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*

Butterflies Continued...

Oh, brother... Mr. Butterflies, you do throw quite the wrench in my year of 52 dates...

Mr. Butterflies (aka Best. First. Date. Ever. Period.) is really making me swoon. The day after our first date that lasted 6 hours he sent me this text. "Just thinking of you and smiling"

Ahhhhh, sigh... :)

Here is the text message I got from him asking me out for the second time.


A formula:  C x B = W:
Crigger-chan hangs out with Mr. Butterflies at some point over the Weekend. Class are there any questions?

*Note that the initials have been changed... Though it would be kind of funny if he referred to himself as Mr. Butterflies.*

The only questions I had were, "When? Where? And what should I wear?" 


"How about meeting up in Laguna Beach?"

Score! Laguna is a great place for a second date. Cute streets. Delicious restaurants. Lots of bars with dark corners in which to kiss. Only one small problem. And by small, I mean GIANT. Rex lives in Laguna Beach. I DO NOT want to run into him on what I am hoping will be a great second date. That, in fact, sounds like the perfect way to ruin a great date. Thankfully, I know Rex is planning to be on the boat Friday night. So Friday, in Laguna it is! Now let's just hope I don't run into any of his friends...

Mr. Butterflies arrived at my apartment just after 8:00. At this point I had been through three costume changes, two hairstyles, and a hefty glass of wine. On my previous dates I have rolled up in what I wore to work, old stand-bys that I feel can be wasted on an okay date I'm not expecting much from, or jeans and a t-shirt. I clearly wasn't worrying too much about attire. Which is shocking I know, coming from the Queen of the Closet, but they need to impress me, not the other way around. I invited Mr. Butterflies into my apartment, which is shocking. I never invite people into my apartment, actually there are very few people who even know my address. Some people are crazy. You never know where the Craig's List Killer is hanging out on OkCupid. So, I just generally don't want people knowing too much about me very early on. But having done a significant background check on Mr. Butterflies, his stories all checked out, and no criminal record to speak of, I invited him in.

I even offered him some of my coveted Apple Pie Moonshine, so now you know I really like him. I don't share that delicious elixir with just anyone...

After an hour or so of sitting on my couch, drinking a bit of moonshine, we headed out to Laguna. We grabbed dinner at a sushi restaurant. The way to this girl's heart is through raw fish. After sushi we went to a Belgium Bar for a beer and to settle a basketball bet. I said that basketball was invented in Canada, because James Naismith is Canadian. He said Indiana. Turns out we were both wrong, because it was actually invented in Massachusetts. But since I was convinced it was Canadian I insisted on buying our beer. The Belgium beer was delicious and the atmosphere was pretty great too. Apparently walking down those 8 steps into the subterranean bar had actually transported us to somewhere in Eastern Europe with its funky house music and crazy light shows. Oh, and the hilarious dancing of the interesting clientele. At one point Sweatpants-Boy, who was sitting beside us, bit the dust. This answered our question of why he was out in sweatpants. Clearly dancing is more of a sport for him than the rest of us.

After we left Poland we strolled around the quiet streets of Laguna, his arm around my shoulders, my arm around his waist. Allowing another human being to touch my in public is a very big deal. There have been people I have dated for years and haven't wanted them to so much as hold my hand in public. Heaven forbid someone get the wrong idea and think I am taken... But with Mr. Butterflies, he can put his arm around me and cuddle me close all he wants.

Our next stop was a little bar tucked away on a side street. The lighting was low and it had cobblestone floors. The lamps looked like they were a hold-over from a bygone era when everything was lit by gas. I immediately liked it. We found seats on a bench and nestled in, taking in the space and leaning against each other.  It is easy and comfortable with Mr. Butterflies. At one point he looked down at me and kissed me so softly and lightly I briefly wasn't sure if it had actually happened. Or if I had managed to hallucinate the whole moment.

"I've wanted to do that from the moment I first saw you... I came around the corner and saw you standing there. I thought you were so cute. I really wanted you to be the girl I was meeting."

So, I guess I wasn't hallucinating.  Instead, maybe I have the ability to conjure Nora Roberts movie characters ala You've Got Mail into real life? It is like when Tom Hanks comes into the park and Meg Ryan says, "I wanted it to be you," except I guess I am Tom instead of Meg. Did someone tell Mr. Butterflies You've Got Mail basically ran in a loop in my DVD player for years? 

After a few more moments in the bar we decided to head back to the car, grabbed a beach bag (what a planner he is) with a towel, some bourbon, and an Ale-8, and head down to the water. Boy does this man know the formula for making me fall hard and fast! We sat on the beach until it was far later than either of us intended. While I should have been tired, I wasn't. On all other dates I would have bounced long before now. On other dates I wouldn't even have gone down by the beach (hello Natalie Halloway...). But sometimes you just know you are in the middle of  your very own romantic comedy and you should just enjoy it. And I was pretty sure he wasn't going to leave me dead in a ditch. :)

I Think Yatch; Part 2

Rex and I met in Laguna Beach, which is where he lives, for our second date. Laguna is a really cute town. It's small. Quaint even. People walk around with their dogs dressed in cute outfits and eating ice cream cones. There are little boutiques and locally owned restaurants. If you live there, people greet you by name or a smile and a nod as they pass. Or in Rex's case, the bartender at his favorite restaurant will remind him what he had for dinner the night before in case he wanted to order it again. It has a community feel that is often missing in big cities. It is a feeling I have missed since moving to the sprawl that is Southern California.

At the restaurant we grabbed two open bar stools beside an elderly couple. This suited me just fine because I love the elderly. I love that old men flirt shamelessly with me because they know they have become harmless. I adore the elegant way older ladies dress that is reminiscent of a bygone era, with a hint of something modern splashed on. And Lord knows I love a story better than just about anything, and the elderly are certainly willing to share theirs.

Over a very nice bottle of red wine, Rex and I caught up about our week and chatted with the couple beside us, who have coincidentally, been coming to Laguna on vacation for last 30 years. The gentleman and I made a bet over who could drop a bottle cork and get it to stand up. I lost, but then he taught me the trick and now I have a new way to pick up men in the bar. As if I really need another. After a delicious dinner Rex and I said our goodbyes and headed off down the street to an Irish pub where his friend works.

He introduces me to his friend, who replies, "Have we met before?"

"Nope." I say smiling, while she looks a little awkward. So... Rex brings a lot of ladies in here does he? Which in all honesty is fine by me. Because, I have no intention of being a one-man  kinda lady right now. And I don't want some guy putting all his proverbial eggs in my metaphorical basket. I don't really want to be in the business of crushing people's spirits. That just puts out to much bad juju!


As we sat in the bar drinking our Johnny Walker Gold Label Scotch it dawns on me that I don't really know that much about Rex. Not really at least. I don't know his last name. I don't know what he studied in college. I don't know much about his family. His profile says he has a child, but they don't live here, however he hasn't mentioned it and I haven't asked. So I don't know what that situation is. And it hasn't ever occurred to me to mind.

I would like to think that I am enjoying the mystery. Unfortunately, the more likely case for my overly inquisitive self is that I'm not really that interested. Yes, he is nice. Yes, he never lets me pay. Yes, he has a yacht. But does he make my heart flutter? No.

Is a relationship all about flutter and sparks? Of course not. But I have had those flutters and sparks. And I really like that feeling. That anticipation of hoping he calls. The excitement of picking out an outfit for a date I'm really looking forward to. The day after dissection call with my sister, my friends, my mom. The over-analyzing every little thing as I am one to do. The thrill that is this something real because it scares me, but I just can't stop myself from stepping out on that ledge in hopes of falling into something great.

Maybe my relationship with Rex is one of those slow to ignite relationships. Or maybe we are destined for buddy land. Only time will tell.

In the mean time, I have two more dates!

Sneaky Love, Lasting Love

My Mamaw and Papaw have been married for eons.
Okay, well not eons.
Sixty-three years this November, to be exact.
That's more than double the whole time that I have been on this planet.
I have to get married tomorrow and live to be 91 in order to be married to someone that long.
Good thing I am planning to live to be 113...

Aside from the lengthy time my grandparents have been joined in holy matrimony, what is truly remarkable is how in love they still are with one another. I would call them obsessed with one another. My Mamaw will "run" into the grocery store to pick up something and my Papaw will say he is going to wait in the car. Before too long, my Papaw has wondered into Food City to see if my Mamaw needs any help.

A few years ago my Dad and Papaw were looking at old family pictures. My Dad picked up a picture of my Mamaw taken when she was young, right about the time she and my grandfather got married. He said, "Boy, Betty sure was awful pretty back then."

My Papaw looked my Dad square in the eye and said, "She is still awful pretty."

It isn't uncommon to walk into my grandparent's house and see them holding hands across the end table that sits between their recliners. If I had a quarter for every time I saw them steal a kiss as my Papaw empties the dishwasher and my Mamaw wipes down the kitchen counters I could make a hefty purchase. As a little girl I spent a lot of time at their house, nearly as much as at my own. I loved (and still do) being with them; they were, and still are, always having fun together. The fun is probably a little less exciting at 83 and 81, but it's still fun.

My Mamaw is always offering advice about love. It is usually unsolicited-- but spot on. After being married for 63 years you figure it isn't just conjecture at this point. She actually knows what she is talking about. One of her recent gems of truth imparted during our last phone conversation was, "Love will just sneak up on you when you least expect it. That's what happened to me."

When my Mamaw met my Papaw, they were just Betty and James Orvil. Betty was actually on a date with another man. Betty and James kind of knew each other, both having grown up in a small farming community, but they weren't what one might call friendly. However, one afternoon James was driving past the school house and saw Betty getting on a pep bus to go watch a game and he was smitten. He followed the school bus to the game. Walked right up the bleachers to my Mamaw, who was sitting beside her date, and said, "Why don't you move his coat so I can sit beside you."

When my Papaw tells this story he just laughs. My Mamaw looks a little sheepish, but haughty at the same time, like she is saying, "Well can you blame him? I'm a catch."

Obviously, my Mamaw moves the coat and my Papaw sits down beside her.

I asked my Papaw once what he would have done if the bus had driven somewhere really far away, and not just a neighboring school.

He said, "Well, I would have kept following it, hoping I didn't run out of gas I guess."

The rest is history, or so I thought until recently.

Not to long after James whisked Betty away from her pep bus boyfriend he asked her "to go, as they called it back then, steady."

"Well, I said yes," said Mamaw. "But I didn't really mean it. I just didn't want to hurt his feelings. So I had been pretending to go steady with him, but my heart wasn't really in it, until one day when I was in town and heard that his sister was trying to fix him up with one of her friends. Well, I just decided then and there that would most certainly not do. I realized then that I was in love. It had just sneaked right up on me. That will happen to you too, Babes."