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...
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...
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