotic that makes a guy you're into stop calling. Or without hearing him saying something dumb, at which point you decide he is the span of Satan and stop taking his calls. This perpetually leaves me wondering  things such as "What do these yea-whoos have that I don't? Where are they buying their love potions because obviously I'm getting ripped off!"

Gahhhhh. First world problems are soooooo difficult.
Waaaa Waaaa.

As I have mulled over what I want my partner to look like, I've also thought about what they should be like. I have come up with a rather exhaustive list.
Some things on the list are silly (and negotiable) like they have to pretend to be an English Lord should we ever run into any of my ex-boyfriends. I would also let them pretend to be a Prince or an astronaut in this situation.
Look at me, compromising away!

Others are a little more serious; He must think my parents are the most amazing people in the world, which should be a slam dunk, because they are. And he must love my friends like he picked them out himself!

But one trait I hadn't considered important, or even considered at all, was that my future hubs should love my stories. I know, its crazy to think that someone wouldn't love my stories, but my ex-boyfriend hated them. I would launch into some story about something funny, sad, gross, interesting, and/or shocking (basically insert any event/person/country/animal/topic and I have no less than three stories about it*) and before I was even to the good part he would cut me off and say "Just give me the highlights."

This made me want to scream "I AM NOT A CHILDREN'S MAGAZINE FOUND IN THE DENTIST OFFICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DON'T DO HIGHLIGHTS! ASS-CLOWN!"

But I never screamed at him, and I never called him an ass-clown (though it is a surprisingly fitting description) because yelling and calling people names isn't my style, which might surprise some of you given my flair for dramatics in my story telling.

I never realized how much the ex not liking my stories hurt my feelings until after my recent ice cream date with Arhma.

Arhma is really smart, funny and easy to talk to. I found myself telling him loads of my ridiculous stories (but none of the dating stories). During our date he made the comment that I was really funny and had some amazing stories.
Take that Adam Carolla! Women are funny!
Take that ex-boyfriend! My stories are awesome!

The next day I got the following text message "I had a great time last night. Thanks for coming out. Your stories are really hilarious!"

Now, maybe he was just sucking up, but I don't think so.
When guys suck up, they compliment your shoes. Not your funny bone.

How can someone who spent a total of two hours with me think that I am hilarious and clearly enjoy my stories, and someone I dated for almost three years was always so eager to hush up, literally, that part of myself?

It baffles me.

But the one thing I know for sure about my future husband, he must love stories. Especially mine.

*I can see you are skeptical about this claim, feel free to test me. 

A match made in Bluegrass Heaven?

When I saw Jack's profile on Match.com I was instantly intrigued.
Not so much because he was cute, which he is, but because it said he had moved from Kentucky.
HAAAAAAALLELUJAAAAH! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
The more I date out here, the more I miss guys from the South.
There is just something a little bit different about them.
I'm not saying they are better... It's just a good different that I miss.

Southern men wear bow ties without the least bit of irony.
They can pull off plaid shorts without looking ridiculous.
I don't have to explain how to bet at the race track because Southern gents already know.
They know who Christian Laettner is, and why I'm not crazy about him.
I don't have to explain that all bourbon is whiskey, but not all whiskey is bourbon.
They open doors for me, carry my lipstick in their pocket when I don't have pockets of my own, and ask about my Momma.
They don't think drinking out of a mason jar is cute. They think it's normal.

So, needless to say, I had high hopes for this date.

Jack and I agreed to meet up at a sports bar to watch some UK football. Now, of course, I wasn't expecting my Wildcats to win. This isn't basketball season after all and we aren't known for our football prowess. But any excuse to cheer for my home state and I am stoked. We were playing Arkansas, who I loath possibly more than Duke. Since Jack went to Western he decided to cheer for them just to keep things interesting. They are both red after all.

This was fine with me. Its the fact that he is a legit Louisville fan that I really have a hard time with.
He did preface it with "Now, don't hate me. I'm a nice person otherwise."

Alas, peering into my crystal ball I can see lots of very tense basketball seasons in our future, and that just wont work. Our children will have to chose between Mom's team and Dad's team and that just isn't 
fair to little Charles Edward and Kathy Sue. This date was practically over before it started. 

I somehow managed to not run out of the bar when he claimed those dirty birds as his team, and we actually ended up having a really nice time. He is really smart and funny, though carrying a bit too much ex-girlfriend baggage for my liking. He is headed back to Kentucky in a few days to finish getting the rest of his stuff out of the house they own together.

That's right. They own a house together.

People, if you take nothing else away from this blog know this; Don't buy things with people you
aren't legally bound to! That means no houses, no dogs, and no plants with people you aren'tcommitted to forever and always! Only jointly buy things you can feasibly cut in a half. 
Like an apple. 
Or siamese twins. 

The girl always comes out of this kind of division of property on top. She will kick you out, because you can't make her leave. That's just mean. She will take your dog and you'll be a weekend dog-dad. And she'll probably steal your plants just to really stick it to you since she always hated them and will likely end up killing them! Even if she dumped  you, you'll probably get labeled as the meanie. That's how it works.   

But I digressed quite rapidly. 

Anyway... we watched the game and ended up going to dinner after. We discussed how we both make friends easily (He was an army brat so he has lots of experience moving, and I will talk to anyone. Literally.) and how people seem to find that weird in California. I guess they don't hear alot of "Hey, I just met you. And this is crazy, but here's my number. Let's be besties!" 

After dinner, we called it a night, but both agreed we should definitely be friends.
There aren't any sparks, but I can use all the friends out here I can get!
Even if they are a Louisville fan...
No one is perfect after all.

Play on through...

There are certain advantages to giving all my dates aliases. The not getting sued for libel being at the top of the list, followed closely by not getting phone calls from angry boys and their mothers.
But, there are disadvantages too; take for instance when I go out with someone with a truly horrible name and it can't become a funny part of the blog because I am not in the business of being cruel, or getting sued.

So I'm left to come up with an equally horrid name.
Rusty is a bad name, right? For this episode of the saga, Rusty it is!
I've known other people with bad names who took matters into their own hands and said you are calling me THIS, not THAT! Take my Vietnamese-American friend Dung for example. He goes by Andy. Wise decision as his parents didn't really get how Dung would translate in America-land. My friend Kate actually picked her name when she was 8. However, before she was known by Bluebird, and I kind of think that's cool.

Maybe Rusty doesn't know his name is reserved for little boys in the 1950s with red hair who were known around town as trouble makers? I wish I could blame the name on his parents being foreign or hippies, but neither of these scenarios are plausible.
They are from America.
He was born in the midwest.
What kind of hippies come from the midwest?
With a name like Rusty I half expected him to show up in overalls, though he was a former-pro golfer so this chance was slim.
Throughout the whole date I just kept thinking, Can't you at least go by Russ? All I can think when you say my name is Rusty is 'My mom had a pony named Rusty. He didn't have any teeth and we put him to sleep when I was 12. He was a very old animal. But ponies can live to be really old. His name fit him. He was the color of rust.' So I really can't call you that. 

And for the 80% of my readership who know my mother or are members of my family, you now know Rusty's real name.

Anyway... enough about the poor guy's name. It isn't his fault.

Rusty and I had emailed back and forth a bit and despite his statement that "Even though I lived in the midwest until I was 8, I am a California boy through and through" I agreed to go out with him. I try to avoid the Super-Cali-boys because they are just missing something my Super-Southern-self needs.

Rusty and I met up at one of the bars in my neighborhood. Chapter One has a delicious Moscow Mule that they serve you in a copper mug and so I figured, even if the date went south at least I got a good drink out of it and didn't have to travel far.

When I arrived he was sitting at the bar and had just ordered a Moscow Mule, which he gave to me after hearing that I would like one as well. One point for his chivalrous behavior... maybe I can get past this horrible name thing. I do nickname alot of people... Maybe I can do that with him.

We chatted through all the normal first date stuff; work; friends; living in the OC; sports (he is a Cowboys fan... Gross.); family, he has two siblings that are alot older than he; hobbies, obviously he likes golf; favorite places to visit, he has traveled in America quite a bit, but not much out of the country.
And wouldn't you know it? Despite my desire to rename him, we had a nice time.
I even stayed for a second drink.
That rarely happens.

He is pretty funny and anyone that can give me a legit golf lesson is alright in my book. Especially since I haven't played in about a year and my game really needs to be tuned up! He has also season tickets to USC football games. I don't even like USC, but the games are apparently a blast and I do love to tailgate. And after seeing all the pictures of their tailgating thanks to attending a presentation given by their Sustainability Manager I can safely say those USC fans know how to party. And I'd definitely spend an afternoon watching football and drinking beer with him.

When your ego needs a bit of a boost, it never hurts to have someone's undivided attention, hear you are gorgeous (yes, gorgeous and Lord knows I can't hear that enough), impressive, and smart, not to mention be on the receiving end of a delicious free beverage. And my date with Rusty did just that; got me back in the saddle; distracted me from Zach and reminded me that there are plenty of fun people wanting to go out with me.

Unfortunately for Rusty and his five head, (did I mention he has a HUGE forehead?) I figured this guy was going to land safely in the friend camp. As nice as he was there just wasn't a spark.
There wasn't even a flicker.
Hhe wasn't a hole in one. He was just a nice 5 iron shot that I can hit any day of the week. He wasn't the once in a blue moon, hitting over the river from the men's tee box that I always try for and maybe one time in a 100 my ball manages to hang on and not roll back into the river.
He wasn't the shot you leave on.
He was the good shot that keeps you coming back that makes the game worthwhile.*

He's the reminder that dating is a numbers game and you have to kiss a few frogs, or in my case 52, to find your prince.

But I'll probably go out with him again, maybe he has a cute friend?



* My apologies to the non-golfers, I might have gotten carried away with the golf references...

Not Caring 101

So, the last time I wrote about the Zach-capades I was going crazy. Bellvue had been called. A room was being readied.

I was thinking about arranging an accidental butt dial and questioning whether or not I was losing my mind. 

I had even started to do some Facebook stalking... Which I was too ashamed about to disclose at my last writing. 

I know. 

I know.

Facebook stalking only makes things worse.

Luckily, I got over that fairly quickly and put myself on a no-Facebook-stalking-generally-stop-acting-like-a-lunatic regiment. 

This involved working longer hours than usual, (which was fine because I have been busier than a bird dog); finally getting around to studying for a test I have to take; going for a run anytime I even considered FB stalking; taking more yoga classes; baking (which thanks to the running and yoga hasn't made me fat); and joining a new dating site, Plenty of Fish; and actually going on new dates (this blog isn't going to write itself).

As an aside, I think I do not care for POF (which is what the sender is listed as when they email me). The men on the site are weirdos. With a name like POF am I surprised it attracts odd balls? Thus far I have had a swinger; a guy named "Tomato" who sent me a picture of just his stomach, which, incidentally, did look like a tomato; a guy I blocked on OKCupid; a 68 year old man who is "just looking for a good time", excuse me while I vomit; and a 24 year old with 3 kids looking to settle down.

I had stopped waking up in the middle of the night wondering if Zach had called. I had stopped compulsively checking my phone in hopes of a text message. I had gotten to the point of fully never expecting to hear from him again.
And I was pretty much ok with it.
And patting myself on the back for coming out of my crazy funk relatively unscathed.

Until Wednesday night.
Sprinkles and I were lounging on the couch catching up on Boardwalk Empire, recovering from a run, and eating the new Peanut Butter Cheerios out of a mixing bowl I had swiped from my Mother.
The stop acting like a crazy person regiment didn't include doing dishes.

Obviously, I was doing well.
I was getting excited about the little things again.
I mean come on! Peanut Butter Cheerios?!?!
I love peanut butter and Cheerios are the only cereal I willingly eat.
And enough time to sit on my couch and actually WATCH Boardwalk Empire, not just listen to it as I did other things.
Life. Was. AHHHHH-SOME!

And then BOOM.
Or more likely "quack" cause that's the sound my phone makes when people text me.
There, lighting up my screen was a text from "Zach from Beer Olympics"

Wonders never cease.

"Hey! Sorry I didn't hang out at all this weekend. I ended up in San Diego. Yes. By choice."
I wasn't sure what the by choice part meant. I go to SD all the time by choice! That city is fun, and my friend Katie lives there so that makes it doubly fun!
Then he sent a picture of all his hair laying on the floor after his hair cut.
"I'm leaving for Kentucky on Friday. Anything you want/need?"

And I didn't respond. I was determined to be the Ice Queen. And I was not about to let him think I was sitting around waiting for him to call me. As if! I am very busy and important. In fact right now, I am having dinner with Nucky and Margaret! So what if it is cereal from a mixing bowl?
What's even more impressive is I didn't get overly excited about this development.

Three hours later I texted him back. On the advice of more than one dude I kept it simple.
"Possibly. Are you checking a bag?" I texted.
I didn't comment on his hair cut.
I didn't acknowledge the the no-show on the weekend.
I am pretty sure there was an icy chill traveling through the phone and Paul Abdul's Cold Hearted Snake was playing in the background.
He responded almost immediately. "Yep. I'm bringing back Bourbon Barrel Ale and bourbon."

And yet again I didn't respond immediately. He was talking about two of my favorite things! Bourbon Barrel and Bourbon! I deserve a medal!
 I did however text a few people to tell them I hadn't responded and that they should be proud of me.

The next morning I finally responded with, "Hmmm... probably no room for moonshine then with all that other liquid."
"The bag will be mostly liquid." He texted back.

After work as I waited for my yoga class to start I finally responded.
"How do you feel about bringing back some moonshine for me? I'll have it packaged so it doesn't arouse suspicion."
"I'm game to try. Can it be dropped off at my hotel?"
"Sure."
"Could I get a quart for myself from your supplier?"
"I'll have to check." I said knowing full well my Dad has a nice stock of moonshine at the house and he would give him some if I asked. But I wasn't really sure I wanted to share the moonshine. Especially not with Mr. Disappearing Act. But he was bringing me moonshine, so I shouldn't be greedy... GAH!
"Ok. Just let me know. We are staying at blahbitty, blah, blah near campus."

I was shocking myself with my "whatever" attitude and all the not replying I was doing.
I went to yoga and had a great sweaty workout. During the workout I actually managed to meditate, and not on ways to get Zach to call me. I cleared my mind and created some space in my body and felt very zen.
I am sooooo California...
I felt much more like myself than I had felt in awhile.
I felt like I was really back to normal-Crigger and I wasn't going to be stuck as the twittery,-freaking out-crazy-Crigger I had almost become.

As I drove home from yoga I called my Mom and relayed the plans for getting my moonshine to Zach. She was going to be in Lexington, so she was more than happy to go drop the moonshine off to Zach.
She claimed she was going shopping and had been planning to go for awhile.
Sure you were, Mom. Sure you were. I know that move. Shoot! I've used that move! I am my mother's daughter! 

After she and I hung up I jumped into the shower and did the world's fastest get ready so I could meet my friend Evan at a concert.

I was soooo excited about this concert! I just needed a night out! I need to have some fun. Drink some bourbon. Hear some live music. And bounce around with 200 strangers to an albino Muslim rapper.
(Brother Ali is great by the way, and you should all check him out.)

Ev and I met in the parking lot of the concert and as we walked in we lamented that we didn't have dredlocks or Chuck Taylors like our fellow concert goers.
"It is still gonna be awesome though!" I squeeled.
"You owe me one."
"Absolutely! Whatever you want to see! I'm totally down!"
"Yelawolf. October 6th. You are coming."
"Except that. I'm out of town then. But anything else! I swear! I'm there! I'm getting a bourbon. You want anything?" I was going a mile minute. I couldn't have been more excited if I was twins.
"I'm not drinking tonight."
"Well, if I'd known that. I would have made you drive me!"

I got my drink and we headed into the venue. It was a small space, but it had started to fill up and I was already rethinking my brilliant idea to wear my new jeans. Just because it is starting to be fall in other places, doesn't mean that shorts and tank tops aren't still appropriate for a jam-packed room with horrid ventilation in So-Cal.

As we waited for the first act to start Ev and I gossiped about work and tried to figure out if the weight from dredlocks could be attributed more to the dirt that must be holding them together or the actual hair. As we chatted I felt myself becoming more animated. I was so excited to be out! Plus, the bourbon was hitting me quickly thanks to the yoga and no time for dinner. Oh well!  That's what a sober co-worker is for!

Scanning the crowd I saw a guy wearing a Chicago Bears shirt and didn't think much of it. I vaguely thought, "Oh, Zach likes the Bears." and then went back to chatting with Ev.
Then the guy in the Bears shirt drifted back into my line of sight. Hmmm, I recognize that nose. No. No, it can't be... Yep. Yep. That's him. Oh gawd.
"Holy crap Ev!" I whispered. "I think Zach's here. And by think, I mean, he's here."
"What?! Zach-Zach? Where?"
"Yep. That's him. Don't look now, but he is like three people to your right, a little in front of us. He's wearing a Bears shirt and hat."
"BAAAAHAHAHAHAHHA! Do you want to go hide?"
"Absolutely not! I'm not hiding from him! If he sees me. Fine. If he doesn't, that's probably for the better!" I said and I almost believed it.
"Way to be cool, Honey BooBoo." He said sarcastically.
"I feel like he keeps looking over here. You know how you can feel when people are looking at you? Stand right there, I need a collect myself. Oh geeze! I was gesturing like a maniac just a minute ago. He probably saw all that!"
"What are you going to do?" He asked.
"I have no idea. At least he isn't here with another girl!" I said downing my drink. "I am pretty sure I need another drink. You good?"

As I pushed my way through the growing crowd towards the bar I thought, "What are the chances. I've been trying to see this guy for ages and now he is just showing up where I am? Well, at least I am with a dude! He doesn't know Evan is my married BFF from work, though if he sees me and I introduce them he will know who he is, cause I've talked about him before! I hope he is watching me walk across this room!"
"Maker's and diet please."
"$9." said the bartender.
$9 For a Maker's and diet!!! I can buy a 5th for $15. Robbing me blind Cali! I thought as I handed over a $20.

As I made my way back over to Evan my phone quacked with a text. I assumed it was Alexis or my Mom. Nope, it was Zach.
"U at a concert by chance? Thought I saw someone that really resembled you." He texted.

"Ev, look at this! What do I say?" I said showing him the message.
"What about this?" I said typing, "Ummm yeah... Stalk me much. Are you at the Brother Ali show?" I texted.
"Hahahaha. What are you doing at a Bro Ali show? And yes I am." He replied.
"My musical tastes are teasingly diverse." As I typed someone reached out and touched my hand.
I looked up, it was Zach.
Cue heart flutter and stars in my eyes.

And then he did this thing that he does alot and I find endlessly charming and child-like precious at the same time. He pointed to me, then pointed to himself and kind of raised one eyebrow in sort of a fancy meeting you here gesture.
"What are you doing here?" He asked.
"I'm getting ready to listen to some music. I'm here with my friend Ev. This is Evan, you've heard me talk about him." So much for letting him think you are on a date Crigger. "What are you doing here?"
"No, no. This is my scene. I am completely shocked you are here. Pleasantly so, but shocked." He said smiling. "Can you name three of his songs?"
"Yes. I can. But I am handicapped in this area. I will know a band's whole ucatalogue, and be able to sing it to you word for word, and have no idea what their name is. Case in point, was crushed when I realized Of Monsters and Men had been here because I love them and just didn't actually know their name. My friends love to play 'Crigger sing this song'. Kelly and Phil once called me in the middle of the night so I could sing Gin and Juice for them. But back to your earlier question, Forest Whitaker and Looking at ya Sideways.... Hmmm.... well that's all I've got. And the only reason I know those two names are because they happen to be on my iPhone." I said. Way to keep it brief, you Ice Queen, you. 

Ev and I hung out with Zach and his friend for the rest of the concert and it was fun and nice and easy.
How things should be.
After the concert we stood in the parking lot chatting for ages about random things and just kind of catching up, which shed some light on why he had been a bit MIA, without me ever really having to ask.
The parking lot was completely empty when I finally opened my door and made real moves to leave.
As he leaned in for a hug I said, "You don't want to hug me. I am super sweaty."
"I don't care. I am too." He said wrapping his arms around me.
"No, but I have the world's most efficient self-cooling system." I said kind of trying to pull away as he tightened his grip. "I didn't need to go to yoga this afternoon, I could have just come here."
"You are sweaty." He said laughing as he ran his hands up and down my back. "Ooops. I missed a spot." He said smiling as he ran his hand over my back again.

And here comes the really good part.
Standing there in my damp white t-shirt, jeans and flip-flops in the weird orange-y glow of the parking lot lights he bent down and kissed me.
It was the kind of kiss that makes you smile before its even over.

Momma Crigger always says it happens when you least expect it and I believe that.
You fall for people in the small moments.
The kisses in a parking lot. The bonding over owning the same t-shirt. The shared glass of  moonshine. The random discovery that you have something completely obscure in common.

Maybe these are the things that fairy tales are made of...
I don't know how this ends yet, and even if things don't end how I want them to, they will end how they are supposed to.
If nothing else, it was an amazing night full of luck, serendipity and hope.

Shifting Sands: Part 2

So when we last left off I was gathering up all my moxy to call Zach.
Normally, I wouldn't need a moxy gathering session to make a phone call, but things had fallen off a bit weirdly and I was miffed.
Yes, miffed. Blame that word on the Brit I dated briefly.

Why doesn't he like me anymore?
Do I stink? Do I have an annoying habit I am unaware of? Had I done something to freak him out? Had I said something dumb? Was I hitten by the ugly stick in my sleep? Did he find out about the blog?

Then I started with the "what ifs".
What if I had played harder to get?
What if I hadn't returned some of his calls?
What if I had been less available?
What's spiral quickly out of control. Blame it on my over active imagination and hyper-analytical thought process. I was driving myself crazy.

I was turning into that girl who was insecure and on a continuous downward spiral of self-doubt. And I really don't like that version of myself. It isn't me. It is a version of myself that comes out once in a blue moon, which coincidentally we experienced at the end of August when this was going on...

Quite frankly, I am simply not that girl.
I have, as my friend Joe called it, a robust sense of self-confidence.
Obviously, any one who thinks she can get 52 dates in a year must not be lacking in the confidence area...

So, after driving myself crazy about why we hadn't hung out, I decided to call Zach.
I'm a modern lady. I can ask a guy out.
No answer. But it was the middle of the day, so this wasn't surprising. I left a message asking him if he wanted to get a drink that night since I would be near his house for my riding lesson.

When I came out of my riding lesson at 7:00 I had a missed call and several texts.
Whooo hoooo!
In my mind I was jumping and clicking my heels together.
More likely it was an awkward victory dance that combined the cabbage patch with my horrid version of the moonwalk.
After I quit doing my victory dance, I called Zach back and he said a drink sounded good, but he needed to check and see what time his contractor would be finished.
Always with that dang contractor... GAAAAAAAAAAAH!
His contractor thought he would be done by about 9:00, so it looked like drinks around 9:00 and an end to the drought.

WRONG-O!
About 8:30 Zach called and said his contractor wouldn't be done until around 10:00 or 10:30. And I had a 7:00 am meeting so getting together at 11:00 was just not going to happen.
"How about Friday?" He asked.
"My friend Chan is coming to visit. We'll just be catching up. Probably drinking wine at my house. You are welcomed to come. We may hit the bars after."
"I don't want to be a third wheel. I know you haven't seen her in like three years. Maybe sometime over the weekend?"
"Yeah. I'll keep you posted."

Saturday Zach invited us to a party, but I was already committed to another party.
Sunday I invited him to the beach with us, but he had two fantasy football drafts to participate in.
Monday and Tuesday didn't work either. Chan and I had commitments and he was busy with work, though the texts were still coming in regularly.

On Wednesday night I was supposed to participate in my fantasy football draft and completely forgot about it until I was already at the Angel's Baseball game. I mentioned this to Zach and he offered to complete my draft for me. This was a lovely gesture, and likely to result in a much better team than I could probably select on my own (let's be honest, if they aren't a Steeler I probably know nothing about the player, unless they are super famous. You know the Favres, the Mannings, the Tebows of the football world).

BUT this offer was also fraught with peril. In order for him to do the draft for me, I had to give him my Fantasy Football username and password. Ordinarily, no big deal, but the way this account is set up requires signing in through my Facebook account.

If Zach finds out about the blog, this isn't really the way I want it to happen.

And I just generally don't want him creeping on my FB.  There are a myriad of reasons I haven't friended him on Facebook. Not everyone needs to see me dancing on tables, while sporting a purple crown and wearing polar fleece over my candy stripper outfit
Yes, stripper-- It was a Let's Play Doctor theme party!
Oh, and let's not forget the cigar.
Those photos are only for my 1500 FB friends-- none of whom I am trying to date.

Anyway... he promised not to be a cyber stalker. And I took him at his word and let him draft my players. I did of course change my password as soon as I got home just incase curiosity got the better of him.
Though I seriously doubted it would.

We texted again on Thursday on my way home from taking Chan-Chan to the airport.
Don't worry, I wasn't driving. And it was exceptionally brief. I sent those texts while I was stopped at the red lights.

And then crickets.
FOR A WHOLE WEEK! 
Which of course made me act like a full-on, crazy person. I was googling his company. I was googling him. I was trying to construct reasons I needed to be in his neighborhood. I was thinking of passive-aggressive ways I could get in touch with him. The fake butt dial was starting to sound like a pretty good idea. The rational part of my brain had been completely taken over by this psychotic freaker-outer.

Usually when things go south with a guy I like I can literally just stop thinking about him. I'll give myself a few days to be a nut and then I grow up and act like an adult. I put him in a box, wrap it up like a 5 year old wrapping Christmas presents for the first time using too much tape and about three layers of paper, and I stick that box in the attic of my mind.
The I promptly go out and find another date.

This time it has not been so easy.
I fall asleep wondering why he hasn't called. Which means I wake up clutching at pillows, searching for my phone in hopes that he has called or texted. I find myself scanning crowds looking for him. I hope against all odds that he is thinking about me too and the reason he hasn't called is because he is trapped under something heavy.

I try to distract myself. I sewed two new dresses. I painted a table. I finally cleaned underneath my sink. I've run the distance from here to San Diego in and effort to distract myself. I've cleaned horse stalls. I go to yoga to relax and pump up my endorphins. I end up crying in pigeon pose because I am releasing all the pent up emotion I have been carrying around; or at least that is what my teacher claims. I always thought they were full of crap when they said this to other people. I am re-thinking that position.

I went on a date with a former Pro golfer. If that doesn't distract me, not much will.

Finally after a week of silence I broke down and sent him a "Happy Friday!" text. To which he responded immediately. A good sign? I thought so.
"Sorry I've been out of communication for so long." He wrote. "How was your week?"
"No worries. (I've only be driving myself crazy wondering what I've done make you hate me shrieked the mellow-dramatic version of myself that I keep carefully hidden from all except my Mother, sister, and best friends) I've been super busy at work. I should just move into the dorms."
"How was SD?"
"SD? I haven't been down lately."
"Oh, I thought you were there for Labor Day."
"Nope. I was here. And in LA and Ventura."
"What are you doing this weekend?"
"Flag football. A six mile run. Chi O BBQ. Football watching. You?"
"Hanging out with the roommate tonight. Watching the Bears. Getting a hair cut at some point. Hopefully some beach time."
"Sounds good. Let me know if you want to hang out. I'm around."
"I certainly will."

AND THEN NOTHING.
Just go ahead and get me a room at Bellevue, because the crazy girl might be coming back.
At least for a day or two. Until I can pull myself out of these murky recesses and return to being my normal laid-back, cool girl self.
I hope she comes back soon. I don't like being one of those girls. 

Shifting Sands: Part 1

Four. The number of days since I've heard from Zach.
Three. The number of weeks that have passed since I've seen Zach.
Two. The number of times I have thought about sending him an accidental text just to have some contact.
One. The number of straight jackets I'll be requiring because I am going crazy trying to figure out where the wheel fell off the car.

When I was in high school I faced a similar conundrum.
One afternoon as I was sitting in my room my parents burst in saying "What happened to your car?"
I looked at them blankly and said, "Ummmm nothing. That I know of. Why?"
"Well something must have happened! The fender (I don't even know if that's what its called) above your right side tire is hanging off."
"What!" I shrieked going into full on panic mode. GP (my Jeep Liberty) was a mere four months old. She had been a complete surprise Christmas present and I kept her immaculate, both inside and out. I didn't let bird poop stay on her longer than half an hour, I certainly couldn't fathom that anything had happened to her while I was present!
Running outside I saw the horror-- The fender over the right wheel was, indeed, kind of pulled off. In hindsight, it really wasn't that bad. I'm not saying it was good. But it really wasn't the crisis situation I believed it to be at the time.
"How did this happen?" I wailed. Yes, wailed. I have a flair for the dramatics. Just ask my high school Spanish teacher. She once told me I was the most dramatic student she had ever had. Senora Grey taught for 30 years, so being the "most" anything was quite an accomplishment.   
"You must have hit something." said my Mother in her calm way. She is not a freaker-outer, like her daughter. At least not about minor things.
"That's impossible!"
"Evidence indicates otherwise." said my Dad, ever the voice of reason and calmness in our household. "Did you hit something backing up at Aunt Ruby's?"
"NO! I pulled into that little gravel patch her neighbor has in front of their shed to turn around. I had some trouble getting out of the dip so I got out at one point and checked to see if I was hung on anything. But there was nothing back there! So I put it into four wheel drive, pulled forward and gunned it and backed out just fine."
"So you didn't hit the fire hydrant?"
"NO! I remember seeing it when I was driving away and thinking 'Glad I didn't hit that!'" I said.
"Are you sure you didn't hit it?"
Even as I was protesting that I couldn't have hit it I started thinking back to when I had gotten out of the car to see if I was stuck on something. Now, my GP had four wheel drive. It pulled a U-Haul across the heartland. It went four wheeling on top of strip jobs. It would probably have climbed a tree if I asked it to, so getting out of a dip that was the equivalent of an inverted speed bump shouldn't require four wheel drive.
BUT backing over a fire hydrant would.
Yes, that's right. I backed up, and over a fire hydrant.
The reason I didn't see it when I got out to investigate the ditch is because my GP was on top of it.

The difference between the fire hydrant incident and the wheel falling off the Zach cart is that in the fire hydrant calamity I finally figured out what happened.
I still don't know where I lost the hubcap and subsequent tire in this whole Zach curfuffel.
And I probably never will.
Which is what really sucks and turns me into a lunatic that howls at the blue moon (which we just had).

In true girl fashion I have analyzed the situation backwards, forwards, inside out, upside down. Which I am SURE makes me all the more attractive, and not the least bit psychotic. Add this to the howling at the moon and I am a real treat!
Allow me to walk you through the my lunatic mind. I can't promise you'll come out unscathed.

Three weekends ago I hung out with him at his office on a Friday night. He had contractors there painting a mural, so he was stuck there and couldn't really go out. I like painting. And I really enjoy watching other people work while I drink, so I went over to keep him company for a few hours. When I left, he told me he and some of his friends were going to the beach tomorrow and that I should come.
"I'm supposed to run down there with Allison tomorrow, but depending on how we are feeling when we finish I'll give you a call and maybe we'll meet up."

Saturday after the run I called him, but no answer. Just as well, I looked disgusting and really just wanted to eat a frozen yogurt and roam the pier without worrying that I was a stinky, sweaty mess in front of the guy I was sweating! Just as Allison and I were leaving, Zach called.
"Sorry I missed your call. I forgot my phone in the car. What are you doing tonight?"
"Line dancing!"
"Have fun! We'll be back down at the beach tomorrow if you want to come."
"Okay. Just let me know where you'll be and I'll try to make it."

Sunday rolls around and we link up at the beach. I am admittedly not my most vivacious self. I'd had a late night the night before and was a tad tired. Plus, despite the fact that I own, oh, I don't know, about 20 swim suits, I'm not at my most super-confident-comfortable-self in them. Especially, around someone who I want to think I am foxy. And heaven forbid my skin clear up! This stupid humidity, while it gives my hair nice volume, it is making my skin freak out, which is not OK! So-Cal is basically the desert! It isn't supposed to be humid!

 Anyway... we beached it up for a few hours and then all head our separate ways.

Mid-week, Zach and I are chatting and he says his company is possibly looking for a new attorney, which is just a joy in So-Cal since all the attorneys are reasonably priced and nice people.
STUPID. STUPID ME, opens my big ol' mouth. "I know two attorneys who are nice. Though they don't appear to be hurting for money..."
"Would you care to find out their hourly?"
A giant "OH SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHIT" thought bubble formed over my head at this exact moment. You see, those two attorneys I know out here, I know them because I went out on dates with them and basically did a disappearing act.
But I went ahead and awkwardly contacted both of them, explained the situation, leaving out the bits about that they would be helping out my hoped for proper boyfriend. Both were beyond gracious, as I suspected they would be, but wasn't 100% sure they didn't hate me until I talked to them. And then passed on their info to Zach.
I debated on whether or not to tell him how I knew the two guys, finally deciding it was better he heard it from me than them.
I didn't want any of them to be all "How do you know Crigger?"
"Oh, I kinda dated her for awhile."
"Oh, yeah? Me too."
No, thanks! I don't need any help mucking up relationships. I do that just fine on my own.
Plus, I believe honesty is the best policy.
Except, if Zach finds this blog and is pissed about it. Then I will deny it to the day I die.

I told Zach I felt weird about telling him, but also that I felt weird about not telling him that I knew Matty and John because I had dated them.
He said, "You shouldn't feel weird either way. I would try to date OC lawyers too."
"I wasn't trying to date OC lawyers. It just kinda happened." I said. And I should have just shut my mouth right then and there. But I couldn't do it. It was like something was physically preventing me from ending the conversation. "It was during my dating spree."
"Oh, yeah? How did that work out for you?"
"It was fun. I met some cool people. Found some new spots in the OC that I didn't know about." Just stop talking Crigger! What is wrong with you? Are you an idiot? Obviously, the answer here is yes! AHHHHHHHH! How can I save this?
"And I met you. And if I hadn't been dating when we met I might not have said yes when you asked me out. And I'm glad we met." Really? This is the best you can come up with? Seven months of dating and you're no better at it than this? Quit now. Join a nunnery. Start practicing for your vow of silence by shutting up!

Hmmmm... maybe here is where we lost the hubcap? 
Maybe not...
Gahhhh! Dating is confusing and makes no sense!

Despite the verbal diarrhea I continued to hear from Zach, but there was no mention of plans to get together before he left for his friend's bachelor party. The last time he went out of town he was very interested in seeing me before he left. And was extremely interested in seeing me when he got back.

This time nothing.
Which of course made me feel crazy and pushed me into super analyzer mode.
Great! He's seen me in a swim suit and wants nothing to do with me.
Ahhh! He thinks I am a dating maniac and wants no part of that.
He probably thinks I'm sleeping with all the guys I've gone out with (I've gotten that question from my friends, and no, I'm not sleeping with all these people! Or any of them!)
I did a zit the day at the beach. I shouldn't have gone. Now he thinks I am ugly.
Oh, gawd. Maybe he has found out about the blog!
He hates me.
I am screwed. I'm destined to be a lonely old spinster.

And all of this madness was tempered by the rational side of my brain.

If he expects a super model then he should be asking them out, not you. Plus, he has called you beautiful and complimented your figure. Quit being crazy!
You are smart, funny, successful, pretty! What more could a guy want? He should be so lucky as to be your boyfriend! 
If one zit is enough to make him not want to see you anymore then you dodged a bullet. His expectations are impossible. 
There are more fish in the sea. Men are like buses, wait 15 minutes and another one comes along. And every other adage my mother, grandmother, best friend, aunts, Cosmo, co-workers, and random guy at a bar that I rambled to about the situation ever uttered just played on repeat in my brain.

So, after allowing myself to be in an over-analyze-y place for a few days I gathered up all my moxy and called him up.

Tune in at the end of the week to see how that all went down.

Cougar Cub

I know I have said it before, but I will say it again, getting confused for a student does nothing but pump up my ego. And now that school is back in full swing I have had offers from willing upperclassmen to reconfigure my room, sign me up for a meal plan, and show me where the new gym is. I've also been scolded by administrators to not ride my bike though a construction area, and been told that my card won't let me into the electrical rooms and that I have no business there anyway. Imagine their surprise when I go in and turn off the power or the construction workers greet me by name.

I love my job!
I love blending in!
I'm like Joe Pesci in my Cousin Vinny sporting cowboy boots and hunting gear, except in my case its a pony tail and a Hello Kitty bike.

Yesterday I was cruising down the street on my pink Hello Kitty beach cruiser. There was another "cyclist", and I use this term loosely, on the road. He was meandering around, checking his cell phone, riding leisurely around as if he had nothing but time. I was on my way to meet a contractor and was scurrying as fast as my leopard print wrap dress and high heels would allow. So I wasn't exactly booking it, but I was going faster than the yeahoo riding a bike that looked like the guys from Orange County Choppers made it.

Don't those high handle bars make their arms hurt?

So I passed Mr. Chopper and headed towards the dorms.
Being the good cyclist I sometimes am I actually stopped at the stoplight, and despite the fact that there was no traffic coming I still waited for the light to change. Don't want to set a bad example after all. And as luck would have it, guess who pulled up beside me. Mr. OC Chopper himself.

"Where did you get your bike?" he asked.
"Craigslist. Why, are you looking to upgrade." Wow... Sometimes I am snarky.
"Haha! Just curious. I've seen them at Orange Cycle."
"Oh yeah? That's kinda cool. Makes me kind of sad though that someone else might have my bike. I've actually seen another one on campus, though." I said as the light changed and I started to petal away.
"So are you excited for school to start back?" He asked.
"I guess so. It never really stopped for me. I was here all summer."
"Oh were you working or taking classes?" He asked still riding along beside me.
"I am actually an employee."
"Oh, really? What do you do?"
"I'm the Energy Manager for the university."
"Oh, that's cool. Do you know So-and-So? They work in the School of Dance." He said. "I'm good friends with her."
"No, I'm sorry I don't. Well, this is my stop. I have to meet a contractor." I said pulling my bike over in front of one of the dorms.
"Oh, okay. Well maybe I'll see you around. My name is Luis, by the way."
"Nice to meet you. Bye."
"Wait! What's your name."
"Crigger." I said after a long pause where I debated if I could give him a fake name.
"I look forward to it." He said with a wave.

I may have just gotten a sneak peak into my future. I'm not quite a cougar yet, but maybe one day...

A chef and a personal trainer? The answer should be a no-brainer...

A chef and a personal trainer?
These are two things I have dreamed about having my whole life.
As much as I like to cook, I prefer that delicious food just appear in front of me. And Lord knows I hate doing dishes!
And a personal trainer is a luxury I envision that would just bestow on me Claudia Schiffer's body with very little effort on my part (obviously they will also be giving me some sort of amazing treatment to stretch my 5'2'' frame to 6'2'').

But seriously... What more could a girl want? A chef and personal trainer seem to good to be true.
But that is what Stephen is. A chef. And a personal trainer.
The mystery of why he has the nicest arms I've ever seen has been solved.
Oh, did I mention he is super nice and intelligent?
Oh, and that he's Greek?
And Lord knows I love everything about Greece. Greek people. Greek food. Greek tragedies. Greek gods. I was a Philosophy major-- of course I love that country!
(Don't really love the rioting and their financial planning inability, but hey! once that is sussed I would consider moving there)
And he managed to explain soccer to me in a way that it actually made sense. God bless my Pittsburgh roommates, who try as they might, could not make understand soccer. It was literally like they were speaking Greek.

We met at a bar in Manhattan Beach and had barely ordered drinks before he told me he was a personal trainer. The first time we met we didn't cover job, family, how we ended up in Cali, etc... So when I learned he was a personal trainer any desire I had to eat ran out the door faster than a fat kid chasing the ice cream truck. But after watching him scarf down a whole basket of bread I decided he was someone I could eat in front of since he obviously wasn't opposed to carbs or booze. We shared a crab cake and some chipotle calamari and delved into the questions of how we ended up in Cali, what we love and hate about it, and which Olympic moment was our favorite.

The conversation was so nice and so easy. I was really having a great time and I wasn't even working at it! We've all been on the dates where you have to make an effort to find things to talk about, or you say something that is off-putting, or worse, you hear them say something off-putting, and its just awkward.
This date wasn't like that all, as much as I kind of wished it had been. I truly enjoyed spending time with him and if I had gone out with him when we met a few months ago, then maybe when I met Zach and he asked me out my answer would have been "Sorry..."

But we didn't go out then.
And now the situation is different.
And all I could think of as I left the bar was "He's great, but he just isn't Zach."

Less than excited...

So after four dates with Zach I decided I liked him too much and needed to go out with some different guys. After all I am kissing him on Ferris wheels at fairs and holding his hand in public. Obviously, I am having some sort of psychotic break.

Or maybe I am just genuinely falling for him.

To be honest, I'm not sure which is scarier. Losing my mind or losing my heart?
Probably losing my heart when I don't know where the other person stands. Plus, I hear that when you lose your mind you don't actually know it.
So... Maybe I just answered my own quandary.

Either way, I was getting a bit too comfortable, too early in this relationship, and I needed to take a step back.
I don't want to end up dedicating The Achy-Breaky Heart to him during Open-Mic Night at the Gypsy Den. Not that I've ever done that, or something similar to that.
I have, however, experienced some awful second-hand embarrassment while watching people profess their love in a similar fashion at said Den of the Gypsies.

This much I know to be true. Beer and gypsies make people do crazy things.

So naturally, when Stephen texted me for roughly the 13th time saying we should get together, I readily agreed.
I needed something to take the edge off Zach.
(Is it just me or am I starting to sound like a drug addict? Am I addicted to dating?)
Plus, I was going to be in LA on Wednesday, so squeezing in a drink with him would be easy.
This could not have come at a more opportune time. 
I swear, men know when you are interested in someone else, and they all start coming out of the woodwork again. It is like their 6th sense!

But, to be perfectly honest there was nothing I wanted to do less than meet a guy who wasn't Zach for a drink. Despite the fact that Stephen has some of the nicest arms I've ever seen.

Then why do it you ask?

The answer is easy.
Zach manages to sneak into my thoughts at the most unexpected times.
Someone mentions the windy city and there is his smiling face.
I see a baby with curly dark hair and find myself wondering if that's what his hair looked like when he was a baby.
When my phone rings in the middle of the day I irrationally hope its him on the other end, despite it being my office phone.
I hear that an awesome band is coming to play in my neighborhood and I find myself wondering if he likes them and would want to go?
And this goes on, and on, and on... in various forms at other trigger points.
It is skating along the insane line, and I know it.
I have got to reel the crazy back in like a giant marlin.
At least knew I needed to break out of the only seeing Zach-phase, or run the risk of being in deeper than I was ready to be.
And even worse, being out in the deep end, all alone.
Isn't the first knowing you have a problem?
So clearly I needed to go on a date with someone new and remind myself that Zach was not the end-all, be-all of men in Southern California.
At least until we have a DTR and he tells me what I want to hear; that he doesn't want to date anyone else and that he doesn't want me to date anyone else.

At which point I will more than happily oblige his request.

So Zach, if you happen to be reading this, just do it.
Tell me to quit this crazy dating game and just date you.
Because as nice as I am sure he will be, I don't really want to go out with Stephen.

I only want to be going out with you.

Fair Play

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels,

The dizzy dancing way you feel,

As every fairy tale comes real,

I've looked at love that way.

-Joni Mitchell

I'm four dates in with Zach and I already know I am in trouble.
Not like Rizzo and Kenicki in Grease "trouble". 
But a "Oh, I hope he calls me! He's so dreamy. I held his hand-- in public." TROUBLE.

That's right folks.
I held his hand. In public.
That is a big, honking, deal.

AND!
Hold on to your hats for this juicy tidbit.
I kissed him.
On a Ferris wheel.

Which by the way, I feel like should be spelled fairis wheel, because you know where you see those things? At the fair! And yes, I know its called a Ferris wheel because George Washington Gale Ferris, Jr. designed and constructed it for the 1893 World's Columbia Exposition in Chicago. I am willing to bet that 97% of all other Ferris wheels have revolved around fairs!
I am sometimes irrationally passionate about some things. 

And also, can I just have a moment to note the irony of the first Ferris Wheel being erected in Chicago. The same city Zach is from. 

Anyway...Tangent is over.

That's right.
A kiss.
Out in the open. In front of God and everybody!
Who am I?

Clearly, the only possible answer is that I am a pod person.
Yes. That must be it.
That, or maybe I am in the throws of "like".
The latter might be slightly more plausible, but not by much because I thought I would sooner sprout wings and fly than meet someone I liked this summer.

How did this all happen you ask? I'm quite bewildered myself to be perfectly frank about the situation.
This is supposed to be my year of 52 dates. If I get all wrapped up in Zach, that means I quit less than halfway through. And I'm a lot of things, but a quitter isn't one of them!
He is only #23. That means there are 29 men who still haven't had the pleasure of my most excellent company.
Wow. I have just made my dates sound more like data points than actual people. And I haven't even brought up the Excel sheet yet that I use to keep them all straight.
I can just feel my halo sparkling as the 7th Circle of Hell prepares for my imminent arrival.
In my defense, you would be using some sort of tracking system if you had gone out with 23 different people in the last seven months.

Names, faces, hometowns, occupations, pets, siblings. It all starts to run together.
I use excel everyday! It is the way I naturally keep track of things!

However, if I was really good at Excel I would have found a formula to find my perfect man and this adventure of 52 dates might never have happened in the first place.

So... if you guys don't hear from me after this post it is, because the Earth has opened up and promptly swallowed me whole into its molten lava depths where 22 of my 23 my suitors are throwing things at me and listing my flaws. Zach, is of course, not in this group because I don't need an Excel column to remember him.

Which is probably why I let him kiss me on a Ferris wheel circa 90210's Brenda and Dylan's Fair Date.

But anyway... back to how I ended up smooching on a Ferris wheel.

Zach lives near the fair, so one Sunday afternoon I headed over to his house to hang out and take in some of the action. There was quite a crowd amassed, so naturally there was some flip cup to be played, as well as "Dizzy Bat". I didn't actually play Dizzy Bat since I was wearing a dress and the likelihood of falling and showing everyone my underwear seemed too high a risk. Note to self, wear boy shorts next time!

FYI... Dizzy Bat consists of filling up a plastic bat with beer, drinking it in as many seconds as possible, then spinning around the bat the same number of times that it took you to drink the beer. So, if you drank the beer in 10 seconds you spin around 10 times. Clearly, being able to waterfall a beer in 3 seconds is a desirable trait in this game.

Eventually, we drank all the beer and took this as a sign to head towards the fair. Once we got there Zach wanted to look for the booth his company had set up so he and I broke off from the rest of the group to do some searching. As we wound our way through the crowded booths I found myself naturally taking his hand when he held it out. It wasn't so crazy-crowded that we really needed to worry about getting lost, but I was also completely comfortable pretending I needed to hold his hand to avoid getting lost in the crowd.

When we couldn't find the booth, or any of the people we came with we decided to wander around and check out all that the fair had to offer. We watched the end of a livestock show, smelled all the different variations of fried foods the fair had to offer and briefly contemplated eating some it, and eventually stumbled upon the Ferris wheel.

*Funny side note that provides some needed detail.
Since I was wearing a dress that didn't have pockets, Zach was holding my wallet and phone. As we were getting ready to leave the house I asked "Where did Zach go? He has my money and phone in his pocket." His roommate said, "You sound like a wife already."
"Bite your tongue" was my reply.

"You wait in line, and I'll go grab us some tickets. May I have my wallet, please?" I asked holding out my hand.
"Nope. You aren't using your money to buy the Ferris wheel tickets." He said handing me some cash.
"But you paid our way in."
"I told you not to worry about it!"
"Ok!" I said skipping away to get our tickets.

Yes. I skipped. For real.
I probably looked like an 8 year old with my loose ponytail and striped t-shirt dress skipping through the fair grounds.

I got our tickets, skipped back over, and we hopped on the Ferris wheel. I'm not even sure we had made it to the top before Zach cupped my face in his hand and bent in to kiss me. And that is what we proceeded to do for the whole, entire, Ferris wheel ride. The only time I wasn't kissing him was one time when we were at the top and I noticed the hunter-jumper equestrian ring down below.

Yes, the only thing that could distract me from smooching is a hunter-jumper course.
Me and my horses...

We had so much fun on the first trip on the Ferris wheel that we decided to go around a second time :)

So now do we see why I am in trouble?