Mystery Man

Today at work I received a phone call from a local number. Assuming it was a contractor or a vendor I absent mindedly answered the call.

"Hello, this is Crigger."
"Hi, this is John."
"Oh, hi John." I say remembering I had emailed John, one of my contractors this morning. "Did you get the email I sent about the... blah blah work thing that you guys don't care about."
"Ummm... I think you have me confused with someone. This is Jon from OKCupid. I was just calling to see when you were free so we could go out."
"OH!! Right! Right!" I say as I realize I have NO IDEA who this guy actually is. Awkward. Very Awkward.
"Are you free tomorrow?"
"Actually I am. That's works well because that is the only day I am free over the next week." Now you are probably curious why I agreed to go out with someone who I have no memory of. Well, I kind of am too. But I figure I liked him enough to give him my number so... Can't say no now.
"Great! How about meeting at ___?" He says some place with a name I can't understand over the roar of the cafeteria, which is where I happen to be having a meeting. A meeting during which I wouldn't normally answer my phone to schedule a date.
"Sure! Sounds great!" I say. "How about 8:30 or so?" That way I can get in a run and a yoga class so my evening won't be a total waste if you turn out to be knob.
"See you then!"
"Bye."

So to recap;

• I don't know who this person is.
• I don't know where we are going.
• But I do know the time! 
• And his phone number.

Oh, Crigger... You are probably thinking. But not to worry, I have a plan. I'll just text him and ask him to text me the address. And then I'll be a few minutes late so hopefully he is already there, will spot me first, and flag me down.

Oh, or maybe I should go earlier so he has to find me. That might be a better plan. The place we are meeting is probably dimly lit... And he does have a very common name. There is at least three Johns every where you go these days. I might end up on a date with the wrong John.

Oh, brother. This should be interesting.

Crushing

That's why they call it a crush.

Because it can be crushing.

At my last writing about Mr. Butterflies it had been two days without a word from the other end of the phone line. But, being that I am the progressive modern woman that I am, I decide to go after what I want. It helped that I talked to my friend Jeff and he plans to ask out a girl he knows who has a boyfriend because, "You should go after what you want."

So if Jeffy can ask out a very un-single lady I can ask out someone who has already been on two dates with me and seemed to have a nice time. He has a Ph.D. in psychology, not acting.

I decide a safe bet is a text about where I can get Ale-8 in LA. First, because it opens up the lines of communication again around a "safe" topic. I'm not asking him to hang out or anything. Second, because I really do want to know where I can get Ale-8! To withhold that information is just cruel and unusual punishment!

So, I as I am sunning myself on the beach I send him a text message.

"I'm going to be in LA tomorrow to watch a UK basketball game with a bunch of Wildcat Fans and I have a feeling some Ale-8 will be needed. Can you disclose your super-secret supply line?"

And then nothing for the rest of the day. By the time I go to bed I have decided that even if he texts back I am not responding for at least three days. Despite the fact that this goes against my rule of  "I don't play those dumb dating games".

The next day I get up and head to LA for the game. For 9:45 in the morning there is a pretty good group of UK fans amassed. I end up sitting down beside Emily and Nick. Emily is a recent transplant and Nick is her friend who has been out here a few years now. After the crushing loss to Vandy in the SEC, I exchange numbers with Emily and Nick and make loose plans to meet up with them again. By the way, they are both awesome (or I wouldn't have given them my number... duh) and I thrilled to have made friends with people I can actually see myself hanging out with.

Emily shoots me a text and then almost instantly a second text pops up with the message, "This is Nick."

My heart leaps into my throat and I am so excited I am not thinking clearly. I am thrilled! This explains why he hasn't text me back! He lost his phone. He changed his number. There is some logical explanation. Yeah! I am not crazy! 

The little cheerleader in my mind is doing backflips and before I can stop myself I text back, "Well hello there! I thought you were dead!"

And then it hits me. It is UK-Wildcats-fan-Nick. The guy-who-is-sitting-beside-me-Nick. The person-I-just-gave-my-number-to-Nick. 

Not Mr. Butterflies Nick.

Party of one. Crushed.

From beside me I hear Wildcat Nick laugh and say, "Why would I be dead?"

I try to come up with something plausible, but if I am going to lie I need a few minutes to plan it. Off the cuff lies are not my strong suite. This is why I can't be a politician. So I go with the truth.

"I thought you were someone else there for a minute. Someone I have been wanting to hear from." Sigh.

We leave the bar, say our goodbyes, and I contemplate walking down to the LACMA and the La Brea Tar Pits because I am only a few blocks away. Those are two of my favorite places in LA, but they both remind me of Nick. Mr. Butterflies Nick. Going there means I will wallow, and I refuse to allow myself to wallow over someone with whom I have spent less than 24 cumulative hours. Regardless of how great those few hours were.

Oh, how I want to wallow though!  But no! This is the year of 52 dates. This is for the best.

I mentally put on my Big Girl Panties, and head to Fairfax to check out some thrift stores, hoping I can find some good steals to distract me from the crummy day. Roaming through thrift stores I find a book by an author who will on campus next week, a cute little vintage fascinator hat that matches my Keeneland dress for April, and a knife storage system for my Momma. A very successful thrift store day.

Just when I had given up all hope of hearing from Nick and have distracted myself substantially with some retail therapy guess... who... texts?

That's right. Mr. Butterflies Nick. He has finally decided to respond to my pleas for Ale-8.

"I might be persuaded for some... moonshine."
"Ha! That could be arranged."
"I like the way you think Criggs!"

That's right. He calls me Criggs... He arrived at that all by himself. My best friends call me Criggs. Most guys I go out with don't even know my last name. I thought that was a good sign. I guess I was mistaken.

"Well, maybe you'll like this thought too. I'm in LA today and my afternoon plans got canceled. Wanna hang out?"

And then silence. For over an hour.


"Or not." I text as I headed to the Farmer's Market to get some lunch since at this point it was 3:00 and all I had put in my stomach was two beers.

When I arrived at the Farmer's Market I decided to quit being coy, if that is even what I was doing and call him. So I parked, pulled out my phone and dialed his number.

It rang a few times and went to voicemail. I was not in the least bit surprised.

"Hi Nick. It's Crigger. I feel like I am getting the brush off, and that's fine." Not really!! my mind is screaming but I manage to keep that from bursting out my mouth because I am not actually a psycho. "But I really would like to know where I can buy some Ale-8 in the city since I am in town today. If you would just text me the info that would be great. Thanks."

I am willing to admit that this was a little passive aggressive. But I'm not going to beg someone to pay attention to me. 

I am fantastic! Even when I am bummed out. 

I get out of my car, having lost my appetite, make my way to a bookstore. Some people find solace in a good rom-com movie. Some call their mom, their sister, their best friend. Others a beer or ice cream cone. Some a beer flavored ice cream cone.

Me? I prefer a good ol' tragic Russian novel. A few chapters of War and Peace, and things wouldn't seem so bad I was sure. Getting lost in the troubles of someone else always helps.

And it did this time too.

But I am still bummed. This little exchange has taken the wind out of my dating sails for a week or two. Before, I was bombs away splashing into the dating pool. Now it is more of an effort. I have to force myself to slide off the side and into the shallow end.

It is frustrating. The not knowing. The thinking things were great only to find out there was a false front.

I suppose this has served a purpose. It reminds me to be kind and truthful with the people I am seeing. Thinking that I am letting someone down easily by ignoring their texts or putting off their suggested plans might be easy for me, but maybe not for them.

Everyone needs a good ego bruising to keep them humble.
I guess this was mine.
Probably one of many to come.

My Moonshine Brings All the Boys to the Yard!

And they're like
It's better than yours,
Dang right, it's better than yours!
I can teach you,
But I have to charge.

I have always heard that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Until recently I believed that this 1950s dating gem applied solely to food; cakes, lasagna, fried chicken, pies, etc...  I was wrong. It applies directly to moonshine.

That's right.
Moonshine.

This past weekend, in honor of March Madness I headed to LA to an Alumni Game Watch Party. I'd been to a game watch party earlier in the tournament and met two awesome people, Emily and Nick, so even if the worst happened and we were the only ones there, at least I wouldn't be screaming C-A-T-S! CATS! CATS! CATS! all by myself. Being the only person in a bar yelling at the TV is awkward... Not that I would know anything about that. I've just seen other people do it... Yeah. Other people. Not me.

We were far from alone in the bar. Apparently, the rainy Saturday drove all the UK Wildcat fans into the Varsity. So there I was, with Emily, Nick, my moonshine, and several eligible? bachelors. As soon as the mason jar made its way out of my purse it became THE topic of conversation.

"Is that what I think it is?"
"You betcha!"
"How did you get it out here?"
"Disguised as tequila in my suitcase."
"Did you make it?"
"Ha! I wish! But I don't want to blind people."
"What kind is it?"
"Strawberry."
"Oh man! That's the real stuff."
"Oh yes it is! Straight out of Johnson County."

Emily, Nick and I had scored ourselves some prime Wildcat viewing real estate, which happened to be beside an older gentleman, Dave, his son, who I am calling Greenie thanks to his celebratory attitude in honor of St. Patty's Day, and his son's friend, Shane. Greenie and Shane had been drinking Catholic Carbombs (This is the same thing as an Irish Carbomb, but the Irish really don't like to be associated with Carbombs as I have learned from my Irish friends. So in an effort not to offend my Irish readers I'm using the Irish term for a Carbomb-- a Catholic Carbomb. Clearly, I don't care to offend my Catholic readers. Actually, I just know the Catholics have a better sense of humor than the Irish. Oh drat! I've now offended everyone.) 

Anywho... Greenie and Andy have had about six Catholic Carbombs. Each. As well as several generous sips of the Moonshine. Complete with two Moonshine soaked strawberries. Those boys were having a good time. I spent the first half listening to Greenie tell his dad that he was his most charming self and that the girls still weren't interested in him. When his dad asked about a particular girl Greenie responded with, "I don't remember her name."

Here is where I should have kept my mouth shut. But no, I lean over and say, "Yeah, we don't really like it if you can't remember our names no matter how charming you are."

"I remember your name... Criiiiiii---gger." he said closing one eye and pointing at me. I assume he needed to close one eye so he could figure out which me to point at as he must be seeing double.

A few minutes later Don, a North Carolina native that went to school at UK and worked in Lexington for ten years came over to quiz me about how I had gotten the Moonshine out to California. I detailed my process (which is camouflaging it as tequila or wine, wrapping it up in plastic wrap, nestling it in a sweater, and hoping TSA isn't too thorough and that the baggage monkeys aren't jumping on my suitcase). Don claims to have shipped 5 quarts back once. And his method seems pretty thorough, but I'm still wary of the Postal Service and that couldn't have been cheap. As we chat I discover he lives near me and I am ecstatic!

"We should hang out! I am new to the OC and don't have a ton of buddies yet."
"Yeah... Well I need to get back. But I just had to talk to the girl who brought the moonshine." He says making a speedy get-away.

And then I see why he is making swift exit. He is at the party with a girl. Not a very pretty one at that, though she looks like she might be the jealous type. He probably doesn't want her to know I have suggested we hang out. Which, by the way I don't mean in the euphemistic way people use it now to mean hook-up, get-down, etc... I really just want some buddies that I don't work with who like basketball! 

Now Greenie, who stumbled away to hit on anything that moves, has teetered back and PLOPPED down on the couch beside me and draped an arm very tightly around my shoulder. Oh joy.

In an effort to keep himself from face-planting on to the coffee table he has decided to try to wedge his fingers between my ribs. This strategy worked and kept him vertical long enough to tell me about his crazy ex-girlfriend who he has a restraining order against after she kicked a hole in his door and threw a table off the roof of his apartment building.

Really... there is an 8:1 ratio of men to women in this bar and these are the two that decide to chat me up? Mr. I-have-a-Crazy-Ex-and-quite-possibly-a-drinking-problem and Mr. I-live-in-the-OC-but-am-here-with-a-jealous-girl? At least the Cats are winning!

After game ends and the crowd starts to clear out, Emily and Nick, being that they are Louisville Fans as well want to stay and catch a bit of the UofL game. This is fine by me. I can watch March Madness all day. Every day. Don gives a little wave as he and his lady friend leave and I figure there goes my shot at an OC game watching buddy. Dang jealous girlfriends.

But then he comes back, sans-girlfriend.

"It was nice to meet you Moonshine-Girl." he says extending his hand.
"You too. Maybe I'll see you in the OC." I say holding it a little longer than necessary.
"How will we ever see each other. I don't have a way to contact you."
"The OC isn't that big, but here's my card. That is my cell number. Give me a call and we'll talk Wildcats, Keeneland, Moonshine and Bourbon."
"Alright. I'll do that."

We'll see if he does. But getting a guy to ask for your number while he is clearly with another girl is a win. At least for me. Not her obviously.

As we sit watching a few more minutes of the UofL game a guy in a Kentucky shirt comes over, sits down, and strikes up a conversation.

"I'm doing the acting thing." he says making air quotes. He looks like Shia LaBouf in Flipper. He told me his name and gave me his phone number, but honestly as soon as he said "I'm doing the acting thing" I stopped listening. I know it's mean because I have friends who are pursuing acting and they are talented and committed people. And people I respect so much.

But they are in New York.
 Where real actors are.

Okay, that's not really true either. Real actors are out in LA too. But the way he said it was like he couldn't even believe he was doing it. That it was a ludicrous undertaking.

If you are going to do it, own it!
Be committed.
Don't. Use. Air quotes.  

People always ask why I date online? Why don't I just meet people when I go out?
These are the people I meet in bars. The "actor". The drunk finance guy that is still frat party mode. The guy with the girlfriend.

It is hard to delete them from a bar, but you can block them on Match.com with a click.

Dating Sites Dos and Don'ts 101: Messaging

The right message from a potential suitor can instantly have me hooked. The wrong message can have me blocking you faster than you can type "Hi, there!"

"So what is the secret to a good message?" a guy friend asked me recently.

Honestly, I have no idea. I can tell you what not to lead with though.

Exhibit A: Know Your Audience
Hi there,
First I will share that I am older, 44, and also married. (The UPPER limit of my profile is 36... and I specifically note that I am ONLY interested in single dudes) With that said I can tell you that I am also looking for a special friendship, (a.k.a. as they say in Japan a sexo furendo- or sex friend. Excuse me as I vomit 44 year old married creeper) someone that I can share personal thoughts and pieces of life with. I am a very respectful, (I'd be curious what your wife has to say about this aspect of your personality, because part of my definition of respectful is not cheating on someone. But hey, I'm an old fashioned southern lady so what do I know?) professional guy who works in Tustin. I am in shape although not a gymrat (his picture was only of his torso-- hello spaghetti arms and boney ribs while also having a gut? I am astounded that being shaped like that is even possible. He looked like Kurt from Gilmore Girls.), taller and look younger (honest). If you want to get coffee or email (sorry, texting won't work, I do need discretion)-- (Yeah... if your wife finds out your cheating it will probably be a real bummer, huh?), please let me know. I would enjoy hearing a new friend. I had a previous female friend and enjoyed sharing with her quite a bit (I bet you did.). If not..good luck to you! If it becomes more that is great, I am very open minded! (I bet you are... Your wife is truly blessed.)

I think we all see why this is wrong on several levels.

Exhibit B: Start Out Slow
Hi Crigger-Chan,
I noticed in your profile that you like Disneyland. I love Disney too! I would love to take you there sometime.
Ummm... I haven't even agreed to go to Starbucks with you yet, I am not about to let you ruin Disneyland for me. How about you take a chill pill and by me a $4 coffee instead of a $70+ ticket to Disney? 

A first date should be short and low pressure. And provide us both with an escape hatch. Disneyland is an all day commitment. I go there with my friends, out-of-town guests, or a 5th date with someone whose company I enjoy.  THIS is not a first date location.  And furthermore, we have not exchanged so much as a "Hello", let's not jump into 5th date territory just yet.

Exhibit C: Don't Be Offensive
The following message was copied verbatim...
  
I think you are cute. But alas, you are a Christian, and thus chances are we would not get along charmingly, (then why are you wasting your time writing this email?) as I would frequently point out problems with Christianity and the bible. On the other hand, from your match questions, you dont seem to concern yourself with the fact that the bible condemns fornication. (Much like you don't seem to concern yourself with grammar and punctuation. And I don't actually remember saying anything about fornication in my profile... ) So maybe you are beginning to have doubts and you are on your way out of christianity. If that is the case, I could be very helpful--and thus, I offer to sit down for a bible study if you wish. How bout it? You could at least have a chance to save my soul. Jesus would approve.

I actually took the time to reply to this yahoo and told him ever so nicely that while I have many talents, saving souls isn't one of them. That is really more of my homeboy, JC's forte.  I did offer to meet him and talk about the Bible, but warned him he might be disappointed when I started poking holes in all his big problems with the Bible (i.e. his issue with the verse "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than a rich man to get into Heaven." He was sad to learn the eye of the needle refers to a real place, the entrance to a city, and to get a camel through it, you actually had to unload it. Oh, and the fact that metaphors have been used in story telling since the dawn of time.) 

We had several more asinine exchanges very similar to this. 

You can't out Bible me buddy! I've asked all the same questions. And arrived at an answer that can explained through looking at historical context and with a junior high school student's grasp of literary devices. And that doesn't make my God any less real. Faith by definition is something that can't be explained.


BOOM.

Let me just clarify. I don't have a problem with people who don't believe in God (clearly from varied dating history and array of friends). What I do have a problem with are D-bags.

No news is goodnews; except in dating

So... it would appear that while Mr. Butterflies still gives me the butterflies, the feeling is no longer mutual.

Actually, if I am honest with myself it is waaaaaaaaay past butterflies. We are in full-blown like territory. Like... doodling hearts with his name inside them like... Who am I? A 6th grader.

Well, obviously, yes.

How did it happen so quickly you wonder? Beats me! Unfortunately, I have managed to royally muck it up somehow by just being me. The rational side of my brain says "If he doesn't think that your fossil-fascinated-yoga obsessed- moonshine-preferring self is not the best thing the internet has ever given him, then he really is not the guy for you. Regardless of all the sparks you clearly hallucinated. You psychotic moron that no one likes."

That was my overly dramatic alter ego coming out at the end... But this battle goes on and on in my head making me envy Cybil. She might have had multiple personalities, but at least they weren't yelling at each other inside her brain. Or maybe they were. I'm not a psychologist, so I don't really know. But you know who would know? That's right. Mr. B. But I certainly can't call him up and ask him what it sounded like in Cybil's head. Then I will look crazy. Or more crazy, as the case may be. He might already think the moonshine has addled my brain. GUH!

So here I am, all Miss Havisham-esque, checking my phone ever two seconds just to see if I have missed something.

AS IF I would miss something on MY phone.

It chirps, buzzes, sings, gurgles, and generally startles me ALL DAY LONG. Even when it is on silent, it still vibrates! And it is never further than than an arm's reach. Heaven forbid someone calls and I miss the opportunity to screen them...

It's a really gnarly bummer. (Come on, I live in Cali now... of course I say bummer. And gnarly. Am I even using those words right? I need a dictionary.)

The frustrating part is I have no idea why he doesn't seem interested anymore.

And what infuriates me is that through this whole process I have been the one in control. I am the one calling the shots.

This is my world, the boys are just buying my dinner in it.

Until now.
 
After our great second date two weeks ago I heard from him consistently. Not too frequently that it freaked me out, but often enough that when he stopped texting it started to freak me out.

Friday: Great Date!
Saturday: He asked about my dentist appointment.
Sunday: He asked me how the rest of my weekend went.
Monday: He texted me that he was listening to Sundy Best (my favorite band, and if you aren't listening to them you need to be). A good sign. He likes me enough to seek out a band I love.
Tuesday: I received a text and a picture of a new bourbon he just bought. He was either trying to impress me, or make me jealous. It worked on both accounts
Wednesday: He called me "Adorkable" after I told him about a green HVAC seminar that I went to and LOVED!
Thursday: I got a Happy Birthday and a "So you wont mind when I take you to celebrate soon" when I told him I celebrate my birthday for a month.
Friday: We chatted about Casablanca and chess.
Saturday: There was A TON of banter. We talked about California design, how much Eames stuff rocks, bow-ties, good bourbon (do we see a theme?), and end of life care. Our interests are teasingly diverse.
Sunday: Nothing, but it was my parents' last full day in the OC so not surprising.
Monday: I "accidentally" butt-texted him and got back "Agreed". To which I waited at least an hour before replying, only to get no response. I know... I know... I'm kind of playing games here, but I just couldn't help myself! Come on! Don't act like you've never been here.
Tuesday: No communication from either side.
Wednesday: This is the text I sent,
          "Not to sound like Babyface, but when do I get to see you again?"
           Mr. B followed up with, "You're so 90s! Awesome!"
           To which I replied, "They gave us so much; puff paint, tomodachi pets, and Vanilla Ice's
           serious music  career."
          And then crickets...  For two days... Going on forever.

So clearly he doesn't want to see me again. Or he would have suggested some time when he is free!?

Right...?

Where did Mr. I-feel-like-we-really-connected (he said this at the end of our first conversation) go?  When he said that I thought, easy there over-eager Ph.D. Don't show all your cards just yet.

And now here I am thinking, I thought we connected too? Why don't want to see me again? What's wrong with me? Why aren't you banging down my door like Matrimony-Matty and Yacht-Boy? And the new slew of guys that show up as my Matches by Mail and Quiver Matches daily?

Maybe this is payback for the boys that liked me that I never called back? Who knows?

But I will say this about that... I never told someone I was going to go out with them and didn't. I might have said "I had a nice time." But I never said, "Let's do this again." Only to not follow through.

And Mr. B, if you have managed to find my blog- because you know I write one- know that this short term psychotic break will pass. As soon as you ask me out again I'll be back to my adorkable self.

Nice Legs

I have always thought I had adequate legs. They are functional and not offensive from an aesthetic standpoint. They have allowed me to run marathons, though they seem to appreciate that that has been checked off the bucket list. They keep me balanced in downward dogs, quivery, but never collapsing, in my warrior II pose that my yoga teacher demands that I hold far longer than I really ever want to. They even endorse my love of high heels. My knees and ankles never beg for flats. After all, heels make them look their best. Without them riding my bike would a challenge and horse back riding would probably not be a favorite activity. So all in all, I like my legs.

But I have never really been one to think that my legs are all that nice. I would not call them my best feature.

Don't get me wrong. I prefer having the set I've got to not having legs, but if I could trade them for Carrie Underwood's... I would in a hot minute.

Or so I thought.

Last night I was in the grocery store after work. It was probably the nicest I have ever looked in Trader Joe's because I usually go post yoga and it looks like I swam, rather than drove to the store. Standing in the produce section, which if one is to believe Cosmopolitan, is one of the best places to pick up men, a man walked by and said, "Great shoes!"

Now, anywhere else in the country where a man says "Great shoes" that is code for "I'm your new gay best friend" but in California people of the male persuasion are more likely to comment on appearance. Or at least that has been my experience. It really is no more than I like your shoes, scarf, ring, dress, shirt, insert any item here. They aren't hitting on you, or if they are I am really dense. And my fellow Trader Joe's shopper was correct, my shoes were fantastic! And to think my ex-boyfriend tried to talk me out of getting them! Thank goodness I made a habit of ignoring his fashion advice early on.

I finished shopping and headed out to my car. As I am loading my bags into the back I hear, "I know this is really inappropriate to say, but you have really nice legs. I wasn't looking at your shoes in the store. I was looking at your legs."

Now, as a single lady I don't really like strange men approaching me from behind, especially in parking lots. I feel like that is a good way to get abducted. And I always cringe when people start out a sentence with "this is inappropriate" or "no offense" because you know what they are going to say is inappropriate or offensive.

"Once again, I'm really sorry, but I just had to tell you that you have nice legs."

"Ummmmm, well, thank you. They keep me upright and get me from point A to B."

"Well, they really are nice."

I think I'll be dressing up to go to Trader Joe's more often this is the reception I'm going to be receiving.

Another Page in the Dating History Book

One of my favorite places in LA is the La Brea Tar Pit. I love the fossils, the pre-historic animals, the bubbling green ponds full of statues of animals slowly sinking to their tar-filled death. Okay, so the last part is a little morbid, but there is something about it I love!

And the Page Museum is right beside it! You can actually see real archeologists and paleontologists putting together real, really old bones! That's way better than the fossil work I was doing during my brief career as an archeologist. I mean really, who doesn't want to see a Columbian Mammoth tusk that is bigger than me? And a trilobite? That is only my favorite kind of bite! Probably because I have several of those in my award winning geology project from 4H. That''s right. You heard me. Award WINNING!

With my nerd flag flying so high you all are probably shocked I date at all... I know I am. It bodes well for me that nerdy is stylish right now. But, I should probably get married tomorrow. We all know how fashion ebbs and flows. It will be 30 more years before nerdy is back in vogue.

On a recent trip to the Page Museum I was with my friends Laura and Joe. Laura grew up in LA and they were out visiting her family, so when she suggested meeting up at the Page Museum I barely put on pants before I was out the door. We spent a good hour or so in the Museum. It isn't that big and I know all the hot spots anyway, so an hour in there is ample time to see everything.

And evidently to be seen, as well.

Walking down the street after our tour through time we decided a coffee was in order. Standing in line in Starbucks, a guy with a saber tooth tiger calf tattoo starts up a conversation with Joe.

"You guys were in the museum earlier, right?"
"Oh... yeah?"
"I just ask because I work there. I saw you guys walking around and so I just wondered what your favorite part of the museum was? You all seemed to really enjoy it."

Okay, now this starts to make sense. I am a very excited museum patron. Even a museum about things I don't normally find interesting, tell me there is a museum about it, and instantly I am planning a trip. Shrunken heads and taxidermied animals in Ecuador? Sign me up! The music box museum in Japan? Yes, please! The Cowboy Museum in Oklahoma? You bet your lucky horse shoe I want to go!  A museum all about honey? Sweet! The Spade Museum in Ireland? I can dig it!

"Oh, yeah! We all liked it! My favorite part was the dire wolf wall. It's crazy that there were 400 skulls in the tar pits!" Joe said like a kid in a candy store.

"Oh! Yeah! That was amazing." echoed Laura

"What about you?" Cat-man asked?

"I liked the horse exhibit. But my favorite part is getting to see what is happening in the lab." I said.

"Yeah, I noticed that you spent a lot of time looking in the window. I work in the lab." said Saber-Tooth-Cat-Calf. "Here's my card. If you are here on a Tuesday or Wednesday give me a call and I'll bring you into the lab."

"Umm... How will you know it's me?"

"Just say the pretty red-head in the blue shirt is here. I'll know who you are. I would love to show you around."

I'm sure you would. You clearly are passionate about your work. You have the Page Museum logo tattooed on your arm and a saber-tooth tiger on your leg. 

Please stop picturing me in a wedding dress...

Even though I know Matty is waaaaaaay more into me than I am him, I agreed to a second date, provided it was meeting up for Indian food. He is half Indian after all... He must know a decent spot in the OC to get my Saag Paneer and Bhanghan Bartha grub on, right?

The answer to that is an unequivocal YES! This restaurant wasn't just delicious, it was as if I had been dropped back into Delhi. I left there smelling like an Indian take-out bag and knowing that my clothes would definitely need to be dry cleaned. Maybe even burned, but I didn't care! It was that good.

And while Matty is very funny, smart, successful, and very attentive every time he manages to steer the conversation back to how awesome I am, how much his family will like me, and why I am still single. The why are you still single conversation usually stems from one of these sources; my love of bourbon, my confusion on why a bride would be opposed to a bachelor party as long as she gets a bachelorette party; knowing something about college basketball/ the NFL/ baseball; and my prettiness.

And truly, those are some good selling points if I do say so myself. But, news flash buddy, if I wanted to be married I would be. The reason that I am still single is because I want to be. I  like my life.  I haven't met someone who is enticing enough for me to give up all my freedom. Even when I had a boyfriend, he was not calling the shots. I was running the Crigger-show, and ratings have always been high. I might bring in a special guest occasionally, but a series regular... that can wreck a show.

At the end of the date I found myself lying to Matty about the length of parents' visit. I just wanted to buy myself some time. A week visit suddenly morphed into two. He said he would try not to bother me while they were in town. Let's see how that goes... My hope is that during these two weeks he'll meet someone he thinks is way more awesome than me and I'll just fade into the background and land safely in the friend territory. 


*fingers crossed*