Up in flames.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Squishy

We've all been there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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



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

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

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

This can't possibly be the end.

He thinks my stories are hilarious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It baffles me.

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

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

A match made in Bluegrass Heaven?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's right. They own a house together.

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

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

But I digressed quite rapidly. 

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

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

Play on through...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

Not Caring 101

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

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

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

I know. 

I know.

Facebook stalking only makes things worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonders never cease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shifting Sands: Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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