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Friday, December 28, 2012

My Sacrifice to the Mayan Gods Saved Us All

As I feared, my date for the Mayan Apocalypse was fit for an epic disaster.
There are so many things left unsaid, unshared and unsuggested on prospective daters' online profiles, it's absolutely astounding.  Glancing at a profile, you might be led to think that someone is: intelligent, grounded, witty and interesting.  What you find, more often than not, is: foolish, flaky, banal and tasteless.  When I find someone whose personality is so polar opposite from mine, one whose head is floating so far in outer space that E.T. has a pre-paid calling card just to phone her, one who gives "eccentric" a whole new meaning, I want to scream and curse the gods for sending me yet another prospect to test my patience for human kind.  
Pre-planned and Pre-Agreed Upon Agenda For Apocalyptic Date:
1.  Meet at friendly neighborhood bar for a drink.
2.  Walk on foot, in the rain, to help date select a Christmas tree for her apartment.
3.  Transport Christmas tree on foot, in the rain (with the help of a Granny Cart), to said apartment.
4.  Assist in decorating Christmas tree.
I like adventure.  I like quirky.  And I'm usually down for anything out of the ordinary on a first date.  No, really, I'm quite serious.  I'm so bored with the usual wine bar meet-up or coffee date that I could just die from narcolepsy.  So, naturally, I agreed to the agenda, no matter how weird it seemed.
We met at the agreed upon neighborhood bar.  It was a rainy evening but since we're both smokers, we decided to brave the rain and sit on the outside patio where we could drink and smoke in relative peace.  First thing I notice?  Um, she's wearing a pink knitted bunny hat… with floppy ears… and whiskers.  Alrighty then.  Since it was raining and every seat was soaked, I opted to stand under my umbrella but it made for awkward conversation since I was towering over my date while she sat.  My date's solution was a kind offer to let me sit on her bunny hat. 
Me: "Thank you, that's very nice."
Her: "Wait!  Let me flip it over so you can sit on her face."
Me: "Um…?  Insert inappropriate joke here?"
Her: "Exactly."
(*Sigh* Oh boy.)
So we sat and talked small for about a half hour or so and then decided to set out on our journey to find her Christmas tree.  As we walked out of the bar, I asked her to lead the way.
Her: "I don't actually know where the Christmas tree lot is but I think it's somewhere this way."
Me: "You don't know where it is? "
Her: "Well, I think I saw it around 17th and Folsom and made a mental note to come back, but I was really drunk that night and now I can't remember where it was."
Me: "I see, so we're going to walk ten blocks in the rain and hope that there's a Christmas tree lot there?"
Her: "Exactly. Hahahahaha!"
Me: " Okaaaaaaay…"
As we walked the ten blocks towards the intersection of How-Did I Get Myself Into This? 17th and Could-You-Possibly-Be-More-Obnoxious? Folsom, she could hardly contain her excitement over the ornaments she had just purchased for her tree.  She was practically giddy.  So I asked her, "what do they look like?"
Her: "They're Budweiser cans!"
Me: "Oh.  That sounds… fun?"
Her: "I bought almost all of them.  The checker at the store asked me if there were any left for the other customers.  And I said, 'um, I think I left, like, three.'"
Me: "Oh.  Wow."
Her: "Those aren't the only ornaments I bought.  I also got donuts, coke cans, sushi and South Park characters."
Me: "Well that sounds… interesting.  And um, colorful."
And then we came upon the intersection of Total Weirdo 17th and How-Soon-Can-I-Go-Home? Folsom; guess what wasn't there?  Yep, you guessed it.  No tree lot.
Me: "I think I'll just Google Christmas tree lots on my phone."
Her: "No, wait, I know it's here somewhere."
Me: "You're probably right but I can pull it up on my phone and find out exactly where."
Her: "No, wait, maybe it's up this street."
(And they say that men are the ones who don't stop and ask for directions!)
Finally.  After walking eleventy thousand blocks in the rain, we found a tree lot.  And after spending about an hour walking around the lot mulling over all the trees, she picked one out.  The young guy working the lot came over and told us that they offered delivery too.  This was music to my ears, especially since my date casually forgot to bring her Granny Cart to transport the tree.  So I asked how much the delivery would cost.  $49.
Her: "No, that's too much."
Me: "I'll gladly pay the delivery charge so I don't have to carry this tree fifteen blocks to your house."
Her: "No, it's too expensive.  Besides, you look like you can handle it."
Me:  "Is that why you chose the tall girl for your date tonight?  Cheap labor?"
Her: "No!  Hahahaha!"
Christmas Tree Lot Guy: "Actually, we can't deliver it tonight.  We close in an hour.  How about tomorrow?"
Her: "No, that'll ruin our plans.  We can carry it."
Me: "No, we'll walk back to the bar and grab the Zipcar that I rented and strap that tree to the roof."
So we retrieved the car and picked up the tree.  When they charged her $95 for the tree, she handed them her credit card.  "Oh, sorry.  We're cash only."  (ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!)  After all that, there was no way I was turning back.  So I offered to pay in cash and she offered to pay me back (which she hasn't and I would rather kiss $95 goodbye than retrieve the loan and have to see her again).
We drove to her place with her proud new tree and walked it up the steep and narrow stairway up to her apartment.  At the top of the stairs, I notice an enormous skeleton head sitting in a window sill.  I don't mean an average sized skull.  I'm talking the skull of King Kong's much larger, much scarier older brother who used to bully poor King Kong and his pal Godzilla around.  No shit.  This thing was utterly unnerving.  And the hallway was painted in orange and green stripes like a circus tent.  And the kitchen had skeletons painted in stencil all over the walls!  This apartment would've sent Hunter S. Thompson into an irrevocable and unforgiving acid trip.
We dragged the tree into her apartment and I asked her where she wanted to put it.  To which she replied: her bedroom.  "Wait, you don’t want it out where your roommates can enjoy it too?"  (She has FIVE, by the way.  Yes.  FIVE roommates.)  Nope, she wants the tree in her tiny, disgustingly messy and horrifically decorated bedroom.  
In the corner of her bedroom where she wanted to place the tree is a coat/hat rack.  Adorning this rack is what I could only describe as a menagerie of other animal-themed knitted hats, much like the pink bunny whose face I had intimate relations with earlier in the evening.  There was a frog, a kitty, a monkey and countless others.  And when she grabbed a broom to sweep up the floor around the tree, I noticed the following items: dust bunnies the size of jack rabbits, a used plastic spork, a candy bar wrapper, a pencil and a layer of filth that looks like it's been collecting for the better part of a decade.  I couldn't help but shiver from a case of the heebie-jeebies.  
Me: "Uh gee, I have to get the Zipcar back by 11:00.  It's already 10:15 so I should be going soon."
Her: "No, wait.  You have to just see my ornaments!"
Me: "Uh… oh.  Ok."
They were exactly as she described.  And they were exactly as tacky and trashy as I had imagined.  I stayed for another ten minutes and helped hang about a half dozen of these tree blemishes.  The only ornament I liked was a replica of the Robert Indiana sculpture, "LOVE"… and I broke it.  Doesn't that just say it all, folks?  Leave it to little old me, poor love-cursed and heartbroken Miss-Adventures to break LOVE.  Oh the symbolism of it all stabbed my insides like the shards of that broken ornament.
So I gathered my keys, my cellphone and my jacket and thanked her for an "adventurous date".  I started to walk away and she threw her arms up towards my neck…  Oh, a hug, that's nice...  No, she's going in!  Mayday!  Mayday!  She's going in with tongue!  Goose!  Pull the escape hatch!  No shit.  Here I was thinking this date was a motherfucking train wreck and she's going in for an end of the evening kiss… with tongue! 
The next morning I woke up with the sore throat from hell.  And I've been sick with a cold ever since.  That'll teach me for letting a weird girl kiss me on the first (horrendous) date.  
{*Cough!*  *Cough!*}
I believe it was my unselfish sacrifice to the Mayan gods on that fateful evening that spared us all from total annihilation.  You're welcome. world.  No, no, please, this ticker tape parade is more than enough thanks.
{*Cough!*  *Cough!*}

Thursday, December 27, 2012

...But It All Makes For A Great Blog Post.

Hi, everyone! Nugget here, tiding you over until Miss-Adventures makes time in her busy schedule (truth alert: she's sick) to update everyone on how she single handedly saved the world from the Mayan Apocalypse by going on a date.
Last weekend, I was bored and lazing about in my pajamas when I had a craving for coffee. Mind you, I had plenty of coffee in the house AND my bestie had just come over to ask me if I wanted to go get coffee with him, but I had a better idea! I would ask a random internet stranger out for coffee. So, I let all of the local online dating site folks know that I was jonesing some caffeine something fierce, and curled back up with the cat. An hour later, I had a coffee date with a young gentleman.
Who his photos showed: A well-groomed, clean cut blonde boy of moderate height and moderate build who liked doing things outdoors and seemed generally wholesome.
Who showed up: A short dude with long, stringy, unwashed and unbrushed dark brown hair, an unkept beard, and an outfit that may have been stolen off of a homeless person.
Fighting to urge to flee, I ordered my coffee (he ordered his with booze. It was not yet noon) and we sat down. He then proceeded to tell me all about his last job, his last living situation, and his next trip. Sounds promising, right? Except that his last job was working on a pot farm in Mendocino County with a bunch of rednecks (his words) that liked to get drunk and shoot guns. After almost being witness to a homicide and having to fight to get paid, he decided it sounded like a good idea to go back next year. Obviously, he's good at making sound decisions. Did I mention that he got home from Mendocino County by hopping box cars illegally for three days? No, really, just like in the movies. He planned on taking the money he earned and using it to be an artist with no day job (even though he has yet to establish his art). His last living situation was squatting in a warehouse in the Midwest with no heat, where he would often wake up able to see his breath. He was currently couch surfing. His next trip was running home to the Midwest with no return ticket purchased...but he'd like to hang out again if/when he returns.
Sadly, I think I'm going to pass on that one.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

I do it all for you, People.

What better way to welcome the Mayan Apocalypse than with a first date?  On a day when dooms-dayers are predicting the end of the world, I plan to spend my evening in the company of a brand new victim (I mean) contestant  (I mean) date.  Odd choice for a first date?  Yep.  Was it my idea?  I wish I could say it was.  No, in fact, it was her idea.  And when I pointed out that fact, she laughed, said she already thought of that, and thought that it would be kind of an epic night to first meet someone new.  Hmm… this one's got a dark, twisted and odd sense of humor.  And I SO like that.
Should we all survive Y2K (I mean) The Reckoning (I mean) The Mayan Apocalypse, I'll let you all know how it went.  God speed, my little zombies.  

Friday, December 14, 2012

I seem to have gotten on the Crazytown Express bus.

Oh, goodness, you guys. I feel like I am a public service at this point. You see, I lived in Los Angeles for 20 years. Every time one of my friends in LA would meet a girl that they were interested in, they would immediately call me up and ask me if I'd ever gone on a date with her. They did not do this because they knew I was young and single and pretty and wildly popular, and of course they held our friendship completely sacred so they'd never do anything that could even potentially hurt my feelings like dating someone that I'd dated. OH NO. They did this because if I'd gone on a date with her, there was a 99% chance that she was absolutely insane, because nature has created me to be the official Barometer of Crazy. Seriously, if I said "Oh yeah! I've been on a date with that girl," there were absolutely no follow up questions. The friend would just hang up and immediately call the police department to get a restraining order against the poor, unsuspecting girl (fun fact: mentioning that I've gone on a date with someone is enough grounds to file a restraining order against that person in at least 10 counties). So really, my going on dates with crazy people? Sucks, but I'm doing it FOR YOU, people of the world! You're welcome.

I think we need to revise our method, though, because today's crazy that I'm bringing for you has NOT even gone on a date with me. Let me explain. The other day, I got a message on a dating website that seemed very heartfelt, sincere, and honest. I like that. It also contained a TON of compliments. I like that, too! I did not like that he insinuated my going out with him made me some kind of cougar when he was only 4 years younger than me, but I digress. Anyway, I responded in kind, and we exchanged phone numbers. He called me shortly after, and we discussed our days and talked about meeting up. He wanted to meet me that same night, which was a terrible idea because a) I had to get up at 5am the next morning, b) I had just made plans to go to dinner with my friend, and sushi is WAY more awesome than awkward conversation with a stranger (my buddy's pretty cool, too, I guess), and c) I would have to drive through this creepy tunnel that switches directions and I hate that tunnel so much that I never go visit my awesome friend Quin that lives on the other side of that tunnel. The ensuing conversation went a little something like this:

Him: I mean, I'll be over in your neighborhood tomorrow for work, but...
Me: Wait, hold up. You will? Perfect! Tomorrow would be perfect.
Him: But I'd like to see you tonight.
Me: 5am comes far too early for that.
Him: Okay. I can pick you up and we can go to my town!
Me: Wait. Why can't we just hang out around here since you'll already be here?
Him: I got my car stolen once. It was no where near your house, and it happened years ago, but I still don't want to park in your town.
Me: Okayyyyy. I guess I'll drive over to your town.
Him: Cool! I'll make a plan of attack for making my apartment look presentable.
Me: Uh. What? I'm not coming over. I have a rule that includes absolutely NOT going to someone's house on the first date.
Him: Well, I'm a psychologist, and my patients are servers and bartenders and baristas at literally every restaurant, bar, and coffee shop in my town, so you should just come over.
Me: No.
Him: I don't follow rules.
Me: Well, then I guess we shouldn't meet.
Him: Fine. This wouldn't have worked out anyway. Good riddance!

Two minutes later, he texts me.

Him: I want a fresh chance with you.
Me: I don't think that's a good idea.
Him: I'm giving you another chance.
Me: Another chance to have my boundaries disregarded by a complete stranger and then disrespected when I say that's not okay?
Him: I will play by the rules, I just got offended. I felt tracked into the "asshole" category. I'm a sensitive guy.

Obviously, I stopped responding to him because he wasn't listening. He stopped texting soon after. Oh, but the following day, I was checking in on the dating site he'd emailed me through, and he messaged me through their instant messenger function.

Him:  I really want another shot with you.You're the most beautiful/smartest girl I've met in a long time.
Me: Listen. I really don't think that's a wise idea. No, thank you.
Him: I know your approach was crude, but I'm willing to give you another chance. I'm your best option.
Me: No. No, you are not.
Him: You'll never meet anything but douchebags on here!

I stopped responding. Yesterday, he texted me a simple, "Hey, what's up!" as if nothing had happened. Radio silence today, which I hope continues, because obviously this guy needs some professional help. Oh, for the record? I looked up the mental health department of the medical center he said he was a psychologist for. Besides the fact that there's no possible way he could have met the education and internship requirements at his age, the center's website lists all doctors, social workers, therapists and interning docs in their employ. His name's not listed. I'm exceedingly grateful that he brought the crazy before I agreed to meet him for a beverage, because who knows what kind of crazy he would have brought in person!

Friday, December 7, 2012

Surviving Christmas: A Single Girl's Rant

Fuck you, Holiday Season.  Yep, I said it.  (Oh the horror!)  And because it felt so good to say it once, I'm gonna say it again.  Fuck you, Holiday Season.
Fuck your fucking holiday themed commercials, your glossy magazine adverts showing family members coming together over carols and eggnog and your goddamned fucking jewelry commercials.  Ohmygod.  The jewelry store commercials!  One would think everyone in the world is getting engaged over the holidays.
Ok, I'm bitter.  I'm usually bitter during the holiday season, but this year… I'm ready to take hostages.  The holiday season is considered the most romantic season of the year; it's filled with nostalgia, images of family togetherness, fireplaces adorned with hanging stockings, snuggles with your husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend/lover/life partner under a blanket in front of a fire.  And why wouldn't it be considered the most romantic season of the year?  Everywhere you look the entire town is decorated in flattering mood-lighting.  Rude.
So why am I bitter?  Because those romantic images serve as promises that are, year after year, unfulfilled.  Because, godddamn it, I already went to the jewelry store this year and bought a fucking engagement ring.  Because I was promised a romantic holiday season by my fiancĂ© who then stole my sweet, yet fragile heart and replaced it with the cold, black, dead one that currently pumps venom through my veins.  Because as New Year's Eve fast approaches, I find myself in a mad rush to find a date and to get a midnight kiss.  And because I know that as quickly as the holiday season has come, it will soon pass and I will find that this single girl's other dreaded holiday is banging down my door… Motherfucking Valentine's Day.
So how does an embittered single girl survive the holiday season?  I'm fucked if I know but here's what I plan to do/not do:
I will not find solace in alcohol, and I will not get inebriated at parties and make a total fool of myself.
I will not drink alone.
Much as I'd like to try, I will not completely ignore Christmas and New Year's.  
Even if it is my natural tendency to do so, I will not isolate myself.
Though I still miss and love my ex girlfriend (despite my best efforts to quash those feelings), I will carry through these holidays with my dignity in tact.  Read: I will not drunk text, drunk dial or send drunken emails to my ex girlfriend.
I will give in, acknowledge the holiday season for what it is, put my game face on, celebrate these wretched holidays with friends and family and suck it up, even if all I want to do is park my fat ass on the couch and cry to myself while snuggled up with my two furry monsters. 
And lastly, I won't give in to the thinking that being single during the holiday season is the end of the world.  Because, despite all of Kay's, Jared's and Zales' evil master plan to convince me otherwise, the holiday season is not about whether or not I have a girlfriend or fiancĂ©.  It's about acknowledging the blessings that I do have in my life, and not giving into the black hole that threatens to consume me every day because of what I've lost in the past year.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Future Crazy Cat Lady

No shit, y'all.  I used to joke about aspiring to be a crazy cat lady.  And as of this moment, I'm still the proud owner of the Crazy Cat Lady Starter Kit.  That is to say, I still only have my two.  But let me tell you something…  I may be well on my way to crazy cat lady status if I don't get out and meet some decent women really fucking soon. 
I spent Saturday afternoon in my therapist's office… feeling all the feels, crying and indulging in my own little "but I'm a lovable failure" pity party.  Which is not something I do often.  Crying that is.  Or self-indulgent pity parties.  Or, well, therapy either, but it's been a motherfucker of a year.  But I digress.  Then, I switched gears.  I put my big girl pants on, as well as my game face, and got ready for a date that wound up getting cancelled two hours before our scheduled meet-up.  And so I spent Saturday evening in my yoga pants and sweatshirt cuddled up with my little monsters.  And Sunday was no different... On the couch watching football and spooning the felines.   And, after a nice walk with Gay Husband on Monday night?  Right back to the sofa with the little devils.   And on Tuesday?  You get the picture right?
I am slowly becoming one of those women who have full on conversations with her cats.  I caught myself walking through the door after work last night and actually asking my Fatty, "How was your day, Bucket?  Was it good?"  (Of course, it doesn't help that he never fails to feline speak whenever I talk to him.  I blame his fat ass for encouraging me.  He's quite the chatty bastard.)  Now, it's not that I'm mute around my cats, it's just that when I do talk to them, the conversations are pretty limited to "Don't scratch the couch, asshole!", or "Are you hungry?", or "You pissed on the floor?  What is wrong with you?!", or "Good boy. I love you."  But really?  Asking my cat how his day went?  I think I'm one more bad date, cancelled date or cheating lover away from my next adoption.

Monday, December 3, 2012

Miss-Adventures: The Waste Land of Failed Dates

Chalk another lady up to "Blog Material".  Yep, you probably guessed it - "You Smell Delicious" is another one for the books.
This is the trouble with online dating: you really don't know a single fucking thing about the person you're interested in.  Are they serious about wanting to date?  Have they been traumatized by past lovers?  Are they chronically depressed and struggling through chemical dependency issues?  Does the idea of getting to know someone new freak them out?  Am I the woman they see themselves dating?  Are they seeing someone else already but uncommitted?  Are they secretly a bunny-boiler posing as a totally lovely, witty and normal woman?  I don't know!
It's easy, when meeting someone new, to project your ideas of who someone is onto them.  I try really hard to not do that and I've certainly gotten better about it since I began this journey a year and a half ago.  I have also learned to not get my hopes up about someone and to simply accept whatever it is that someone new brings to the table without prejudgment and expectation.  With every new date that I've been on, I've gotten more practice at learning to meet people where they are, as they are and who they are.  This time was no different.  So when my friends and family ask me about my most recent dates, I always say, "Well, we'll see…"
I had a really nice time with "You Smell Delicious" when we met for our first date.  She was pleasantly surprising.  As I had said before, I had sensed a disconnect and some resistance from her when attempting to get to know each other a bit through email before our date.  And, as I said before, when I sense disconnect, those dates rarely go well at all.  But our date was really lovely!  But then… more disconnect and resistance.  Hmm… (*scratches head contemplatively*)
I'm a benefit-of-the-doubt girl though (to a fucking fault, if I might add).  I always tend to believe the best in people.  So I told myself to play it cool, respect her space, don't come on too strong (even if I really did want that kiss!) and don't always assume that disconnect is always about me.  So I hung back, accepting that it's quite possible that "You Smell Delicious" prefers to get to know someone slowly, or communicating via text or email just isn't her thing.  And playing it cool paid off… for a minute.  She asked me out.  She suggested plans for our date.  She told me that ours was the best date that she had had in a really long time and she couldn't stop herself from smiling.  (Yay for me!  I'm awwwwwwesome!)  So we made a second date.  And we spent the next several days firming up the details of our date by text (where to meet, what time to meet, which restaurant we should have dinner at, etc.)  And then…
For three days.
Finally, the date of our date rolled around.  And I decided after three days of hearing goddamned crickets, I would confirm seven hours before our date.  And then…
For five hours.
At 5:00, I finally got a phone call. 
YSD: "I'm so sorry, I know I should have called you sooner and but I just couldn't get it together today.  I kept thinking that I would be able to rally and see you tonight but I just can't."
Miss-Adventures: "Okay…"
YSD: "I had a really great time with you last weekend and if anyone could motivate me to rally and get it together, it's you, but I think I just over-extended myself this week."
Miss-Adventures: "Mmhmm…"
YSD: "Look, I know how this must seem and I know that when someone cancels at the last minute, one might think that they'll never hear from that someone again or one might never want to hear from that someone again but I assure you that's not the case here."
Miss-Adventures: "Uh huh…"
YSD: "I'm really sorry.  I hope you can understand."
Miss-Adventures: "Mmhmm…"
YSD: "I hope you'll let me make it up to you one day because I do want to see you again."
Miss-Adventures: "Well, you have my number.  If you want to make that happen, you know how to get ahold of me."
YSD: "Yeah, I do."
Miss-Adventures: "Okay, well it sounds like you need some rest, so take care of yourself."
YSD: "You too."
Miss-Adventures: "Thank you."
YSD: "Bye."
I'm sorry but "benefit of the doubt" or not, that smelled of bullshit to me.  Either this lady's got emotional troubles that she's not willing to admit or she's just not that into me.  Regardless, it is absolutely inexcusable to cancel a date with two hours to go.  I don't know about the rest of you but even for a casual date, Miss-Adventures tries her best to pull it all together while appearing as if it were all easy and natural.  Let me assure you, none of this is natural, boys and girls!  I shaved my legs, had a mani-pedi, had my eyebrows freshly waxed, picked out my best second date outfit and even cleaned my house from top to bottom, on the off chance that I might invite her in for a drink at the end.  Two hours before my date, I was already dressed, lipstick and (delicious smelling) perfume on and ready for a night out!  In-Ex-Cusable!
So, I hung up the phone, changed out of my cute outfit, put on my super comfy, but much less sexy yoga pants and favorite sweatshirt, threw my perfectly coiffed hair into a ponytail and parked my ass on the sofa with my little feline monsters, who were all too happy to shower me with the attention that YSD could not muster up the energy to do.
So long, YSD.  You've been banished to the Waste Land of Failed Dates.