Men: The Ultimate Renewable Resource

Some of you know that I am a Sustainability Manager. For those of you who don't actually know what that is, I basically try to make sure we don't euthanize ourselves by polluting the planet, using too much energy, and wasting natural resources.
Oh, and I save the organization I work for a bunch of money while I'm at it.

You could call me an Environmental Bad Ass, and that would be correct.

But seriously, I love my job more than anyone should love a job. Mondays are awesome (if I have kept the dating to a minimum, and the sleeping to a maximum). Oh who am I kidding! Even when I am exhausted from my fantastically frantic dating schedule I still love Monday!

Not least because the faculties management world is dominated by men.


In my particular office these men are roughly my father's age. 
But that's okay. 
I would never date someone I work with anyway. 
BUT being in this industry means I meet alot of men. The ones who are too old for me are trying to set me up with their sons, the ones my age that are taken are setting me up with their friends, and the single ones, well they are working over time to get my business. 


And when I go to conferences it just intensifies. It is like going to Man-land, my own personal version of Disneyland full of men who are both more age appropriate, and not someone I have to see every day when/if things go south. 


Just take a minute to imagine the rides at Criggerland... 


Looks pretty fun in your mind, right?
It will be 13X that much fun in real life.
Yes, 13, because that is my lucky number.

I'm quirky, but you guys already knew that.

The problem with meeting men at conferences is that they come from all over California, if not the whole country. And no matter how awesome they are, I am not going to jump into a long distance relationship with someone who lives in Northern California, let alone someone living in North Carolina.

But every now and then you get lucky and you meet someone who lives just a few towns over from you.
Who is tall.
Handsome.
Enjoys some good bourbon.
And is from the South.
With a proper Southern name.
Like Harrison. Or Joe Mitchell. Or Webb.

Webb and I met on a building tour that detailed the innovative and energy smart features of several buildings at the conference site. We had a mutual friend on the tour who introduced us. As we started chatting about water use issues and the need for more drought resistance landscaping (sexy, right?) I picked up a bit of an accent filtering through his very deep baritone voice.

"Are you from Tennessee or Kentucky?" Webb asked.
Obviously he picked up my accent. But then of course I am sure the hearing impaired can pick up my accent...
"Kentucky. Where are you from? There is something happening in there that is Southern." I said motioning to his mouth.
"Yeah. I'm from Georgia."
"I love Georgia. Especially Atlanta. I have family in Atlanta, so we went down pretty often."
"Yeah. Atlanta is pretty great. I am from Athens, but lived in Atlanta for awhile."

We continued to chat through out the tour about our respective jobs, the challenges of working within the sustainability profession, and what it is like living out here. After the 4 hour tour Webb gave me his card and told me to be sure to give him a call if I needed any LEED help, as that is his specialty. We said our goodbyes and I headed off to drag my luggage across campus to the residence halls.

Man I should have given him my card... Too bad I hadn't taken anything with me on the tour. Oh well. I am sure I will run into him again. This conference can't be that big.


That same evening as I was walking back to the dorms from the keynote address I hear quick footsteps coming up behind me. Being a single female walking on a sparsely lit campus, this made me nervous, regardless of the fact that there were plenty of people around who could have witnessed my mugging.

"Hey--"
"AHHHH!" I shreeked
"Oh geeze! I'm so sorry! I thought that was you. I didn't mean to scare you!" said Webb.
"It's okay. I am very jumpy. People at work hide and then jump out at me because they think it is hilarious."
"Are you walking back to the dorms?"
"Yep. Are you staying over there as well?"
"I am. Would you like some company?"
"Sure. Maybe you can keep me from jumping out of my skin when approached by another perfectly nice person."

Webb and I walked back to the dorms as we chatted easily about the keynote speaker and how we had good intentions of running the following morning but doubted we would make it out of bed in time.

The next morning as I headed across campus I kept my eyes peeled for Webb.
No such luck.
 As I settled into my seat at the first seminar, Webb walked in. Yeah!!!


"Good morning!" He said. "Is this seat taken?"
"What do you do? Just follow me around campus?" I asked moving my bag so he could sit down
"Yep. I saw you walking in here and thought, that girl knows what's up! I'll follow her lead."
Hmmmmm... I do like a man that knows a good thing when he sees it!

Webb and I spent the rest of the morning together and after lunch parted ways. I didn't see him for the rest of the day, but thought maybe our paths would cross at the awards dinner.
No such luck.
I was late to the dinner and he left early as I found out later.

 The next day I ran into Webb at lunch.
"Are you going to the farmer's market tonight?" He asked. "Apparently, they have delicious food and a live band."
"Absolutely. Two things I love are delicious food and live music."
"Great. Well I'll see you there then!" He said with a smile.


A few hours later as I was locking up my bike outside the square where the farmer's market was held, I received the following text. 
"Are you here? --Webb" 
I replied. "Just got here!" 
"Great. We have a table. I'll save you a seat."     


As I wound my way through the Farmer's Market, stopping to get myself a beer to help me cool down from my bike ride, I bumped into Webb.
"Hey! Let me introduce you to everyone!" He said leading me to his table.

Two beers in, I decided it was time for some food.
"That Indian smells delicious."
"Word on the street is that it's the best thing here." Webb said.
"Done! That's what I'll be having. I just need to run to the ATM. I spent my last $5 on beer."
"I'll buy your dinner." He said.
"Well, thank you. That's very nice of you." I said.
Yes, very nice. Very nice indeed.


Eventually the band quit playing. The Farmers packed up with markets. And the people in charge of putting away the tables and chairs shooed us out of their way.
"I'm not ready to call it a night yet. Anyone want to see if we can find some bourbon?"
Webb and Landon agreed that that sounded like a solid plan, so we said our goodbyes to the rest of the group and set off in search of a bar.


We found an Irish Bar with some Buffalo Trace Bourbon. And being the gracious southern lady, as well as bourbon evangelist that I am, I bought our first round.
And proceeded to thoroughly enjoy the "ooooos" and "aaahs" of my pleased drinkers.

As we shared funny stories I decided I liked Webb more and more.
And it wasn't just because I was home sick for a southern man, because that is what I chalked up the initial attraction to.
He is clever.
His dry sense of humor is hilarious.
He makes excellent eye contact.
He can laugh at himself.
He is established in a career.
And it doesn't hurt that he is H-O-T-T!

Eventually we decided to head out as we all had early mornings the next day. Webb had a 7:00 am flight, Landon an 8 hour car ride to look forward to, and myself a very early and long Energy Manager Meeting. Landon offered us rides, but I refused citing needing to get my bike back to campus. Being that it was after midnight, Webb offered to walk back with me. I of course refused saying I would be fine, knowing full well he thought I was cute, and wasn't going to let me go traipsing back to campus alone.

After we wondered the square looking for my bike (I wasn't drunk, but the square looks very different in the dark with no farmers) finding it exactly where I left it, in the last possible spot that it could have been, we started the trek back to campus.

As all walks of this sort go, it passed far to quickly. Before I knew it, we were back and I was chaining up my bike outside the dorm.

This was really starting to feel like college now...
We met in class, through a mutual friend.
Our paths occasionally crossed.
We walked back together from a bar.
Seems right on par with my college dates...

"Good luck making your flight tomorrow." I said.
"Yeah. Thanks. Good luck in your all day meeting." He said leaning down to hug me.
Did I mention he is tall?
"Thanks. I'll need it." I said, hugging him back.
"You know, I come to the beaches down in Orange County pretty often..."
"You should definitely let me know when you come to town... Night." I said reluctantly heading up the stairs.
"Night."

The following evening as I was waiting for my delayed flight in the airport, I got an email from Webb.

"It was really great to meet you. We'll have to get together soon. After all, we southerns have to stick together."
-- Webb

Yes. Yes, we do!

Lucky Charm

A few months ago I attended a Cinco de Mayo party hosted by a friend of a friend. I went to the party with Shane, the guy I met through the UK Alumni Association and had been seeing casually since March-ish. At the house next door to the party we were attending, another party was going on that looked like they were having more fun.

Or at least dancing to better music on their balcony.
With much cuter guys and a higher guy to girl ratio than our current situation.

The party I was at didn't even have a balcony and was too full of hipsters to have anyone busting out any good Gaga, Katie, or Brittney that we could dance to.

So what's a girl to do but grab a few friends and crash the good dance party next door?
Which is exactly what this girl did.
BOOM!

"Hi!" I said stepping through the deck door. "I'm Crigger. We were at the party next door, but you guys have way better music and seem to be having a bit more fun. Can we join your dance party?"
"Of course! Come on in!" said the tall Italian looking guy whose name I didn't bother to learn.
"Yeah! More dancers!" Said his blonde bikini clad friend, who I had worried earlier might be in danger of flinging herself off the balcony thanks to her energetic head-banging moves.

As my friends blended into the new party I struck up a conversation with Stephen, whose straight white teeth and muscly arms made me want to talk to him all night.

"Will you play some Lady Gaga next since you seem to be in charge of the jams?"
"Sure. What Gaga do you want?" Stephen asked.
"Any is okay! But I am partial to Poker Face. It made me love her and it is still my favorite."
"Poker Face it is then. What's your name by the way?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Crigger. AKA the party crasher."
"Well you are certainly welcome to crash this party." He said with a smile. "Actually. Have we met before? You look so familiar."
"I doubt it. I live in Orange county and I haven't spent alot of time in Manhattan Beach."
"No. We met. In a bar in Venice Beach. I swear we did. Like early last fall. I think we even became Facebook Friends."
"Ummm... I am pretty sure we didn't. I've only been out in Venice a few times. And those times I was with my ex-boyfriend. But he did get mad at me for flirting alot. So maybe we did meet! You might have been the reason for one of our many altercations about my "flirty-ness", which I prefer to think of as friendliness."

We chatted a bit more and then I returned to dancing with my friends, including Shane. As it got later my friends decided they were ready to head to the bars. But before we left we all decided to take a courtesy pee since you never know how the bathrooms in bars will be. Granted we were at a house occupied by three guys who had thrown a rager so their bathrooms probably weren't any better than what awaited us at the bars...

Anyway... as I stood in line talking to Shane waiting for the bathroom to be free, Stephen came down the hallway.

"What is this? A schedule of house chores?" I asked pointing to the marker board hanging on the wall with days of the weeks and things like "laundry", "clean the kitchen", and "grocery shop" listed beside the boys names.
"Basically. It keeps us organized."
"Well that's good. Bathroom is free. You're up Shane." I said.
"I'm off to find my roommate. See you in a bit." Stephen said.
"Bye."

Standing in the hallway by myself I decided to leave our hosts a note on their marker board. First I drew a picture of a hammock hanging between two palm trees and then I wrote a quick note.
Thanks for letting us crash your party. Call me. 555-555-5555. Crigger.

"Are you ready?" Asked Shane.
"Yep!" I said standing in front of the board an motioning for him to go through the doorway first. "Let's go say goodbye to the hosts."

As I was walking out the door Stephen ran up and grabbed my hand.
"You're leaving?"
"Yeah. My friends are ready to go, so I'm going too." I said.
"But I haven't even asked for your number yet."
"You don't have to. I left it on the marker board for you. Give me a call. Maybe we can go out sometime."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Fast Forward 2 Months to Beer Olympics~~~~~~~~~~~~
My friend Allison and I got roped into participating in a Beer Olympics party at another friend's house. And when I say roped, what I mean is freely and gladly participated. However, our team was one man short. I happened to mention this fact to Shane in a random email and before I knew it, he was volunteering to be our 4th man.

Or as he called it, the anchor, for our Beer Olympics team. And lord knows we needed all the help we could get because there were six events and 3 of then I had never heard of...

This did not bode well for us.

As mixed as my feelings were about Shane coming to a party with me, we needed a fourth, so I sent him the details and at 2:00 our anchor showed up. (Incidentally we came in 2nd, largely thanks to Sean. And of course, my mad flip cup skillz.)

Late into the evening when the competition had died down and we were just playing for fun I struck up a conversation with a guy wearing a "Getting lucky in Kentucky" shirt.

"Nice shirt. I have one of those." I said.
"Oh yeah? Did you get it in Kentucky?" asked Zach.
"Of course. Don't you hear my accent? That's my home state." I said proudly.
"I've always wanted to marry a Southern woman."
"Well we are the best."

As Zach and I continued to talk about Kentucky, bourbon, work, and moving to California I realized I had laid my phone down somewhere and it was no longer in my pocket. Panicking slightly I asked Zach if he would call it for me.
"Sure. What's the number?" He asked pulling out his phone.
"555-555-5555."
"It's ringing."

Rah-Rah-ah-ah-ah

Roma-Roma-mama

Ga-ga-o-la-la

Want your romance

I want your ug--

Abrupt change to StarShips by Nicki Manaj

"Found it! I totally forgot that we were using my phone to play music... Whooops." I said somewhat sheepishly. 

Zach and I talked a bit more then I headed out front to find Allison and some of the other girls, while he and his friends headed out for the bars. As we were sitting in a circle on the drive way gossiping and recapping the evening, Sean came out and sat down with us. Just about the time he sat down my phone lit up with a text message from a number that wasn't programmed into my phone.

"Crigger. 

Save my number por favor.

If things don't end up working w/ your current situation, 

would be honored to take you out sometime."

Ahhh... Zach. He has my number from when he was helping me locate my phone. 

Hmmmm... current situation? Does he think Sean and I are a couple? Because we are NOT!

"It's not really a current situation.
And you should definitely ask me out sometime." I texted back.

"All right.
I'll call you tomorrow and do it all proper.
Enjoy the rest of your evening."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~RECAP~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zach did call the next day. I love a man that calls when he says he will. Though it took three weeks for me to actually have time to go on a date, we have been on two great dates and I am looking forward to more.

Stephen has also attempted to take me out, but our schedules never line up. Plus, Manhattan Beach is farther away than I am really willing to commute to see a boy.

Shane has been sent back to the minor leagues, though he might get pulled up again if I go through a dating dry spell. He is proving to be quite lucky! Every time I go to a party with him I end up picking up another guy.

Skip. Skip. Skip to Malou...

The message I received from Damon on OKC was intriguing. 

It said he was thinking about making a move to the OC and had been spending some time in the area working on a business deal and trying to figure out if he actually wanted to move. He wondered if I might be interested in getting together for a drink so he could pick my brain about what living the OC is like.

His profile was interesting. It claimed he likes sending flowers for no reason, can parallel park a semi-truck, was 6'3, and was a "wine guy". 

I like receiving flowers for no reason.  

His dad was a truck driver so he probably is down to earth and truck driving is in my blood. My Papaw and Uncle both owned trucking companies and were drivers their whole lives.

Tall is good-- my children won't be getting their height from me.  

But a "wine guy"? 

Really? 

That sounds a bit pretentious and I just wasn't quite sure how much of that I could tolerate. 

However, he has been living in Nor-Cal for the last decade so it might not be so much pretentiousness as bi-product of living in the land of grapes. 

But he is 40-- A tad outside my age bracket.

Unable to decide, I let the email sit in my inbox for a few days unanswered. Finally reasoning that he seems successful, normal, and is staying in Laguna Beach so therefore would likely take me somewhere fancy and delicious, I decided to see if he was still interested in meeting.

He was.

We split the difference and met in Corona del Mar at a spot I had been wanting to check out for some time. In true Crigger fashion I was running late and traffic, of course, was not helping at all! Walking in about 15 minutes late I found Damen sitting at the bar.

"I'm sorry I am late." I say breathless from my quick scurry up the street from the parking spot that took me three trips around the block to find.

"No problem at all. If you weren't a little late I would worry you aren't really a female." He said with a smile. "I had a martini while I waited. What can I get you?"

"A bourbon please. Maker's 46 will do nicely." Nice teeth. Tall wasn't a lie. The pictures don't seem to be that recent... Oh well! We aren't getting married, we are getting drinks.

We chat as the bartender fixes him another martini and pours my Maker's 46 over the two ice cubes I requested.

"Have you seen the giant ice cube trays from IKEA?" Damen askes. "They are perfect for bourbon,whiskey, and scotch."

"No, I haven't. I should look for them the next time I'm there. I would put those to good use."

"They are great. I bought like 5 of them. I'll mail you one."

Hmmm.... That's nice but I don't want you having my address just yet.

"Oh! Well thanks! That's awfully nice. How is Orange country treating you?" I say changing the subject.

"Pretty good so far. I went on a cougar bar crawl last night with a few of the guys I am working on this deal with."

"What is a cougar bar crawl?"

"Basically we went to three bars and observed three different styles of cougars in their natural habitat."

"Oh my gosh! That is hilarious!"

"Yeah, it was pretty ridiculous." He said as he began detailing the different types of cougars at the various places. There was the Juicy Couture track suit crowd, the female version of Tommy Bahama crowd, and the crowd that was dressed about 25 years to young for their age.

"Well it sounds like you are getting a true picture of the OC. Lots of cougars with nothing better to do than take their fake breasts out to pick up young men. I used to go to this workout class and one day I looked around the room and realized I was the only one in the class with real boobs and without a giant diamond ring that made Kim Kardashian's ring look understated."

"Yeah your boobs aren't fake."

Hmmmm....

"Oh my gosh, I didn't mean that the way it came out." He continued. "I swear I'm not staring at your boobs. I just mean they look real. Oh geeze. This is not helping."

"Nope! It's not!" I say with a laugh. "Don't worry about it. I know what you mean-- I think."

As we continued to talk about the OC, work, how we ended up in California, wine (in a very unpretentious way) I decided I liked Damon’s company, despite his effeminate mannerisms. (At one point he sat up very straight, pressing his fingertips together and pursing his lips. I have seen my mother do this on countless occasions prior to launching into some story. I don't want to see that from my husband across the dinner table!)

Plus he is 40!

He would be 60 when our kids graduated from high school in a best case scenario situation.

He is nice and funny and certainly someone I would want to be friends with.

But that never happens in these situations. They never want to be "just friends".

It is either girlfriend or nothing.

Anyway, two drinks and two shared appetizers later I was ready to call it a night since I had been up since 5:00am to do the insanity workout and I had gone to yoga after work.

"I'll walk you to your car." said Damon.

"Thanks. I'm parked close. Just around the corner." I said handing him my purse as I pulled on my coat. "Thanks for holding that."

"You're welcome. I am secure enough in my manliness to hold a purse. Plus, it looks good with my outfit." He said with a chuckle.

"Well, yes! Kate Spade goes with everything." I said heading towards the door.

"Well this is me." I say unlocking my car door. "Thanks for drinks and dinner."

"Thanks for coming out and meeting me. I appreciate all the OC talk. Maybe we can do it again?"

"Yeah, just keep me posted about your schedule." I said knowing that I was booked for a few weeks solid with trips and visitors, so I would have legitimate excuses to get me out of future dates if I needed one.

"Well I had fun." He said leaning in for what I thought was a hug, but ended up being a kiss on the lips.

Not a bad kisser, but I don't want to be kissing him! What is wrong with dudes getting all handsy and kissy on the first date?! Oh well, guess I'll just go with it.

"Alright." I said kind of pushing him away. "Thanks again. Bye!" I wave getting in my car.

"Bye." he says shutting the door and turning to (I assume) walk across the street.

But no.

He skips away!

Hmmm.... interesting. Very interesting. 

The horrors of hand-holding...

Paul and I had been attempting to get together for a few weeks, but our schedules never aligned. He was working crazy hours, and I was dating like crazy, so I didn't have a lot of free time to add someone new to the rotation. After I had canceled plans with him twice, I figured I either needed to actually see him, or stop responding to his text messages.

Being one to never discount the possibility of meeting someone awesome, and given the fact that I was scheduled to be in LA for work I agreed to meet Paul at the Black Boar. The Black Boar is kinda upscale- dive-y, and has a happy hour deal where you get a shot of bourbon with your Pabst Blue Ribbon. 

Basically, it screams Crigger. 

Well played, Mr. Paul. Well played.

We got our drinks and grabbed a booth.

"I brought you a present." He says motioning to the reusable shopping bag he had placed in the booth beside him.

"A present? You didn't need to do that. But I do love presents!"

Hmmmm... present on a first date. What could it be. This will either be awesome or horrible. At least my Mother programmed me to always respond with unparalleled enthusiasm to a gift no matter what! 

"Do you want it now?"

No, I would rather sit here wondering what it is for the next hour. Is it too soon for sarcasm...?

"Sure! I can't imagine what it might be."

"Well it is probably not something someone else has brought you. At least on a date." Paul says handing me the bag.

I peek inside the bag and there in all its Kentucky glory is a four-pack of Ale-8!

"Oh my goodness! Where did you find this?"

"A store near my house carries it. Have you been able to find it out here?"

"I actually know there is a distributor out here because another guy brought me a bottle." Whoops over-sharing. "But he wouldn't tell me where he got it. And I haven't made it to the distributor yet" I am still kind of aggravated about that by the way, Mr. Toad, formerly known as Mr. Butterflies!

"Oh, well there goes my hope of originality."

"No! This is great! I am out of my Ale-8 stock anyway! Thanks so much! This is going to be a great week!"

Paul and I chatted our way through normal first date talk. 

Families.

Friends.

Work.

Hobbies.

Sports.

You know the drill. 

And all was going well until he tried to hold my hand. The nerve!

My hands were folded, one on top of the other on the table. This is not the universal hold-my-hand-across-the-table-sign. (FYI...For those of you who don't know this sign it is a single hand rested mid-way between the two of you on the table. Clearly, I need to write a how-to book!) 

But there he was trying to hold my hand!

Now, long time readers know I'm not crazy about being touched by people I don't know. A handshake isn't going to send me running for the Purell. The awkward side hug isn't going to have me changing clothing and washing in bleach. 

My aversion to contact isn't about germs or sanitation or anything like that. I have eaten street food in India, swam in countless questionable bodies of water, had a drink with ice cubes in Vietnam. The list literally goes on and on. I am pretty sure my immune system can fend off whatever some random So-Cal boy has picked up  on their hands between leaving their job at Disney and meeting me for a drink.

What I don't like about contact with people I don't know is the overly-familiar vibe of it. 

I don't know you. 

This is our first date. 

Stop acting like we are a couple. 

We aren't.

Get your hand back on your side of the table. 

But of course saying that is a bit rude. And Paul had brought me Ale-8. But he has been handsomely for his efforts. I've sat at a table and talked to him for over an hour. Don't be getting greedy Paul!

So instead, I slowly pull my hand away and say, "Ummm... It might be too soon for that. I'm Southern after all."

I'll two-step, but not with you...

A friend on mine, TJ, has been inviting me out to go line dancing (Yes, line dancing. In southern California. And no, I don't get it either) with him and some of his friends. So last Friday night I finally took him up on the offer. Not wanting to be the only newbie line dancer in the group, I dragged my friend Alexis along. And by dragged, I mean she was so ecstatic at the thought of dancing in a line I was worried she might explode, covering me with belt buckles, boots, and plaid.

We arrived a bit late (story of my life) and missed the lessons they do at the beginning of the evening. Needless to say we weren't quite up to jumping into the complicated do-see-dos, though we did the Cupid Shuffle, which I am blaming for the awkwardness that followed shortly thereafter.

Two drinks in Alexis and I are standing at the edge of the dance floor watching the dancers and trying to see if we could learn one of the more simple dances.

No such luck.
There were no simple dances.
They only got progressively harder!

Just as we were about to give up and admit defeat at the hands of the line dance (until next week that is) a two-step came on. A nice looking young guy wearing a cowboy shirt, boots, belt buckle and 10-gallon hat came up and asked, "Do either of you know this dance?"

"I don't, but Alexis does." I chime in. "She should go!" I say kind of pushing her towards him.
"Alright," she says shrugging her shoulders. "Hold my beer."

As 10-gallon hat man twirls her around the dance floor I make myself comfortable on a bench and take a drink of her beer.

Ugh... a bit warm. This is why I prefer bourbon. Even when it's warm it is still delicious. 


"Hi, my name is Sonny." I hear as I feel a tap on my shoulder.

I recognize that high pitched annoying voice before I even turn my heard, but I hope and pray that there are two people named Sonny that sound exactly alike. 


No. Such. Luck. 


I am staring dumbfounded into the face of Sonny. Or as I like to think of him, the guy who couldn't catch a clue with a baseball mitt. 

Yes, loyal long time reader.  Thaaaaat Macaulay Culkin look-a-like, Sonny. 

For those of you new to the blog you can find the back story here: 
http://southernbellebythebeach.blogspot.com/2012/02/right-on-right-on.html

And the follow up to the back story can be found here:
 http://southernbellebythebeach.blogspot.com/2012/02/get-mitt-and-catch-clue-im-just-not.html

He obviously doesn't realize it's me, or he wouldn't have introduced himself. Maybe I can pretend to be someone else. Or that I don't speak English. Hmmm... Japanese seems an unlikely first language and my Spanish isn't good enough to get past "Me llamo Mario. Pasame la grapadora."


Instead I go with "I'm Crigger. We have actually met before."

And you can see he is trying to place me. And then it dawns on him. Oh, yes. Crigger. The girl who wasn't ready to date and doesn't return phone calls or text messages. When the flash of recognition strikes I start to worry that maybe he is going to start yelling at me.

But he doesn't.

Instead he tells me I look different. Which is true. On our first date I was more Blair Waldorf than the Daisy Duke I was channeling for line dancing.  He asks me how I've been. Who I am hear with (I really should have said my boyfriend, but I went with group of friends). And whether or not the donated tapes of a noted TV legend have been digitalized yet. Which incidentally was a topic of conversation he harped on during our first, and only date for a good 30 minutes. It was during this portion that I strategized how to get out the bathroom window.

Seriously, dude.
Let. It. Go.

Seeing that none of my friends were going to come to my aid, I went into full Seal Team 6 mode formulating my escape plan hoping to cut him off before he could ask me out again.

"Well, it looks like my friends are getting set to leave. I need to go close out my tab."
Actually, I didn't have a tab because TJ bought my bourbon-- unlike you!
"Oh, okay. Well, I know the last time we talked about going out again you said you weren't really ready to date. So, ummm...."

Oh no, oh no, oh no!  He's going to ask me out again. Dang it! I've told you I'm not interested in as many ways I can without actually saying the words. Now, you are going to make me say them to your face?!?!

"Well, would you like to go out again sometime."
"Ummm..."
"Well you can let me know."
"Yeah..." I say practically bolting across the room and throwing my arm around TJ as I frantically tell him to hug me back and pretend I am his favorite person in the world.

"Thanks alot for rescuing me!" I say.
"What happened?" TJ asks.
"I ran into the worst date in the world. And he asked me out again."
"Oh no! I'm sorry. I didn't see that happen."

You mean you weren't watching me across a crowded dance floor, TJ? 
Well! Hmmmmph! 
It worked for another small town girl across a smokey room. 
Oh well! Maybe next time. ;)

Just how old do you think I am?

I'm not saying I look 19, but I probably don't really look 28 either.

I would like to think this is largely due to my super-hip-California-Cool wardrobe.
But it is probably more to do with the fact that I am surrounded by college students and I do blend in by virtue of the fact that I am not 40, or wearing a jacket with elbow patches (aka Professor wear). I could wear professional clothing and set myself apart a little more, but seriously, a pencil skirt and heels when I am clamoring around on a roof or walking around inside a chiller...?
Hello, bad idea.

Quite honestly, I am perfectly content to be mistaken for a student.
It certainly isn't ego bruising to be told you look young.
This only gets awkward when it occurs during a meeting with someone important. Or with a contractor who doesn't realize I am the someone important they are meeting.

"No, I'm not in the campus sustainability club. I am the campus Sustainability Manager. I am actually here to talk with someone about my retirement plan/buying a $50,000 piece of equipment/insert basically anything here."

Some people would be bothered by this.
Not me.
I love it.
I hope this continues. I won't be in my 20s forever, and when I am old this will just be another glorious memory to keep me smiling instead of crying over my liver spots.
Everyone needs a good ego stroking, right?

Anyway... Back to getting confused with the undergrads.

Last week I attended an on-campus lecture and struck up a conversation with the student sitting beside me. He was a very friendly first year, excited at the prospect of all that college was laying at his feet. We talked about his classes, which ones he liked, which ones he didn't, what he was planning to study, and what he wanted to do with his degree. We talked about the speaker and what an amazing opportunity it was to hear him speak, as well as how powerful his books are.

An aside: I will talk very excitedly about books with anyone.  For me, meeting an author I love makes me happier than a pigeon with a french fry at the Dairy Queen. I become as giddy as a schoolgirl during the Beatles invasion of America.

As the conversation progressed, all I could think was what a great student intern this guy would be. He is smart, engaged, interested, clearly hard-working. And he reads good books. He isn't reading solely Maxim and beat poets pretending to be introspective. He is actually reading quality books and can talk about them.

And it is here that I probably made my error. I just get too excited about books. People, men in particular, mistake this excitement about books for interest in them. As soon as the guy opened his mouth and started the sentence I wanted to stop him, but it was impossible.

"So, would you want to get together and grab a drink, alcoholic or not, and talk about something other than his books."
"That would be great, but I have a boyfriend." So I told a lie. Sue me. It seemed kinder than "Well, I thinking dating you violates some school code."

Just when I thought I was in the clear and he would never know he asked out a staff member, a professor from his department sat down behind us and said, "So David, I see you've met the campus Sustainability Manager."

Poor David turned purple.

Bull's Eye!

Last night I stopped in Target to pick up some underwear on my way home. I'm leaving for Vegas tomorrow and have had literally no time to do laundry. Having a date every night this week as really cut into my domestic chores time.

Darn.

Those of you who know me well can attest to the fact that I have about 300 pair of underwear. This is a clue as to just how long I have been putting off laundry.

Needless to say, Target's five for $20 deal was sounding pretty good.

So, there I was at Target at 9:45 at night. And I must admit, I was looking pretty good for such a late hour on a Wednesday. I had on my favorite LBD (Little Black Dress) and four inch pumps because I had been in meetings in LA all day and had a happy hour date scheduled for right after the meetings. Thank goodness for a dress that can go from professional to profoundly sexy just by taking off black pantyhose.

Anyway... I am walking towards the check-out, with a fist full of underwear, when I pass a tall black guy dressed fairly casually in basketball shorts and a t-shirt. His neck tattoo wasn't doing a great deal to class up the attire.

As I am one to do, I smiled when I passed him. We were the only two people in the aisle. What was I supposed to do? Smiling a reflex I can't really control. Now, in the South, when you smile at someone as you pass they typically smile back or say "Hello."

This is not usually how it works in California. I smile, and people react like I have spit on them. I once bumped into a girl who stopped walking right in front of me in the middle of a crowded walkway and when I said "Pardon me. I'm sorry." the response I got was, "You're right pardon you!"

I'm pretty sure "BIIII-TCH!" was in a thought balloon over her head and she was doing the finger snapping "Z" in her mind.

So, imagine my surprise when this dude smiles back.
And then winks.
Yes. Winks.

Now, I am not opposed to a good ol' fashioned wink across a crowded room. I once winked at a guy in a bar, and he came over and bought a round of drinks.
Clearly the wink works in the right setting.
But under the harsh lights of Target at 9:45 at night while I am holding five pair of underwear?
The wink just isn't working for me.
Sorry dude.
I don't acknowledge the wink and just get into the shortest line I can find.

Only two customers in front of me. Sweet!
Wrong. One of the ladies forgot her wallet and ran out to her car to get it and the other had trouble with her credit card. By this time I have read all the headlines on People and US Weekly, and have given up actually getting to leave the store before midnight. The thought of having to live inside Target like that girl who lived in Wal-Mart and named her baby Americus flashed through my mind briefly.

Though this is a Super Target so at least there is food... And they do have a Hello Kitty microwave. That might make the stay worth it.

Breaking into my day dream about sleeping in a tent in Target is a really low, "How you doing, baby?"

Is Jennifer Grey/Francis Houseman here?

I look up and see Mr. Winky himself standing behind me in line.

"I'm fine."  Dang it! Why did I have to pick the line full of people who don't understand how shopping works? You pick out your items. The cashier rings them up. You pay for them. Then you leave. It isn't a foreign concept! Now, I am tapped talking to this guy. "Umm... How are you?"
"I'm pretty good. You got a boyfriend?"
"Are these yours?" The clerk asks me, holding up a value pack of Trojan condoms.
"Nope. Those aren't mine."
"Those are mine." Winky says raising his hand as if there might be some confusion as to who those condoms belonged to. We were the only two people in line at this point.
"So, you got a man?"
Looks like ignoring the question won't work. "Yeah, I sort of have a boyfriend. It is new." I said very awkwardly.


What am I supposed to say here? No, I don't have a boyfriend, I have lots of boyfriends. I'll add you to the list. Let me give you my number and we'll go out, after you've gone to see whoever you're buying those condoms for. Though, I am pleased to see you're wrapping it up. STDs are a bitch from what I hear. 

"Well, good luck with that."
"Ummm... yeah... thanks. I guess we'll see."